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Title: Odeyne's marriage
Author: Evelyn Everett-Green
Release date: May 15, 2025 [eBook #76100]
Language: English
Original publication: London: John F. Shaw and Co, 1900
Credits: Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ODEYNE'S MARRIAGE ***
[Illustration: Cover art]
_Odeyne's Marriage._
BY
EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN,
AUTHOR OF "ARNOLD INGLEHURST"; "EUSTACE MARCHMONT";
"HER HUSBAND'S HOME," ETC.
NEW EDITION.
_LONDON:_
JOHN F. SHAW AND CO.,
48, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.
COPYRIGHT BOOKS UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME.
THE CRUISE OF THE ARCTIC FOX . . DR. GORDON STABLES.
CLEARED FOR ACTION . . . . . . . W. B. ALLEN.
EXILES OF FORTUNE . . . . . . . DR. GORDON STABLES.
A REAL HERO . . . . . . . . . . G. STEBBING.
A TANGLED WEB . . . . . . . . . E. S. HOLT.
BEATING THE RECORD . . . . . . . G. STEBBING.
THRO' UNKNOWN WAYS . . . . . . . L. E. GUERNSEY.
IN SHIPS OF STEEL . . . . . . . DR. GORDON STABLES.
IN CLOISTER AND COURT . . . . . E. EVERETT-GREEN.
THE UGLY DUCKLING . . . . . . . HANS ANDERSEN.
ODEYNE'S MARRIAGE . . . . . . . E. EVERETT-GREEN.
ENGLAND'S HERO PRINCE . . . . . DR. GORDON STABLES.
ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES . . . . . H. C. ANDERSEN.
FACING FEARFUL ODDS . . . . . . DR. GORDON STABLES.
SHOULDER TO SHOULDER . . . . . . DR. GORDON STABLES.
EDGAR NELTHORPE . . . . . . . . ANDREW REED.
WINNING AN EMPIRE . . . . . . . G. STEBBING.
HONOUR NOT HONOURS . . . . . . . DR. GORDON STABLES.
IDA VANE . . . . . . . . . . . . ANDREW REED.
GRAHAM'S VICTORY . . . . . . . . G. STEBBING.
THE END CROWNS ALL . . . . . . . EMMA MARSHALL.
HER HUSBAND'S HOME . . . . . . . E. EVERETT-GREEN.
FOSTER SISTERS . . . . . . . . . L. E. GUERNSEY.
DOROTHY'S STORY . . . . . . . . L. T. MEADE.
A TRUE GENTLEWOMAN . . . . . . . EMMA MARSHALL.
BEL MARJORY . . . . . . . . . . L.T. MEADE.
WINNING GOLDEN SPURS . . . . . . H. M. MILLER.
ON TO THE RESCUE . . . . . . . . DR. GORDON STABLES.
DASHING DAYS OF OLD . . . . . . DR. GORDON STABLES.
TWO SAILOR LADS . . . . . . . . DR. GORDON STABLES.
IN SEARCH OF FORTUNE . . . . . . DR. GORDON STABLES.
ENGLAND, HOME, AND BEAUTY . . . DR. GORDON STABLES.
HEARTS OF OAK . . . . . . . . . DR. GORDON STABLES.
OLD ENGLAND ON THE SEA . . . . . DR. GORDON STABLES.
LONDON: JOHN F. SHAW & CO.,
48, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
ANTICIPATION
CHAPTER II.
ODEYNE'S HOME
CHAPTER III.
FAREWELLS AND GREETINGS
CHAPTER IV.
A LITTLE CLOUD
CHAPTER V.
THE RITCHIES AT HOME
CHAPTER VI.
AUTUMN DAYS
CHAPTER VII.
BEATRICE AT HOME
CHAPTER VIII.
AN ADVENTUROUS DRIVE
CHAPTER IX.
NEW FRIENDSHIPS
CHAPTER X.
CHRISTMAS
CHAPTER XI.
A SHOCK
CHAPTER XII.
LITTLE GUY
CHAPTER XIII.
THE HOME-COMING
CHAPTER XIV.
A CHANGED LIFE
CHAPTER XV.
CLOUDS IN THE SKY
CHAPTER XVI.
THE PACE THAT KILLS
CHAPTER XVII.
DARK DAYS
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE CRASH
CHAPTER XIX.
THE TWO WIVES
CHAPTER XX.
A STRANGE CHRISTMAS
CHAPTER XXI.
HUSBAND AND WIFE
CHAPTER XXII.
CONCLUSION
ODEYNE'S MARRIAGE.
CHAPTER I.
ANTICIPATION.
"And so this is really Desmond's wedding-day?" remarked the dainty
invalid, as she donned a remarkably becoming cap, and settled herself
comfortably upon her pillows. "Well, to be sure, it is natural
enough, I suppose, but somehow he has always seemed such a boy.
Really I find it difficult to realise him with a wife. I wonder how
the poor girl will get on."
"The _poor_ girl, mother; really I do not think she is to be pitied.
I think she has done uncommonly well for herself--a country
clergyman's daughter," answered Maud, with a lifting of the delicate
dark brows that showed a trace of superciliousness.
"That is just the whole point of the matter, my dear. If he had
selected a bride out of his own world she would have known exactly
what to expect from her marriage--she would have understood the risk
she ran with a youth of Desmond's temperament; but this rustic maiden
probably knows nothing, and will not even be on her guard. It makes
me anxious for them both."
Maud looked up quickly, knitting her brows somewhat.
"But, mother, Desmond is steady enough now. He has never been more
than a little wild and extravagant at Oxford, and so many young men
are that. I am sure the last year or two he has been a model of
discretion, and his marriage will sober him down still more--at least
that is generally supposed to be the effect it has."
"I hope it may--perhaps that is his best chance. Oh no, Maud, I am
not running down your brother--you need not give me such black looks.
But facts are stubborn things, and it is no use trying to blink them;
and the fact remains that your beloved Desmond has never yet stood up
with any success against temptation. When there is no special
inducement to take him out of the beaten path, he keeps to it pretty
steadily; but he cannot withstand temptation, and anyone can lead
him, who goes to work the right way."
"You talk as if Desmond were a pitiably weak creature, and I am sure
he is anything but that."
The mother smiled a little, and shrugged her shoulders with an almost
imperceptible gesture.
"We will not discuss the matter further. Desmond is one of the most
attractive men I have ever seen in my life, though I am his mother
that say it. He is a great many charming things, as we all know.
Let us endow him with all the cardinal virtues as well, if you will.
I have no objection, certainly."
Maud made no immediate reply. It was no new thing that her mother's
conversation irritated her a good deal more than she would ever have
admitted. But the friction was too chronic to be much noticed, and
it was not long before she spoke again.
"I almost wish I had gone, after all. I think you could have spared
me for two days, mother."
"I am sure I could. I told you so all along, but I thought you
rather wished for a valid excuse for staying away."
"Well, I believe I did then, and now I am rather sorry. It seemed as
if Desmond were almost throwing himself away, to marry like that. He
could have made a really good match if he had liked, and this girl
has nothing, I suppose?"
"She has a good old name and a charmingly pretty face, if her
photographs do not flatter her outrageously. Of course Desmond might
have done better; but then, again, he might have done worse--got into
some tiresome or dangerous entanglement, so we will not fall foul of
his engagement to Miss Hamilton. Why, they will be positively
getting married at this very moment--yes, I wish you had been there,
Maud. You could have told me all about it afterwards--how the bride
behaved, and what the dresses were like, though, to be sure, in a
place like that they would be nothing much to look at. Why, whoever
can that be, coming at this hour of the morning? Oh, very likely
only a friend to ask at the door after me."
"I think it is surely Beatrice," said Maud a moment later. "I am
sure that is her step on the stairs."
"Beatrice--impossible! Beatrice is in town----"
"Is she indeed?" cried a clear, vibrating voice from without; and the
next moment the door was thrown open to admit the entrance of a very
stylish-looking figure, whose every movement was accompanied by the
rustle of silk and the sweeping sound of rich raiment.
Beatrice Vanborough had the knack of producing an impression wherever
she went. She was decidedly good-looking, but many better-looking
women would attract less notice. Her figure was more perfect than
her face, and she had the art of dress almost in perfection--dress in
her own style, that is; and her style was to be rather extreme in
richness and abundance of adornment. Still, she contrived never to
look over-dressed in an ostentatious way, and was greatly admired
wherever she went. She spoke with a good deal of gesture, and had
several little mannerisms that some people called affectations; but
she was abundantly good-natured, and delighted to do anyone a
kindness, especially if it did not put her out at all personally, and
she was a marked contrast in most external ways to her quiet sister
Maud, albeit an excellent understanding existed between them.
"Yes, here I am, you see. We ran down last night, Algy and I. Ascot
fairly knocked me up--it was so fearfully hot, I felt like being
grilled alive every hour of the day, and then Algy was unlucky, and
that made the dear boy a bit bearish; so on the whole we decided that
a week of country air would do us good, and here we are. And so
Desmond is really being married to-day? Why, Maud, it is too bad of
you not to be there. I did my best to get Algy to the scratch, but a
country parson's family was altogether too much for him. My lord
would not budge an inch, and I could not well go without him; but you
ought to be ashamed of yourself. It looks as if his family held
aloof, and really I am delighted that the dear boy has taken a wife
and settled down. And it will be such an advantage to get the Chase
inhabited again. I trust the little rustic maid will not be
altogether too ingenuous and rustic. I mean to make great friends
with her, and regularly initiate her into the mysteries of
fashionable life."
"Well, it will be a very good thing if you do take her in hand; you
will do it better than Maud, and I must not attempt much, or I shall
get the character of the interfering mother-in-law directly. Yes, I
hope it will turn out happily for both; but I could wish he had taken
a fancy to someone of whom his family knew more."
"Oh, do you think so? Now, I quite like the idea of the new element
about to be introduced. Give me novelty above all things! And is it
really true that Desmond is going into the business? That seems to
me the most wonderful thing of all. Our bright, careless Desmond to
turn into a City merchant! You should have seen how Algy and I
laughed when we heard the news. Algy gives him a month before he
throws the whole concern overboard."
The mother smiled, and made one of her little indescribable gestures,
of which Beatrice's seemed the exaggerated copy; but Maud took up the
cudgels, and replied with grave directness--
"I do not see why you should laugh. I think it is a very sensible
thing to do. A man is always better for an occupation; and perhaps
in time there will be a family to provide for, and it would be much
better not to let the business slip out of his hands altogether."
"Sensible! why of course it is sensible; it is the appalling
sensibility of the arrangement that is the joke of it. It seems to
me that the little bride must have an eye to the main chance, in
making such a stipulation, in which case I have hopes of her. She
will be better than a fortune to him, if she can only induce him to
stick to the collar, and interest himself in the mercantile house. I
know what idle men are like"; and she made a little expressive
gesture with her daintily-gloved hands.
Maud said nothing, but let her sister rattle away as she would. It
was always rather entertaining to hear Beatrice talk, and it did her
mother good to be amused. Of course, if they would persist in
misunderstanding Desmond, and making jokes about him, it was not her
fault. She was the only one in the family who really appreciated him.
"I sent her the loveliest wedding present--really when the time came
I took great credit to myself for making up my mind to part with it
at all. Algy did grumble at the bill; but one couldn't be stingy to
the bride of the only son of the house. It was the sweetest necklace
of pearls you ever saw in your life. If she has a complexion she
will be enchanted with them. She wrote me a very pretty letter of
thanks, but I don't think she had the least idea of the value of
them. I think she will turn out a dear little girl. I quite love
her already. I wish I could see her now. I offered to superintend
the making of the wedding dress at my own woman's; but no, the child
had the exquisite innocence to prefer her own dressmaker. I fear my
lady will find that she must have another wedding dress made, to face
the county in, but she can find all that out for herself in time. I
do not think we shall find her lacking in a species of sound
common-sense."
"I sent her a dressing-bag," said Mrs. St. Claire, who was looking
roused and interested, "and Maud some silver, I don't exactly
remember what. Of course she will find more gifts of mine at the
Chase when she gets there. Have you seen the place since it was done
up for them, Beatrice? Really you ought to go; it looks charming.
Desmond has been mighty particular in his orders, I can tell you. He
has spent a lot of money over it, you may be sure."
"And quite right too. He has plenty, and he ought to keep up his
position in the place. He cannot have spent his income these past
years, and he is right in making his home comfortable before settling
down. Seen it? No, how could I have seen it? I have not been in
these parts for an age. Happy thought! we will drive over there this
afternoon, Maud, whilst mother has her nap. I told Algy not to
expect me back to lunch. We will certainly go home _viâ_ the Chase."
So after the midday meal Mrs. Vanborough's carriage was ordered, and
the two sisters set off for a visit to their old home.
The Chase, though within thirty miles of the great metropolis, was
still to all intents and purposes a country house. It lay in the
midst of lovely scenery, not far from the valley of the Thames, was
surrounded by wooded hills and running water, and formed altogether a
charming retreat, despite the fact that mansions and villas showed a
disposition to crop up in the vicinity, and people began to
prognosticate that in the course of time the place might be much
spoilt by over-building. But for the present, at least, that danger
was not imminent, and in no case could the house itself suffer very
much, for it was surrounded by its own small but well-wooded park,
some fifty acres in extent, and nothing could be seen from the
windows of the living-rooms but the gardens and grass-land and fine
timber belonging to it.
The Chase was a thorough-going, old-fashioned house, such as are
growing more and more scarce every year, with gable ends, twisted
chimneys, and great cross-way beams let into the brickwork at
intervals.
It was by no means a very grand house, as such things go in these
days, for many of the rooms were low, some of the ceilings were
intersected by heavy rafters, and the oak panelling, of which there
was much in the house, was worm-eaten, and the carving a good deal
defaced.
But for all that it was a home-like and comfortable place,
deliriously quaint, and not really gloomy, although some people might
be disposed to call it so.
It was the kind of house that seemed to want young life about
it--children's footsteps pattering up and down the passages,
children's voices babbling in the still old rooms. It was a house
that would be a paradise for children, and seemed to cry out for
their presence. It had been built two or three centuries back, by a
remote ancestor of the St. Claires, but had passed out of their hands
for many generations, and known a variety of different owners.
The father of Desmond and his sisters had started in life with the
resolve to buy back the old place, and with very tolerable hopes of
success. His father was then partner in a thriving mercantile house,
with the prospect of soon becoming the head. In time this
consummation was achieved. The business throve under the careful
management of an honest and hard-headed man of business.
The son found himself a rich man whilst still comparatively young,
and as he was an only child he had things all in his own hands.
The Chase was bought and restored, it was entailed in due course upon
the eldest son and his eldest son, and the proprietor quitted this
life when the call came with the feeling that he had at least lived
to fulfil the dream of his childhood.
Into this fair inheritance young Desmond had stepped, and was about
to take up his abode in the home of his childhood. As the sisters
stepped across the threshold Beatrice looked round with her curious
eyes, for it was many years since she had seen her old home, and she
was eager to note what changes time had wrought in the place. The
people who had rented it after their father's death had not been in
the society affected by Beatrice after her marriage, and the tenancy
had only recently expired.
"Ah, the dear old hall--that delightful square staircase--how I
remember it all again! Well, really, Desmond has a very pretty taste
if this decoration and furniture is his choice. That stained glass
is just what was wanted to give the dim religious light one expects
in such a place as this, and these skins and quaint old armour and
other accessories are delightfully in keeping with the old furniture
I remember so well. Were you his aide-de-camp, Maud? Really, it is
quite charming. I hope the little girl will have education to
appreciate it, and not hanker after apple-green hangings and magenta
table-covers. Not but what gay colours are rather coming to the
front once again. Well, every fashion has its day, and we are so
constituted that we all rave over the newest thing out, no matter how
intrinsically hideous it may be. Oh, not you, Maud; you go on in the
even tenor of your way, quite superior to all the fluctuations of
fashion. Gracious goodness, who are these? Surely people cannot
think that the bridal couple have already arrived? Who on earth can
be calling now?"
"Pray don't agitate yourself, Beatrice; it's only some of the
Ritchies coming to see the house now that it's ready. I told them
they might. You know they will be Odeyne's nearest neighbours, so
naturally they take great interest in it all; and they were our
playfellows, too, you know."
"Know--I should think I did know! My dear, it is a fact they never
allow us to forget. Well, they are excellent good folks, and will
doubtless suit Odeyne down to the ground. But I think if they are
coming round too, I will postpone the pleasure of a thorough tour
till another day. You will not mind walking back if I take the
carriage home? I really think I must be getting back to Algy now."
Maud smiled, not without a touch of satire.
"Oh, by all means satisfy your wifely instincts. The walk is
nothing. Don't let me stand in Algernon's way. Well, Cissy, so you
have found your way up, have you? Everybody seems to choose the
wedding-day to visit the house, you see."
The girl thus addressed--a maiden with a demure little face and a
pair of merry, saucy-looking eyes, generally hidden beneath very long
black lashes--came towards the sisters with outstretched hand. She
was followed by a pair of brothers, both tall and well-grown, but
without any great share of external finish of manner. The trio were
the children of the doctor of the place, and the sons, who had both
elected to follow their father's profession, had been mainly brought
up at home, only leaving Harlington for the necessary hospital work
prior to examination. Cuthbert was by this time his father's junior
partner, whilst Tom was still studying and not yet qualified. Both
young men had the reputation of being very clever; but talent without
grace and finish of manner had no attractions for Mrs. Vanborough,
and she openly avowed that the Ritchies bored her to the verge of
distraction.
But there was nothing of this to be detected in the greeting which
she bestowed on the young girl and her two brothers. Beatrice was
far too much the accomplished woman of the world to be betrayed into
the least _gaucherie_ or want of manner. She listened to Cissy's
outspoken raptures with the pleasantest possible of smiles.
"It is perfectly lovely. I never saw anything more delicious. How
your little boy will like playing here, Beatrice! It is such a
perfect house for children. How well I remember the romps we had all
together here long ago!"
Beatrice gave the least little look of amusement at her sister out of
the corner of her eyes, as she answered with admirable cordiality--
"Ah, perhaps he will; I had not thought of that. He is scarcely of
an age to discriminate much as to his surroundings."
"Oh, I don't know. I think children are much more discriminating
than people think, and notice much more too. I know we all did----"
But Beatrice was already on the way to her carriage, making gracious
little farewell gestures as she moved.
To hear Cissy Ritchie's raptures or theories upon children was a
little too much. She felt she must escape at all costs.
If there was one thing that bored her more than another it was to be
expected to give an account of the perfections of her handsome,
sturdy, year-old son. In her own way she was fond and proud of him,
but to get up any kind of enthusiasm about him was a thing she had
declined from the first.
Possibly her absence was a relief to the rest. Mrs. Vanborough, with
her rustling silk, her elegance, and her vivid personality, had a way
of being a trifle overpowering; perhaps this was what she desired in
certain circumstances.
At any rate, after she was gone Cissy grew more confidential and
eager, whilst "the boys," as it was the fashion to call the doctor's
two tall sons, seemed to come out of their shell of reserve, and
looked, in consequence, less awkward and shy.
"I can't think how you could keep away, Maud. I should have been
dying of curiosity to see her."
"Ah, that is a complaint of which you die daily," interpolated Tom in
his dry way; "Maud knows better."
"Are you not in a dreadful hurry to see her? I don't know how I
should ever endure to let one of the boys marry a girl I had never
seen. Tom, why do you laugh? You might do such a thing, you know.
You are a dreadful boy for keeping a secret. Nobody can find out if
you don't mean them to."
"Well, I am glad to hear that at any rate. I will take a leaf out of
Desmond's book one of these days, and bring you home a stranger for a
sister. I should like to see the meeting."
"It would not be interesting," said Cuthbert. "Cissy would run into
her arms and swear an eternal sisterhood on the spot. Cissy has the
good old-fashioned family feeling finely developed. A relation is a
relation, to be swallowed whole without the least reservation. That
is the advantage of having Scotch blood in our veins. We can take to
anyone who bears our name."
Whilst the boys rattled on in the half-nonsensical, half-speculative
way characteristic more or less of the whole family, Cissy stole a
furtive glance at Maud, as if to see how she was feeling on the
subject--whether she was prepared to take the new sister in this
unquestioning fashion. Perhaps Cissy's quick sympathies gave her a
greater insight into Maud's nature than most people possessed, and
enabled her to guess that the marriage of her brother was not a
source of unmixed pleasure to her. Truth to tell, Maud was not a
little disappointed at the turn matters had taken. She had never
fancied that Desmond would settle down to matrimony in his early
manhood, and she had indulged bright dreams of what life would be
like at the Chase, with Desmond the master and she his housekeeper
and companion.
The girl had a love of power, as well as a passionate attachment to
her old home; and the news that her brother was engaged to a
stranger, of whom they knew nothing, brought with it a sense of
disappointment none the less keen because borne in utter silence.
And Cissy guessed at the existence of some such feeling, though she
was far too shrewd and tactful to betray any such knowledge, and so,
as they made the tour of the house together, Maud found something
soothing in her presence, and was glad to let her talk and indulge
pleasant little fancies about the coming bride, and the pleasure it
would be to both her and Desmond to have a sister so near at hand.
Somehow, with Cissy at her side, Maud felt that it would not be hard
to love that new sister, and give her the welcome that would seal
their friendship at once; but when she was left alone in the shadowy
house, with the ghosts of departed fancies lingering all around, and
the sunny influence of a truly warm heart removed, then the old
soreness, akin to jealousy, came creeping back, and with it a
miserable feeling of antagonism towards the woman who had come
between her brother and herself.
"I shall never care for her, I know I never shall, and that will make
it all the worse, because Desmond will be angry--he will never
understand. Besides, why should he? He never loved me as I loved
him. He would say that we were very good friends, and nothing more.
It is always the way with women, I suppose--some women, at any
rate--to give their all, and get nothing, or almost nothing, in
return. Well, I suppose I can bear it as well as anyone else; but
oh, Desmond, do not ask too much--do not expect me to love your wife
for your sake."
But though Maud was thus open with herself she might not quite have
liked to hear the remark made by Tom Ritchie as the brothers and
sisters turned homewards again.
"It strikes me," said that astute young man, "that however much in
love Mrs. Desmond St. Claire may be with her husband, and however
happy they are, and will be, together, that she will have rather a
rough time of it with Desmond's relations."
CHAPTER II.
_ODEYNE'S HOME._
Odeyne stepped out of the long French window which opened upon the
lawn, but instead of joining the family party, grouped together
beneath the sweeping boughs of the great cedar tree, she shrank away
into the friendly shadow of the willow arbour hard by, and looked
across the sunny vista, with eyes in which there was a sparkle of
suspicious moisture, albeit there was no look of unhappiness in the
girl's fair face, but rather an expression of deep content.
And yet, now that the last day in the old home had really come,
Odeyne found it in her heart to wonder how she had ever made up her
mind to leave it, and to go out into the great unknown world, even
with Desmond at her side. It was a great mystery to her even now,
the strange, new, overpowering love which had crept into her life and
changed its whole tenor--had made her willing to leave her sheltered
home and all the tender associations of her childhood--father,
mother, sisters, and brothers, including even Guy, her dearly-beloved
twin, from whom she had vowed a hundred times that no power on earth
should ever part her. Sometimes it seemed as if it could only be a
dream, from which she should soon awake; but, then, Desmond was no
dream; he had grown to be as the girl's second self, and it had
become an impossibility to picture life without him.
She wanted a little time for quiet thought. She had been indoors
writing the last letters (in all probability) that would ever be
signed Odeyne Hamilton, and she had promised to join the others at
afternoon tea beneath the old cedar; but the tray was not yet brought
out, though the party had all assembled in the cool retreat, and she
wanted to sit a few minutes looking at them all, herself unobserved,
so as to carry away with her a picture that would ever after be a
source of pleasure and tender satisfaction.
