A CAT AND MOUSE GAME.
We will now pass over a period of deadly dulness and unvarying monotony
at Boldero Abbey.
Such periods were normal there to all but Leonore. Her sisters frittered
away the hours in small pursuits which led to nothing, (if we except a
certain kindly care of the poor on the estate, whose interests Sue at
least found of importance)--otherwise they existed, and that is all that
could be said for them.
But Leonore? Well, of course she had no alternative but to tread the
path prescribed for her; and the bright spring days were followed by the
longer ones of summer, and again by the crisp, dewy mornings and melting
twilights of early autumn, without any incident or event taking place to
mark one week from another.
Such a life was foreign to all the instincts of our little girl's
nature. She was quick, alert, impetuous. She was keenly alive in every
fibre of her being. She effervesced with vitality. Added to which there
was a strange sense of growth pulsing through every vein.
And of this all outward token had to be repressed beneath the iron hand
of convention. To the outward eye there was only a forlorn little black
figure stealing meekly out of view, to seek, it might be supposed, the
shades of solitude for pensive, retrospective meditation, or discharging
with docility such offices of charity as were presumed to be proper and
becoming to her widowhood,--but for the rest, no one really knew or
cared what Leo did with herself.
She was much alone--they supposed she liked to be alone. On that one day
to which she grew to look back upon as _the_ day--the day on which Sue's
heart stood revealed--it had indeed for a moment appeared as if the
bonds which held her in their grip must break, and give birth to a new
era--but the episode ended disappointingly. It was not an upheaval, it
was a mere crack on the surface--and the crack gradually closed again.
"I told you that father would not always be so amenable," said Sybil one
day, not perhaps altogether ill-pleased to see her sister's face fall,
and her cheek flush beneath a chilling response. "It is no use taking it
to heart, child. You do better with him than any of the rest of us do,
and that ought to content you."
And again it was: "Sue? What should I know about Sue? She goes her own
way, and we go ours,"--the tone conveying, "and you must go yours," as
plainly as though the words had been spoken.
But Leo had no "way" to go. She had no object on which to bend her eyes.
She had no end in view when she rose in the morning, no food for
reflection at night. She drifted. Her poor little face took a wan,
comfortless look,--and to herself she would wonder how, when she first
returned to the home of her childhood, she could have felt so different,
so foolishly hopeful and cheerful? All sorts of possibilities had seemed
to lie before her then, how could they? She often sat for hours in the
woods staring vacantly around, and thinking, thinking.
Had there been any human being in the big, dreary house to whom she
could have poured out all the workings of a young, imprisoned soul
beating against its bars, any one at this crisis to feel for and
sympathise with the hapless child, any kind arm thrown around her, or
hand in hers, things might have been different,--but as it was, alone
she had to battle with all the subtle imaginings, the dim, confused
perceptions, the fancies, the visions which haunted her.
Incredible as it may appear, she looked back upon her married life much
as an emancipated schoolgirl regards the busy, merry past, all-sufficing
at the time, but outgrown and left behind.
Leo never doubted that she had been happy,--but the thought that were it
possible for her one day to wake up and find that all she had gone
through of late was but a bad dream, brought no sense of longing, no
passionate thrill of desire. Instead, she shrank--yes, she shrank and
hung her head, wondering if any one else so placed ever felt the same?
How was it?--why was it?
And anon she knew. It was the look on Sue's face.
In lighter vein, Leonore took to beautifying her person. As Mrs. Stubbs
she had contented herself and annoyed her maid, a conscientious
creature, by fulfilling its bare requirements. She had hurried through
dressing-time, and been impatient of details. Anne's slow method of
handling her hair was a constant worry; and now that Anne no longer
existed for her, it must be owned that there was, or, to be correct,
there had been up to the present, a _curly pow_ presented to the family
on many occasions, which was hardly consistent with the dignity General
Boldero sought to preserve.
But it chanced one day that a girl came to the house whose hair, of
colour and texture similar to Leonore's own, was beautifully arranged
and generally admired. It literally shone in the sun.
And as luck would have it, our heroine was caught at her worst that same
afternoon; and conscious of frowsy locks tumbling about her ears, her
vanity was mortified. She appeared at dinner with a fairly correct
imitation of the visitor's coiffure, and every single member of the
family had something to say about it: Sue's gentle, "You have such
pretty hair, dear Leo," being the finishing touch.
