myself!) through the four extraordinary streets which stand for much in
Chester's peculiar fame. Wandering there, it was easy to believe what
the guide-books say: that nowhere in Great Britain does a town exist
which so preserves the ancient character of all its architecture. I
don't know if there are British relics; but the city wall and gates are
Roman, part of the castle, too; and since mediæval days nothing seems to
have lost in picturesqueness. People come from all over the world to see
the Rows: streets dug out below the rock-surface on which the town was
originally built, having shops and even warehouses on their level, with
galleries above, open fronted, stone-paved, balustraded with black oak,
so that these "Rows" all look as if the houses were wide open,
communicating with one another. The carved oak fronts of the houses and
shops, done ingeniously with strange pargetting, and adorned with
wondrous windows, are so adorably queer, with their stagey effects, that
I don't wonder Chester has become a kind of Mecca for travellers from my
native land, where most things are new.
When we had thus skimmed a little of the cream from the town itself, we
had a walk on the old wall, while church bells, near and distant,
chimed; but still I don't feel I've more than glanced at the place.
To-morrow we plan to run out to Knutsford, which is Mrs. Gaskell's
Cranford really, and I have begged to start early, because if we do
(though naturally I don't allege this reason) we can get off before Dick
arrives. Then, when we come back, we can do more sight-seeing, and maybe
be out when he turns up at the hotel. After that event, unless you save
me to-night with some miraculous suggestion, all pleasure will be over.
And at best, I'm not looking forward with undiluted joy to to-morrow,
because I must not only decide what to do for Ellaline, but do it.
While I was walking on the wall with Sir Lionel just now, gazing up at
watch-towers, or down over the town, and dodging seedy amateur guides
whom we nicknamed "Wallers," I kept thinking, thinking, about what to
sell. The only thing Sir Lionel has given me of really great value,
which could be easily disposed of, is the ruby and diamond ring. But how
it would hurt me to give it up in such a sordid way! It was my birthday
present from him, and it's associated in my mind with that night of
moonlight in the New Forest when I first knew I _cared_. But I'm sorely
afraid it must be the thing to go. There are several important-looking
antique shops here, and I noticed, when casting my eye about, one where
they make a speciality of curious and rare jewellery. I shall look at it
again more carefully when I run out to the post-office, in a few
minutes, and perhaps I may have courage to try and strike a bargain, so
as to send the money off in the morning before Knutsford--if I get it----
_An hour later._
Dearest, I've got your wire, now, having retrieved it from the Poste
Restante, and I'm thankful for it--thankful that you're well, thankful
that you don't blame me for anything I've done, faults committed or
mistakes made. But--alas, I don't think the advice, good as it is, will
be of any use to me. You see, you don't know Mrs. Senter. It would be
hopeless for me to try and force her to exert authority over Dick
Burden.
In the first place, she has no real authority, as apparently he has no
expectations from her; and in the second place, though I'm almost sure
she doesn't know the truth about me and Ellaline, she suspects that Dick
has a hold over me; and after all I've submitted to from him already it
would be impossible to "bluff" her into the belief that I'd dare ask Sir
Lionel to send them both away. No, my dear one, there's little hope for
me in that scheme. I allowed Ellaline to make my bed for me, and I must
lie in it, although it has proved to be one of those nasty folding ones
that will shut and swallow me up in a trap.
No, it's cowardly to whine like that. It won't be pleasant to keep my
promise to Dick; but there have been worse things; and I shall probably
be able to escape before long. Anyhow it will all be the same a hundred
years hence. As soon as I am with you again it will be as if nothing had
happened; and meanwhile I am going to keep a "stiff upper lip." It
mayn't be becoming, but that won't matter, as Sir Lionel will never look
at me; and you will see by my letters in future how well I am getting on.
Best love to my best loved,
From
Audrie.
XXXIII
SIR LIONEL PENDRAGON TO COLONEL PATRICK O'HAGAN
_Keswick Hotel_,
_September 3rd_
My Dear Pat: Here we are, you see, in the "happy hunting
ground" where you and I used to hunt such shy game as chimneys, needles,
crevices, etc., etc.; and if I'm not as happy in it now as I ought to
be, that isn't the fault of the country, which is as fair as it ever
was--the fairest in England, perhaps.