For there was not one face missing in the dear group. There was the
father, with the snowy head--the typical clergyman, even to the
beautiful benevolent sweetness of expression, which surely ought to
characterise the faces of those whose lives are specially dedicated
to the feeding of Christ's flock; the mother, all gentle seriousness,
with unselfish love shining in her eyes, and making lovely the whole
countenance, even though some anxious fears could not but mingle in
sympathy with her child's happiness. Then there was tall, manly
Edmund--every inch the soldier--and Walter, his father's curate, so
good and steady, who had never given his parents one hour of real
anxiety or pain. There was bright, capable Mary, a model eldest
daughter and sister, and the three girls yet in the schoolroom and
nursery--Patty, Flossy, and Nesta, the pets and plagues of the house.
And last, though by no means least, there was Guy--Guy with the thin,
pale, intellectual face, the broad brow, beautiful dark eyes, and the
ever-changing lights and shades flickering always in them.
It was upon Guy's face that Odeyne's glance rested most long and most
lovingly, for it was after all Guy who would miss her most.
For Guy had lived always at home, on account of his delicate health,
and his twin sister had shared alike in his studies and his
amusements, had been his nurse in sickness and his comrade in health,
till the two had grown to be almost shadows of one another.
It had always seemed to the girl as if Guy's lack of physical
strength had been in some sort her fault, as if she had taken an
undue share of it, rather to his detriment.
One delicate child in a pair of twins was nothing uncommon; but it
seemed to her as if it ought to have been the girl, not the boy, who
should be called on to take the extra burden of ill-health, whereas,
in this case, she was endowed with an unusually strong physique, and
had hardly known a day's illness in her life, whilst Guy had gone
through pretty well every misery to which flesh is heir.
There was a strong likeness between this brother and sister. Both
had the same straight level brows, the same expressive eyes of dark
grey, that looked almost black in shadow, and the same delicate,
regular features.
But the smooth, rounded cheek of the girl was tinged with a beautiful
bloom, and her every movement spoke of an overflowing vitality and
power of enjoyment.
It was pleasant to watch Odeyne walk, or carry on any active
employment: there was a dainty grace and precision in her movements,
as characteristic as it was unstudied, which gave a subtle
gratification to the spectator, and showed an amount of healthy
physical training of a perfectly feminine kind that it is refreshing
to meet with in these days of extremes.
Guy's movements, on the contrary, were slow and languid, and his oval
face wore the pallor of confirmed ill-health. At the same time he
was stronger and better than he had ever been in his life before,
and, but for this marked improvement of the past year, it may be
doubtful whether even handsome and gallant Desmond St. Claire would
have urged his suit with any measure of success.
It was Guy's keen eyes that detected his sister in her shady retreat,
and detaching himself unobserved from the group beneath the cedar, he
took a circuitous path that brought him at length to her side.
"Well, Odeyne, in maiden meditation lost? A penny for your thoughts,
_Schwesterling mein_."
But at the caressing touch of his hand upon her shoulder, and the
sound of the old familiar pet name, the moisture on the girl's long
eyelashes resolved itself into very decided drops, which made her
brother's face and the sunny garden swim before her in a golden mist.
"Oh, Guy, I don't know how I have ever done it. I don't know how to
go through with it now. It seems almost wicked to go away and leave
you all. Am I right? Oh, I wish I were sure."
"My dearest child, you must not encourage these foolish thoughts,"
was the calm rejoinder, spoken in Guy's low, even tones, that despite
their quietness and evenness betrayed to the girl, who knew every
cadence of his voice, an amount of feeling that he would never openly
display. "You are only doing what every woman does at one time or
another in her life--or at least the great majority of them. What is
it that troubles you at the last? You have not quarrelled
desperately with Desmond since the morning?"
But Odeyne's glance was serious and grave, and tinged with a sort of
wistful anxiety.
"You know it is not that. It is no fear of Desmond. I think it is
fear of myself. Guy, do you remember how I so often grew almost
discontented and cross because our lives were so quiet, so shielded,
so far removed from the struggle and battle of life? Well, those
thoughts of rebellion are troubling me now--now that I am going out
into the world to be my own mistress, as people say. You do not know
what I would give to feel that there would always be mother to turn
to. I wish I had never been discontented. How is it one never
values what one has until it is going to be taken away?"
Guy put his arm caressingly round her neck, as he knelt on one knee
beside her. The slanting light from the westering sun twinkled into
their leafy retreat in a myriad golden shafts, interspersed with
flickering shadows, the breeze rustled the leaves overhead, the birds
began to twitter softly after their midday silence. A sort of
restful hush seemed over all the world, and the sense of farewell was
fast stealing over the heart of brother and sister alike.
"Odeyne," he said tenderly, "you have little enough to reproach
yourself with, I am sure. I suppose it is implanted in our very
nature--that longing to go out and try conclusions with the world.
Even I know something of it, though I should make so poor a figure
there. I think you will give us all reason to be proud of you. You
were always cut out more or less for the part of the great lady. You
must let me soon come to you in the new home. I want to see you at
the head of your own table, queening it in your own house."
She smiled then, but the look on her face did not change.
"That is part of the trouble, I think. It is only lately I have
realised that Desmond is rich, and has a large house, and a lot of
servants, and that things will be very different from what I have
been accustomed to here. I feel so small and inexperienced, and so
young. If only it were not so far away! If only I could have mother
to go to for advice!"
"You will have Desmond."
There was a soft light in the girl's eyes. She looked very lovely at
that moment, her brother thought.
"Yes, I shall have Desmond; but that is not quite what I mean. I
want somebody who will tell home-truths to me--Desmond always says
everything I do is right. You will be a help when you come, Guy, in
many ways; but I shall want mother dreadfully sometimes, I know."
"After you have been married some time, possibly Desmond will indulge
your taste for home-truths more freely."
"Oh yes, I daresay he will. He has plenty of will of his own; I do
not like men who have not. But, Guy, I am so distrustful of myself.
I am afraid I may grow too fond of pleasure and luxury, and the
things that seem to be coming to me. Do you remember all my castles
in the air about the big house I was to have some day, and the horses
and carriages, and grand way of living, and how I always said that
that was just what I should like? Well, now that Desmond has talked
to me about the Chase, and all the things that go on there, and what
will be expected of us, it is just as if I were getting everything I
had coveted--if that is not too strong a word to use--and I am afraid
I may grow too fond of pleasure, and the bright, butterfly life that
we seem to be going to lead. You know, Guy, I am very fond of
pleasure--very fond of it indeed--though here, with father and mother
and all the influences round us, I have not done anything to make
them fear for me. Oh, I wish it did not seem all quite so strange!
Suppose I grow careless and vain and idle, and become a trouble to
you all, how sad it would be!"
"I do not think there is very much fear of that, _Schwesterling_; you
have your sheet-anchor fast, I am sure."
A new look crossed the girl's face.
"Oh, I hope so, Guy; that is the great comfort of all. I could never
dare to go away but for that"; then after a little pause she added
very softly: "You will pray for me always when I am gone, Guy; for I
know there will be so many more temptations, and I feel so ignorant
and so weak."
He pressed her hand by way of answer. Even to each other this
brother and sister were reserved as to their deeper feelings, though
they knew them to be in accord. Guy stood looking straight out
before him with a look of fine concentration on his face, whilst the
girl wiped the tears from her cheek, and presently looked up with a
smile in her sweet eyes.
"There, I am better now. I think I just wanted a little talk with
you all to myself. Let us go to the others now. I must not be long
away. Every hour is precious to-day."
"Ah, yes, let us come. We shall think of this afternoon when
to-morrow comes, and there is a great blank in the house. You will
be the best off; you will not be aware of it. No, no, little one, do
not look like that. It is all right, and I shall like to think of
you and Desmond having a good time together. You have been cooped up
quite long enough in one place. It is right that some of the birds
should leave the nest. Only I suppose you do not want me to say I
shall not miss you at first. It would be but a poor compliment after
all these long years of willing service. Am I to be allowed to thank
you for them before you take wing, little sister?"
"Please not, Guy, unless you want to make me cry again, and I hate to
cry. If one once begins there is no leaving off, and tears are so
perilously near one's eyes to-night," with a tremulous little laugh.
"Besides, Desmond will soon be here, and he would be distressed. Men
cannot quite understand what leaving home is like to us."
"And I do not think he has ever known a home like this either,"
answered Guy, as they moved away together. "You will have to develop
the domestic instinct in him, Odeyne."
There was laughter and the soft sound of happy voices round the
tea-table that evening, for all were determined that to-morrow's
bride should not be saddened on her last day at home, by the thought
of the regrets her absence could not but cause.
She was marrying, with the full consent of her parents, a man who was
passionately attached to her, and of whom the whole family was very
fond.
He had come for six months to the Rectory last year to read with Mr.
Hamilton for an examination, and had in that time made himself
beloved by all, for his never-failing flow of happy spirits, his
warm-hearted, affectionate disposition, and for the way in which he
had grown into the family circle, and shared their joys and sorrows
almost as if they were his own. Of his "people," as he called them,
and his prospects he had spoken but little. Not that there was any
mystery about the matter: he was very open about himself and his own
affairs. He had lost his father when he was seventeen, and his
mother had elected to go abroad with his two sisters whilst he spent
his time first at a tutor's and then at college. Meantime the family
house was let to strangers; for it was entailed on Desmond, the only
son, and he did not see any use in living there alone. Since his
coming of age things had not materially changed until about a year
ago, when Mrs. St. Claire had returned to England, and had settled
down in a smaller house, about half-way between her old home and the
house where her elder daughter spent much of her time.
Beatrice St. Claire had made a fairly brilliant marriage, and was now
the Hon. Mrs. Vanborough, with a town house and a country house,
being herself a leader in a small social circle. Maud was still at
home with her mother, and both were naturally anxious that Desmond
should return and settle near them. They had never come to the
remote Devonshire village to see his future wife--they were very busy
at home, and shrank, as it seemed, from the long journey; but both
had written in a kind and genial fashion, and Maud would have
certainly been present at the wedding, had it not been that Mrs. St.
Claire had been overtaken by a sharp attack of illness the previous
week, which kept both her and her daughter at home.
It was a disappointment to all parties, though not what it would have
been had Desmond known more of his nearest relatives. But though he
always spoke of them with warm affection he had been too much
separated from them and their life of late years, to have very much
in common; and the home of his betrothed was far more of a home for
him than the residence of his mother. Perhaps Mrs. Hamilton was the
most disappointed at the absence of Desmond's mother. She felt a
great anxiety to know what manner of woman it was who would be
henceforth the nearest confidante and adviser of her dearly-loved
daughter. She often found herself wishing that she knew more about
the life into which her child was about to step--more about the man
himself, into whose hands they were about to commit their treasure.
True, in one sense of the word, they knew everything--he kept nothing
back--not even the fact that at Oxford he had been more than a little
extravagant, and had been in serious disgrace more than once with the
authorities for his wild pranks and misdemeanours of various kinds.
No one could be more open than Desmond was, and no one could express
more contrition for past follies, or a livelier determination to
amend in the future. And then he and Odeyne loved one another.
There could be no manner of doubt as to that, and when all was said
and done there was nothing in the young man's past career to justify
the loving parents from withholding their consent, despite sundry
fears and forebodings on the part of the anxious mother. Indeed,
from a worldly standpoint, Odeyne was doing very well for herself, as
young Desmond was very well off, and would be likely to add to his
income as time went on, for he had finally decided, mainly through
the advice of his future father-in-law, to enter the large mercantile
house in which his own father's fortune had been made, and to be more
than a mere name upon the books. Mr. Hamilton had a not ungrounded
horror of an idle man, and as Desmond showed no special leaning
towards any profession the Rector strongly urged him to take the
place open to him in the business house, and make himself a power
there. He need not give his whole time to it; but at least it would
save him from some of the temptations that so closely beset a wealthy
man actually without employment. The Chase was so situated that it
was easy to run up to town from it three or four times a week, and
Desmond, after a little vacillating, and not unnatural distaste of
"harness," had decided to take the advice pressed upon him, and was
by this time quite pleased at the prospect, and full of the wonders
he was going to accomplish when once he had his hand on the reins.
His bright, sanguine temperament was one of his great charms.
Perhaps he owed it in part to the Irish blood that ran in his
veins--though for several generations his immediate ancestors had
been English--at any rate he had a happy buoyancy of disposition that
made his company delightful, and endeared him to all with whom he
came in contact.
There was certainly something peculiarly winning and attractive in
the face that was bent over Odeyne an hour later, as the lovers, so
soon to be united, stood together in the dewy garden, not talking
much, but pacing side by side in quiet contentment, glancing now and
then at each other with eyes that were eloquent of love. Desmond St.
Claire was just four-and-twenty, tall, broad-shouldered, but with
plenty of suppleness and grace in the free movements of his strong
limbs, as also in his whole bearing and carriage, particularly the
pose of the head, which had a very characteristic set of its own,
that might have been called haughty but for the open, smiling
brightness which was the prevailing expression of the handsome,
bronzed face. The young man looked like one of Fortune's favourites.
Guy used to tell him he also looked like an only son.
"One can see you've had no brothers to bully you, or take you down a
peg every now and then," he said to him early on in their
acquaintance; "it's easy to see you have always been surrounded by
adoring women-folk." And though this last statement was hardly
correct in its literal sense, it was none the less true that Desmond
had been used from childhood to be made much of, and to consider
himself a personage of some importance; nor had his training done
very much, so far, to eradicate the idea; though it is but fair to
say the young man was hardly aware that he held it. There was no
bumptious self-assertion about him. On the contrary, he was more
disposed to under-value his own attainments, and to admire others
above himself. Still, notwithstanding all this, he could not rid
himself of the air of a prosperous and rather important personage,
and Odeyne found no fault with the little air of distinction that he
wore with so much of boyish ease and grace. She liked, too, above
all else, the tender, protecting manner he always assumed towards
herself when they were alone together. Odeyne had won the reputation
at home of being slightly independent, and anything but desirous of
constant protection in the little details of her daily life; indeed,
she seemed rather protector than in need of care herself, in her
relations not only with Guy, but also with her mother and little
sisters. Yet none the less did she find a great sweetness in
depending upon Desmond, and feeling that he was watching over her and
upholding her in all their mutual relations. Odeyne was too true a
woman not to delight in this feeling, however little it might seem to
some to be a part of her nature.
To-night Desmond was in an unusually serious mood, but the girl was
content that it should be so. They walked for some time in silence,
and then he said tenderly and softly--
"You have had a very happy home here, my darling; sometimes I feel
half afraid of taking you away. Suppose I fail to make you happy.
Suppose the day should come when you should repent that you had ever
married me."
"That day never could come, Desmond," answered the girl in clear, low
tones, with an upward glance more eloquent than words.
"I trust not, dearest; but one never knows what may happen----"
"Nothing that happens could bring that to pass," was the quick reply.
"I know we may have trouble and sorrow--no lives are quite exempt
from that; and why should we expect it? But do you not know that
trouble shared with you would be sweeter than any ease and pleasure
enjoyed alone? The more sorrow fell to your lot, the more I should
want to be with you to share it."
He turned and clasped her in his arms.
"God bless you, sweet love, for those words," he said, with a quiver
in his voice. "I only trust I may be worthy of the treasure I shall
take to myself to-morrow."
"If God does bless us," answered Odeyne in a whisper, "we need not be
afraid of the future, or what it will bring. I am so glad you said
that, Desmond. I can't talk about things, but I want us--oh, so
much, to feel alike in everything."
"My darling, we will. You shall teach me to be like your own sweet
self. This home has always been a living lesson to me. If we can
make our own like it I shall be content."
"Oh, if we could!" cried the girl with beaming eyes. "Ah, Desmond,
let us try. We may come a good deal short of our ideal, but at any
rate we will try."
He smiled as he caressed her curly hair. The old brightness had come
back to his face. Desmond's grave moods were seldom of long
continuance.
"By all means, dearest, let us try. Only you may not find it quite
such an easy matter as you think now, to model our future household
upon that of a rustic rectory. Here we live in Arcadia; there it
will be--well, different."
There was a sweet, grave brightness upon Odeyne's face on the morrow,
as she stood before the altar of the quaint little parish church
where she had been christened, and repeated after her father the
solemn words that made her the wife of Desmond St. Claire. Behind
her stood her sisters, and those nearest and dearest; whilst at her
side stood the man of her choice, and before her was the strange
future life, which seemed to stretch itself out in rainbow tints.
The bells clashed out a merry peal as she left the church; all the
village was _en fête_ to see Miss Odeyne's wedding. In the absence
of the bridegroom's relations every face was familiar and
beloved--for Desmond was mighty popular in the little village he knew
so well.
It seemed a wedding all smiles and no tears, and even when the moment
of farewell came the smiles predominated, despite the mist that
obscured the visions of some of the party who watched the departure
of the bride.
"They are all your brothers and sisters now, Desmond," said the young
wife, leaning forward to take one last view of the crowd of dear,
familiar faces.
"Of course they are," he answered, his fingers closing upon hers, his
hat in his hand, waving a glad farewell salute. "I never had any
brothers of my own, and all yours are mine now. We will have them
all down to the Chase for our first Christmas there, if we don't get
them before. You shall never feel that marriage has made the least
bit of a barrier between you, my loyal little wife; only you will
give yourself to me for just a little while without any rivals in
your heart, will you not?"
At that question Odeyne turned to her husband with a beautiful light
in her eyes, and answered--
"Desmond, you know that you are always first now. Whatever lies
before us in the future you will always find me by your side. We
have taken each other for better for worse."
He took her hand and carried it to his lips.
"It shall never be for worse, my darling!" he cried, "I will promise
you that!"
CHAPTER III.
_FAREWELLS AND GREETINGS._
"Oh, Miss Odeyne--I beg your pardon, I mean Mrs. St. Claire, but it
seems as if my tongue would never learn the new name rightly--I've
got a favour to ask of you that I've been longing all the time to
talk to you about, and now the time's come it seems as if I didn't
know how to say it rightly."
"Why, Alice, have you turned shy all in a moment, or do you think I
have changed in a few weeks?" and Odeyne glanced at the girl's
downcast face with an encouraging smile. "Well, you shall have your
wish, and brush out my hair for me, and you can talk to me as you do
it, and let me hear what this wonderful favour is."
Alice Hanbury was a pretty, neat-fingered damsel, who had been all
her life more or less at the Rectory, and had received her training
for domestic service under the kindly eye of the mistress. She had
of late years been employed chiefly in the capacity of sewing maid,
on account of her deftness with her fingers and love for her needle,
and it had been said from time to time in the family that Alice ought
to be a lady's maid, she had so much taste and cleverness in all the
details of the toilet. For the past year or more she had attached
herself especially to Odeyne, and it was her great delight to be
permitted to dress the girl's abundant hair, or to array her for any
simple festivity to which she might be going. So it had not
surprised Odeyne on this particular occasion that Alice should follow
her to her room to ask leave to assist her to dress for dinner, and
she had willingly consented, for her month of wifehood had not damped
in the smallest her interest in every detail connected with the old
life, and to that old life the maid entirely belonged.
This unexpected visit to the old home on the conclusion of the
wedding tour had come as a delightful surprise to Odeyne--a surprise
planned by her husband, and valued tenfold as proof of the tender
love he bore her. It had been arranged between Desmond and her
parents without her knowledge, and only when the train was
approaching the well-known country had she suspected his purpose, or
understood the merry, mischievous glances and speeches which had been
perplexing her all day. And now, after a week of unalloyed
happiness, the last evening had once more come; but Odeyne was not
sad to-night, for Desmond was now her husband, and there was no room
in her faithful heart for anything but the truest love and confidence.
"Well, Alice, I am waiting to hear what this wonderful favour can be.
You may be quite sure I will do anything for you that I can." And
there was a pleasant consciousness now in the girl's mind that she
had the power to do a good deal for her old friends or dependents. A
month's experience of life as a rich man's wife had not been lost
upon her. It could not help being a pleasant experience, and just
now everything was tinged with a golden halo.
"Oh, miss--I mean ma'am--if you would only take me away with you
to-morrow! I could be quite ready, indeed I could, and I have so set
my heart upon it. They all say you must have a maid to wait upon you
in your grand new house, and though I may not be so fine as some you
could get, I know your ways, and no new maid would serve you as
faithful as I would. I've spoken to the missus and Miss Mary, and
they both approve if you do. And oh, Miss Odeyne, do take me! The
house isn't like itself without you, and I would so like to go with
you to your new home."
"Well, Alice, if you really mean it, I shall be very glad. Your
mistress was speaking about it to me the other day, and we decided
that, as she can spare you, and as it is only right you should
'better yourself,' as they say, you should come to me at the Chase.
I shall be very glad, you may be sure, but I should like you to think
it over carefully first. It is a serious thing to leave home and the
place in which one's life has always been passed, and to begin again
in quite a new one. You will get larger wages, and your life may be
more lively and amusing, but, Alice, there will be more temptations
too, and you ought to think carefully before you make your decision.
I should be so very sorry if any harm came to you from having
followed me."
"But, ma'am, I don't see how it could; I should be with you. It will
be almost the same as if I was here."
"I am afraid it will be hardly that, Alice," answered the young wife,
with a smile and a sigh, "though I shall do my best to make it so.
But you must think it over and talk to your mother, and if you decide
that you really wish it, you can come to me any time that you like."
"Oh, but, ma'am, I have spoken to mother already, and she is as
pleased as can be. She thinks I should be better away, because of
that Jim Rich, who won't let me alone"; and Alice tossed her head and
blushed a little, for that was the name of one of her admirers, and
she was conscious of having given him more encouragement than was
altogether fair, considering she never intended marrying him. "And
indeed, Miss Odeyne, it was she who bid me ask if I mightn't go away
with you to-morrow. I saw her this very afternoon, and it was that
that put it into my head. I could be quite ready, indeed I could,
and I should be so glad to get away quiet before anybody knew."
Odeyne looked thoughtfully at the girl, half understanding her
eagerness, half afraid to gratify it. She saw that Alice was very
pretty. She suspected she had reasons for wishing to get away to a
new place, but she wondered if it would be really kind to take her.
Her innocent little vanities and coquetries were very harmless here,
but might they not get her into trouble elsewhere?
"Well, is the weighty matter settled yet?" asked a clear voice at the
door, and Odeyne looked up, relieved to see her elder sister before
her. Mary always knew what to do for the best.
"Ah, Mary, you have come in good time to give us your advice. This
foolish Alice wants to leave you all to come with me to-morrow. What
must I say to her?"
Mary sat down and heard all that there was to hear, and, to the great
delight of the little Alice, decided in her favour.
"It will be better for her to go, as she has set her heart on it,"
she explained to her sister, as they went downstairs together. "She
is unsettled here and is anxious to go elsewhere, and she will be far
safer with you than anywhere else we could place her. My own opinion
is that she will get married before very long. She attracts a good
deal of notice with her pretty face and dainty little ways. She will
very likely marry rather above her own class, as she has rather grand
ideas, and is certainly hardly suited to the life of a working man's
wife. Poor little Alice! I hope she may be happy; at least she will
have a mistress who will look well after her, and more than that no
one can do."
It was a happy evening for Odeyne. After dinner she sat in the
curtained nook beside the open window, and one and another of the
dear ones came and had a little quiet talk with her. She was so
happy, and Desmond so devoted, that the anxious fears experienced at
one time or another could not but be laid at rest, at least for a
while. Guy looked with keen scrutiny into his sister's face and then
smiled.
"One needn't condole with you yet then, _Schwesterling_; you seem to
have found out 'how to be happy though married.'"
Odeyne laughed softly to herself.
"At least I shall not commit myself to any lamentations yet. I will
leave your sharp eyes to find out the domestic discord when you come
to see us. And when will that be, Guy? I shall not feel that the
Chase is quite a proper home until you have been to see us there."
"Oh, I will come all in good time, never fear, but not just at once.
It is a mistake for the relations to be too thick on the ground at
first. You will want a few months to get settled down to the new
life. It would not be fair to Desmond to come crowding in too fast.
He will want his wife to himself for the first spell at any rate."
