ONCE MORE AT EXETER.
Three weeks had passed and much had been done for Mrs. Western to fix
her fate in life. It was now August, and she was already living at
Exeter as a wife separated from her husband. Of much she had had to
think and much to determine before she had found that haven of rest.
Twice during the time she had received letters from her husband,
but each letter had been short, and, though not absolutely without
affection in its language, each letter had been absolutely obdurate.
He had been made quite sure that it was not for the benefit of either
of them that they should attempt to live together. Having come to
that decision, which he represented as unchangeable, he was willing,
he said, to do anything which she might demand for her future
satisfaction and comfort. "There is nothing you can do," she had said
when she had written last, "as you have refused to do your duty."
This had made him again angry. "What right had she to talk to me of
my duty seeing that she has so grossly neglected her own?" he said to
himself. Then he had suddenly gone from England, leaving no address
even with his sister or with his lawyer. But during this time his
mind was not quiet for one instant. How could she have treated him
so, him, who had been so absolutely devoted to her, who had so
entirely given himself up to her happiness?
Lady Grant, when she had heard what was to be done, had hurried up to
London but had not found them. She had gone to Exeter and there she
had in vain endeavoured to comfort Cecilia. She had declared that her
brother would in time forgive. But Cecilia's whole nature had by this
time apparently been changed. "Forgive!" she had said. "What will
he forgive? There is nothing that he can forgive; nothing that can
be spoken of in the same breath with his perfidy and cruelty. Can I
forgive? Ask yourself that, Lady Grant. Is it possible that I should
forgive?" After two days spent in conversations such as these, Lady
Grant went back to town and discussed the matter with Mr. Gray. They
did not at present know her brother's address; but still there was a
hope that she might induce him to hear reason and again to consent
to live with his wife. "Of all men," she said to the lawyer, "he is
the most honest and the most affectionate; but of all men the most
self-willed and obstinate. An injustice is with him like a running
sore; and, alas, it is not always an injustice, but a something that
he has believed to be unjust."
Cecilia had written at great length to her mother, telling her with
all details the story as it was to be told, and sparing herself in
nothing. "That wicked man has contrived it all. But, oh, that such a
one as my husband should have been weak enough to have fallen into a
pit so prepared!" Then Mrs. Holt had come up to town and taken her
daughter back with her to Exeter. Now, at last, on this occasion,
the old lady was both energetic and passionate. There had been much
discussion before they had both decided that they would again venture
to live together among their old friends in their old home. But here
Cecilia had shown herself to be once again stronger than her mother.
"Why not?" she said. "What have I done to make it necessary that you
should be torn away from your house? I am not at all ashamed of what
I have done." In this she had blazoned forth her courage with almost
a false conviction. She knew that she had done wrong;--that she had
done that of which among wives she ought to be ashamed. But her sin
had been so small in comparison with the punishment inflicted upon
her that it sunk to nothing even in her own eyes. She felt that she
had been barbarously used. The people of Exeter, or the people of the
world at large, might sympathise with her or not as they pleased. But
under such a mountain of wrong as she had endured, she would not show
by any conduct of her own that she could have in the least deserved
it. "No, mamma," she said; "let them stay away or let them come, I
shall be ready for either. I am a poor, wretched woman, whom to crush
utterly has been within the power of the man she has loved. He has
chosen to exercise it, and I must suffer. But he shall not make me
ashamed. I have done nothing to deserve his cruelty."
And then when she had been at Exeter but a few days there came
another source of trouble,--though not of unmitigated trouble. She
told her mother that in due course of time her cruel husband would
become the father of a child. She would not write to him. He had
not chosen to let her know his address; nor was it fitting to her
feelings to communicate such a fact in a letter which she must
address secretly to his banker or to his club. Yet the fact was of
such a nature that it was imperative that he should know it. At last
it was told by Mrs. Holt to Lady Grant. Cecilia had herself attempted
it, but had found that she could not do it. She could not write the
letter without some word of tenderness, and she was resolved that no
word of tenderness should go from her to him. It would seem as though
she were asking for money, and were putting forward the coming of the
little stranger as a plea for it. She would ask for no money. She had
appealed to his love, and had appealed in vain. If he were hard, she
would be so too. In her heart of hearts she probably entertained the
idea of some possible future in which she might yet put the child
into its father's arms;--but it should be done not at her request.
It should be at his prayer. At least there was this comfort to
her,--that she no longer dreaded his power. He had so contrived that
to her thinking the fault was altogether on his side. Forgive! Oh
yes; she would forgive! Oh yes; she would forgive, so readily, so
sweetly, with the full determination that it should all be like a
blank nightmare that had come between them and troubled their joys.