It just happens, unfortunately, that I've been rubbed up the wrong way
before coming to the places I'd looked forward to revisiting more than
any other, except Cornwall; and if I hadn't invited dear old Penrhyn
from Pen-y-gwrd to meet me here, and have a climb, I'm not sure I should
have stopped. However, I have enjoyed the beauty of the run. I must have
been as blind as a mole, and as earthy, if I hadn't.
Fine road from Chester to Liverpool, which city had an air of opulent
magnificence seen from the ferry, as we neared her--rather like a huge,
modern Venice. Lunched there, at the Adelphi, on the fat of the land,
and had some trouble finding the way out of town. Liverpool welcomes the
coming, but doesn't speed the parting guest; not a sign-post in sight
anywhere. Bad pavé till Ormskirk, when things improved, growing better
and better; but no scenery to speak of until near Preston. Villages all
along the line, stone-paved; struck me as being characteristic of that
stern North Country which we approached. "Road too good not to mean
police-traps," said I to myself; and an A. A. scout warned me that they
swarmed; but luckily we were not held up. I wasn't in a temper to have
taken any nonsense lying down, I'm afraid.
Ran straight through Lancaster, which was almost a pity, as John o'
Gaunt's Castle is a brave old fortress, whether or no he really built
the famous tower; and at the King's Arms we might have got some genuine
oat-cakes, which would have given a taste of Cumberland to the
strangers. As it was, the first truly characteristic things we came upon
were the stout stone walls, on which we happened a little short of
Kendal. Down to Windermere, a steep but beautiful run; Mrs. Senter by my
side, and very enthusiastic. She seems to take an unaffected interest in
scenery, with which you would hardly have credited her in old times. She
was entranced by her first sight of the lake, which is not surprising,
for to one who has never seen them the lakes must be a revelation.
Dick Burden, by the way, was not with us on this run, nor was he at
Chester. He had business in London, which kept him longer than he
expected when he left our party at Tintern. I can't say I regret him,
though others may. I understand that there has been some telegraphing
between him and his aunt, and that his present intention is to rejoin us
at Newcastle. Rather wish he would put off his return a little longer,
as it is arranged that we go out to Cragside and Bamborough Castle; and
one doesn't like to abuse such delightful hospitality as we have been
offered there. Dick's presence does not add to the gaiety of nations, it
seems to me, and I am not keen on taking him.
I found Penrhyn waiting for me here, the good fellow, delighted at the
prospect of his short visit, and to-morrow he and I will have some small
climb. I shall send the car, with Young Nick to drive all who care to
go, to a few of the beauty spots, while I am otherwise occupied. They
must penetrate the cloistered charms of exquisite Borrodaile, and of
course see Lodore, which ought to be at its best now, as there have been
heavy rains. Jove! How the Cumberland names ring on the ear, like the
"horns of elfland"! Helvelyn; Rydal; Ennerdale; Derwent Water;
Glaramara! Aren't they all as crystal as the depths of mountain tarns,
or that amethystine colour of the sky behind the clear profiles of high
peaks?
I'm sorry we're too late for the Grasmere Sports; but the fact is we
have lingered by the way longer than I planned for this trip; and now,
as things are turning out I'm inclined to cut the end of the tour short.
Graylees is practically ready for occupation, and I feel as if I ought
to be there.
No! That isn't good enough for you, old chap. It's true, as far as it
goes; but you have begun to read between the lines by this time, I know,
and I may as well speak out. I should be an ostrich if I weren't sure
that you've been saying to yourself: "Why doesn't this fellow refer to
the girl he has spent so much pen and paper on? Why does he go out of
his way to avoid mentioning her name?"
Well, she hasn't eloped, or done anything culpable. But there is no use
concealing from you, as I have told you so much, that she has hurt me to
the quick. Not that she has been unkind, or rude, or disagreeable. Quite
the contrary. And that's the worst of it, for I prayed to heaven that
there might be nothing of her mother in this young soul. At first, as
you know, I could hardly believe the girl to be all she seemed, but soon
she won me to thinking her perfection--a lily, grown by some miracle of
Nature in a soil where weeds had flourished hitherto. I would have given
my right hand rather than have to admit a flaw in her--that is, the one
fatal flaw: slyness hidden under apparent frankness, which means an
inherited tendency to deceit.
This may sound as if I had found the poor child out in a lie. But there
has been no spoken lie. She has only done the sort of thing I might have
expected Ellaline de Nesville's daughter to do.