"Desmond is too unselfish to be exacting, and he is so very fond of
you all too."
"Well, you will have Edmund at any rate close at hand. How pleased
you must have been to hear of that appointment! Five years of him
almost at your gates. He will be quite a tame cat about your place."
"It will be delightful," said Odeyne with shining eyes; "I have had a
lingering hope of something of the kind ever since I realised that
the regimental depot was so near the Chase. Desmond was almost as
pleased as I. You cannot think how anxious he is that I shall be
happy, and not miss you all too much. He is so good to me, Guy."
It was almost the only time Odeyne had allowed herself to praise her
husband quite so openly as in these few words. She was not wont to
gush at all, and Desmond was too near and too dear for her to speak
much of him. So that though her happiness and his devotion were
tolerably patent to all, she had said little of it in words; and it
was not without a feeling of keen pleasure that the mother, seeking
the quiet retreat in which her child had ensconced herself, overheard
these last words, before she herself was seen.
"I am pleased indeed to hear it, my darling," she said, as she took
the chair Guy had vacated in her favour. "I would not ask you such a
question, and indeed one has but to look at your face to read an
answer of the best kind there. Still, it is good hearing, and will
help us to send you on your way with lighter hearts; but, my darling,
there is one question your mother would like to ask you before you go
to begin the new life, but I will not do so unless you tell me I may.
I would not intrude----"
"Mother, darling, how could you? As if there were anything in the
world I would not tell you. I love to talk everything over with you.
Only I don't want to bore people with my affairs, and I know it
sounds so silly to be always praising one's husband."
"You need never fear tiring me either with praise or any kind of
confidence, little daughter. I love Desmond dearly; he is almost
like one of my own boys. What I wanted to ask you, my dear
child--just the one little doubt that troubles me sometimes--will
Desmond help you to rule your household in the fear and love of God?
Will he think of the welfare of others in the ordering of his daily
life? So much will depend upon the atmosphere, of your house--if you
understand what I mean by that. You will have responsibilities
resting upon you, darling, such as you have never known before.
There will be many lives in the future more or less influenced for
good or evil by yours. If you are lax and careless, others will
become so, almost as a matter of course, whilst in proportion as you
show a regard for what is of paramount importance, so will your
dependents be led to do the same. You cannot live for yourselves
alone--none of us can. We have duties towards others that we cannot
rid ourselves of, however much we may wish. You understand that, my
child? I know you wish to do right; but do you quite understand that
you will be in the position of one whose actions will be watched by
many, and who will have a wide-spreading influence over many lives?"
"Mother dear, I think I do, and indeed I will try. I do want to do
what is right--to make our home like this."
"And will Desmond help you?"
"Oh, I think so. He is so kind and considerate whenever we make
plans together. Of course he is a little reserved--men always
are--and I am not very good at talking either; but he means well, I
know. He has very beautiful thoughts sometimes--only you know he has
never had a home of his own like ours, so it is hardly to be expected
for him to feel just as I do."
"But you will help him and lead him? He loves you so dearly that he
will do much for your sake; and remember, my dear child, that
much--very much--depends on beginnings. Try to begin well, and the
habit once formed will, in itself, be a help. You will understand
better as you go on what I mean, and your mother's prayers will be
with you always that you may be guided right."
"Your home--our home--my darling. Do you think it will ever be as
dear as the old one?"
Desmond looked with fond pride into the sweet face of his bride as he
put this question, and caught the look of sparkling happiness in her
dewy eyes.
"Desmond, it is lovely--you never told me half. How I wish they
could all see it! I shall never be able to make them understand how
beautiful it all is. I am almost afraid of being mistress of such a
house. Oh! suppose I do not give you nice dinners--suppose I make a
dreadful muddle of the housekeeping? Whatever will you say?"
He laughed and kissed her fondly.
"Well, in that awful contingency we will get in a housekeeper to
relieve you of all the distasteful offices. My wife is not going to
be allowed to worry herself over disagreeable duties. She is to be a
lady at large, ready to do the honours of the Chase, and go about to
all the festivities, and make the county belles die of envy. Oh,
yes, my love, I shall say what I please now. You are my property; I
shall be as proud of you as ever I like. I am going to make my
little wife a very important person, and if you think that
housekeeping details will bore or worry you, we will get a woman in
forthwith to relieve you of the burden."
"Now! Desmond, how can you talk such nonsense? as if I were quite a
goose! Why, I am appalled as it is at the number of servants we seem
to have--if those were the servants we saw drawn up in the hall to
welcome us. I do not think we can possibly want them all, let alone
another. Little Alice will be quite superfluous, I fear."
"Not a bit of it. You must have your own maid. And as for the rest,
you will find you want them all. My mother has made all the
arrangements of that kind, and she knows what the house wants; she
lived here long enough to be an authority on such points."
"Your mother--Oh! Desmond, shall we go and see her this first
evening? Would she like it?"
"Oh, she would like it well enough; but don't you think it would be
rather a bore for us? I want my wife all to myself."
She gave him a quick kiss. She liked to hear him speak after this
fashion, but her answer was decided.
"I think it would be nice to go. I want to see her so much; and you
know she must be so eager to see you again. Yes, let us go, Desmond
dear. You must really be impatient to see your mother."
Desmond submitted, only stipulating that they should return home for
dinner. They had spent the previous night in London, and had come
down early to the Chase, so that there would be plenty of time for
the proposed visit.
The young husband was very particular as to the appearance his wife
presented; hut, though her dresses were country made and very plain,
they fitted her to perfection, and suited her so well that even his
fastidious eye could find no fault. Odeyne was quite amused at his
anxiety as to what impression she made, but gradually came to
understand it better.
It was a new thing to have out a carriage and pair of horses, to go a
distance of less than two miles, and to sit behind two men-servants;
but Odeyne could not help feeling a little innocent exaltation in her
grandeur--with a hope that it was not wrong to find it all so
delightful--and as they neared the abode of her mother-in-law, she
had other things to think of.
Desmond's mother! How she would love her! She should never feel
that she had lost her son by his marriage. No wife ought ever to
stand between a mother and her son; but before she had got to the end
of her train of thought the carriage stopped, and she found herself
following Desmond into a lofty room, rather dim, and redolent of some
subtle perfume, but furnished in the sumptuous way that was quite new
to the inexperienced country girl.
The next moment her hands were taken by a pair of thin, cold ones,
and she found herself kissed French-fashion on both cheeks; but
somehow she was not able to put her arms about her new mother's neck,
as she had always intended--not that there was any lack of cordiality
in the voice that said--
"And so you have come the very first day? Really, my dear children,
I am very much obliged to you."
"That was Odeyne's doing. I could not get her to settle to anything
till she had seen you. She felt so certain you must be dying to see
me again. You see, we mean to practise the domestic virtues in the
most exemplary manner."
"The more the better, Desmond. I am glad Odeyne has so much kindly
sense and sound, feeling. My dear, if this great boy of mine tries
to laugh you out of any of your charming old-world ways, do not pay
any attention to him. You are wiser than he will ever be--stick to
your own opinion, and bring him round to it."
"You see what you have to expect, Odeyne--a life of constant
struggling and tyrannical opposition," cried Desmond merrily. "Never
mind, you will at least have an ally in my mother, and she is a host
in herself. Ah, here is Maud! Well, madam, you did not expect to
find this ceremony inflicted on you so early, did you? Pray let me
introduce my wife, and you must make your peace with her as best you
may, for I assure you she has never forgiven you your absence at the
wedding. Odeyne is a great stickler for etiquette, eh, wifie?"
"Desmond, how can you?" But Desmond rattled away in the same
nonsensical fashion, whether to cover a species of nervousness, or
simply to try and put all parties at their ease, Odeyne did not feel
certain. The mood was new to her in this particular form, and she
was not quite sure that she liked it. She would rather have heard
something besides banter and nonsense from his lips at this first
interview with his relations.
But whilst he rattled on to Maud, Odeyne had the opportunity to enjoy
a little quiet talk with his mother, which was just what she wanted.
She hoped the pretty old lady, with the bright eyes and dainty grace
of manner, would talk to her of her boy, and reveal, by little
nameless touches, the motherliness in her nature, but somehow the
interview failed to be quite satisfying, or, perhaps, Odeyne had
expected too much.
Mrs. St. Claire was very gracious and affable. Notwithstanding the
fact that her eyes scanned the girl from head to foot in a way that a
shy person would have found rather disconcerting, she talked very
kindly, though at times with a touch of satire in her voice and
manner that jarred a little upon Odeyne.
She paid her daughter-in-law many little compliments of a very
refined and graceful kind; but Odeyne would have liked a warm
pressure of the hand, or a tender look towards the son, better than
all these put together. She could not help feeling as if some kind
of a gulf lay between herself and these people, and as the feeling
was quite unknown to her in the life she had led at home, it was
disconcerting, and she was disposed to blame herself for it.
Desmond did not stay long, nor did it seem expected that he should.
Odeyne hardly spoke a word to the stately sister, of whom she felt a
considerable amount of awe. She ventured to ask her to come soon to
see her, but she was not sure that the invitation had not been rather
taken as an affront, it was so coldly responded to.
"Well, no one can say we have not done our duty nobly," cried
Desmond, throwing himself backward in the carriage with a sigh that
sounded rather like one of relief. "Poor old Maud, she looks a bit
glum, but that was always the way with her. You seemed to hit it off
nicely with the mother, Odeyne. She is a mighty particular old lady,
too, so you are to be congratulated."
Odeyne smiled and made no reply. She would not admit even to herself
that she had been damped or disappointed. She said that it was
foolish to expect every home party to be like the one she had just
left, and that she should soon learn to understand other people's
ways without feeling chilled. Desmond, almost as if he divined that
she had been a little disappointed, was tenderness itself all the
evening, and they had a wonderfully sweet time, walking in the quaint
old garden and wandering about the dusky rooms, planning the use for
each, and picturing the happy life they were about to commence
together. Even the grand dinner, with two men-servants in the room,
did not oppress Odeyne. She was not quite sure if she liked it as
well as the simpler mode of life to which she was accustomed, but at
least it interested and amused her, and she liked to watch and admire
the easy way in which her husband took his place and gave his orders.
The evening, when they sat out together on the terrace and watched
the moon rise over the trees, was perfect, and the girl's heart was
very full of thanksgiving for the happiness of her future lot.
"Shall we have prayers in the hall, dear? It seems the most suitable
place, I think," she said, rising to move indoors as the clock struck
ten. Desmond had risen too. Now he paused, and looked at her a
little oddly in the dim light.
"Prayers! Oh, I had not thought about that. I don't think, dearest,
that we can manage evening prayers here."
"Why not, Desmond dear?"
"You see, Odeyne, we shall often be out in the evening, and often we
shall have people in the house who will not be used to that ceremony;
and I can't bear a parade, or making that kind of thing a bore to
people. I'm sure you would not wish it either. And it is no good
beginning unless one means to keep it up."
Odeyne stood still thinking, with a little shadow upon her face.
"Well, Desmond dear, I do not want to do anything to bring what we
prize into contempt; but we should not like to have no prayers in our
house. Shall we have them in the morning instead? We shall always
be at home then, and if people do not like them, as you seem to
think, they need not come down. But the household will meet together
regularly, as we did at home."
Desmond seemed still to hesitate; but it was the first thing she had
asked him in the new home, and he loved her too well to deny any
request of hers willingly.
"Well, darling, we will settle it so, though you know your ideas on
some points are rather antiquated. We will have prayers in the
mornings before breakfast, and the only stipulation I make is that if
I am not down in time, you read them yourself."
Odeyne smiled and consented, but she thought the stipulation not
likely to be enforced, and the experience of the following week
proved her confidence to be well grounded. Desmond was everything
her heart could wish, and the days flew by one after another as if on
golden wings.
The only small trouble was the coldness of Maud, with whom she had
resolved to make such friends, for Desmond had spoken several times
of Maud's devotion to himself.
Odeyne was quite unable to comprehend that dumb, pained jealousy
which Maud experienced every time she saw Odeyne and her husband
together. How could she guess at the vague heart-hunger of one who
had never been ardently loved, whose lot it had always been to give,
rather than to receive, tokens of affection?
"I want to show you something," she exclaimed one day, when Maud
chanced to drive across with some message from Mrs. St. Claire; "I
have been planning a surprise for Desmond, and it has just come. He
is in town, of course, and I have nobody to share my pleasure with.
I am so glad you have come!" and she put her arm within that of Maud,
trying hard not to think her irresponsive and cold. Surely she would
take pleasure in anything that was done for Desmond!
Odeyne led the way across the hall to the little sanctum that was
Desmond's particular "den." Hitherto that place had been rather
sparsely furnished, but to-day it had been completely metamorphosed
by the introduction into it of a very beautiful carved and inlaid
bureau, a chair of the same sort of workmanship, an overmantel, and
some fine skin rugs laid down upon the floor.
"There!" cried Odeyne, with innocent pride and pleasure, "now the
room looks worthy of Desmond, does it not?"
Maud looked round with eyes that took in everything, and that
expressed a certain amount of surprise.
"It is very handsome," she said. "That sort of work is very
uncommon, and----"
She stopped, but Odeyne understood in a moment what the unfinished
sentence implied, and answered eagerly--
"It is rather expensive, but it is good, and I knew it was just
Desmond's taste, and that he would not get it for himself. You see,
I have an uncle in Australia, and he sent me a cheque to get myself a
wedding present. It did not come till after we were married, and so
I just kept my little secret from Desmond, and ordered these things
for a surprise. Do you think he will like them?"
"Yes," answered Maud, but still in the same rather cool way; she
hesitated a moment, and then added in a hasty and almost nervous
fashion, "But you might have been wiser to keep your money, Odeyne.
You may want it for something more important some day. And I would
not encourage Desmond to be extravagant, if I were you. Don't let
him think he must needs have everything he sets his fancy on. It's
not the best thing for any of us!"
Then she bid a hasty adieu to her sister-in-law, and beat a retreat,
leaving Odeyne standing in the middle of the beautified little room
with rather a startled look upon her face.
What had made Maud say that?
CHAPTER IV.
_A LITTLE CLOUD._
"My dear, you are charming--perfect. I own that I have had
misgivings: but you have proved yourself the best judge. My own
treasured Madame could not have turned you out better. I am
delighted with you. Now you need not blush at a compliment from a
sister, not but what it is a remarkably becoming blush."
"Now Beatrice--please----"
"My dear child, if you think to stop my tongue, or to curb my freedom
of speech, you are attempting an utter impossibility, as your husband
will tell you, if you still take the trouble to apply to him for
information. Well, Odeyne, I hope you will enjoy your first
introduction to society. You must expect to have your measure taken
pretty freely by all the company, who are more or less dying of
curiosity to see Desmond's bride: but at least your appearance defies
criticism. It is as quaint and delicious and altogether charming as
your name, which nobody has ever heard before."
Odeyne was standing before Beatrice, in one of the
elegantly-appointed rooms of Rotherham Park, the country residence of
the Hon. Algernon Vanborough. It was the first dinner-party which
had been given in honour of the bride, and Odeyne felt a little
excited, and perhaps a trifle nervous too, at the prospect of facing
a fashionable assemblage, met together in her honour, though
fortunately for her she was not either self-conscious or shy. The
long straight folds of her white silk wedding-dress hung in severely
classical lines about her slight, well-proportioned figure, giving it
additional height and grace. The dress was absolutely plain, without
a particle of trimming, and had originally been high to the throat
and wrists. Since then Alice's deft fingers had cut a small square
in front and arranged a high Medicis collar at the back, whilst the
sleeves were now short to the elbow and finished off with delicate
lace ruffles. Odeyne wore no ornaments save the string of
pearls--Beatrice's wedding gift--round her neck, and a spray of
stephanotis and maidenhair fern fastened on her shoulder. Starry
white blossoms nestled in her dusky hair, which was piled up on the
top of her head. She possessed a marked individuality of her own
that was not lost upon Beatrice. Not only was she decidedly
beautiful, but she had an air of distinction--a thing of which Mrs.
Vanborough thought a great deal more.
Odeyne and her husband had come early, a good hour before other
dinner guests were likely to arrive. The young wife had taken a
liking to Beatrice, more because she found her so easy to get on
with, than for any great similarity in taste or feeling: and then
there was no doubt that Beatrice liked her--which was more than she
could say with certainty of the rest of Desmond's near relatives; and
it is easy under such circumstances to entertain warm feelings.
Odeyne was eager to like her husband's people and make herself one of
them, but Maud's coldness repelled her, whilst there was something in
the air and manner of the mother which always had the effect of
jarring on her sensibilities, though she could never exactly tell why.
So Beatrice was a pleasant contrast, and she had accepted the
brother's wife as a sister from the first. Desmond, too, liked his
sister's house far better than his mother's, and was always ready to
ride or drive across, or to ask them over to the Chase. Odeyne had
seen Beatrice quite a number of times already, and the small amount
of natural constraint she had felt at first was rapidly vanishing
away. It was certainly rather hard to feel constrained with
Beatrice, unless she intended you to be so.
As they turned to go downstairs together, Odeyne paused and said--
"Please may we go to the nursery first? I have not seen the boy for
such a long time."
Beatrice laughed as she answered--
"Do you say that because you really wish to go, or because you think
it will please me to pretend you do?"
"I say it because I want it. I think it bores you to go to your
nursery, Beatrice, but I can quite well go alone. I know the way by
this time."
Again Beatrice laughed, shaking her head.
"Your candour is delightful, and your eyes are sharp. Take care that
the combination does not get you into trouble one of these fine days,
fair sister. But I will go with you. You have a happy knack of not
boring me with your admiration of the boy. You do not expect me to
drivel over him, and really I cannot stoop to that."
The nursery was dimly lighted, cool and empty. The rosy, beautiful
boy lay sleeping in his cot, with one round, fat arm flung over his
head. Odeyne bent over him and kissed him many times, a strange
thrill running through her as she did so. It seemed such a holy and
beautiful and wonderful thing to have a little innocent child all
one's own. She felt that if such a life should some day be given to
her, as a gift from heaven, she would hardly know how to prize or
cherish it enough.
"Oh, Beatrice," she said, lifting herself up at last, "how good it
must make you try to be, to have a darling like that to think for! I
think it must be a great help, though of course it is a great anxiety
too."
Her sister-in-law regarded her with a look of speculative curiosity,
in which amusement and something not altogether removed from sadness
were strangely blended.
"A help?" she repeated questioningly. "In what way?"
"Oh, you must know, you must feel it. Think how sad it would be if
one's own children saw the least thing to make them lose confidence
in one. I know if I had seen mother or father doing wrong, or being
careless or frivolous, it would have felt as if the very foundations
of the world were giving way. Don't you know what I mean? I think
you must. There are so many temptations in life, but nothing would
help to keep us clear of them like the thought that we might be
setting a bad example to the children who trusted us. It would be
too dreadful to think that we had perhaps given the first impetus in
a wrong direction."
And Odeyne's face was turned upon her companion with a depth of sweet
seriousness upon it that for once seemed to silence the lively
Beatrice.
"Well, dear, suppose we go down now," she said, after a little pause.
"Your ideas are beautiful--almost too beautiful for daily wear, I
fear--never mind, you shall set us all an example one of these days.
No, I am not laughing at you, I verily believe you will; though
whether we follow it is quite another matter. Ah, here is Maud, come
in good time also. Well, I will leave you together, and go down, for
people may be coming any time now, and Algy is always fussing over
the wine till the very last moment."
Beatrice's dinner was a great success--most of her entertainments
were--for both she and her husband possessed the knack of getting the
right people together, and entertaining them well.
Odeyne was the person of greatest importance that night, and she made
quite a little social success, which she enjoyed in the fresh,
spontaneous way of a young thing, to whom everything was new and
delightful.
She saw that Desmond was pleased with her, and with everything, and
that added to her enjoyment; and then the talk was so bright and
lively, there was such sparkle and wit in the sallies and retorts,
that the girl was quite taken out of herself, and found it all most
entertaining; nor was she herself by any means a cypher either, but
showed that she could talk with a spice of originality that delighted
her neighbours. She was so fresh and bright and unsophisticated,
without being silly, that all were taken with her, and it was said on
all hands that the new Mrs. St. Claire was going to be an addition to
the county.
So the dinner and the first part of the evening passed off
delightfully, and it was only after the gentlemen joined the ladies
later on in the drawing-room that anything occurred to mar the
pleasure of what had gone before.
Odeyne gathered from the talk in the drawing-room that the Goodwood
races, which had hitherto been but a name to her, were shortly coming
off, and that everyone talked as if all were going as the veriest
matter-of-course.
So far Desmond had not mentioned the matter to his wife, and Odeyne
was a little surprised that Beatrice should speak of her going as if
it were a settled thing.
The girl had never seen a race in her life, and she thought it must
be a very pretty sight.
At the same time she felt a misgiving as to whether her parents would
altogether like her to be there, and she wondered if there could be
anything wrong about it, for all these people evidently meant to go,
and saw no harm in it.
Beatrice looked at her once or twice as the conversation proceeded,
as if to see how it affected her; but Odeyne was not one to air her
opinions too freely, especially when she was uncertain of her ground,
and she had implicit confidence in her husband's judgment. He would
never take her to any place she ought not to be seen at.
Desmond seemed in a very lively mood when he came in. He stood
beside his wife's chair, as though he liked to feel her near; but he
continued his conversation with the men about him, and though Odeyne
listened to every word, she found that she understood very little.
It seemed to be about horses and racing, and that was about all she
made out. Sometimes note-books were produced, and entries
made--Desmond himself made a good many--but she did not understand
what it was about, and was half ashamed of the feeling of uneasiness
which came over her as she watched and listened.
But before long the carriage was announced, and they took their
departure; and when she was once alone with her husband, felt his arm
about her waist, and heard his tender words of playful praise for the
impression she had made on the neighbourhood that night, she felt
perfectly happy again. He would never do the least thing that was
wrong; and, indeed, her confidence was such that she was not afraid
to put the question to him direct when they had got home, and were
sitting together for a chat before retiring for the night.
"Desmond, what were you all doing with your note-books just now?" she
said, laying her hand caressingly on his coat-sleeve; "it looked
almost as if you were betting together. What was it?"
"Well, you might have made a worse shot, little wifie; did you never
hear of fellows laying a little money upon coming events?" and he
laughed at his little pleasantry.
"But, Desmond, I thought it was wrong to bet."
He stooped and kissed her grave face.
"So it can be, darling--very wrong indeed, as some men do it; but not
as your husband does. You may trust me, my sweet, never to cross the
line that divides a little innocent fun from what verges on actual
fraud and roguery. Why, what a serious face, to be sure! What is
the matter, Odeyne?"
"I--I hardly know how to say it, Desmond; you know it is not that I
do not trust you--I know you would never do anything really wrong.
But I cannot help thinking it would be so much better not to bet at
all. You admit yourself that it can be very wrong indeed, and don't
you think in such a case it is safer to leave it alone altogether?"
His pleasant smile beamed like sunshine over his face. It was almost
enough in itself to dissipate her fears.
"My good, little, prudent wife, you speak with great seeming wisdom,
but with a good deal of inexperience too. We live in a world where,
unfortunately, every good thing and every pleasant thing is not only
used, but abused also--very shamefully abused in many cases; but that
is hardly a reason for not making a legitimate use of them. We
cannot cease clothing ourselves because sweaters' dens exist, nor can
we all feel it necessary to give up our glass of wine or beer because
some men will persist in getting drunk. We have to buy horses, even
though we know that dealers are cheating us, and we should have to
live in glass cases, and never do a thing, if we were to be deterred
by the thought that we were unconsciously encouraging vice in some
form or another in the actions of our daily lives. We can only take
care that all we do ourselves is upright and honest, and leave the
rest. We cannot possibly stop the evil in the world, but if we set a
good example of temperance in all things, and just and upright
dealing, we are doing good in a way--and nowhere is such temperate
example more needed than on the racecourse."