But in the bottom of the heart of each it must be understood that it
had been hers to pardon and his to be pardoned. Or if not so, then
she must continue to live her widowed life at Exeter.
Mrs. Holt was energetic and passionate rather than discreet. She
would not admit that her child had done any wrong, and could not be
got to understand but that the law should make a husband live with
his wife in the proper way. It was monstrous to her thinking that
her daughter should be married and taken away, and then sent back,
without any offence on her part. In the resentment which she felt
against Mr. Western she filled quite a new part among the people of
Exeter. "Oh, mamma; you are so loving, so good," said her daughter;
"but do not let us talk about it! Cannot you understand that, angry
as I am, I cannot endure to have him abused?" "Abused!" said Mrs.
Holt, kindling in her wrath. "I cannot hold myself without abusing
him." But it very soon did come to pass that Mr. Western's name was
not mentioned between them. Mrs. Holt would now and again clench her
fist and shake her head, and Cecilia knew that in her thoughts she
was executing some vengeance against Mr. Western; but there was a
truce to spoken words. Cecilia indeed often executed her vengeance
against her husband after some fashion of her own, but her mother did
not perceive it.
Among their Exeter friends there soon came to be an actual breach
with Miss Altifiorla. Miss Altifiorla, as soon as it was known that
Mrs. Western had reappeared in Exeter, had rushed down to greet her
friend. There she had been received coldly by Cecilia, and more
than coldly by Cecilia's mother. "My dear Cecilia," she had said,
attempting to take hold of her friend's hand, "I told you what would
come of it."
"There need be nothing said about it," said Mrs. Western.
"Not after the first occasion," said Miss Altifiorla. "A few
words between us to show that each understands the other will be
expedient."
"I do not see that any words can be of service," said Mrs. Western.
"Not in the least," said Mrs. Holt. "Why need anything be said? You
know that she has been cruelly ill-used, and that is all you need
know."
"I do know the whole history of it," said Miss Altifiorla, who had
taken great pride to herself among the people of Exeter in being the
best-informed person there as to Mrs. Western's sad affairs. "I was
present up to the moment, and I must say that if Cecilia had then
taken my advice things would have been very different. I am not
blaming her."
"I should hope not," said Mrs. Holt.
"But things would have been very different. Cecilia was a little
timid at telling her husband the truth. And Mr. Western was like
other gentlemen. He did not like to be kept in the dark by his wife.
You see that Cecilia has given mortal cause for offence to two
gentlemen."
This was not to be endured. Cecilia did not exactly know all the
facts as they had occurred,--between Miss Altifiorla and Sir
Francis,--and certainly knew none of those which were now in process
of occurring; but she strongly suspected that something had taken
place, that some conversation had been held, between her friend and
Sir Francis Geraldine. She had been allowed to read the letter from
Sir Francis to her husband, and she remembered well the meaning of
it. But she could not remember the terms which he had used. She had,
however, thought that something which had passed between himself and
Miss Altifiorla had been the immediate cause of the writing of that
letter. She did think that Miss Altifiorla had, as it were, gone over
to the enemy. That she had been prepared to pardon. The enemy had
in fact told no falsehood in his letter. It had been her misfortune
that the story which he had told had been true;--and her further
misfortune that her husband should have believed so much more than
the truth. For all that she did not hold Miss Altifiorla to be
responsible. But when she was told that she had given cause for
mortal offence to two gentlemen, there was something in the phrase
which greatly aggravated her anger. It was as though this would-be
friend was turning against her for her conduct towards Sir Francis.
And she was just as angry that the friend should turn against her
for her conduct to her husband. "Miss Altifiorla," she said, "I must
request that there be no further conversation between us in reference
to the difference between me and my husband."
"Miss Altifiorla!" said the lady. "Is it to come to that,
Cecilia;--between you and me who have enjoyed so much sweet
friendship?"
"Certainly, if you make yourself so offensive," said Mrs. Holt.
"It is the only mode by which I can show that I am in earnest," said
Cecilia. "If it does not succeed, I must declare that I shall be
unwilling to meet you at all. I told you to be silent, and you would
not."
"Oh, very well! If you like to quarrel it will quite suit me. But in
your present condition I hardly think that you are wise in throwing
off your old friends. It is just the time when you ought to cling to
those who would be true to you."
This was more than Cecilia could bear. "I shall cling to those who
are true to me," she said, leaving the room.