I told you about the ring I bought her at Winchester, and gave her on
her birthday; how prettily she received it; how she seemed to treasure
it more because of the thought and the association than the intrinsic
value of the ruby and the brilliants.
At Chester, the night before we left, I thought I'd try to pick up some
little souvenir of the town for her, as she was delighted with the
place. Of course I wanted something small, as our luggage isn't of the
expanding order, so I had the idea of jewellery; a little antique
pendant, or a few old paste buttons. There is a certain shop in the
"Rows" where one looks for such things, and expects to find them good,
if highly priced. In the window of that shop I saw displayed for sale
the ring I had given to Ellaline!
The sight of it there was a blow; but I persuaded myself I might be
mistaken; that it wasn't the same ring, but another, almost a duplicate.
I went in and asked to look at it. The shopman mentioned that it was
something quite unusually good, and had "only come in" that afternoon.
Inside I found the date which I had had engraved on the ring; the date
of Ellaline's birthday. I bought it back--for a good deal more than I
paid in Winchester, as this chap knew his business thoroughly; but that
is a detail. It was merely to satisfy a kind of sentimental vanity that
I wanted to get the thing out of the window and into my own hands; for,
needless to say, I don't intend to speak of the matter at all to
Ellaline. It would humiliate me more than it would her, to let her see
that I know what she did with her birthday present; for partly, I blame
myself. I supposed that I was fairly free-handed with money, and had no
idea that the girl could possibly want more than she had. Still, I told
her to let me know in case she found me thoughtless, and not to hesitate
to ask for anything she wanted. She could have had as much as she chose,
and I would have put no questions. If I'd been surprised with the
largeness of the sums, I should have believed that she had some
pensioners to whom she wished to be charitable; for I had begun to
believe that she could do no wrong.
As I said, there was nothing culpable in selling the ring. It was hers.
She had a right to do as she liked with it. But that she should like to
part with it; that she should do so, knowing I would hate it if I knew;
that she should be exactly the same with me as if she hadn't done a
thing which she was aware would distress me; that she hadn't the courage
and frankness to come to me and say----
Oh, hang it all, I'm grumbling and complaining like an old prig! Perhaps
I am one. I know Dick Burden thinks so. We'll let it go at that. I don't
need to explain to you a matter which outwardly is insignificant, and is
significant to me only for reasons which the past will account for to
you better than my explanations.
The salt has gone out of life a bit, and I think it will do me good to
get to Graylees, where I shall find a thousand things to interest me. I
daresay Ellaline will be glad to settle down, though she is too polite
to show it; and I'm sure Emily will.
After a look at the Roman Wall, and a sight of Bamborough, we shall run
to Warwickshire with few détours or pauses.
You see, by the way, that you were wrong in thinking she could care. If
there had been the least warmth in her heart for me she couldn't have
sold my ring. I'm glad I didn't make a fool of myself.
Penrhyn wants to be remembered to you.
Yours ever,
Pen.
XXXIV
SIR LIONEL PENDRAGON TO COLONEL O'HAGAN
_County Hotel, Newcastle_,
_September 5th_
My Dear Pat: You'll be surprised to get another letter from me
on the tail of the last, but there have been developments in which I
think you will be interested.
The sale of the ring was a mere preface to what has followed.
We arrived at Newcastle this afternoon, finding Burden already here. I
didn't think the meeting between him and Ellaline particularly cordial,
but appearances are deceiving where girls are concerned, as I have
lately been reminded in more ways than one. About an hour ago, while I
was getting off some letters and telegrams, I received a message from my
ward asking if she could see me in the hotel drawing-room--the place is
so full I couldn't get a private one.
I went down at once, of course, dimly (and foolishly) hoping that she
wanted to "confess" about the ring. But it was quite a different
confession she had to make; her desire to be engaged to Mr. Burden!
Naturally, after our last conversation on that subject, I was somewhat
surprised, and on the spur of the moment was tempted to remind her that
not long ago Young Nick had appeared as suitable in her eyes, as young
Dick. However, I stopped in time to save myself from being both bounder
and brute. I did inquire whether she were now sure of her own mind; but
it was the duty of a guardian and not the malice of a disappointed man
which prompted the question.
Her manner was singularly dry and businesslike, and she came as near to
looking plain as it is possible for a beautiful girl to come; so love
isn't always a beautifier.