Odeyne was silent. She had hardly given these matters a thought in
her past life, they had been so utterly removed from her range of
vision. She felt that there was a flaw in Desmond's specious
argument, but hardly knew how to detect or expose it. As her silence
did not appear to be of quite a consenting kind, Desmond continued
his little discourse.
"You see, Odeyne, it does not do for a man to make himself peculiar.
If he does, he at once loses all influence over his friends, and is
put down at once as a milksop or a fool. I live amongst a very nice
set of fellows, I know their ways and like them, and we thoroughly
understand one another. Everyone admits that it is a right and
proper thing to spend a certain amount of one's income in amusement;
and so long as this sum can be well afforded, and is never exceeded,
there can be no reason alleged against spending it as one wishes. If
it amuses me to risk a few pounds over a little bet with a fellow,
just as well off as myself, what earthly harm can it do? We can both
of us afford to lose, and if I win his money one day, he will win
mine the next, and so in the long run things are pretty much where
they were, and we have had our little bit of fun. You wouldn't think
anything of playing a game for counters; and really, when one has a
little margin in money to throw about in that sort of way, there's
precious little difference that I can see. I admit that a man who
tries to get his living by betting is likely enough to turn rascal,
and, of course, it is simple idiocy the way clerks and fellows of
that class are betting nowadays. But, as I said before, with that we
have nothing to do. What I do promise, little wife, is that you
shall never have any cause to be anxious on my account; but to say I
would never lay a pound on a favourite horse would be absurd. We
should be the laughing-stock of the whole place, and lose every scrap
of influence we might otherwise possess. The moment you put yourself
on to an entirely different plane from the rest of your world, from
that moment your power ceases; and I should be really sorry to lose
what influence I have with Algernon Vanborough, for he is disposed to
be very reckless, and for poor Beatrice's sake I should be most
reluctant to cut myself off from the chance of keeping him steadier.
He is a very good fellow, and will listen to advice now; but if he
thought I had 'turned Puritan,' as he would call it, he would never
listen to another word I had to say."
Even then it was some time before Odeyne answered, and her words were
prefaced by a sigh.
"Well, Desmond, perhaps you know best, but I am sorry, for I can't
like it, or feel quite as you do. I know so little about these
things that I can't argue--I have no facts to go upon--only a vague
feeling that it can hardly be right to encourage any amusement that
leads to so much sin and misery. It isn't the racing itself I mean.
I think it must be a splendid sight to see the beautiful, strong
horses run. If you like me to go with you to Goodwood, or anywhere
else like that, I would go directly. But I do wish you would not
bet--I have such a strong feeling against it, though to you perhaps
it seems a foolish one. It seems to me almost like stealing, to take
another man's money without earning it--and you say yourself that it
is roguery in lots and lots of people. I'm afraid I don't quite see
the difference. How can what is wrong in one case be right in
another? The degree of wrong, I can see, may differ, but in kind it
is the same; it is still a wrong."
"Well, dearest, I suppose I can hardly expect you, with your training
and antecedents, to take any but a rather narrow view of such a
complicated and difficult question. I admit that it is a very
difficult one, and that your heroic remedy, if it could be enforced,
would doubtless do an immense amount of good; but then, unluckily, it
can't. We have to take the world as we find it, not as we should
like it to be; and under these circumstances we have to accept a good
deal of evil with it. Believe me, darling, that I am really acting
for the best in not rushing to extremes either in one direction or
another. I have seen as much harm done by the one extreme as by the
other, and I am convinced that a middle course is the wisest and
best, as well as the kindest to Beatrice. You will try to trust me,
Odeyne, and believe that I act for the best?"
"I will try, dear Desmond," she answered with one of her tenderest
glances. "You know that I trust you. But when a thing seems
dangerous to one's self, it is always difficult to be convinced that
the danger is imaginary. And you know, dear, if you do not mind my
saying it, it can never be really right to do evil that good may
come."
His answer was a smile. Desmond was never angry--least of all with
his young wife, whom he so tenderly loved. Of course it was just
what was to be expected from her, a little fear at first, and a few
words of remonstrance; but she would soon learn that the danger was
purely imaginary, and cease to dread it, and he would never give her
one hour of real anxiety. He had had his lesson young, whilst still
a mere lad. He had suffered enough then, he told himself, for a
lifetime, and would be in no danger of falling into the trap again.
He had plenty of ballast on board now to keep him steady--his wife at
home, and his business abroad. If, to please her, he gave up a great
part of his time to uncongenial toil, it would not be fair on her
part to grudge him his fairly-won and innocent amusements. Odeyne
was not unreasonable; she would see this for herself, and meantime he
would keep all objectionable sights and sounds from her. She should
be as happy as the day was long.
And there was no denying that the girl enjoyed Goodwood week
immensely. Desmond took her to the place before the racing began,
and showed her the country for miles round. They visited Arundel
Castle and the little watering-places in the vicinity, and to Odeyne,
to whom everything was new, it was altogether delightful. The
beautiful sweep of down, upon the crest of which the racecourse
stands, was in itself a joy to her. It was all so fresh, so breezy,
so open, even in the heat of summer, that it was hard to believe
anything very bad could go on there; and then the horses were so
beautiful and so noble-looking, and struggled so gallantly to respond
to the efforts of their riders when the time came, and it all seemed
so perfectly fair and honest, that the whole scene could not but be a
delight to the girl so keenly alive to beauty as Odeyne. She could
not believe that there was any cheating and rascality in such an
apparently simple thing as riding a race, and she was too far removed
from the betting-ring, and too ignorant of the meaning of much that
went on around her, to be enlightened or disillusioned to any great
extent. Her husband saw her looking animated and happy, and was
content, and the time passed away pleasantly for both.
Occasionally the girl's happiness was damped by the sight of some
wretched, haggard face, and she would realise forcibly at such a
moment that there was a very black reverse to all this sunshine and
glamour. At such times she would long to be back in her quiet home,
and wonder if she were right in being here at all. She would fain
have given of her abundance to some of the broken-down wretches she
sometimes saw, crushed down to the ground with misery; but once when
she timidly suggested something of the kind to Desmond, he only shook
his head.
"My dear child, where would be the use? he would only go straight to
some sharper and lose it all again. What can such fellows as that
know about racing? They are bound to lose. Nobody in the world can
help them. They merely help those rascally bookmakers to live and
thrive."
At such moments Odeyne would feel sick at heart, and wonder in what
lay the almost miraculous attraction of the scene; but it was not
until the last day that she was in any way disturbed on her own
account, and then it was only by some chance words from Beatrice.
"Well, Odeyne, it has been charming having you in our party, I have
enjoyed it double as much, so the advice I am going to give you is
the more disinterested. If I were you I would try to wean Desmond
away from such places. He is devoted to you and a very dear boy, and
you might be able to use your influence successfully. He hasn't the
head for this sort of thing. He is much too impulsive and generous
and easy-going. He hasn't got far out yet; but one of these days he
will get regularly dipped, if you don't keep him out of the way.
Algernon is past cure; all I can hope is that he will keep fairly
lucky, as he is for the most part, thank goodness. But then Algy has
twice Desmond's head, and a vast deal more knowledge to boot. So if
you take my advice, you will keep your boy away. He is young enough
now to learn better, but he will not be so long."
Odeyne made but little reply, quietly thanking Beatrice for her
advice, but not dropping a hint as to her own anxieties--she was far
too loyal a wife; but she turned the counsel over many times in her
mind, and went home with the feeling that the first little cloud had
come into her sky to dim the sunshine of her great happiness.
CHAPTER V.
_THE RITCHIES AT HOME._
Despite the little warning clouds in the clear horizon of her sky,
Odeyne settled down to her life in the new home with a sense of deep
content and happiness. It was all so interesting, so novel, and the
interest rather increased than lessened as time went by. The house
in itself was a perpetual source of pleasure to its young mistress.
It was so delightful to be surrounded by pretty things, and to find
everything for which she had expressed a wish supplied as if by
magic. True, when Desmond began to go regularly to town the young
wife found the days a little long, and sometimes even a little
lonely; but Odeyne always had plenty of occupations, and was not one
to let time hang on her hands heavily. Desmond did not go up to
business more than three or four times in the week, and on the other
days he was with her all the day. They had much to plan on the
laying out of their garden, for the girl was devoted to flowers, and
it was not till August was losing itself in September that she ever
began to feel a little dull on the days she spent alone.
The autumn came somewhat early that season, with driving rain-storms,
and frost that nipped the flowers, and drove Odeyne from her
favourite arbour in the garden to the fireside for comfort. There is
always something just a little bit sad in the death of the golden
summertide, and Odeyne, who had been accustomed to be one of a big
family, and to share in the abundant life of a household of noisy
young things, felt the silence of her home as something strange and
not altogether natural. And yet she saw little chance of improving
matters at once, for she was too much the new-comer to be able to
take the initiative with her neighbours, and just now many of the
houses were empty, for Scotland had drawn off the sporting men to the
grouse moors, whilst Switzerland and other foreign resorts had
claimed others. True, now that September was fairly in, people would
be coming home again fast; but just at the present time most of the
nearest houses were vacant, and Odeyne was thrown quite upon her own
resources.
As she stood warming her hands over her cheerful fire of logs, after
having enjoyed the early cup of tea to which she was partial, looking
out the while over the park at the driving clouds chasing each other
across the blustery sky, she felt a wish to do or see something
instead of spending the remainder of the afternoon in the house, and
after a pause for consideration, she said aloud--
"I declare I will go and see the Ritchies. They are home again now,
I know. It seems ridiculous that I have never once seen my nearest
neighbours, though I have been living here so many weeks. And I have
a feeling that I should like them, though Desmond does laugh over
them with Beatrice."
It was quite true that no meeting had so far been accomplished
between young Mrs. St. Claire and the doctor's household. When first
calls had been exchanged neither party had been at home, and not long
after Odeyne's arrival at the Chase, Mrs. Ritchie and her daughters
had gone for a month to the seaside, and were only just back now. It
was Odeyne's turn to call there, and it seemed a happy inspiration to
go this rather dreary afternoon, to fill up the time of Desmond's
absence.
The walk was a short one, and Odeyne hurried over it, for a black
cloud was coming up from the south-west, and threatened to fall in
heavy rain before long--indeed, the first drops were plashing down as
she reached the friendly shelter of the porch; and when she was
informed that Mrs. Ritchie, though not at home, was expected in every
moment, and asked if she would not wait, she gladly assented, for she
had no wish either to be baulked again or to get a wetting.
She was ushered through a homely-looking hall, rather like a parlour,
and into a low-ceiled room which bore traces of the constant
occupation of a family party. There was no blinking the matter that
the Ritchies' house was rather untidy; but there are two kinds of
untidiness, at least, one of which has a home-like and pleasant side,
altogether removed from slovenliness and dirt, and it was to this
class that the disorder in Mrs. Ritchie's house belonged. Indeed,
Odeyne's heart warmed at the sight of it. It recalled the old home
to her mental vision, as nothing at the Chase ever did. There was
something pleasant to her eyes in the worn and battered look of many
of the articles of furniture, in the threadbare patches on the
carpet, covered by rugs, and the pieces of unfinished needlework and
well-used books lying about on table, and chair. It was certainly
very charming to have all your surroundings harmonious and beautiful,
but it was more natural to see traces of economy and lack of means in
the ordering of the household, and Odeyne knew that she should feel
the more at home in this house for these little familiar touches.
The room was rather dim and dark, for one window was shaded by a
little greenhouse into which it opened, and the black cloud had
spread over the sky by this time. Odeyne at first thought no one was
present, as she had been ushered in unannounced: but as she advanced
towards the cheerful fire that glowed in the grate, a figure raised
itself suddenly into a sitting posture upon the rug, and a voice out
of the shadow said--
"I beg your pardon. I believe I have been to sleep."
Odeyne looked at the speaker, and in the uncertain light could not
make out whether it was a boy or a girl. The hair was short and
curly, the face, with its sharp, marked features, might have belonged
to either sex, and the dress was concealed by the heavy folds of an
old carriage rug which enveloped the semi-recumbent figure.
"I hope you haven't been waiting long. I don't know who you are, or
if you've come to see father or mother; but it was sensible of the
girl to bring you in here, any way, for the consulting-room is
precious cold, I daresay."
"I am not a patient," answered Odeyne with her sweet, low laugh; "I
am Desmond St. Claire's wife, and I have come to see you all. I am
very glad to have found somebody at home at last, and I should very
much like to know who you are."
The answer was prefaced by an answering laugh.
"Me? Oh, I'm only Jem. I don't count as anybody. I'm no good.
Mother will be in almost directly. She'll be awfully glad to see
you--so am I, for the matter of that. We've known Desmond ever since
he was a little boy--at least, the rest have. I don't profess to
remember much about it, for it's a great many years since we have
seen anything of him. I think he's got rather too grand for us, as
all the rest have, except, perhaps, Maud. It's no fun, you know,
when people get what Tom calls 'heavy swells.' I'd as soon not
pretend to be so very intimate. It looks as if one wanted to push
one's self where one isn't wanted."
"Well, at any rate, Jem, I'm not a heavy swell in any sense of the
word, I hope; and I think you and I ought to be friends, as we both
like plain speaking. And then in my old home I had quite a
reputation for getting on with boys--hitting it off, I suppose Tom
would say."
"To be sure he would. I'm glad you are not too grand to talk a
little slang in private. But I am not a boy, worse luck, only a
girl--and a girl with the awful name of Jemima, to boot. It's like
adding insult to injury, as I always tell them. I thought perhaps
you might have known our names; but of course Desmond would hardly
take count of me. I never played about with the others."
And as the girl slowly raised herself into a more upright sitting
posture, Odeyne saw with compassion that there was some malformation
of the childish figure, though she could not detect exactly what it
was. The face had the marked cast that so often accompanies
deformity, but the features were good, and the expression decidedly
attractive. The eyes, too, were really beautiful, and there was
something pathetic in the underlying sadness of their clear depths,
none the less so because the girl was often laughing, and seemed to
have a more than common aptitude for fun.
Odeyne bent forward and softly kissed the broad, pale brow. Jem
started, and then flushed as she caught the sweet look in the eyes
bent upon her.
"I have a very dear brother, who was an invalid for a great many
years," said the young wife softly. "I know all about sick people
and their ways. You must often come to see me, if you can, and I
will come to see you, too. We shall be great friends, I know, though
you are only a girl."
"Oh, I'm not an invalid," answered Jem quickly; "I'm only deformed;
and that makes my back ache a good deal, often. It ached all last
night, and kept me awake; so I went to sleep over the fire just now,
and didn't hear you come in. I hope you didn't think I was a
lunatic."
"Then you can get about the house, and out of it too, I hope? That
is right. It will make it easier for us. And some day you will come
out driving with me, I hope; for it is very dull going all alone,
especially for anyone like me. I have been used to a large family of
brothers and sisters, till I married and left them all. I want to
have some friends here to see plenty of. I shall make a beginning
with you, I think."
Jem's face beamed with pleasure.
"Will you really? Well, you are a brick--if you don't mind my saying
so. And you will tell me about your brother, won't you?--the one who
was ill. I hope he did not die," with a quick, upward look. "You
did not look sad when you spoke of him."
"Oh no, he is not dead; he is much better and stronger than he has
been ever since he was born. Some day soon, I hope, he will come and
see me; but I may have to wait till the spring, I am afraid, as it
might not do for him to leave home in the damp or cold, and
Devonshire is warmer in winter than this place. But I have my
soldier brother at Ashford, not five miles away. He is adjutant of
his depot, and he comes to see me as often as he can, which is very
nice. Now tell me about your brothers and sisters. Desmond has told
me their names, but he has talked to me about so many strangers that
I get a little confused amongst them all."
"Oh, we are not a large family--there are only Cissy and Cuthbert and
Tom. Tom is my favourite, because he is nearer my age, perhaps, and
he amuses me the most, and we seem always to understand one another
without any words--you know what I mean, don't you? But I think we
are a very united family altogether. Sometimes I think we must be a
bore to people, for I know we do like talking of one another, and
praising up one another, and in my inmost soul I know that that is
what one might reasonably call bad form, but I go on doing it all the
same. I could talk to you about Tom by the hour together, and enjoy
it. It is a family failing, I believe."
Odeyne was much entertained by her quaint little companion, but had
not the chance to make a rejoinder, for the door opened to admit Mrs.
Ritchie and her elder daughter, whilst a confusion of masculine
voices in the hall without bespoke the close proximity of the sons.
In another moment the room seemed full, and Odeyne had exchanged
greetings with the whole family. Thanks to what she had been told by
Jem and Desmond, she was able to distinguish one from another, and
though the light was still rather dim she could see enough to enable
her to make her observations with a certain amount of accuracy and
discrimination.
Mrs. Ritchie she found delightful from the first. Not that she was
endowed with any great outward attractions, or shone in conversation.
On the contrary, she was stout and homely in manner and appearance,
and a little bit inconsequent at times in her speech, making remarks
that elicited peals of laughter from her quick-witted children, in
which no one joined more heartily than herself. But then she was
every inch the mother, with the mother's quick, kindly eye, the
mother's gentle restraining and encouraging influence. Her
children's faces lighted instinctively as they turned towards her.
They talked to her as if she were one of themselves, and familiar
with every detail of their lives. The tall sons waited on her, and
paid her little marks of attention, as if it were a privilege and
pleasure to do so, and her husband sat beside her, with his hand on
the back of her chair, in a way which plainly testified to the
satisfaction it was to feel her near. Different as many things were,
Odeyne was reminded of her old home again and again, and she felt for
the first time since leaving it the warm, comfortable sensation of
being in the midst of a thoroughly united family.
Perhaps Jem was right in saying that they were fond of talking of
themselves and their own affairs, but if it were the case Odeyne was
not disposed to find any fault--indeed, she often found her attention
straying from the more or less conventional conversation carried on
by one or another with herself, to the free-and-easy chatter the sons
were indulging in, or the anecdotes the father was relating to his
"little girl," as he called Jem.
And when it became evident to all that their guest enjoyed the
unrestrained converse of a family party they tried to let her share
in it; little domestic jokes and catch-words were explained, merry
sallies exchanged, and the new-comer showed herself so thoroughly up
to this style of conversation that she made her way with wonderful
rapidity, and was taken at once into the inner circle as a friend.
"It is so nice that Desmond has married you," Jem remarked with the
quaint outspoken candour that seemed to be her prerogative in the
home party. "We have been so wondering what you would be like, and
if we should see more or less of Desmond after his marriage. Tom saw
you out riding the other day, and said----"
"Shut up, young 'un!" here interposed Tom, though not with the air of
confusion that many lads would have betrayed under the circumstances;
"tales out of school ain't fair."
"Tom said," continued Jem, perfectly unabashed, "that you were
awfully pretty, but looked altogether a cut above us, and were very
thick with Mrs. Vanborough and her set, of whom we see almost
nothing. But you're not a bit like any of them really, and I am very
glad. I do so hope you will like us. We have not got a great many
fashionable friends, you know; but it is nice sometimes to see people
who wear pretty things, and go out into the world. I do so like to
sit and listen to stories about what goes on, that none of us ever
see. I could talk to you all day----"
"That I am sure you could do," put in Tom, _sotto voce_. "And what a
treat it would be for Mrs. St. Claire!"
Jem gave him a reproving glance, and then laughed, not taking up the
thread of her ideas. The father turned and laid a hand upon her
curly head, saying caressingly--
"The little girl always was the family chatter-box; but she is none
the worse for that, is she, Jem?"
"No, daddy, I hope not; one must assert one's self somehow, when one
is the youngest of the family."
"And we have known dear Desmond from his childhood," put in Mrs.
Ritchie, in her placid way, turning towards Odeyne in more
confidential fashion. "He was always such a dear boy, and as a
little fellow he was always here, playing about with Cuthbert, who is
very much his own age. Of course we have seen but little of him
since his father's death; he has not been much in the neighbourhood,
and seven years is a big gap in a young life. Of course we were all
anxious to know if we should renew the pleasant acquaintance, when he
came to live so near us. I hardly know why it has been, but we never
seem to have got into the old easy terms with the girls since they
came back. Maud is a pretty constant caller, but not much more than
a caller, and Beatrice we hardly ever see. She has grown quite out
of our little world, poor girl." And Mrs. Ritchie sighed in a way
that would mightily have amused the Hon. Mrs. Vanborough had she
chanced to overhear it.
But Odeyne understood better, and gave a quick look at the speaker.
A wordy battle was going on in another quarter, and under cover of
the noise the visitor drew a little nearer to her hostess.
"I think I know partly what you mean about Beatrice. I have felt it
a little myself, though I could not say so to anyone but a very old
friend of the family. Do you know much about the people I meet at
her house? They are not a bit like those I have seen anywhere before
I married--but, then, I hardly saw anything or anybody. I am so
dreadfully inexperienced."
"Oh, my love--I beg your pardon, I should say Mrs. St. Claire----"
"Oh no, please not--please say Odeyne. It is so nice to hear one's
name sometimes, and you are Desmond's oldest friends, and will soon
be mine, I hope. But you were going to tell me about Beatrice. Oh,
it would be such a comfort to have someone to advise me! Desmond
cannot quite understand what I mean. He has grown used to it--but it
is a kind of atmosphere there is in the house--I do not know if I can
explain. I hope I am not wrong in saying so much--but sometimes I
feel as if it would be such a relief to talk to somebody who feels a
little as I do. Indeed, I do not want to find any fault."
"My dear, I am sure you do not; and I know exactly what you mean. I
do not go often to the house, but one hardly needs to go there to
know what causes your anxiety. Perhaps our position of very old
residents, and my husband's profession, which takes him into so many
houses, gives us exceptional opportunities for knowing much that goes
on; but, at any rate, we do hear a good deal, and I am afraid it is
no secret now that Mr. Vanborough is almost entirely 'on the Turf,'
as they call it, and that it is a very fast company that assembles at
his house."
And as Odeyne made no reply, but sat looking rather pale and grave,
the speaker continued eagerly--
"But, dear Odeyne--if I may really call you so--you must not run away
with the idea that there is anything bad about Beatrice or her house.
I believe many of her great friends are exceedingly nice
people--kind, open-handed, generous, and in many ways high-principled
too. You know how charming she is herself, and how she draws people
to her. Dear girl, my heart often aches for her, as I think of all
the temptations to which she is exposed. Still she married with her
eyes open, and she must take the consequences. But, oh, my dear--if
you will not think I am taking an unwarrantable liberty in saying
it--do not let Desmond go too much into that set, if you can help it.
It is hardly a safe one for a young man with plenty of money, and his
unsuspecting nature. At home with you, or in many houses round, he
will be safe; but I would not like, if I were his mother, to see him
too often at Mr. Vanborough's."
Odeyne sat silent so long that her hostess took sudden alarm, and
added, in the humblest way--
"I hope I have not said too much, or offended you in any way.
Perhaps it was a liberty to have spoken so frankly about your
husband's relations; but I love him----"
"Oh, Mrs. Ritchie, please do not think I am offended--indeed, I am
very grateful to you. I know it is because you love him that you say
all this. It is not about Desmond that I was looking grave. He goes
there very little now that he is so often in town, and the days are
getting shorter. He is very fond of his sister; but I do not think
he cares at all particularly for her friends. It was of poor
Beatrice herself I was thinking. I do feel so very sorry for her.
And that dear little boy. What will she do as he grows up,
if--if----" Odeyne paused there, hardly knowing how to finish the
sentence. "Ah, that poor darling child! I have asked myself the
same question many times; but there are some things that hardly bear
thinking of. Perhaps Beatrice will awake to the danger before he
gets of an age to know or notice much. Perhaps God may have sent you
here just now to be her guardian angel and his."
The words were so very simple-spoken that Odeyne could have smiled,
yet the tears were near her eyes too.
"I am afraid I am not much like a guardian angel," she answered with
equal simplicity; "but at least I will do my best, and if--if I am in
trouble or perplexity, may I come to you and tell you all about it?