Thenceforth the pretty hair was brushed and brushed; and finding it
still continued somewhat dry, Leo made almost her first purchase in the
neighbouring town. She procured a wash--only a simple, vegetable
concoction, but it answered the purpose--and there were great results.
Next, a manicure box which was among her possessions, but had lain about
unused after it ceased to be a novelty, was brought into play. To
confess the truth, Leo's hands were not her strong point, but hands and
fingers can look better or worse according to the care bestowed on
them, and there was now at least nothing to be ashamed of when she put
on her rings. She began to wear her rings regularly.
And searching about for something else to do, she unearthed some weird
implements, the sight of which made her laugh. With what zest she had
once thrown herself into the new game of physical culture which all her
friends were playing, and what fun she had thought it--for a time! Her
supple joints had enabled her to accomplish feats beyond the reach of
most, and she had attended drilling-classes and fencing-classes, and
gained glory at both. She now fixed up a hook or two in her room, and
found she could still do this and that, though she had lost the knack of
the more difficult. To regain these, ropes and pulleys were worked
vigorously,--and being once started, invention was called to aid, and
there were all sorts of varied performances. Finally she volunteered to
become a teacher; but though Maud and Sybil condescended so far as to
look on, and even make a few half-hearted efforts, they were soon
discouraged. They were not clumsy, but they were stiff; their bones were
set; beside them Leo seemed to be made of elastic.
These trifles were, as we have said, the solace of our little girl's
happier moods--at least they did something towards whiling away the
uneventful days,--but perhaps they might almost have been better left
undone, since the more healthful and beautiful she became, the more the
leaven of rebellious discontent worked within.
It seemed a shame that she should be so strong and well and winsome, and
there be nothing and no one to win. It was an injustice, a waste. And
was it to go on for ever? Was she to go on through a long, long
life--life stretches very far ahead at twenty-one--crawling on her hands
and knees, when she could have stepped out so boldly, head in air?
That was the question which chiefly presented itself to Leonore's mind,
as the first long year of her widowhood drew towards its close. She had
never once stirred from Boldero Abbey,--for it was by no means a part of
the general's programme to send her where she might meet with either
friends or strangers to whom the true state of the case might leak
out--and he sharply negatived a suggestion on Sue's part.
"Nonsense. Leo was never better in her life. You have only to look at
her. And it would not be decent for her to be going about as the rest of
you do."
Money had been wrung from him for annual trips to London and the sea,
but he had never grudged it more than now, and he had not himself moved
a foot.
"I am certainly not going to pay for what I disapprove;" he set his lips
grimly. "And I not only disapprove, but I forbid Leo to go prancing out
into the world."
Wherefore Leo saw her sisters come and go, and remained stationary. But
she could not be what she was, and not throw out a hint of what was for
ever in her mind when at long last the year was over. It was only a
little anxious word, and no one guessed how often it had hung upon the
speaker's lips before it was out, nor how she wished it back directly it
_was_ out. For it was met by a silence that stilled the very beating of
her heart.
Then, "I do not quite understand," said Sue, gently as ever, "what is
that you wish, Leo?" But Leo, who had hoped to be met half-way,
perceived the coldness underneath.
"I only wanted to know how long this was to go on, Sue. I mean--I mean,
how long I am to--to be unlike other people, and--and----" the rest
faded away.
Half an hour afterwards the young widow went out by herself very
quietly, and using a side entrance. She did not wish to meet anybody.
All along she had suspected the worst, but now that the bolt had
actually fallen, she felt numb; there was a kind of weakness in her
limbs; she trembled as she stole along the walk. For things had been
made very plain, and the vague shadows of the future had taken form and
shape. The future? There was to be no future for her. She ought not to
be thinking about a future--the present and the past only were hers. And
though of course her outward appearance could be suitably altered, and
there might be, as time passed, some relaxations and abrogations of
rigid etiquette, no actual, positive change in her lot was to be looked
for.
As a matter of fact, General Boldero had impressed thus much upon Sue,
having perceived on this occasion more than she did. He saw that Leo was
restive, he also saw that she was developing. He was not going to have
her throw herself away a second time, but he was content to wait, and he
was vaguely afraid that she would not be so. Wherefore she must be kept
under lock and key.
The situation is now perhaps plain before our readers.