"I am sure of my mind for the moment," she replied, with repulsive
prudence. "I suppose a girl need never say more."
This answer and her manner puzzled me, so I ventured to ask, in a
guardianly way, if she thought she were enough in love with Burden to be
happy with him.
"I haven't to think about being with him at all yet," she temporized.
"You seem to have an extraordinary idea of an engagement," I said,
perhaps rather sneeringly, for I felt bitter, and had never approved of
her less.
"Perhaps I have," she returned, in such an odd, muffled sort of tone
that I feared she was going to cry, and glanced at her sharply. But she
was looking down and there were no tears visible, so that fear was
relieved.
"You do, at all events, wish to be engaged to Burden?" I persisted. "Am
I to understand that?"
"I have asked for your consent," she said, with a queer stiffness. And
it was on my tongue to say as stiffly, "Very well: you have it. What
pleases you should please me." But the words stuck in my throat, as if
they'd been lumps of ice; and instead I answered, almost in spite of
myself, that I couldn't give my consent unconditionally. I must have
another talk with Burden, and whatever my decision might be, I would
prefer that she didn't consider herself engaged until after the tour was
ended.
"We'll bring it to a close as soon as possible now," I added, trying not
to sound as bitter as I felt, "so as not to keep you waiting."
She made no response to this, except to give me a singular look which
even now I find it impossible to understand. It was as if she had
something to reproach me for, and yet as if she were more pleased than
sad.
Girls are very complicated human beings, if indeed they can be
classified thus--though perhaps some men's lives would be duller if they
were simpler. As for my life, the less girls have to do with it when my
ward is off my hands, the better.
Since the above conversation, I have been drawn into a talk with Burden.
He appeared anxious to find out exactly what had passed between Ellaline
and me, almost as if he suspected her of not "playing straight," but I
replied, briefly, that she had asked my permission to be engaged to him,
having evidently changed her mind since our last discussion on the
subject. This appeared to content him more or less, although I repeated
what I'd said to the girl: that I was not prepared to consent officially
until I had communicated with his mother, and satisfied myself that my
ward would be welcomed in the family. This he evidently thought
old-fashioned and over-scrupulous, but when I admitted being both, he
ceased to protest, only saying that he wished to write to his mother
first. I suggested talking with his aunt, also, and he did not object to
the idea, so Mrs. Senter and I have already had a short conversation
concerning her nephew's love affair. She cried a little, and said that
she would be "horribly alone in the world" when her "only real pal" was
married, but that of course she wished for his happiness above
everything, and she meant to give him a wedding present worth having, if
she beggared herself for years. The poor little woman showed a great
deal of heart, and I was touched. I'm afraid she's not too happy, under
her air of almost flippant gaiety and "smartness," for she rather hinted
that she liked some man who didn't care for her--someone she met in the
East. I suppose she can't be cherishing a hidden passion for you? Rather
cruel of us, accusing her of being a flirt in those days, if she were in
earnest all the time, eh?
In case I "pump" her a little about this mysterious disappointment, and
find it's you she's thinking of, I may turn the tables, and give you
some good advice--better than you gave me. You might do worse than get
leave and have another look at this pretty and agreeable lady before
deciding to let her slip.
Yours always,
Pen.
Good old Owen enjoyed his two days in Cumberland. He, too, tried his
hand on advising me. Said I ought to marry. Not I!
XXXV
MRS. SENTER TO HER SISTER, MRS. BURDEN
_Newcastle_,
_September Something_
My Dear Sis: This is to ask a great favour of you, and you must
be a pet and grant it. There's nothing I won't do for you in return, if
you will.
I have just been having a most satisfactory chat with Sir L. It began in
reference to Dick. Somehow or other that ingenious darling had forced
Ellaline Lethbridge to ask Sir Lionel for his (Dick's) hand! I say
"forced," because she is not in the least in love with him, indeed,
(strange as it may seem to you) detests the ground he walks on; yet she
does things that he tells her to do--things she hates like poison. This
last _coup_ of Dick's convinces me of what I've often suspected: he
knows something about her past which she is deadly afraid he will tell
Sir Lionel. It may be connected with that visit to Venice, when the
Tyndals saw her; anyhow, whatever the secret may be, it is serious. She
is obliged to bribe Dick; but she dislikes him too intensely to marry
him ever--even if the way to do so were made easy; so, I reiterate, have
no fear on that score.