I am so far away from my own mother, and this house reminds me so
much of my own dear old home."
It was good to the girl to receive the warm, motherly kiss that Mrs.
Ritchie bestowed on her at parting. Certainly this visit had brought
about an intimacy little expected, and had been a very remarkable
introduction. It was hard to believe she had never seen these people
two hours ago, and stranger still that the first interview should
have been so confidential. But so it was, and as Odeyne walked back,
attended to her own gate by Cuthbert and Tom, she felt that it was
but the prelude to a very pleasant and satisfactory friendship.
CHAPTER VI.
_AUTUMN DAYS._
"What, Alice, so soon?" said Odeyne, with something of surprise and
gentle reproof in her tone. "I do not wish to stand in the way of
your happiness, as I think you know, but is it not rather sudden?"
Pretty Alice stood before her young mistress, twisting the corner of
her apron in her fingers, her face rosy-red with the stress of her
feelings--shame, pleasure, and gratified vanity all blended
together--not unmixed, Odeyne hoped, with deeper and more lasting
emotion.
"If you please, ma'am, it does not seem sudden to us. He has been
courting me a good while now. We met each other at Goodwood, where
you and the master went for the races. He is everything that is
respectable, and I think mother would be pleased. But I wanted to
tell you first of all, as you've always been so kind."
"What is his name, Alice? and what do you know about him? Do you
quite understand what a serious step you are taking in thinking of
marriage? I only speak like this for your own good. It seems as if
I were in a manner responsible for you, as you are so far away from
your own relations, and have left them all to be with me."
"Oh yes, ma'am, I know that, and I know you are always kind. But if
you were to see him, I am sure you would be satisfied. Why, he is
almost a gentleman, and he earns his two pounds a week regular. He
is what they call a clerk, and he wants, above everything, to get
into the master's office. He has very good references, he says, and
I thought maybe you would speak up for him."
"Well, Alice, the master shall certainly hear all about it, and no
doubt he will do all that is kind and right, and I should be very
glad for your husband to be in our employ. But if he is a clerk,
what took him down to Goodwood in race week? It was not the best
place for him, surely?"
"You see, ma'am, we like our little bit of amusement as well as our
betters. Poor folks have the same kind of feelings as rich ones, I
think. It isn't a bad place--you and the master were there. It was
as good a way of spending his little bit of holiday as any other."
Odeyne made no reply.
There were times when she felt a momentary sinking at heart, for
which she could not entirely account.
Instead of answering, she asked a question.
"What is his name? You have not told me that."
"Walter Garth, ma'am; and if you would please see him I think you
would not object any more. He has no father or mother, and his
sisters and brothers are all married and scattered, and he has nobody
depending upon him. We should be very happy and comfortable. He has
saved a little money, and he says if I like it better, he will live
in the country and go into town every day. Oh, he is very, very
kind, and will do anything if I will only marry him. I do hope,
ma'am, that you will let me."
Odeyne smiled a little at the girl's simplicity.
"It is hardly for me to decide such a point, Alice. I will give you
the best advice in my power, but you must be the one to decide. All
I hope is that you will not act in a hurry, but will insist on at
least six or eight months' engagement. If he really cares for you he
will not mind the delay very much, if you ask it, and it will give
you time to know more of one another."
Alice looked a little disappointed; she hesitated, and then said, as
she twisted her apron still more--
"He will think that a long time to wait. He wants to be married at
Christmas--and thought that rather long. Folks like us do not care
for waiting such a time. When it's all settled it seems more
sensible like to get it all over and done with--leastways Walter
thinks so--he said so the other day."
"And are you in such a great hurry to leave me?"
A different look came into the girl's face at once. She was not
really ungrateful or callous, and she loved her mistress dearly; but
she had been thinking of her own affairs of late to the exclusion of
all else, and at such a crisis of a woman's life such self-absorption
is natural and pardonable enough.
"Oh no, ma'am; sometimes it half breaks my heart to think of leaving
you. But what can I do? I can't say I don't care for Walter when I
do, and if he would but let us live somewhere near here, where I
could see you often, I think I should be quite happy again. Oh, if
you would but see him yourself, I am sure you would help us."
"Well, Alice, I will. You know I always wish to stand your friend.
And I should be very glad to have you near, if the distance from town
is not too great. I will certainly do what I can to promote your
happiness. You had better write to this Walter Garth to come over
next Saturday afternoon. I will pay his expenses."
"Thank you, ma'am," said Alice, brightening up at once; "he is sure
to come. He often does run over for the Sunday. I know you will be
pleased with him, and he is truly fond of me."
Then Odeyne finished her toilet quickly and went downstairs, for she
was expecting her mother-in-law and Maud on a visit of some days, and
they might arrive at any time now.
Mrs. St. Claire and her daughter had been among the number of those
who had been absent from home during the past weeks, so that Odeyne
had seen but little of them. She had made the most of the
opportunities presented during the first month of life at the Chase,
and in many ways she seemed to know them pretty well; but so far no
real intimacy of thought or feeling had been established between
them, and she hoped that a residence beneath the same roof would
bring about this desirable consummation.
But as she reached the hall a cry of pleasure escaped her lips, for
she saw her brother Edmund standing there, muffled up in a thick
overcoat and comforter, his portmanteau at his feet.
She ran towards him with a face full of sunshine. She had seen
nothing of him for nearly a fortnight, and his visits had so far been
altogether too few and far between to satisfy her, though she knew
that he could not help it.
"Edmund, delightful! And have you really come to stop? What a dear
boy you are! Do you know how pleased I am to see you?"
He stooped and kissed her warmly. His face was very bright too.
"Well, you see, I have taken you at your word. You said there would
always be a bed for me whenever I liked to turn up. I hope I have
not exceeded my prerogative in taking you by surprise."
"Edmund, how hoarse you are! You must have a horrid cold."
"I have, but do not scold it or me, for it has got me this unexpected
week's leave of absence. Yes, Odeyne, I have positively come for a
whole week, and you had better make up your mind to the infliction.
I am supposed to want a little nursing, so you see what you are let
in for."
She laughed as she led him into the cosy drawing-room, and
established him in the armchair by the fire. He was in the best of
spirits, despite his hoarseness and trifling indisposition, and
neither brother nor sister were disposed to find fault with it, as it
had brought them so much pleasure.
"I hope you will not mind, Edmund, but mamma and Maud are coming
to-day to stay for a little while. I am very glad to have you, for
mamma likes to be talked to and amused, and I am sure Desmond will be
delighted; for of course it is a little dull for him when my time is
taken up so much more by visitors. I do not think you have ever seen
any of Desmond's relations, have you?"
"No, never. What kind of an old lady is she? Very formidable, eh?
Does she bully you?"
"Oh no, Edmund. She is very kind. She makes us beautiful presents,
and is not the least bit captious or interfering. Sometimes I almost
wish she would make more criticisms. But she always says
complimentary things about all we do."
"Ah, well, I think she would be rather hard to please if she found
fault with your _ménage_. Well, I will do my best to be civil to the
old lady. What is the sister like? Is she as pretty as Mrs.
Vanborough? I saw her once, driving with her husband in a very
extensive turn-out. She was a regular stunner."
"Maud is not much like Beatrice--not nearly so easy to get on with at
first, but I am not sure that I should not really like her better if
I could only get to know her; but I do not think she likes me, and
that makes it more difficult."
"She must have rum taste, then."
Odeyne laughed and shook her head.
"You think so, dear boy, but people are so different. I cannot hope
to please them all, I am afraid. Hark! that is Desmond's step. Oh,
how good of him! He has come home by an earlier train, to be here
when mamma arrives."
Desmond it was, and as he entered the room his face lighted up with
pleasure, for he liked immensely to have a man-guest, and he had
already heard that his brother-in-law had arrived with luggage.
"This is capital, isn't it, Odeyne? So the mater has not turned up
yet? Well, she will not be long now. And how does the world wag
with you, Edmund? You come in good time to give us the Ashford
gossip. My mother loves a little military news."
The two men plunged into talk at once, and Odeyne sat listening, with
her face bright with pleasure and interest. She felt that it was a
very happy chance that had brought Edmund to the Chase at this
particular juncture. Mrs. St. Claire was sure to like him--she was
fond of anyone who would talk in a bright, animated way, and Odeyne
had a good deal of sisterly admiration of, and pride in, her handsome
soldier brother. Perhaps he was the one out of the whole family
group most likely to produce a favourable impression on the old lady,
and it was a relief to have him in the house upon this first visit.
Nor was Odeyne disappointed by the result of her expectations.
Mother-in-law and sister-in-law alike seemed pleased and aroused by
the gaiety of the two young men, as they sat over the fire making
merry together and entertaining the ladies by their jokes and stories.
Edmund did his best, for his sister's sake, to please her new
relations, and Mrs. St. Claire remarked, as Odeyne accompanied her to
her room that night, that it must be a great advantage to have her
brother so near at hand. Odeyne assented warmly, and listened to her
mother-in-law's little compliments about Edmund with far more
pleasure than when the soft speeches were addressed to herself.
Even Maud had been quite lively and talkative that evening, and
Desmond, who had been a little disposed to grumble about the visit of
his relatives, now declared that Odeyne had been quite right in
suggesting it, and that she was a first-rate little mistress and
hostess.
Odeyne was still almost childishly pleased at any compliments from
her husband, and glowed with a happy satisfaction. Then, as they sat
over their fire sociably together, she told him of little Alice's
petition of that afternoon, and asked him what he thought of it.
Desmond listened, and seemed struck by a happy idea.
"Tell you what it is, Odeyne, if that fellow Garth is any good, and
_has_ a good character, and all that, it strikes me he might be
uncommonly useful to me. And in that case I would engage him almost
at once."
"Oh, Desmond, I am so glad. Have you really an opening for him? How
very fortunate."
"You see, it's like this. I want a trustworthy fellow to act as a
sort of confidential clerk, to live near here and go up with messages
and letters on the days I don't go in to business. Several of these
horrid, wet, foggy days I might have stayed cosily at home with my
little wife, if I could have sent a confidential messenger up to the
City house. And now, with the hunting just beginning, I may be a
little less regular again, and it would be no end of a convenience
then to have a fellow like that at one's own gates, to send in every
morning with instructions for the day. And in the winter, when the
weather may be perfectly beastly, it would be a great relief to feel
less tied, eh, wifie? You would be glad sometimes to keep me at
home, when the snow was on the ground, and the whole place reeking in
frost-fog?"
"I should indeed, Desmond. I cannot bear you going by rail when it
is foggy. I am not so used to trains as people who have lived
amongst them all their lives. And I should be very pleased indeed to
keep Alice still under my eye, so to speak; only you know, dearest, I
should not like to see you grow slothful over your business on the
strength of this new arrangement."
Desmond laughed lightly as he bent to kiss her.
"No danger of that, so long as I have so faithful a monitor as my
little wife at home. Are you in such a great hurry to get rich,
dearest, that you are determined I shall not let the grass grow under
my feet?"
Odeyne smiled and shook her head, but made no other answer. She had
no wish to put into words the vague feelings that prompted her to
urge her husband to keep as far as possible to some steady
occupation, be it what it might.
Next day the young wife took Mrs. St. Claire all over the house. She
had never really seen it since she had left it many years ago, and it
interested her to note all that had been done in the intervening
time. Odeyne was half afraid that there might be something painful
to her in thus going over the place; but either she did not feel it
so, or else she was most successful in hiding the feeling. She
admired and praised--not without a few shrewd comments that partook
of the nature of criticism--and Odeyne was both glad and grateful for
any hints, both because she knew her own inexperience, and because
she felt it more like real intimacy to be criticised as well as
praised. In the course of their peregrinations they reached the
nurseries, which had been left almost untouched since the elder Mrs.
St. Claire's time. They were bright, cheerful rooms, with plenty of
light and space, and Odeyne paused here and hesitated, the colour
rising in her face as she looked round her, for she had a little
confidence she wished to make to Desmond's mother, and it seemed
almost easier to make it now.
"We have done nothing here so far, but I wanted to ask you--do you
think they should be freshly papered and painted? I think they look
a little dingy and neglected, and I think--I hope--if all goes well,
that we shall want them in the spring."
Mrs. St. Claire was much pleased and gratified, though she said
little. There was just one quick, bright glance, and warm pressure
of the hand that brought the blood to the girl's face, and nearly
brought the tears to her eyes too, and then the mother-in-law turned
into the woman of business, and began to give very sound and
practical advice as to what would be needed in the doing up of the
rooms themselves.
Certainly, after that morning a better understanding existed between
the elder and younger Mrs. St. Claire. Odeyne was always ready to
meet advances more than half way, and the feeling that she had become
more to Desmond's mother, and had risen in her estimation, was very
pleasant. Maud was not sensibly changed; she spent every available
moment with Desmond, and when he was out, Edmund showed a disposition
to monopolise her. When Maud was in her better moods she could be
very amusing and interesting, with her quick observation, keen
tongue, and remarkably vivid descriptive powers. But in Odeyne's
presence she seldom unbent like this, and it was only by hearsay that
she learned how different others found her.
Edmund was of great service at this time, and the days flew by only
too fast. His cold mended apace, and he was deprived, as he said, of
the only decent excuse he might have alleged as the reason for an
extension of his absence from duty.
"By-the-by, do you hunt?" asked Desmond, on the last day of Edmund's
stay at the Chase; "if you do we shall often meet. The season will
begin almost directly."
Edmund laughed at the question.
"Soldiers who have little but their pay to live on, can't afford to
hunt."
"Oh, if that is all, I can give you a mount any day you like to
arrange to be at the meet, if you will give me a day's notice. You
must ride half a stone lighter than I. Any of my horses would carry
you easily."
Edmund's face brightened. Like all country-bred men he enjoyed a day
with the hounds immensely; but it was a pleasure that was very rarely
attainable.
"It's awfully good of you to say so, but really I should hardly like
to take advantage of your offer. You must want your hunters
yourself."
"Oh, I've more than I want. I have a couple coming down from
Leicestershire next week. I meant to give my old hunter, whom I can
trust down to the ground, to my wife to hunt this season; but she
does not approve of ladies in the hunting-field--and perhaps she is
right--so really I have a spare animal very much at your service. It
will be a charity to ride him, for he loves the work, and would take
it very ill to be left time after time in his stable when the hounds
were out. You'll really do me a favour if you'll use him as often as
you can. Send me a line at any time and he shall be brought to the
meet for you, unless you will come overnight and ride him across
yourself."
"Well, really you are awfully kind. I don't know what to say.
Suppose I bring the animal to grief?"
"Well, we'll put it down to Odeyne's account. One always reckons to
lose one horse a season if a lady hunts it. If it doesn't go lame,
it gets a sore back, and anyway is no more good."
"Well, Desmond, if you persist in making such good offers you can't
expect a fellow to decline them--it's not in human nature. I shall
be only too pleased to come as often as I have the chance. What kind
of runs do you get round here?"
"Well, regular hunting men from the Midlands would call them
execrable--not worth calling runs at all; but we residents try to
make the best of things, and enjoy our sport very well. Of course it
isn't hunting country, it doesn't take two eyes to see that; but all
the same we get very fair runs from time to time, and it is always
pleasant to meet one's friends, and all that kind of thing. You will
get to know a lot of jolly fellows, and that alone is worth
something. And I shall like introducing you and making you feel at
home here. If you have five years of it, it is worth while to know
the people about, and soldiers are always popular, eh, Odeyne?"
Odeyne looked back with a smile, yet her husband's last words had
caused her a momentary anxiety. Would this hunting throw Desmond
into the company of Beatrice and her set once more? And would Edmund
make friends amongst them too? She had felt so pleased to hear the
offer which was to give him so much pleasure, and already her
satisfaction was a little damped. But then she took heart again, for
if Edmund were with him surely Desmond would not be so dependent on
Beatrice and her friends. Perhaps all would turn out for the best,
and she must not encourage idle fears, but rather resolve that his
home should be full of sunshine, so that he always came back to it
with renewed pleasure.
When their visitors had left them, husband and wife turned their
attention to Alice Hanbury's love affairs. Walter Garth presented
himself duly, and produced a most favourable impression. He was
good-looking in a manly fashion, and was evidently very much in
earnest in his courtship. He was better educated than most men of
his class, and far more refined in manner. Alice had had some cause
to speak of him as "almost a gentleman," though at the time Odeyne
had thought it anything but in his favour. However, his refinement
proved to be that of nature, not a mere veneer assumed for a purpose;
and as Desmond took a decided fancy to him, and his employers gave
him an excellent character, all went smoothly for the lovers. It was
arranged that they should live at one of the lodges, that Alice
should continue certain little offices for her mistress as long as
she cared to do so, and that Garth himself should go up daily to town
in the capacity of Desmond's confidential clerk. His salary was
liberal, his duties more responsible than onerous, and nothing could
have seemed more delightful to the happy Alice. The wedding was
fixed for Christmas, as Desmond took the part of the sighing swain,
and declared that it would be cruel to ask him to defer his happiness
longer; and Alice looked forward to her future life without the
smallest misgiving of any kind.
Even Beatrice was quite interested in this new plan.
"It's a capital idea!" she cried in her decisive fashion. "For
really it is rather absurd for Desmond to be tied so much by the
business. He is never to be had when wanted, and it is always the
office that is the excuse. A confidential man on the spot will be an
immense help, and now we shall see more of you both, I hope. We have
let you enjoy a preternaturally secluded honeymoon all these months,
as you are both such babies and so refreshingly fond of each other.
But you must not live always shut up as you are doing now. So I give
you fair warning!"
"I am sure we come to see you very often, Beatrice," said Odeyne,
with a slightly heightened colour.
"Oh yes, dear, you drop in pretty often, and it is very nice of you;
but you decline invitations to stop in the house because of the
distance from the station for Desmond. I don't care much for
afternoon calls. I like people who come and stay--and so does Algy.
He is very fond of Desmond, and has been quite cross that he is so
hard to get hold of. But this new plan will make all easy."
Odeyne smiled, trying hard to keep down a dull sense of reluctant
pain that would assert itself, she hardly knew why.
"We shall be having visitors of our own very soon," she remarked,
looking at her sister-in-law with brightening eyes. "We have planned
to ask quite a houseful of my people down for Christmas. I don't
know how many will come, but I am sure we shall get some of them."
"That will be very delightful for you," answered Beatrice cordially;
"I am sure I shall be very pleased to make the acquaintance of one
and all. Your brother Edmund is delightful. Algy has taken quite a
fancy to him, and we hope to see a good deal of him. If the rest are
at all like him they will be very popular here--as you are yourself,
my dear. But we are some way off Christmas yet, and I hope we shall
be able to show you a little social gaiety before then. I shall
arrange something with Desmond soon about getting you across."
Beatrice sailed away to her carriage, all smiles and graciousness and
good temper. She treated Odeyne in a far more sisterly fashion than
Maud ever dreamed of doing, and was sincerely fond of her; and yet
she had a way of leaving behind her a curious sense of oppression,
which Odeyne tried in vain to shake off.
"I love Beatrice dearly," she said to herself, giving a little shake,
as though to get rid of some unwelcome impression; "but somehow I
don't want to go and stay at her house. We are so happy here. I
wonder what Desmond will say about it?"
CHAPTER VII.
_BEATRICE AT HOME._
Desmond decided that they ought to accept the invitation.
"The fact is, darling, we are in danger of growing selfish in our
happiness," he said. "But it won't do to shut ourselves up
altogether at home; and I particularly want to be useful to Beatrice
if I can. Poor Algy is a rattling good fellow, in his way; but he is
going the pace altogether too fast. I want to put a spoke in his
wheel if I can, for her sake and the boy's. I think she looks to me
to do it. You see she has no father, and her brother is naturally
the person she would depend on."
Desmond spoke with perfect sincerity and good feeling. In the
plenitude of his own happiness and prosperity, he would fain have
stretched out a friendly hand to all the world within reach. He felt
so very staid and sober himself, going into business with a
commendable regularity, and really showing an aptitude for such
matters which he had hardly expected at the outset. He began to feel
that he could look with a certain friendly compassion and solicitude
upon a man like Algernon Vanborough, who was getting more and more
deeply "dipped," and whose affairs were becoming unpleasantly
involved. He promised himself that he would speak plainly with his
brother-in-law when they were alone together, and he explained to
Odeyne that he hoped great things from their joint influence with
their relatives.
"For Beatrice wants a word of caution too," he said. "She is a bit
extravagant herself, you know; must have everything in tip-top style,
and all that sort of thing, and goes the pace in her way almost as
fast as Algy in his. It would be no end of a good thing for her to
make a friend of you, and unless she fills the house too full for the
hunting, you ought to have a good many opportunities of getting
intimate. She has taken a great liking for my little wife!"
Alice the maid was very pleased to hear of the proposed visit.
"You will be able to wear all your new dresses there, ma'am, and here
we are so very quiet," she remarked, rather to Odeyne's amusement,
seeing that until a few months ago Alice had known nothing but the
still, peaceful life of the Rectory. "The master brings you home
such lovely things; and some of them you've hardly so much as put on
yet."
This was true enough, for Desmond was constantly bringing home from
town boxes full of finery for his wife. Anything that took his eye
as he walked the streets he must have for Odeyne, and Alice had quite
a gift for adapting these purchases to suit her mistress's figure.
Nor was the girl herself forgotten. Desmond took a good-natured
interest in her and her affairs, and would often bring some little
thing back for her as well, and laughingly remark that it would "do
for the trousseau."
Odeyne sometimes remonstrated a little at the rather over-lavish way
in which her husband spent his money, but he would only laugh and
call her a little miser, and declared that if she persisted in
sending him to "money-grub" in the City day by day, she must not
grudge him the satisfaction of spending a small portion of these
earnings on people who showed them off to such advantage. Then
Odeyne had to smile and be kissed into compliance. She was too happy
and too fond and proud of her husband to entertain any serious
misgivings where he was concerned.
And now Desmond promised himself some relaxation.
"What is the good of having this new man if you do not let him save
you a little more?" Beatrice asked, soon after they had been
established in her luxurious house. "I'm going to have him over, and
put him up at the Vanborough Arms whilst you are here. I want you to
take a holiday and have a good time. We shall be having some friends
down soon, and you mustn't always be rushing off to town, Desmond.
You are wanted much more here."
Beatrice spoke gaily, but Odeyne thought there was a slight undertone
of anxiety in her voice, and the next time they were alone together
she said to her, almost entreatingly--
"Don't grudge Desmond to us whilst you are here. He is much more
wanted by Algy than by the office. He is fond of Desmond, and that
keeps him away from other places and people. Sometimes I am awfully
wretched about him, Odeyne; and I don't seem able to hold him back
one bit. He is fond of me, but I have no power over him. It is not
with us as it is with you and Desmond. You could bring him back to
your side with a single glance. He would forego anything sooner than
grieve you."
Odeyne smiled a little happy smile, for she felt that these words
were true. She was more drawn towards Beatrice this time than she
had been before, for she felt that she stood in need of help and
sisterly comforting. On the surface she was bright and sparkling,
but when alone with her "sister," as she always called Odeyne, she
often permitted some of the fears and anxieties which preyed upon her
to come to the surface.
"It is such a relief to speak of these things sometimes," she said;
"I believe I might get morbid about them if I had no outlet. And
mamma is such a Job's comforter. She did not much want me to marry
Algy; she thought him fast then, and now she thinks in her heart that
I am only reaping what I have sown; and Maud thinks of nothing but
Desmond, and that Algy will hurt him and draw him into his set.
Sometimes I feel quite alone in the world amongst them all. But you
understand better than anybody, though you are a stranger, and
Desmond's wife too. He is a dear boy, and shows his good sense and
good taste in choosing you out of all the world!"
Alice was very delighted by the arrangement which brought her lover
so near to her during these days of enjoyment at Rotherham Park.
Walter Garth had to come daily to the Park to report to the youthful
head of the firm, and to take orders and messages for the morrow.