"Hollo?" said a voice on one side of a woodland stile.
"Hollo?" responded another opposite. "It's you?" continued Leo, stepping
across, and giving Valentine Purcell her hand. "So you've come back,
Val? What ages you have been away! I have missed you dreadfully."
"Not you. I don't believe it." Val beamed all over. "I say, have you
though? You look uncommonly fit;" and he eyed her with a certain dubious
admiration. If she were laughing at him, he was not going to be taken
in, as he had been on several previous occasions.
"To be sure I'm fit, why shouldn't I be fit? I lead, oh, such a healthy
life," retorted she, with mocking emphasis. "I eat, and I sleep, and I'm
out all day. I do nothing but health from morning to night. Well?"
"Did you really miss me, Leo?"
"Humph!" said Leo, beginning to walk on.
"Did you know I had come back?" pursued he. "Did you think I should be
here about this time? Did you----"
"Think you'd bother me with a lot of silly questions?" Leo whose first
greeting had been simple and natural, assumed a pettish, artificial air.
"Can't you think of anything more amusing to say than, 'Did you, did
you, did you?'"
"Ha--ha--ha!"
"And then to laugh idiotically!"
"I don't believe you missed me a bit, Leo."
"Neither do I, now I come to think of it. I forget when you went."
"Two months ago to-day. Don't you remember? Don't you----"
"And now it will be, 'Don't you--don't you--don't you?' Why should I
remember? What is it to me that I should remember?"
"Anyhow you said you had missed me."
She had said it, and he had heard it, and stuck to the point like a
leech. It mattered not that he had come very near to quarrelling with
Leo before going off on his annual round of shooting visits; that she
had been capricious and disdainful, and had once gone so far as to tell
him that he bored her--(which no one had ever openly told Val
before)--he had forgotten all that; and though during his absence he had
also forgotten a good deal besides, and found other girls pretty and
attractive, no sooner was he back at home than the needle of his mental
compass flew round to its old point. He must needs hurry over to the
Abbey, and take the field-path in which he had so often walked and
talked with Leonore.
He had never made love to her; his grandmother had told him not.
Delighted as the old lady was with the turn events were taking, she had
the wit to see that undue haste might ruin all, and enjoined caution
with fervour. "Be friends, but no more--at present, Val."
Furthermore, it was at Mrs. Purcell's instigation that the shooting
visits were prolonged beyond their usual limits on the present occasion.
She got painters into the house, and made them an excuse for bidding
Valentine keep away if he could;--and her manner of placing the position
before him piqued his vanity, as she knew it would. "If you have no more
invitations, return, and I will make a shift to house you somewhere,"
she wrote;--but of course a popular young man is never short of
invitations; and the autumn so wearily dragged through by Leonore, was
full of gaiety and variety for her friend.
He had a great time, a glorious time,--and was longing to tell the tale
of it to sympathetic ears, when he set forth from his own doorstep on
the present mild October afternoon; he heard himself dilating and
explaining, introducing names which would lead to inquiries, carelessly
referring to charming girls--oh, he foresaw a delightful hour, whether
it were in the Abbey drawing-room, or better still with his favourite
auditor in a woodland solitude--and now?
Now somehow, he did not care to begin. Was Leo in one of her moods? If
so it was no use thinking of anything else; he knew by experience what
those moods were. Could he bring her round? Sometimes he could,
sometimes not.
Was she really pleased to see him back, or--? He could not endure that
"or?"
In short, the whole magnificent house of cards wherewith our young man
had so pleased himself an hour before, showed now a flimsy shanty not
worth a moment's preservation; and stripped of all importance, reduced
to insignificance, afraid of his own voice, he slunk along by Leonore's
side.
"Why don't you speak?"--she flung at him at last.
"You--you are so strange!" He faltered, then tried to rally. "What's the
matter, Leo? Something is, I'm sure. You might tell me. You know I'm
always sorry when you are, and----"
"What makes you think I am?" But she spoke more gently, and emboldened,
he proceeded:--
"You did look pleased at first, but directly I spoke, you seemed to fly
off at a tangent. I suppose I said something rotten, I often do--but you
might have known I didn't mean it."
"It was not what you _said_." She paused.
"What was it then?"
"You look--every one looks--so happy and content--so bursting with
prosperity, so supremely filled with--oh, can't you see, can't you see,
that I'm alone and miserable, and different? When you pretended to
admire me just now----"
"Pretended? I didn't pretend!" indignantly.