"Oh, very well! Then I shall know how to conduct myself." This was
addressed to Mrs. Holt.
"I hope you will conduct yourself, as you call it, somewhere away
from here. You're very fond of meddling, that's the truth; and
Cecilia in her present condition does not want to be meddled with.
Oh, yes; you can go away as soon as ever you please." Thereupon Miss
Altifiorla left the room and withdrew.
It must be explained that this lady, since she was last upon the
scene, had learned to entertain new hopes, very exalted in their
nature. It had first occurred to her during those ten minutes at
the Paddington railway station, that it might possibly be so if she
played her cards well. And then how glorious would be the result! Sir
Francis Geraldine had squeezed her hand. If he might be made to go
on squeezing her hand sufficiently, how great might be the effect
produced! Lady Geraldine! How beautiful was the sound! She thought
that within all the bounds of the English peerage,--and she believed
that she knew that those bounds included the Baronets,--there was no
sweeter, no more glorious, no more aristocratic appellation. Lady
Geraldine! What a change, what a blissful change would that be!
When she thought of the chill of her present life, of its want of
interest, of its insipid loneliness, and then told herself what might
be in store for her should she live to become Lady Geraldine, she
declared to herself that even though the chance might be very small,
the greatness of the reward if gained would justify the effort. Lady
Geraldine! And she saw no reason why her chance should be so very
small. She had a cousin with a pedigree longer than even that of Sir
Francis,--Count Altifiorla, who, indeed, had no money, but was a
genuine Count. She herself had a nice little sum of money, quite
enough to be agreeable to a gentleman who might be somewhat out at
elbows from the effects of Newmarket. And she did not think too
little of her own personal appearance. She knew that she had a good
wearing complexion, and that her features were of that sort which did
not yield very readily to the hand of time. There were none of the
endearing dimples of early youth, none of the special brightness
of English feminine loveliness, none of the fresh tints of sweet
girlhood; but Miss Altifiorla boasted to herself that she would look
the British aristocratic matron very well. She certainly had not that
Juno beauty which Cecilia Holt could boast, that beauty which could
be so severe to all chance comers, but which could melt at once and
become soft and sweet and easy to one favoured individual. Miss
Altifiorla acknowledged to herself that it was her nature always to
remain outwardly the same to all men. But then dress and diamonds,
and all the applied paraphernalia of aristocracy would, she felt, go
far with her.
If Sir Francis could be once got to admire her, she was sure that
Sir Francis would never be driven to repent of his bargain from any
falling off on her part. She thought that she would know how to be
the master; but this would be an after consideration, and one as to
which she need not at present pay especial attention. Sir Francis
had squeezed her hand most affectionately, and there had been a
subsequent meeting at Exeter, where he had stayed a couple of hours
as he went through to his own property. And she was sure that he had
stayed for the purpose of meeting her. Since that affair with Cecilia
Holt he had not been made warmly welcome at the Deanery. Yet he had
stayed and had absolutely called upon Miss Altifiorla. He had found
her and had discussed Mr. and Mrs. Western with much sarcastic
humour. "Now you haven't!" Miss Altifiorla had said, when he told her
of the letter he had written. "How could you be so hard upon the poor
man?" "Perhaps the lady may think that I have been hard upon her,"
Sir Francis had replied. "Perhaps she will know the meaning of tit
for tat. Perhaps she will understand now that one good turn deserves
another. It was not that I cared so much for her," he said. "I'd got
to feel that she was far too virtuous for me, too stuck up, you'll
understand. I wasn't at all disappointed when she played me that
trick. She didn't turn out the sort of girl that I had taken her for.
I knew that I had had an escape. But, nevertheless, tit for tat is
fair on both sides. She played me a trick, and now I've played her
one and we are even. We can each go to work again. She began a little
too soon, perhaps, for her own comfort; but that's her affair and not
mine."
In answer to all this, Miss Altifiorla had only laughed and smiled
and declared that Cecilia had been served right, though she
thought,--she said that she thought,--that Sir Francis had been
almost too hard. "That's my way of doing business," he had added. "If
anyone wants me to run straight, they must begin by running straight
themselves. I can be as sweet as new milk if I'm well treated." Then
there had been a moment in which Miss Altifiorla had almost expected
that he was going to do something preparatory to declaring himself.
She was convinced that he was about to kiss her; but at the very
moment at which the event had been expected, Mrs. Green had been
announced and the kiss did not, alas, come off. She could hardly
bring herself to be civil to Mrs. Green when Sir Francis declared
that he must go to the station.