After that business was completed he generally spent an hour with
Alice, whilst Desmond read the letters brought, after which he was
summoned again, and took notes and instructions for answering these
on the morrow. His quickness of comprehension and ready skill with
his pen commended him much to Desmond, who was not himself fond of
letter-writing, and he soon began to put more and more of his own
work upon Garth, and to use him for increasingly confidential
correspondence.
This was exactly what the young man wanted, and his face used to be
very bright and well-satisfied as he talked with pretty Alice in some
secluded corner of the grounds, or in the privacy of the
housekeeper's room.
"I mean to get on in the world," he would say; "I feel it in me to
succeed. Some fellows just plod along the same beaten way all their
lives; but that won't do for me. I'm going to get on. I mean to die
a rich man. There's plenty to be made, even in bad times, by fellows
who have their eyes open. I'll make a lady of you, my pretty one,
all in good time. There's many a fine lady would give her ears for
your face and figure. And when your husband has made his pile you'll
be able to queen it with the best of them! You are learning every
day what fine ladies say and do. You'd like to ride about in your
own carriage, and wear silks and satins, and have servants to wait on
you, eh?"
Alice blushed and laughed at these questions, and sometimes told
Walter he was trying to fly too high; yet when he told her of men now
rolling in money, who had begun life as quite poor boys, she could
not but listen with sparkling eyes, for she was learning a great many
things in Mrs. Vanborough's house, and the thirst for pleasure and
luxury which had made her desire to follow Odeyne to her new home was
working more and more strongly in her, so that the idea of some day
being mistress of a fine house of her own was like an intoxicating
draught of wine to her lips.
"Oh, but, Walter, it takes such a while to get rich!"
"Sometimes it does, but not always. One can have more than one iron
in the fire, you know. Why, you know, there are some men who can
make a fortune by a stroke of the pen--on the Stock Exchange--and
even fellows like myself can do a little in a quiet way by watching
the markets. I've trebled my little savings this year, for instance,
just by getting a hint, and buying and selling at the right moment."
Alice did not understand a word of this; but it was quite enough that
Walter did, and that he was making money in more ways than one.
Alice had come to the conclusion that there was nothing so nice in
the world as to be rich, to have fine clothes and jewels to wear, and
nothing to do but amuse one's self from morning till night.
"I wish you could see Mrs. Vanborough's jewels," she remarked one
day. "They are beauties, and no mistake! They must have cost a mint
of money. Her maid says she used to have more than she has now. But
the master sometimes gets horribly close for a bit, and then Mrs.
Vanborough has to sell some of her things to pay her bills.
Sometimes she buys them back, and sometimes she doesn't. But she's
got a lot of beauties still. I wish you could see them. They do
shine when she puts them on!"
"They'd shine just as much if somebody else put them on, would they
not?" suggested Walter laughingly. "Suppose you dress up in them
some day, when they have all gone out to dinner, and come and show
yourself to me in them. I should like to see how my little
sweetheart would look, dressed up as I mean to dress her up some of
these days!"
Alice laughed and blushed and disclaimed. A short time since she
would have been horrified at the notion of taking advantage of the
good nature or carelessness of a lady, and obtaining surreptitious
access to her jewel case in her absence; but of late she had been
breathing in a different atmosphere, and it did not require any very
great pressure on the part of Walter Garth to induce her to make the
experiment.
He hardly knew himself why he felt a curiosity about the family
jewels; but he was one of those men who desire to leave no stone
unturned for his advancement. He had an instinct that it might be an
advantage to him to know as intimately as possible the affairs of all
these fine folks. He was hearing a great deal about them at the inn
where he lodged, and he made a mental note of the information thus
gained. His position as Desmond's confidential clerk gave him great
advantages for obtaining information, and he was very much of the
opinion that knowledge and power went hand in hand.
Choosing a night when the Vanboroughs and their guests were out, he
got pretty little vain Alice to dress herself up in sparkling jewels,
and whilst she was delighting in her own reflection in the glass, he
was taking a mental inventory (afterwards to be placed on paper) of
the gems; for he was something of a connoisseur already as to their
value, having one of those retentive and inquiring minds which never
lose an opportunity of gaining information, no matter what the
subject may be.
When Mrs. Vanborough's had been duly shown off and catalogued, he
asked about Mrs. St. Claire's. Alice hesitated a little. She was
still deeply attached to Odeyne, and she had a vague shrinking from
anything that could be thought disloyal towards her. She knew that
were her mistress at home, she would never dare display the contents
of her jewel case even to Walter, her lover. Of course it was
natural that Walter should like to see pretty things, and Alice felt
a secret pride in all the beautiful trinkets her mistress now
possessed. She would like him to be duly impressed by them; yet she
disliked doing anything that would make her feel ashamed before
Odeyne on her return.
But the Rubicon had been crossed when she had clasped Mrs.
Vanborough's jewels upon her neck and arms, and had heard her lover
praising them and her alike. A little judicious coaxing, and the
girl tripped away to find her mistress's jewel case. She would not
put on the sparkling ornaments, but she unlocked the case, and
displayed with pride and delight the glittering contents.
Odeyne had come in for the St. Claire family jewels, some of which
were very fine ones. Her husband and his friends had made
considerable additions to this collection upon her marriage, and, as
Walter Garth was quick to note, the young wife possessed a remarkably
fine collection of gems, many of which were family heirlooms.
His remarks and appreciation of the stones pleased Alice, although
her conscience smote her a little, and she was glad to get the jewel
box safely locked up again in its accustomed drawer. When she went
back to Walter, she found him drumming thoughtfully upon the table
with his fingers, looking out straight before him.
He rose when she came in and carefully shut the door behind them.
"I want to give you a word of caution, Alice," he said. "In a house
like this, or indeed in any other place, you must be uncommonly
careful of such a costly case of jewels as that one. I had no idea
Mrs. St. Claire had such fine things. They ought to be kept always
in a regular safe."
"So they are at home," answered Alice. "There is a safe in the
master's dressing-room, and they always lie there, and he has the
key. But of course when they are on a visit things are different.
But the case is kept locked up in a drawer, and I have the key in my
pocket generally."
"Well, just you be careful, dear, that's all, and don't get gossiping
with other maids about those jewels. One hears of ugly things
happening in houses where there is a haul of that sort to be had; and
it's our business to protect our employers' property all we can.
That's why I wanted to see what sort of things you had under your
care. You are such an innocent, unsuspecting child, you would never
think any harm of talking about them."
Alice blushed a little nervously. She was rather fond of chattering
about the glories of her place, which were so much greater than
anything she had known before. But this caution from Walter was
quite enough. Already she began to think of burglars and murderers.
"Oh, I wish we were safe at home again! Then I should not have the
care of the things!"
"Now, don't be a foolish child. I did not say all this to frighten
you, but just that you might be cautious. Burglars aren't so
numerous as some people think. You needn't be the least afraid just
because I've given you a caution. I'm glad I know, myself; and I'll
keep my eyes and ears open whilst I'm about here. But don't you go
and get into any sort of fright. And now tell me about our own
little home, and how soon it is going to be ready for us. For I am
wanting very badly to settle down, with my own little wife all to
myself."
Alice had a great deal to say about the pretty lodge at one of the
gates, and the additions and improvements that were being made to it.
In the pleasure of talking of their future home she forgot all her
other anxieties, and parted from Walter in the best of spirits. She
had already begun to think that so long as she might still be
permitted to perform a few offices for her beloved mistress, she
would like the independence of a little home of her own, and the
freedom to wear a gayer style of dress while still in Odeyne's
service. She had blossomed out into a very dainty little
waiting-maid of late, but she was meditating a higher flight when she
should be Mrs. Walter Garth; and there were a few garments on which
she had spent a good deal of time and thought, which she had not
cared to show to her mistress when completed.
The house was very gay now. Algernon Vanborough had asked some of
his friends and associates, and sport and amusement were the order of
the day.
Desmond was a keen sportsman, and whether it were shooting or hunting
that was the day's programme, he was always ready, and always held
his own with his companions. His bag was always one of the heaviest
after a day in the stubble; and he generally managed to be in at the
death when the fox had been run to bay.
He would come in healthily tired from his day's sport, and after
dinner would sit dozing in an easy-chair beside the fire, and retire
early to bed, whilst the other men adjourned to the billiard-room,
and were often hours in dispersing.
Odeyne often felt keenly for Beatrice, as she noted the half-wistful
way in which she sometimes looked at her husband, as though
entreating him to leave his guests for once and follow the earlier
members of the household. But of course, as host, he had easy excuse
to make, and she would sometimes take Odeyne's arm and say, with a
laugh which was sadder than tears, "If only I had my husband in such
good order as you have yours, things would be very different with us.
How do you manage him, my dear?"
Once Odeyne, after a visit to the nursery, made a great effort over
her natural reserve, and answered--
"Desmond and I always read and say our prayers together, Beatrice.
It began from the very first, directly after we were married. He
told me that he had got into careless ways, that he had almost
forgotten how to pray; and he said I must teach him again. It has
been such a link, for we have never missed yet. He knows I wait for
him, if he does not come up with me. It is only just a few minutes
morning and night; but I think it hallows the whole day."
Beatrice turned her face a little away, and there was a certain
huskiness in her voice as she answered--
"I wonder what you would say if I were to tell you that I don't know
how long it is since I said any prayers!"
And after a short pause Odeyne answered--
"I think it would make me understand a great many things!"
Desmond was immensely in love with his young wife still, and never
more so than when he saw her amongst Beatrice's friends. She seemed
to him like a pure stately lily amongst them all, so fair and calm
and innately feminine and refined. There might be more beautiful
women there--Beatrice herself was far more brilliant; but there was a
charm to him about Odeyne's gentle presence and feminine sweetness of
which he was keenly conscious, day by day and hour by hour. And in
the evenings when she would sit at the piano and sing to them, when
her clear, sweet, pathetic voice roused the admiration and delight of
the whole company, he would place his chair where he obtained the
best view of her face, and would tell himself a hundred times over
what a happy man he was to have won such a treasure for himself.
But Desmond was not the man to be satisfied with mere inward
admiration of his wife, nor even with those endearments which he
lavished upon her in private. He wanted her to have the best of
everything that the world possessed, to see her surrounded by all
that heart could desire, and in spite of her loving remonstrances, he
was always heaping upon her presents of every description, although
since he was now taking a holiday from his labours in town, he had
not the same opportunity for bringing home gifts with him from day to
day.
Nevertheless, neither mind nor thoughts were idle. He had observed
on several occasions of late, that when the ladies drove out to meet
the sportsmen, or to see the hounds throw off, Odeyne was not amongst
the number. He discovered by side winds that there was not quite
enough carriage accommodation to contain all the house party, and
that Odeyne was always eager to give up her place to someone else, if
any sort of difficulty arose at the start.
He said nothing about this, even to Odeyne herself, who always told
him she was glad of a quiet time to write home, or see to other
little things, or to play with Beatrice's boy, who was beginning to
look upon her as his best friend. But he had in his head a plan of
his own, and worked quietly to bring about its fulfilment.
It had been a wet and stormy day, so that the house party had not
done anything more adventurous than a little shooting over the home
covers. All had returned to lunch, and were lounging about
afterwards discussing the prospect of any further attempt at facing
the long, wet grass, when Desmond came in with a smile upon his face
and went straight up to his wife.
"Odeyne," he said, "do you mind coming round to the stable-yard? I
want to show you something."
At that word the company all looked interested. Beatrice's face
beamed with arch fun, the men (so to speak) pricked up their ears,
and Algernon cried out--
"What is that, eh? The stable-yard? Well, I hope you don't confine
the invitation to your wife alone. Mayn't the rest of us come too?"
"To be sure, to be sure; the more the merrier!" cried Desmond, with a
laughing look round him. He was in excellent spirits, and as pleased
as a boy about something. The ladies got their hats and wraps, the
men took their caps, and all moved in a body towards the great paved
stable-yard, upon which, it was commonly rumoured, Algernon
Vanborough had spent a fabulous sum of money.
Desmond led the way, leading his wife by the hand. The little
lover-like ways of the young husband were rather amusing to the other
visitors, most of whom, though not old in years, had lived through a
number of illusions, and counted true love as one of these.
In the centre of the great square yard stood a dainty little
pony-phaeton upholstered in dark green morocco, with every fitting of
the most costly and luxurious kind. The little carriage was drawn by
two small and very handsome black cobs, who stood with arched necks
and pawing feet, wonderfully well-matched and showy. The harness was
all new and the best of its kind, the silver plating shining in the
gleam of sunlight that lit up the scene as the party approached.
Odeyne uttered a little cry of pleasure and admiration. She had
never seen such a pretty turn-out in her life; yet she did not
realise for a moment what was the meaning of her husband's action, as
he led her up to it and placed her in the carriage.
"What do you think of it, darling?" he asked. "You will not be
afraid to drive yourself sometimes, when I have taken you about a
little to show you how gentle and tractable the cobs can be?"
Then she looked up and understood, and the blood rushed to her face.
"Oh, Desmond!--how could you? Oh, you are too kind. But we have so
many horses as it is!"
"My wife must have her special carriage--I have always intended
that," he answered, giving the reins into her hands and taking his
seat beside her. "Come, dear, and let us just see how they obey
their new mistress. Let them go, James, we will take a turn through
the park."
The little carriage vanished amid admiring comments from the knot of
visitors; all had some approving remark to make upon the beauty of
the carriage or the horses.
No adverse criticism was passed by any of these, but one of the
grooms, belonging to a guest, looked after the carriage as it
vanished round a bend in the park, and remarked as he took a straw
from his lips and turned to one of his companions--
"Nice turn-out enough, but them two black cobs look to me uncommonly
like the pair that nearly killed Lady Mashingham in the spring!"
CHAPTER VIII.
_AN ADVENTUROUS DRIVE._
"Oh, Tom, do look! What carriage is that coming up the drive? I
don't know it."
Jem craned up from her couch to peer through the window, whilst Tom,
who was writing letters at the table, gave a good look and replied
over his shoulder--
"I don't know the turn-out. But it looks like Mrs. St. Claire
driving. She is still at Mrs. Vanborough's, is she not?"
"Yes; I wonder if it is she. Oh, I hope it is! It's such a long
time since I saw her! Oh, I do believe it is! I wonder what she has
come for so early. It is not quite eleven, is it? There is the
bell. I hope they will show her in here."
Jem occupied her favourite place, curled up on a corner of the big,
battered, dining-room sofa, with a pile of books beside her. She was
an omniverous reader, and her studies took the form of unlimited
reading, as her weak back prevented much writing or any attendance at
classes. At this hour she was generally alone, for Mrs. Ritchie had
her household duties to attend to, Cissy was a good deal occupied by
giving music lessons to some of the children of the neighbourhood,
whilst the doctor and one or both of his sons would be out in the
interest of patients. Occasionally Tom took possession of the
writing-table in the bay window, and gave a qualified attention to
Jem's talk, when she was not engrossed by her books.
The carriage had swept round the corner out of Jem's range of vision;
but Tom craned his head round as it turned, and remarked--
"It certainly is Mrs. St. Claire, and she is going to get out. I
think I shall slope. This smoking jacket isn't fit to face the
county in!"
But before the young man could escape the door was thrown open, and
Odeyne came forward, with flushed and smiling face and outstretched
hands, and bent over Jem and kissed her warmly, quite like an old
friend. Tom suddenly forgot all about the shabby old jacket, and
decided not to make a bolt.
"I came to ask Jem if she would like a drive this morning," said
Odeyne, looking from one to the other; "it is such a bright,
exhilarating sort of day, and the hounds are to meet on Hackwell's
Down. I am to drive over and see them. I thought perhaps it would
be a treat to this little girl to go with me."
Jem's eyes were alight in a moment.
"Oh, I should love it! It would be heavenly! I haven't had a drive
for such an age; for one horse has been lame, and daddy has had to
spare the other all he could. You are a darling, Mrs. St. Claire!
Do let me run and ask mother; and then I'll be ready in a
twinkling--you'll see!"
There was not much run in poor little Jem, but she was away with all
possible speed, and Tom said, gratefully, to Odeyne--
"It is awfully kind of you, Mrs. St. Claire. It will be a real
charity, for poor Jem sees almost nothing of what goes on outside
these walls, and she has the almost morbid craving after sensations
and experiences which goes with her temperament."
Mrs. Ritchie came in almost immediately, with a happy face and words
of gratitude on her lips. Hitherto none of their friends had taken
special notice of poor little Jem. Her weakness, her rather
abnormally sharp powers of observation, and her too free and ready
tongue had been somewhat against her. Some people thought her
spoiled and forward, children were half afraid of her, and she had
been shut up within herself, and within the family circle, almost
more than was good for her.
To be noticed and taken out by Mrs. St. Claire of the Chase was a
novel and delightful experience. Odeyne had driven mother and both
daughters out once in the luxurious landau, and all had enjoyed it
greatly; but this special invitation to see the meet of the hounds
was something altogether more delightful and wonderful.
"Oh, what a lovely carriage!--what beautiful little horses!"
exclaimed the excited girl, as she stood looking at the handsome
pair, pawing their dainty hoofs on the gravel, as the smart-looking
lad stood at their heads awaiting his mistress.
"Yes, Desmond gave me the whole turn-out a week ago," answered
Odeyne, with a little smile of pleasure on her face. "He has taken
me out every day since, and taught me how to manage a pair, for at
home we had only a nice old pony to drive, and there was never any
trouble with him. These little fellows are spirited, but they are
very gentle too. You will not be afraid, Jem dear?"
Jem laughed to scorn the idea of feeling afraid. It was not a
sensation with which she had much acquaintance.
"I should like to have an adventure--I really should!" she answered
as they arranged the great fur carriage-rug cosily round their feet.
"Nothing of that sort ever comes in my way. When I read about heroes
and heroines having such thrilling and delightful squeaks for their
lives, and always coming safe through in the end, I always wish that
something like that would happen to me! It must be so interesting to
think about afterwards, even if one did not enjoy it at the time--and
I think I should do that!"
Mrs. Ritchie smiled and half shook her head as she kissed her child
before the carriage drove away.
"You are a sad little madcap at heart, Jem; you will shock Mrs. St.
Claire! She will be quite content to bring you homo without any
startling adventure, I am sure."
Odeyne smiled and nodded; the horses shook their handsome heads and
went off at a fine pace. Tom and his mother stood looking at the
vanishing carriage, and then the young man said--
"I've half a mind to take the short cut and make for Hackwell Down
myself. I've nothing very pressing on hand, and I should like to see
Jem's pleasure over the sight of the field, and all the horses and
dogs. I'll get a bit of a run myself, I daresay. I know the line
the foxes generally take hereabouts. I'll just finish the letter I
have in hand and be off."
"Yes, do, dear," answered Mrs. Ritchie; "I shall be more comfortable
if you are there. Those horses looked to me very spirited. But of
course Desmond would not give anything to his wife to drive without
being sure it was safe."
"Desmond is a bit of a feather-brain," muttered Tom under his breath,
as he strode back to finish the letter he was writing.
Meantime Jem was enjoying herself immensely. She had never had such
a delightful drive in all her life. She fell over head and ears in
love with the horses; the carriage went so easily on its springs that
she felt no vibration. The sun shone, and the keen feel of the
autumnal morning was bracing and exciting. She chattered away in
great style, telling all the news of the place in a racy and
entertaining fashion, nodding gaily at all the cottagers as she
passed them by, and feeling very grand and elated at her position as
Odeyne's companion.
"I hope you are soon coming home again," she said. "It is so much
nicer when you are at the Chase, and there is a chance of seeing you
any day. Rotherham Park is such a long way off, and you seem quite
out of our world when you go there. And, oh, I wanted to ask you
what you are doing to the lodge by the queer old gate that isn't much
used? Cuthbert says the old cottage is being quite altered, and such
a pretty sort of picturesque house going up, with timber and gables
and ever so many nice things. I've been wondering ever since what
you were doing it for, because the road and the gate are hardly ever
used. Nobody goes down Water Lane if they can help it--not with a
carriage, you know."
"Yes, I know. We are not thinking of using the lodge as a lodge
exactly; as you say, since the new road was made through the place,
Water Lane hardly counts. But we want a nice cottage near the house
for Desmond's confidential clerk to live in. He is going to marry my
maid, and, as she comes from my old home, I want if possible to keep
her near me. She is a very pretty and refined sort of girl. I think
perhaps it will be a good thing for her to be married and settled.
She is a good deal noticed and admired when she goes about to strange
houses. And Desmond is making the house rather larger than
necessary, for he thinks we may sometimes want an extra bedroom or
two in the summer or the shooting season, if our house were to
overflow. One or two of the rooms will be kept for that purpose.
The Chase is not really a large house--not so large as it looks. The
hall and corridors take up more space than you would think, and we
have not a great many bedrooms."
"I wish you'd take me on in Alice's place when she marries," laughed
Jem; "I should like to live in a big house, and see all that goes on
there, and hear how the servants gossip behind their master's back.
Don't you think I should look the part very well, dressed up in cap
and apron? And I'd report to you quite faithfully all that went on.
I think I should make rather a good spy."
"I don't know that I particularly want a spy, dear," answered Odeyne,
"but you shall come to the Chase one of these days as my little
friend and companion. When the winter comes, and you and I are both
rather shut up, we will keep each other company; for the days are
often long when Desmond is away; and I want to overhaul the library
books as one of my tasks, and I think you could help me at that sort
of thing."
Jem's eyes sparkled brilliantly at the bare thought.
"You are a darling!" she cried in her frank, free way. "I am glad
that Desmond didn't marry a cut-and-dried creature like Maud, or a
fine fashionable madam like Beatrice! Oh, I beg your pardon!
Perhaps I should not have spoken like that of your sisters-in-law.
But I don't think you can be so very fond of them!"
"I want them to be sisters-in-love, not sisters-in-law," replied
Odeyne with a sweet gravity in her smile. "Desmond and I are one
now, and everything that is his belongs to me."
For once Jem found nothing to reply. Her over-ready tongue had
betrayed her, as she felt, into remarks she was scarcely justified in
making. Odeyne had not taken them amiss; yet the girl felt that she
had been unconsciously rebuked.
But all such thoughts were quickly driven away by the gay scene that
met her eager gaze as they approached Hackwell Down. Jemima had
never seen anything so pretty before, and exclaimed with delight as
her eye roved over the wide expanse of level turf.
Upon the crest of the green ridge stood a knot of huntsmen in their
scarlet coats, with the whippers-in keeping in order the pack of fine
hounds, whose waving tails looked like a forest of tiny saplings in a
high wind. Scattered about the level plateau were horsemen and
footmen, a motley assembly all on pleasure bent. Grooms led up and
down handsome hunters whose masters were driving across; ladies were
leaving their carriages and mounting their horses; bold little
fellows on small ponies were prancing round, in a mighty hurry to be
off. The field was dotted with men in the pink, some already
mounted, others talking to each other or to the ladies in the
carriages. Some of these approached Odeyne and exchanged greetings
with her. Jem took stock of them with her sharp glances, and summed
them up for Odeyne's benefit when they had bowed themselves off. She
was much more delighted with the horses than with the riders.
"They are dear things! I should like to kiss them all, and the dogs
too. I think the world would be a much nicer place if the horses and
dogs and nice animals were left, and about three-quarters of the
people killed off! I'm sure we could spare most of them--and have a
much nicer time without them!"
Odeyne did not try to bring her carriage very close up to the others
assembled there, partly because the horses were restless and excited,
partly because Jem was visibly anxious not to be made to face
Beatrice and all her fine friends. The girl was not shy, but she
appeared to feel a sort of instinctive antagonism to fashionable
society, and when Desmond rode up to his wife's carriage, looking
very handsome and gallant in his faultless get-up, he was much amused
by Jem's sallies and retorts, and persisted in introducing several of
his friends for the entertainment of hearing her snub them, which she
was not slow to do.
But before long the field began to move; Desmond waved his hand to
his wife, and rode off. He had instructed her how to drive, so as to
see as much as possible of the run; and Odeyne was not sorry when she
could give her restless little horses their heads, and set them in
motion along the road in a parallel direction to that taken by the
hunt.