"You said I looked 'uncommonly fit'."
"So you did,--so you do."
"And who cares? What's the good of it? If it signified a jot to any
single human being how I looked----"
"Leo! _you know I care!_"
She had done it, she had provoked it. If she had taken a chisel in her
hand and dug out the admission by bodily force, she could not have been
more directly responsible than she now was--and yet she stopped short
startled.
It was but for a moment however. "You?" she cried, "you could hardly say
less than that, considering it was such a direct fish for a
compliment,--no,--no, Val; do be quiet and let me speak,--what I mean is
that really, _really_, you know, I am most awfully down in my luck, and
I don't see the slightest prospect of anything better. I had hoped that
somehow a way would open----"
"It would, if you would marry me."
"Marry you? Nonsense!"
"Good gracious, Leo! _Nonsense?_"
"Of course. Can't you see I'm in earnest, and talk rationally for once?"
"Hang it all, am I not talking rationally, as rationally as ever I did
in my life?"
"That's not saying much. You needn't be affronted, it's an honour for
you to have me talk to you like this."
"Is it though? I don't see it--I think you are beastly unfair. I do
think that." And he pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose by way
of protest. "Just now you were whimpering because you had no one to care
for you,--and I believe you said it just to get me to say _I_ did."
Suddenly--"It was a shabby trick, Leo; and then to shut me up like that,
when I only meant to do my best for you!"
"Be quiet, be quiet." Despite a twinge of conscience, Leo held her own
stoutly. "No one but you would ever have thought of such a thing."
"That's all you know about it. My grandmother did. There!"
"You spoke to her, I suppose?"
"Not I. _She_ put _me_ up to it. Honour bright, she did. I daresay I
should have thought of it for myself," continued Val, quickly, "but I
hadn't, till she did. She was always praising you, and saying how pretty
you were, and what a bad business your marriage was. I mean--I
mean----"
"Don't get flustered, Val. You know we have agreed always to be straight
with each other. I can quite understand Mrs. Purcell's not approving my
marriage."
"But she was awfully sorry for you, you know when;" he nodded
significantly; "and she told me to make friends and try and cheer you
up, and then----"
"Then?"
"A fellow couldn't help seeing what she was thinking of. She had it in
her mind all the time. You trust me. I'm just about as cute as you make
'em when it comes to my gran. I know what she's driving at. All about
your being so sweet, and that. She never used to call you sweet; now,
did she? And I remember how she used to be down on you for being so
untidy and having your hair all about your ears; and she called it red
then--but it's auburn now." He chuckled self-appreciatively, and she
laughed outright; but this sobered him.
"Don't you go and laugh at me, Leo."
"I'm not laughing at you--now. Go on; tell me more; what else did your
gran say?"
"She said--but you won't let it out?"
"No--no."
"She said it would be an awfully good thing for me if I could hitch up
with--no, she didn't say that. At least," he reflected, "I don't think
it was about _you_ she said that."
"There's some one else, then?"
"Oh, bless you, yes. There are heaps of girls,--but _I_ don't care for
any of them," said Val, loftily. "Some of those I met at houses when I
was away were awfully nice, though; they were, really."
"I daresay. What do you want with me, then?"
"Why, I've always been fond of you, Leo. You know I have. And I don't
think you should call it 'nonsense'." Suddenly he reverted to his
grievance: "It makes a fool of a fellow to--to treat a proposal in that
sort of way."
"It wasn't a real proposal, Val. You just said it for something to say."
"I didn't. What an idea! I told gran this morning--she was asking who
I'd met and all that--and I just told her straight, that none of them
could hold a candle to you." He paused and continued: "Though there were
some dashers among them too; and I daresay some men would have said
Nelly Brackenbury was better looking----"
"So Nelly Brackenbury was the one?"
"Rather. Simply splendid. She would have made two of you, Leo."
"Maud's style, perhaps?"
"Aye, Maud's style; that's what I said. I told them I knew a girl who
could give her points, at my own place."
"But to Maud you would say you had met a girl who could give _her_
points!"
"Say that to Maud? No, thank you; I'm never rude to Maud."
"Only to me?"