Sir Lionel fancies himself in love with the girl, but he will get over
it, even if he isn't on the way to do so already, pushed roughly onto
the right road by her confessed preference for Dick. For the moment,
however, I can see he is rather hard hit, though he would be _mad_ if he
dreamed I or anyone could read his august feelings. He thinks his
hesitation to permit an engagement arises from conscientious scruples,
but really it's because he can't bear to have any other man (or boy)
making love to his girl. That's the brutal truth; and he's haggling and
putting off the evil day as long as he can. He wanted to ask me what my
feeling was in the matter; whether _you_ would be pleased, and so on.
Ellaline might not be rich, he explained, but she would have enough for
her own wants as a married woman. He thought her husband, when she had
one, ought to wish to do the rest; and though Dick considered his own
prospects good, a partnership in a detective agency hardly seemed
ideal.
I told him I couldn't quite answer for you, as you had always hoped your
one boy might fall in love with a rich girl; but that I was sure Dick
adored Ellaline. I asked if I should write to you, when Dick did; and he
said, half reluctantly, perhaps I had better. Poor wretch, he was afraid
I might succeed in persuading you!
I was pathetic on the subject of Dick, and our comradeship, which must
be broken by the dear boy's marriage, and as Sir L. was suffering
himself, he was in just the right mood to sympathize with me. I
snivelled a little; and at last, emboldened by success, I allowed him to
gather that there was someone I'd cared for a long, long time--someone
who didn't care for me. At that he was so nice, that I liked him better
than I ever thought I could; and since then I feel I really can't and
shan't lose him.
No sooner had he given my hand a warm yet disappointing "kind friend"
squeeze, at parting, than I routed out Dick in his own room. I promised
him that I would induce you to write a nice letter about the proposed
engagement to Sir Lionel if he in his turn would persuade Ellaline to
put in a good word for _me_ with Sir L., to tell him that she believed I
cared for him a good deal, and was unhappy.
When I said "persuade" to Dick, I meant use his unknown power to
command; for if the girl would say that to her guardian, her words would
be the one stone capable of killing two birds. It would prove to him
that of which I don't think he is perfectly sure at present: her love
for Dick, or, at worst, her complete indifference to himself; and it
would pop into his head the idea I want to put there, though I have done
all it's safe to do openly toward inserting it.
I saw when I softly hinted at a hopeless affection which had spoiled
years of my life, that he didn't think of himself. Somehow, he must be
_made_ to think; and now is the right time, for his heart is sore, and
needs balm. He would be so sorry for me that, in the state he is in, he
couldn't be hard. He would argue that, as he was bound to be unhappy
anyway, he might as well try to make others happy. I feel that
everything would happen exactly as I want it to happen if Ellaline
Lethbridge could be depended upon to say the right thing.
Of course, there lies the danger: that she won't. But Dick boasts that
she'll have to do as he tells her. It's worth risking; but he won't give
the word unless he thinks that I've coaxed you 'round.
That's the favour I ask. Will you, when you get this, wire to me at
once, "Writing according to your request to Sir L."? I can then show
your telegram to Dick (you must address it to me at Bamborough Castle,
where we are to spend a night, after staying one at Cragside) and he
will put pressure to bear on Ellaline Lethbridge.
You can be absolutely certain that no harm will come of this. That Dick
and she will never be married; whereas, when I am married to Sir Lionel,
I'll give you a present of five hundred pounds, within the first year,
to do with as you like. I'd even be willing to sign a paper to that
effect.
Your anxious, yet hopeful
Gwen.
XXXVI
AUDRIE BRENDON TO HER MOTHER
_Bamborough Castle_,
_September 9th_
Dear: I know you are miserable about me, but don't be it,
because I'm not miserable about myself. Honour bright!
I've done the hateful deed. It was at Newcastle: and I knew I was in for
it, the minute I saw Dick. He's got his partnership, and thinks he's got
me. But there's many a slip 'twixt Dick Burden and Audrie Brendon.
I wouldn't tell Sir Lionel I was in love with the horrid Boy Detective,
and I'm happy--or nearly happy--to say that he refused to give his
consent straight out to an engagement. He told Dick the same thing; so
there'll be no leaving us two alone in lovesick corners (can corners be
lovesick?), or making announcements, or anything appalling of that sort.