For a time all went well; the road was wide and smooth; they passed
all the other carriages, to Jem's great satisfaction--skimmed by them
at a delightfully rapid pace, and left them far behind. Odeyne
fancied that Beatrice and her coachman had both of them called out
something to her as she trotted by; but she could not hear what was
said, and Jem had rather urgently begged her not to pull up to listen.
"They will want us to stay by them," she cried pleadingly, "and that
will spoil all our fun. Do go on!--do go on! It is lovely racing
along like this!"
Odeyne was willing to gratify the girl, the more so because she was
herself enjoying the exhilaration of the rapid movement, and because
she was conscious that the horses would not be easy to pull up in
their present excited mood. They seemed to know that the hunt was
sweeping on in advance, and to be resolved not to be left far behind.
The road trended upwards for a considerable distance, and then the
descent commenced. For some distance it was only gentle in
character, and the road continued firm and good. But towards the
foot of the hill there were several steep pitches, and as Jem had
heard from report, the water channelled down it in the winter, and
there were always loose stones which sometimes caused accidents to
horses and riders. So as they flew down the hill she said to Odeyne,
half regretfully--
"I think you had better pull them in a little now. It will be
steeper soon, and there is a nasty turn farther on I know, besides
the road gets bad too."
Odeyne made no reply, and the carriage continued its rather
perilously rapid descent. Jem looked at her and saw that she was
straining rather hard at the horses; but they appeared to take no
manner of notice of her efforts to check them. They were only going
at a very rapid trot as yet. They could not be said to be exactly
bolting, but there was a stubborn look in the way in which their
heads were bent down, as though they had made up their minds as to
their course of action, and intended to have their own way.
"Jem, dear," said Odeyne, still quite quietly, "the horses are
pulling rather hard. Just tell the groom to lean forward and help me
to check them. My arms are growing tired."
Jem spoke to the groom, who was a smart-looking youth, but only a lad
himself. He was looking a little scared himself, for the awkward
descent was very near now, and the horses appeared on the verge of
breaking into a gallop.
It is always rather a risky thing for two persons to try and pull
upon one pair of reins. The moment the horses felt the jerk of the
new hands brought to bear upon them, they broke simultaneously into a
hard gallop, shaking their heads as though to seek to free themselves
from the pressure on their mouths, but too excited now to be checked
by it.
Jem's face grew rather pale as she felt the sudden swaying movement
as the carriage oscillated from side to side.
"Sit still, dear," said Odeyne quietly; "perhaps it is really safer
for them to canter down the hill than trot. There is nothing in the
way, and if we reach the bottom safely there is a good road beyond
us."
Jem sat very upright, her eyes taking in everything, every faculty on
the alert. She was having her wish with a vengeance now, and even in
the midst of her fears for the safety of the whole party, there was a
certain dim sense of elation in the thought that here she was
actually in the midst of a coveted adventure!
Down the hill plunged the carriage, bumping and swaying in a fashion
that made Jem cling tightly to the seat, but maintaining its
position, even though the road was rough and rutty and the pitch of
the hill steep. Now they had all but reached the bottom. They saw
the wider, better road lying before them. Jem gave a gasp of relief,
and the groom muttered something that sounded like a rude exclamation
of thankfulness. In another minute, and Jem believed that all peril
would be past, when suddenly across the road swept some half-dozen
belated huntsmen, hot on the track of the field, dashing in front of
the excited horses without so much as a glance in their direction,
and frightening the already startled creatures almost out of their
senses.
Plunging and snorting with terror, they instinctively paused for a
moment, one of them backing almost upon its haunches, the other
rearing till he looked as though he would have fallen backwards upon
the carriage, and then, with a simultaneous bound, they sprang
forward at redoubled speed, swerved from the road, dashed through the
gate after the retreating riders, and commenced a wild gallop across
the meadow in the wake of the hunt.
At that moment the groom lost his head, loosed his grasp upon the
reins, and threw himself out of the carriage.
Jem and Odeyne were left alone, unable even to cast back a look and
ascertain whether or not the lad was hurt. Odeyne still retained her
grasp of the reins, but all control of the horses had been lost. Her
face was very set and white, but her voice was still calm and
controlled.
"Would you rather try the jump, dear?" she asked; "I am afraid we
shall have an accident. I can do nothing with the horses. And
something might break any minute; or they may take up against a
gate-post and dash the carriage to pieces."
"I have no jump in me," said Jem, still looking straight ahead. "I
think I should do for my back if I were to try. Perhaps they will
run into a hedge and stick fast, and we can get out before they kick
the carriage to pieces. Oh, there is Tom! Look! He is racing
towards us! But what can he do?"
Odeyne looked and saw. Tom Ritchie was undoubtedly scudding towards
them diagonally over the field. The rough nature of the ground was
beginning to tell upon the cobs. They were panting and straining,
but the pace had slackened. They could not make the same running
here as over the hard road. But still they were resolutely running
away. The reins dragged hopelessly against them. They seemed to
have mouths of iron. Odeyne's strength was deserting her. She felt
a strange dimness of vision, and knew that her grasp on the reins was
relaxing.
Jem's eyes took everything in: Odeyne's sudden faintness, the rapid
approach of Tom, the exhaustion but stubborn determination of the
horses. What would happen next? What could Tom do to save them?
Tom was a trained athlete. In feats of agility and daring he had
always excelled. He was not gifted with any very remarkable muscular
strength, but he was lithe and active as a cat.
Measuring his distance, and coolly biding his time, he made a quick,
sharp rush, and vaulted cleverly upon the back of the nearest cob,
clutched the reins of the pair, and by throwing his whole weight and
strength upon them succeeded bit by bit and inch by inch in checking
their mad career. The horse upon which he had sprung, encumbered by
this heavy and unexpected weight, checked its course to plunge and
try to dislodge the unwelcome burden. The other, thus left to pull
alone, quickly felt its exhaustion and the drag of its companion, and
began to think better of the matter. Tom sat like a centaur, and
tugged manfully at the reins. The boundary hedges of the extensive
field were nearly reached. This obstacle seemed to bring the
runaways to their scattered senses. To rush themselves into a trap
would be painful and humiliating. They appeared to take this view of
the case themselves, and with only a small show of resistance
permitted Tom to bring them to a standstill.
Then Tom leaped down, and still holding the reins in his hands,
approached the carriage. Jem was sitting white, but wide-eyed and
erect. Odeyne, with an ashy face, was leaning back against the
cushions almost, though not quite, unconscious. She strove to make a
sign of gratitude to Tom, but pressed her hand to her side and gave a
little gasp. The groom was running up in a great fright, unhurt,
though a good deal torn and battered from his fall.
"Don't leave us with him, Tom; don't let him have the horses!"
pleaded Jem in sudden alarm; and Tom gave the shame-faced youth a
cool and stern glance.
"A pretty sort of fellow you are, to be sent out in charge of
ladies!" he remarked. "However, that is your master's business, not
mine. Go straight to Mrs. St. Claire's house, just across that gap,
and tell her that Mrs. Desmond St. Claire has been very near a bad
accident, and is coming to her house for shelter till she is well
enough to go home. Go quickly. I will stay with the ladies, and
bring the carriage there as soon as possible."
The youth slunk away feeling thoroughly ashamed of himself, and Tom,
with another look into Odeyne's face, took possession of the horses,
turned them round, and led them back over the meadow, now in a very
meek and subdued state.
He hardly spoke a word till they were upon the road again, when he
turned Jem into the groom's dickey behind, and himself took the reins
and seated himself beside Odeyne.
"You will not be afraid to let me drive you, Mrs. St. Claire? I
think there is no fear of any farther misbehaviour on the part of
your horses."
Odeyne roused herself to give a faint smile and say--
"You are very kind. I am not at all afraid. I have been just a
little tired and shaken. I hope Jem is none the worse for it."
"Jem will be all right," answered Tom briefly; and putting the horses
into a rapid trot, he quickly drove them up to the door of Mrs. St.
Claire's house.
It was evident that the battered appearance of the groom, together
with his agitated and confused story, had spread consternation and
dismay in the household. Servants were standing about in the hall;
and as the carriage drove up, Maud appeared with a very pale
frightened face, and on seeing Odeyne's state of pallor and
exhaustion, uttered a little exclamation of anxious grief.
"Mrs. St. Claire has been a good deal frightened and shaken," said
Tom, as he helped her to alight and assisted her into the hall.
"Take good care of her, and I will try and find Desmond and let him
know. He will be certain to come immediately. If you want my
father, he will be at Holler's Farm about two o'clock; but I think
rest and care will be all that are needed to put you all right again."
Odeyne had felt like one in a dream for some time. Now she seemed to
wake up to find herself lying upon a sofa in Maud's own private
little room, which she had only once penetrated to before, whilst her
sister-in-law, ordinarily so cold and unsympathetic, was hanging over
her with tears in her eyes, seeking to restore her, not by cordials
and essences alone, but by tender caresses, loving words, and kisses
that came so strangely from those lips.
Odeyne sat up, and laid her head against her sister's shoulder.
"Oh, Maud, how good you are!" she cried, taking her hand and carrying
it to her lips; and Maud's tears suddenly ran over as she kissed
Odeyne again and again, saying--
"Oh, my darling, let us be sisters always now. I shall never forget
the terrible thought that came over me when for one moment I thought
they said that Desmond's wife had been killed; and I knew I had never
spoken one loving word to her all the time she had been my sister!"
CHAPTER IX.
_NEW FRIENDSHIPS._
Desmond appeared white-faced and agitated, having heard the tidings
of some disaster, but not the details. His greeting to his wife was
pretty to see, and her calm and smiling face quite reassured him as
to her safety. But when his anxiety was allayed, his anger blazed up
more fiercely than his wife had seen it since her marriage. She had
heard of Desmond's gusts of passion in old days from her brothers;
but well as she knew him now, she had never seen him so angry as on
this occasion.
His anger was chiefly directed against the friend from whom he had
purchased the turn-out for his wife.
"I wouldn't have believed it of Garston. He shall hear of it
again--and so shall others. The lowest, dirtiest trick! And when I
was doing him a kindness and all! They are all saying now that those
are the same cobs as brought Lady Massingham to nearly fatal grief!
And he sold them to me for a pair of perfectly trustworthy horses for
my wife to drive! A fellow like that wants horsewhipping, and the
cobs want shooting! I've a great mind to do both horsewhipping and
shooting with my own hands--I have, indeed!" and Desmond ground his
teeth.
"No, don't do that, Desmond, dear," said Odeyne soothingly. "Indeed,
the fault was partly mine. I was not driving carefully enough. The
rapid motion was pleasant, and they were eager, and it was easier to
let them have their heads than to keep them in hand. But I know it
was bad driving; and I have had my lesson. I will take care never to
let them get beyond themselves again."
"As though I should ever let you sit behind them again, my precious
darling!" cried Desmond. "No, I'll have it out with Garston, and he
shall either take them off my hands at the price I paid for them, or
I'll expose the whole transaction at the club, if I don't horsewhip
him too! The way I made things easy for him; and to be treated like
this!"
"What do you mean about making things easy for him and doing him a
kindness in the transaction?" asked Maud.
"Why, just this, that he got pretty heavily dipped at the St.
Leger--and partly through bets to me; and hearing that I was looking
out for a handsome turn-out for my wife, he came and told me of the
one he had lately bought for his own, and which must now go to help
pay his debts. He begged me to take the thing off his hands at a
valuation, and, like a fool, I took his word and did so. It wiped
off his debt to me, and I gave him a cheque in addition. I behaved
really handsomely to him, because he was an old friend, and rather
down on his luck--and this is how he serves me!"
Desmond broke away to go and write an indignant letter to the man
against whom his anger was so stirred; whilst Odeyne and Maud were
left together, looking into each other's faces with a certain veiled
anxiety.
"Oh, Maud," exclaimed Odeyne suddenly, "I don't wonder now at what
happened to-day!"
"What do you mean, dear?"
"How can one expect a blessing upon things obtained in such a way?
The price of a bet!" and Odeyne hid her face.
"I hoped that Desmond had given up that sort of thing on his
marriage," said Maud gravely. "But don't you think it is a little
superstitious to speak in that way?"
"I don't know," answered Odeyne still very gravely; "I have thought a
great deal about these things since--since--since they have been
brought before me so much. It cannot be God's way of giving us
riches--I think everybody would admit that. And what does not come
of God, comes of evil; I cannot see it in any other light. And if we
take and use the devil's gold, how can we expect a blessing to follow
it?"
Maud was silent awhile, and then said thoughtfully--
"That is a broad way of stating it, and an unconventional way of
looking at things; yet I am not sure that there is not an element of
sound sense and truth in what you say. I have seen enough to know
that the gambler's wealth is not blessed to him! Ah, Odeyne--can you
not save Desmond from his besetting sin?"
Odeyne was almost startled by the earnestness, the almost anguish of
Maud's tone. Hitherto the sister had been so reserved and cold, and
above all had spoken so little to her of Desmond, that this appeal
came with strange force and power.
"What do you mean?" she asked, a little startled.
"I have always tried to shut my eyes to it," continued Maud in the
same strained voice; "I have always loved Desmond better than
anything in the world, although he has not specially cared for me. I
have stood his champion through everything. I have tried not to
believe in his faults and in his weaknesses. I have almost
quarrelled with our mother for seeing them so clearly. I have always
declared them just youthful follies, which he would speedily outgrow.
Although I was jealous and unhappy at hearing of his marriage, I was
glad to believe that it would be a turning point in his life, and
that that and the office would sober him down. Ah, Odeyne!--don't
let us all be disappointed after all! He loves you very dearly.
Can't you get him to give up that one pernicious habit--for your
sake?"
"I hoped he had," answered Odeyne in a very low voice. "At least he
spoke very reasonably about it, and said that with him it was a mere
trifle he risked--just to keep himself from being peculiar, and not
to lose all influence over Algernon, which he would do if he set up
for what he called a saint."
Maud smiled a little bitterly.
"That is always the way--they have always some good reason, and each
one thinks that he individually is exempt from danger. But O, my
dear child, don't you be led into thinking that Desmond cannot be led
away himself. Algernon and his friends are notorious. That is why I
hate you and Desmond to be in their house. Beatrice ought not to ask
you. But poor Beatrice tries to shut her eyes to what she is
powerless to stop, and to live on the surface of things, hoping that
the evil day will somehow be staved off. I pity Beatrice from the
bottom of my heart (though she would not be grateful for any token of
sympathy), but her house is not the place for you or Desmond. Do
take him home and keep him there!"
"I will try," answered Odeyne, not a little startled at this sudden
outbreak from Maud, putting into words the vague thoughts and fears
which had haunted her for so long. It was a great relief to be able
to speak freely to Maud, and to feel that the barrier between them
was broken down; yet she was made more anxious on Desmond's account
after this talk with his sister, than she had ever been before.
One good thing resulted from the threatened accident, and that was
that the visit to Beatrice's house came to an abrupt conclusion.
Quiet and rest were ordered for Odeyne after the shock she had
suffered. She remained at her mother-in-law's house for a few days,
and then went home to the Chase with Desmond, who had been so fully
occupied during these days in inquiries and arrangements about the
cobs, that he had no time for anything else, beyond petting his wife
and teasing his mother and sister whenever he was at home.
It was proved that only one of the cobs had belonged to Lady
Massingham, and that the quieter of the pair. There was no actual
vice in the creatures, only a superabundance of energy, and Desmond
soon succeeded in selling the spirited pair to a horsey lady in the
neighbourhood, who laughed the thought of fear to scorn. A sound and
quiet horse was bought for Odeyne's pretty phaeton, a handsome
creature that would give her no trouble or alarm, and Desmond, in
high good humour with himself and with his purchase, took his wife t
home, having had for the time being enough of gaiety, and feeling
ready for a quieter life and for the routine of the office.
"Yes, dear, you are quite right, I believe," he said to Odeyne, when
she strove to speak to him seriously of the peril he ran into, and of
her abhorrence of practices which were too familiar to him to strike
him with any great disgust. "That sort of thing does make beasts and
cads of men. Look at Garston, for instance; the fellow won't even
apologise, but declares everything he did was square and above-board,
and as good as tells me that my wife is a fool and that I am a liar!
And even Algy, who is a good sort of fellow in his way, was inclined
to take his part and only laugh at the whole thing. I'm not at all
pleased with him and his set. I'm sorry for poor Beatrice, but I
can't stand everything for her sake. We'll keep away from that house
for a bit."
Odeyne's heart rejoiced at these words. If only she had Desmond to
herself, and could keep him away from Beatrice and her set, she felt
certain all would be well. He was so tender and affectionate at
home, and so regular in his attendance at business, that she hoped
everything for his future. If he could but see the deterioration of
character that must of necessity follow upon the indulgence of
vicious habits, surely he would of his own accord revolt from those
habits and break the yoke from his neck.
Odeyne might have been rather lonely at this time, had it not been
that Cissy Ritchie came to stay with her for a while. This
arrangement was practically made by Mrs. St. Claire, who did not
think Odeyne ought to be quite alone just now, and who decided that
one of the Ritchie girls would do very well to wait on her, and fetch
and carry, until some of Odeyne's own people could come to be with
her. Mrs. St. Claire believed in cheerful companionship, and was
also decidedly averse to Odeyne's driving about alone. She spoke to
Dr. Ritchie on the subject, and he gladly gave permission for Cissy
to stay for a while at the Chase. Jem would have loved to be the one
selected, but her father knew that Odeyne would wait upon her and
look after her, rather than suffer the lame child to save her steps.
So Cissy was the one in the end selected; and Odeyne found it
pleasant to have in the house a quick-witted, sensible, and
sympathetic companion, who was always on the spot if wanted, but who
had the knack of effacing herself quickly and completely whenever
husband and wife wanted to be together.
Maud would have liked to be Odeyne's companion now, but she could not
be spared by her mother, who was always something of an invalid,
especially during the winter months. Cissy Ritchie, however, was
delighted to come, and after a very short time Odeyne found that she
liked and trusted her most fully.
The chief interest and excitement of those days was the approaching
marriage of pretty Alice, the maid, and the renovation of the lodge
which was to be her future home.
Odeyne drove down very often to see how it was getting on, and Cissy
became keenly interested in the place and its future occupants. She
helped Alice with some of her trousseau garments, a little amused
sometimes at the daintiness of them for a girl in her position.
"You will be quite a fine lady one of these days, Alice," she
remarked, as Alice displayed to her a hat and cape which she had had
given to her by her _fiancé_ only a few days before. And Alice
blushed and bridled a little as she answered--
"That is what Walter hopes, ma'am, in a few years. He means to make
his way in the world, and he says he will make a lady of me before we
grow so very much older."
"And how is he going to set about that, Alice?" asked Cissy, with one
of her quick little penetrating glances.
"He means to be rich one of these days, you see, ma'am," answered
Alice, "and then it'll all be easy."
"Come Alice," said Cissy with a little laugh, "you know better than
that. Why it was only the other day you told me yourself that Mrs.
Bennet and her daughters would never be ladies as long as they lived!
Yet they are rich enough to curl their fringes with bank-notes if
they had a mind to!"
Alice blushed again, but lifted her pretty head with a gesture that
meant a good deal.
"I don't think that those poor ladies have ever been used to good
society--not till it was too late to learn. One has to be brought up
with ladies to understand the ways of them!" And Alice plainly
considered that she had had that sort of education, and could hold
her own in any society!
"At least, Alice, believe me that money has nothing to do with it,"
said Cissy gravely. "Some of the best and truest ladies in the world
are poorer than you and your husband will be, even when you first set
up. A true lady, Alice, is born, not made. And the truest test I
know of real refinement is the gift of putting aside self for the
sake of others."
Alice did not look as though she thought much of that as a test; but
she was fond of Miss Ritchie, and did not argue with her. Cissy was
very quiet, but she had a way of speaking straight to the point, of
supporting her words if need be with pregnant arguments. Odeyne had
begun to find her interesting as well as kind and useful, and her
knowledge of the neighbourhood and all the people there was both
useful and entertaining.
One day, as they were sitting together in that comfortable sanctum of
Desmond's, which Odeyne had beautified for him, and which on cold and
blustery days was the cosiest corner of the house, a note was brought
in to them which proved to be of some importance. Walter Garth was
the bearer, and in it Odeyne was asked to give him some important
papers which were locked up in the safe in this very room. Odeyne
had a duplicate key in her possession; but she was not clear from
Desmond's rather vague directions what the papers were that were
wanted.
"I think I must have the man in. Very likely he will know. Desmond
always says he is so observant and quick. He saves him a great deal
in time and trouble."
Cissy leant back in her chair and surveyed the new-comer as he
entered. Although she had heard a good deal about Walter Garth, she
had never seen him before, and as Alice's future husband she took a
considerable interest in him.
She watched him closely all the time he was in the room talking with
Odeyne. He knew all about the papers; was very quiet and courteous
in his manner. In accent and voice he could have passed as a
gentleman in any ordinary society, and yet he could not justly be
accused of giving himself airs; he was far too quiet and respectful.
"So that is Alice's _fiancé_," said Cissy when the visitor had taken
his departure.
"Yes; what do you think of him?" asked Odeyne, who had come to have a
considerable respect for Cissy's powers of discrimination.
"I didn't take to him," answered Cissy briefly.
"Didn't you?" asked Odeyne, rather surprised. "Most people have
formed a very favourable impression of him."
"Oh, I should think he was clever, if that was what was wanted, and
as quick as they make them, as the boys would say. I should think he
could be a very useful servant and a very trustworthy one, so long as
it was in his interest to be so. But I wouldn't trust him beyond
that point."
Odeyne felt just a little hurt. Walter Garth was rather a _protégé_
of hers, for Alice's sake.
"Don't you think you are rather harsh in your judgments, dear Cissy?"
she asked. "What makes you think such things?"
"It's a kind of instinct I have," answered Cissy. "I can't help it;
it was born in me. I have a feeling about people the very first time
I see them. I sometimes wander away from my first impression for a
time; but almost, if not quite invariably, I come back to it in the
end."
"I have heard people talk like that before," said Odeyne. "I have
not that kind of gift myself. Sometimes I think it may be rather a
dangerous one. It must give rise to a certain amount of prejudice."
"Yes," answered Cissy readily, "it does. One judges beforehand on
instinct, without waiting for development and reason. I have had my
qualms about it. Once, when I had the chance of talking to a very
holy man, I asked him what he thought about that sort of intuition."
"And what did he say?" asked Odeyne with interest.
"He said it all a great deal more beautifully than I can do; but the
gist of it was this--that these instincts were often given us by God,
for our defence and guidance; but that like every God-given thing, it
was liable to abuse, and that the enemy would be certain to strive
and make us abuse it; so we must watch ourselves very carefully, and
above all avoid judging and condemning our brethren, and so missing
that bond of perfect love which should be strong enough to embrace
all mankind, even though over some we may have to weep tears of blood
for their wickedness and unbelief."
"Yes, I like that sort of answer," said Odeyne, "and I am sure God
does give us instincts to help us to avoid evil. Think how little
children shrink away from wicked persons without knowing why. I have
so often noticed that, and thought how beautiful it was. But tell
me, have you any reason rather than this instinct for distrusting
Walter Garth?"
"Not exactly," answered Cissy. "I did not quite like the way he
examined the key of the safe when he had locked it up, or the sort of
stock he seemed to take of everything in the room; but perhaps he has
trained himself to habits of observation, and does it unthinkingly;
for I suppose he has been inside this room before to speak to Desmond.
"Desmond generally sees him in the little waiting-room opposite,
where Garth has a writing-table, and sometimes writes a few letters
for him. He may have been in here before; but I don't know. As you
say, he is one of those observant men who takes in everything.
Perhaps it is not quite an agreeable habit, but Desmond has found it
very useful."