"Well, of course. You told me to be; and if it comes to that, you were
dashed rude to me yourself just now. And I was doing my level best for
you; I was feeling most awfully sorry for you; I never supposed you were
only trying it on with me." He paused and swung his stick. "It was all
gammon then, about your being lonely and that?" He stood still and
looked at her.
Leo was silent.
"It wasn't very nice of you to take me in, and lead me on, if you meant
all the time to round on me in the end," said Val, in a voice that made
her still more uncomfortable. "I didn't think you were that sort, Leo."
An inaudible murmur, Leo's head turned the other way.
"You can't say you didn't," persisted Val. "You were almost crying; and
so then I thought, 'Hang it all, I may as well now as any time,' meaning
to--to be kind and cheer you up."
She could not help it; after one violent effort, Leo fell upon the bank,
and rocked to and fro with merriment:--"Oh, Val!--oh, Val!"
But presently she put out her hand, and caught and held his; and she sat
up and looked into his face with such brimming, dancing, and withal
affectionate eyes, that albeit somewhat puzzled and astonished, he
smiled back. "I suppose it was rather funny, but I supposed that was the
way to do."
"But you see I wasn't prepared, Val!"
"Well, I tell you I hadn't thought of it myself."
"Wait a minute, till I can speak," Leo wiped her eyes, and patted the
moss beside her. "Sit down--it's dry on this stone--and we'll have it
out. You think it was all a sham, a mere bid for pity, what I said just
now? It wasn't. But, Val, I can't exactly tell you what it was. It just
had to come out, it had been kept in so long. I'm better now. You _have_
cheered me up, only--" again laughter stirred within--"only you might
have done it cheaper. You needn't have----"
"Gone such a mucker over it?" suggested he.
Yes, that was what she meant. His sympathy, his indulgent understanding
of her troubles, above all, his renewal of good-fellowship was enough;
she did not require his heart and hand, and with tact insinuated that he
might retain them.
"You know you don't want to marry, Val."
"I've got to, though," said he.
"Why have you got to? Can't you go on as you are?"
"Gran says not. When she dies----"
"I see, you would be alone. But then, she may live long enough."
"That's what I say. There's no hurry. I've often said that, but gran
gets nervous, and she always does like to boss, you know."
"It's a good thing it was me you spoke to," said Leo, jumping up, after
a time. "You might have got caught, whereas now no one need ever know.
Come along"--and she stepped forward.
"I'm not to tell gran, then?" Already he was under a new thumb.
"Certainly not," promptly. "Old people are old, and we are young--and if
we don't want to marry, they shan't make us. Just wait a moment,"--and
with a sudden change of tone Leo sprang aside, as though the subject
were disposed of and another in its place.
A barberry tree laden with berries had come to view, and while he stood
still upon the path, she began snapping off the bending branches. On her
return, however, he was regarding her shyly with something of a new
interest.
"I never said I did not want to marry you, Leo."
Leo's lips twitched. "There's no need to _say_ things, Val. You don't."
"You bustle a fellow so, he doesn't know what he's about. I think you
might give a fellow a chance."
"That's just what I'm doing. Giving you a chance to know your own
mind--not your grandmother's."
"I like you awfully, you know."
"So do I like you. That's where we stand. We are not going to bother
about marrying. Why, Val--take care, don't push me into that puddle.
What ever should you and I do if we were solemnly tied up to each other,
and had no one to meet, and talk with, and quarrel with? As it is, you
are my only relief from the deadly life I lead at home. And if it comes
out that we have been talking like this, there will be an end of it
all--yes, there will,--so you are warned, and it would be very cruel of
you----"
"Cruel?"
"It would be cruel to take from me my only comfort."
"I wouldn't be cruel to you for the world, Leo."
It was all pleasant enough; it was even exciting in its way; and Leo, at
her wits' end for any variety, thirsting for emotions, sensations,
pleasure, pain, comedy, tragedy--found the passing hour all too short.
This was not the real thing, but it was something. There were moments
when even as a lover Val was not absurd, and one beautiful moment in
particular when he made her ashamed. He accused her of leading him on,
and her conscience echoed the reproach.
But all too soon he was pacified; betraying how ephemeral was the
mortification, and how easily healed the wound--and thereafter she
played with him at will.
Cat and mouse play, perhaps, and the mouse had no chance from the first,
but--Leo did not sigh when once more alone, and her wild spirits all
that evening rather displeased everybody.