Cissy said no more. She had no wish to be disagreeable, and the fact
that Walter Garth's face had struck her rather unpleasantly was not a
matter of much consequence. Alice was satisfied with him as a lover,
and Desmond as a clerk. He had many good qualities to recommend him,
and even if there were possibilities of an ugly kind in his nature,
perhaps nothing would ever arise to call them forth, or perhaps the
influence of his wife and home would gradually eradicate them.
"If Alice were not such a vain, feather-brained chit herself," mused
Cissy, as she thought over the situation. "Her real devotion to
Odeyne is her best point; except for that she seems to me but a
flighty little thing, bent on being a fine lady in so far as it is
possible. They are going to keep a servant, and she plainly intends
to go about very smart, when she is not up at the house looking after
Odeyne's things. Perhaps the responsibilities of matrimony will
sober her down; but her one leading idea seems to be to have a good
time and enjoy herself thoroughly."
Odeyne had decided not to engage another maid at once. She had never
been used to much personal attendance, and did not care for it. She
needed some help in the care of her rather extensive wardrobe, and
that Alice was eager to give still. She did not want to sever her
connection with the big house and all its attendant gaieties, nor did
her husband wish this either. He told her that she would find it
very lonely all day at the lodge, and encouraged her to continue her
duties in so far as it was possible. This arrangement pleased and
suited Odeyne very well, and was to be adopted for the present, at
any rate. The wedding was to take place as soon as the additions to
the lodge were made, and that would certainly be before Christmas, so
there was not much time to make others.
Desmond's ideas just now were rather on a large scale. The prospect
of the nurseries at the Chase being wanted shortly, gave him an idea
that they would find the house rather small when visitors arrived for
such occasions as the shooting and hunting, or a county ball. He had
therefore taken a great fancy to his plan of enlarging the lodge,
which was never used as a lodge, and making it at once a comfortable
home for the Garths and a sort of overflow house, where his own
guests could be accommodated when necessary.
Odeyne was always ready to fall into any project of his, and although
she was a little astonished at the elaborate plans and heavy
estimates submitted, Desmond assured her that he could well afford to
carry out his scheme in his own way, and added that there was never
any real extravagance in improving a property. It would be an
advantage to the family, in the long run.
He went to work all through in an open-handed and lavish way.
Everything, even the furnishing, was done at his own expense, and in
a style that Cissy frankly told him was rather absurd for such people
as Garth and his wife.
But Desmond only laughed. This lodge was his pet hobby just now, and
as it kept him at home when he was not at business, and was certainly
a safer way of spending money than others in which he was fond of
indulging, nobody seriously opposed him, and the delight of Alice
with her pretty home was quite amusing to see.
The house was divided practically into two parts, the one being an
exceedingly comfortable and even elegant cottage for the Garths, the
other forming a quaint suite of rooms for bachelor guests, including
a smoking-room, a bathroom, and two good bedrooms, with a
dressing-closet or boxroom wedged between them. Two, or even three
men could be comfortably accommodated here, and Desmond was as
pleased with the appearance of the furnished and embellished rooms as
a child with a new toy.
The wedding of Alice and Garth came off in due course, just a
fortnight before Christmas. The bride had insisted upon white for
her own wear, although Odeyne had gently suggested that grey would be
more serviceable, and would be more comfortable and suitable for the
season of the year. But that did not meet Alice's views at all, nor,
as she said, those of Walter. She should not feel properly married,
she declared, if she were not married in white. So Odeyne was
prepared for something rather fine, but not for the sweeping white
silk and the flowing veil with which Alice astonished the church upon
the morning of her wedding-day.
Desmond had ruled that she should be married from the house, and have
a carriage to convey her and two of the other maids, who were to act
"bridesmaids" for her. Odeyne, knowing that Alice's besetting sin
was vanity and love of display and admiration, would much have
preferred to have everything more quiet and suitable; but Desmond was
in a gay, benignant, and almost rollicking mood, encouraged Alice and
Garth in all their ideas of future grandeur, and laughed at Odeyne's
scruples as out of date in these liberal and levelling days.
So Alice swept up the aisle in robes as fine as many ladies wear on
such occasions, and she looked altogether so dainty, so pretty, so
refined, that she might be pardoned for the idea that she was on the
high road to becoming a "real lady."
She was a little shy of the thought of meeting her mistress's eye;
but for the rest she was glad that all the world should see her in
her finery and grandeur. She was going away with Walter as soon as
she had changed her dress after church; and before she saw her lady
again the impression of her foolish grandeur would surely have worn
away.
So she escaped without any real leave-taking from her mistress, and
when Odeyne, a little hurt, spoke of it to Desmond, he only laughed
and said--
"The little puss was afraid of a scolding for all that finery. Never
mind, wifie; it was rather absurd, but it made her very happy, and I
suppose she could afford it. She has had a lot of things given to
her. Let's walk down and look at the lodge again. I am looking
forward to seeing it inhabited."
And when they stood inside the pleasant rooms, and spoke of using
them later on, Desmond broke into one of his gay laughs and cried--
"You see, wifie, it really is a capital move having a place like
this; for when your careless husband has ruined himself over
horseracing, and who knows what beside, we shall be able to let the
Chase, and live cosily here ourselves, until our fortunes mend again.
Really it wouldn't be half bad!"
He laughed and kissed her as he spoke; but Odeyne shivered a little,
and drew her fur cloak closer round her.
"I don't like you to say such things, even in jest, Desmond," she
answered, and she wished that he had not laughed again as they
sallied forth.
"If he would take life just a little more seriously!" was the
unspoken cry of her heart. "I wish he had not said that about the
lodge. He has spoilt it for me now!"
CHAPTER X.
_CHRISTMAS._
"Guy, Guy! oh, dearest Guy! Can it really be you? It seems too good
to be true!"
"Very much myself, _Schwesterling mein_, and very delighted to be
here at last, and to see you in all your glory!"
"Oh, Guy, it is delightful! It is like a dream! Why did you not
tell me you were coming?"
"Because I am rather an uncertain mortal in the winter, and I would
not have had you disappointed for anything. I knew you would be
anxious about the mother, and I did not want you to have any more
bothers. Besides, I like a surprise."
"So do I when it takes this form! Oh, Guy, it is so good to see your
dear face, and to have somebody here for Christmas! How pleased
Desmond will be when he comes home! Edmund will run over just for
the few days he can get away; but when his leave is due he will go
home, of course. Now tell me about all the dear ones at home. Make
yourself comfortable in that big chair, and I will get you your tea.
It is so good to have you there! Now tell me about them all--mother
in particular."
"She is much better; it was just a sharp attack of bronchitis. We
think she took a chill. Of course Mary has been busy nursing her and
looking after things, so it was impossible for us to think of a
family gathering here--even if father and Henry could have got away.
Nor did it seem a very advisable thing, all round, to have you and
Desmond across to us. Then I made up my mind that if mother were
really convalescent, and they could spare me, I would come here
myself to be your companion during some of these dull winter days.
They all thought it a capital plan, and here I am, you see!"
"It is delightful!" cried Odeyne, with shining eyes. "It will make
Christmas just perfect. There will be a few quiet gaieties to
enliven you. I keep rather quiet, because I prefer it; but you can
have a good deal of fun if you like it. It is rather a gay little
place in its way."
"My fun will be sitting at home with you, I think, little sister.
That's rather more my idea of enjoyment than gadding about, though,
of course, I want to know Desmond's people, and will make one of any
family gathering to which I am asked. Now tell me every single thing
about yourself, and your life, and all that you do. You have been
very good about writing long letters; but after all letters only give
a rather dim and distant idea of the real thing."
To have a long and confidential talk with Guy was just the luxury
most desired by Odeyne. To her second self she could pour out all
that was in her heart about her new life and the people by whom she
was surrounded. Long before the story was done an interruption came
in the arrival of Desmond; and his cordial welcome to his wife's
brother put Guy perfectly and entirely at his ease in this house.
Desmond had always been very fond of Guy, and to have him on a visit
of indefinite length suited him exactly.
Desmond was in almost boyishly high spirits all the evening, and upon
the next morning. He laughed, and made obscure remarks to Odeyne,
not altogether comprehensible to her; till at last she turned
laughingly to Guy, and said--
"He is up to some mischief--I know he is! He always betrays himself
like that when it is coming!" Then turning to Desmond and shaking
her finger at him, she said, "Take care, you bad boy, and don't you
get into trouble, or you'll be well hen-pecked when you come back to
me, I can tell you!"
And as Desmond went off laughing and bubbling over with mirth, after
kissing his wife as he always did, she turned to her brother and
said--
"He is such a boy still in some of his ways, but he really is growing
to be a very good man of business, they say. We had a dinner for
some of the other members of the firm not long ago. They were heavy
City men, not the sort of people we meet in society as a rule, but
very worthy in their way. Several of them said very complimentary
things about Desmond's abilities to me. I am so glad he has that
regular occupation as a sort of ballast, for he has such high spirits
that if he had nothing to do but enjoy himself I should be almost
afraid for him."
"He seems wonderfully young for his years and position," said Guy;
"but it is nice to see him so happy; and if he works hard, too, no
one need fall foul of his high spirits."
Odeyne spent a very happy morning showing Guy all over her house and
garden. Cissy Ritchie had gone home the day before the arrival of
the brother, as Odeyne felt it would be selfish to keep her away
during all the pleasant bustle of the Christmas preparations at home.
And now, having Guy, she wanted no one else; and they spent a
charming morning together, his interest and pleasure in her
possessions giving them an added value in her eyes.
"Desmond must be a richer man than he told us," was his comment as
they sat at lunch together, the servants having handed the dishes and
retired. "We knew by the settlements that he had a very fair fortune
of his own; but there is something almost princely in the way he
spends his money here. Does it feel at all strange to you to be the
queen of so much grandeur?"
"It did at first; but I have grown used to it. You don't mean you
think Desmond extravagant, do you, Guy?"
"I certainly meant no criticism of that sort," answered Guy. "You
know extravagance is to my thinking spending more than a man has a
right to do--more than he can really afford. If he is living within
his income, giving a fair proportion to those who need it, and
keeping a margin for a less prosperous day, then, according to my
ideas, he has a full right to do as he will with the remainder, so
long as he does not fritter it away in follies and vanities, or, of
course, in vicious pleasures. But I am sure Desmond has no
tendencies of that sort."
"Indeed, I hope and trust not; but I do sometimes wonder if he is not
a little more fond of spending money than is quite wise. He is very
generous to everybody; he gives away liberally to a number of good
objects, and likes me to help in the parish and subscribe to all the
local charities. I am more afraid of his being indiscriminate in his
charities than niggardly. He is always so sorry for people in
trouble. He is a very dear fellow, though I suppose it is not for me
to praise him!"
"Never mind, I like to hear you," answered Guy. "And now tell me
about little Alice! I have a box of presents for her from her people
and friends at home. They were rather taken by surprise at the
suddenness of the marriage, and had not got the things all done in
time. Shall we take them to her this afternoon, if you have nothing
more important on hand?"
"I should like that very much," answered Odeyne. "I have only just
seen her since she got home. They had a little trip after the
wedding; but they arrived home three days ago. Alice had hardly got
settled down then, but now she will be ready for visitors. She will
be delighted to see anyone from the old home. We will order the
carriage and go."
This was accordingly done; and the brother and sister reached the
pretty lodge early in the afternoon. There was a small maid-servant
with ribbons in her cap to open the door, greatly to Guy's amusement.
This damsel showed them into the parlour, where she said her mistress
would see them directly; she had run out a few minutes before, but
would certainly not be long gone. She was doing up her dress, the
girl informed them, with an air of pride, for a ball at the Royal
George that evening.
This fact explained the remarkable state of the parlour, which was
littered from end to end with odds and ends of white ribbons and bits
of silk. Upon the table lay Alice's wedding dress, upon which she
was plainly at work, taking out the sleeves, and cutting it low in
the neck, in obvious imitation of some of Odeyne's Paris gowns, which
had filled Alice with boundless admiration. Long white gloves lay
upon the table, together with what Odeyne did not at all like to
see--some sham diamond ornaments--a clever enough imitation of the
real thing; but only a trumpery imitation, yet too costly all the
same for Alice to buy.
Guy took in all this as quickly as Odeyne herself, and uttered a
long, low whistle.
"This is an odd sort of development for that quiet little dainty
Alice. How comes it all about?"
"I don't know," answered Odeyne, with tears in her eyes. "I am
afraid I have not done my duty by her. I was always fond of her, and
she seemed like a little bit of home. I talked to her, and perhaps
made too much of her, and she is so pretty that when she went about
with me she was always noticed and made much of. I am afraid that
vanity has always been her besetting sin, and that I have not done
enough to combat it."
At this moment Alice came hurrying in with her hands full of sprays
of delicate ivy. Odeyne remembered that one of her Paris dresses was
trimmed and adorned with ivy sprays, and that Alice had always
particularly admired it. The inference was obvious. The ex-maid was
going to appear at this local festivity in a dress closely imitating
one of her mistress's. It was not the imitation itself that troubled
Odeyne, but the incongruity of the whole thing--Alice dressed up to
the eyes, going to a ball, when she would have been so much better
and happier sitting at home with her husband, mending his stockings
and cooking his supper!
The girl crimsoned from brow to chin on seeing her visitors, and
hastily invited them into the other room, where there was not all
that litter about.
"Jane was so stupid," she grumbled, with a toss of the head; "really,
servants were more trouble than they were worth!"
Odeyne made no comment on what she had seen. She knew very well that
any remonstrance would be thrown away. Alice was now a married
woman, free of all control in her own house, save that of her
husband. If he approved this kind of thing it was not for others to
interfere, and Odeyne contented herself with inquiries about the
little holiday trip, and whether the lodge was a comfortable place to
live in.
Then the box was brought in, and Guy gave her the key, and quite a
number of messages from her mother and friends. Alice grew more like
herself at this point, and opened the box with natural curiosity; but
her face fell somewhat as she drew out its contents, and there was
something like a supercilious curl on her pretty mouth as she laid
the things out on the little sofa.
A year ago she would have been delighted by the quiet and neatly-made
dresses and the comfortable, warm shawl that her mother and sisters
had made for her, and her brother sent from his manufactory. To
Odeyne's eyes they looked far more suited to the young wife's
position than the finery in the next room. But Alice was evidently
of quite another opinion.
"It's kind of mother, to be sure; but folks right away in the country
don't know anything about fashions and style. Why, those things
might have come out of the ark! But then poor mother would never be
any the wiser!"
"They are nice, serviceable dresses," answered Odeyne, "and your
mother and sisters' beautiful needlework would make any of their
handiwork valuable. I think you will find their presents very
useful, Alice."
"I can wear them up at the house when I come," said Alice, as if this
were rather a bright idea; and it gave Odeyne the opportunity of
saying--
"You have not found your way up there since you came back."
"No, ma'am, I have been so very busy. It takes time to get settled
and in order; but I shall come very soon--perhaps to-morrow."
Odeyne looked at her rather gravely.
"I think you will be too tired to-morrow, Alice, after the ball
to-night."
Alice coloured up, but answered rather hastily and defiantly--
"Well, ma'am, I can't help the ball. It's got up partly for
us--Walter having been a guest there so long, and me being a bride,
and all that. I don't see why we shouldn't have our bit of fun as
well as our betters. Everything's going to be done in first-class
style, and I'm to open the ball with the master of the house--just as
you did, ma'am, when you went as a bride to Lord Altrincham's."
"I was not finding fault with you, Alice," said Odeyne with gentle
gravity. "You have a husband now to take care of you. If he
approves of this sort of thing I have nothing to say."
"Oh, Walter likes to see me dressed like a lady and everybody
admiring me," answered Alice with the freedom of one to whom a
considerable liberty of speech has been granted.
"To be sure, he is often a bit jealous--that's the way with men--but
he likes it all the same, and was pleased for us to go. Most of the
guests pay for their tickets, but Walter and I go free, because it's
our wedding ball, you know."
Odeyne did not stay long. She felt rather sorrowful and anxious, and
yet altogether helpless as regards Alice, and she had an uneasy
feeling that perhaps it had not been a good thing for her, this
transporting of her from the quiet Rectory to the gayer life of the
Chase. But Guy tried to cheer her up.
"She would never have stayed there. She was resolved to go and see
life for herself elsewhere. She might have done much worse. She is
married now to a man of whom all speak well. It is the fashion
nowadays to ape the gentry in everything. It is a pity they cannot
take their pleasures more simply; but we have to take things as they
are, not as we should like to see them. Alice will play her little
game of vanity and display, and enjoy it; let us be thankful she has
a husband at her side all the while. When she has a few babies to
look after she will think of things differently. The
responsibilities of life will come upon her quite fast enough."
When Desmond came home that afternoon it was by an earlier train than
usual; and out of the back of the dog-cart came a large box and a
number of parcels, and as he flung them down gaily on the
drawing-room sofa he exclaimed--
"There, little wifie! I told you I would look after the presents for
'home.' You see if I have chosen right, and give me credit for being
a good shopper!"
"Oh, Desmond! how delightful of you! I was beginning to think you
had forgotten. Let us have the lamp in and examine everything! We
ought to send them off to-night, or first thing to-morrow, for it is
the twenty-first--and traffic is always crowded just now."
It was indeed a grand show of presents that was displayed when the
lamps were brought in. Desmond had forgotten nobody, and seemed to
have intuitions as to the taste of all. For the Rector there were
rare old books on divinity, and some modern works which were exciting
no small stir amongst thinking men, and which Odeyne was certain her
father would delight in possessing. For the mother there was a
beautiful soft Indian shawl, just such a wrap as her children would
love to see her in; for Mary a fur-lined cloak that would enable her
to resist the cold, even in the severest weather; and for Henry, who
did all the long tramps over the scattered parish in the snow, and
all the night-work too, a fur-lined coat--just such a one as Desmond
wore himself up to town in cold weather.
"Henry and I could always wear each other's things," said Desmond, as
he undid the bundle, "so if it fits me it will fit him. I should
have liked to get one for the father too, but I knew he was so wedded
to his wonderful Inverness that I don't believe he would ever wear
it."
"I don't think he would," answered Odeyne; "he will never put on
anything with sleeves. But for Henry this will be splendid; he will
not mind the weight, and he does feel the cold a good bit."
For the three little girls there were wonderful boxes of bonbons,
story-books, and dolls. For the old servants, shawls, tea-caddies,
and so forth. Then he had bought a plated tea-pot and sugar basin
for Alice and her husband, and various small things for old people on
the estate.
"I sent things off for the mother, and Maud, and Beatrice, and Algy,
straight from the jewellers," he explained; "I always think that
women-folk like jewellery better than anything else; and they will
show you them all in good time, if you care to see. Don't you expect
anything yourself, wifie, after all this outlay? I'm about bankrupt
now, till the next quarter begins"; and Desmond laughed gaily as he
bent to kiss Odeyne.
"I don't want anything but you, Desmond," she answered, with a happy
light in her eyes, "and I told you all along that my Christmas
present was to be the _carte-blanche_ you gave me to make a nice
Christmas for all the poor people on the estate."
Odeyne was in fact very busy all these next days with her
distribution of doles and gifts. She took great interest in the
people about them, those who were her husband's tenants, and those
who belonged to the parish also. From the Ritchies and from the
clergyman's wife she had learned much about them; and Christmas Eve
was quite given over to the pleasure of seeing the people all going
happily away with the gifts of good things provided.
But when Odeyne came down on Christmas morning to find her plate
piled with parcels--many of them brought by Guy from home, others
come by post, some left at the house by friends in the
neighbourhood--there was one suspicious-looking packet which she
could not but open first, and there, within the morocco case, lay a
wonderful diamond necklace and pendant, that even Odeyne's experience
told her must have cost a small fortune.
"To my dear wife," were the words inscribed upon a little scrap of
paper inside the lid; and when Odeyne lifted her dazzled eyes there
was Desmond standing over her, to put his arm about her and press
kisses on her lips.
"Darling, I won't be scolded!" he cried gaily. "It is my good little
wife who keeps me from bad habits, and sends me into the City day by
day, making a richer man of me than I ever thought to be! I will
have my own little whims as to how I spend the money she has helped
me to earn. Even the careful Guy will say that that is all fair and
square!"
Guy and Edmund were both at table, and both struck dumb by the
magnificence of Desmond's gifts. Guy's was a splendid dressing-bag
with every accessory heart could wish, and silver monograms on
everything; and Edmund's a complete hunting rig--scarlet coat, white
breeches, top boots, and immaculate hat--all from one of the first
tailors in London (Edmund understood now why he had been badgered
into leaving a suit of clothes at the Chase on the pretence of its
making his visits easier), and a fine set of golf tools, which he had
been desiring for some time, but had not yet thought himself
justified in buying.
"Really, Desmond, you are too generous!" they cried, pressing up to
thank him; but he waved them gaily off, saying--
"Don't thank me. Thank Odeyne; it's all her doing, I assure you.
And, besides, a man and his wife are one; so she must never be left
out of anything you attribute to me."
Odeyne looked at her bright-faced young husband with a world of love
in her eyes, and wondered whether ever woman was so happy as herself
that day.
Upon the morrow was a grand ball at Beatrice's house. Odeyne had
begged off, and had been permitted to stay quietly at home; and Guy
would now be her companion, as late hours and dancing were alike
injurious to him; but Edmund and Desmond of course must be there; and
Odeyne had promised to drive Guy over earlier in the day, to
introduce him to her sister-in-law, and look round at the
flower-decked rooms and at the preparations for the evening's
festivity. Guy had been introduced before this to Mrs. St. Claire
and Maud, and had been very cordially received there. But, so far,
he had not seen Beatrice, and was glad of the opportunity.
It was impossible to catch Mrs. Vanborough at a disadvantage.
Although she had been busy all the morning superintending the
arrangement of the rooms, and although her hair was tumbled, and she
had on, for her, quite an old dress, she managed to look bewitchingly
bright and pretty as she came sailing down the staircase to meet
them; and Odeyne noticed in a moment that the slightly forced
mirthfulness of her laugh and the haggard expression of her eyes had
quite vanished, leaving her all sparkle, and brightness, and life.
"You delightful creature! I was afraid you might be afraid of the
snow. And I am dying to thank you and Desmond for your lovely
present. Algy says opals are unlucky; but I don't care if they are.
I am not superstitious, thank goodness, and I love them and dote on
them. I am going to wear them to-night. I have a lovely new dress I
want you to see. Oh yes, and Guy shall come too! I'm not foolish
enough or inexperienced enough not to know that men like to see
pretty things just as well as we do, and often have just as good
taste. Come and see my dress and my flowers--I have had three
splendid bouquets sent me, and I hardly know which to wear. You
shall help me to decide. I'm sorry you won't be there to-night; but
I shan't bother you to come. I believe you will be better at home,
really; and you will have Guy to take care of you."
Beatrice's friendly way of adopting Odeyne's brothers almost as her
own, gave them a feeling of intimacy with her almost at once; and Guy
was quite pleased to follow her into the luxuriously-appointed
upstairs room, where the beautiful ball-dress lay spread out upon a
couch.
"It's a real Worth dress. I haven't been able to afford one for
quite an age; but Algy said I really might this time. My dear
Odeyne, I don't know how to be grateful enough to you for what you've
done for us. It has just made all the difference in the world to us."
Odeyne raised a puzzled face and said--
"I don't know what you mean, Beatrice."
"Oh, don't you know that Desmond has taken Algy in hand, and is
teaching him some sort of business. He never could have done that,
if you had not got him to take up the work himself first."
"I didn't know," answered Odeyne eagerly. "Desmond never said
anything about Algernon. Is he going into the business house?"
"I don't know exactly what it is," answered Beatrice; "I am so
ignorant about business. All I know is that Algy goes into the City
two or three days a week, and that things have been ever so much
better with us ever since. And it's all dear Desmond's doing. He
has taught Algy everything, and put him in the way of things. We
have paid off no end of our debts, and are quite flourishing again."
Odeyne was delighted. She wondered why Desmond had never told her,
and she wondered why Guy looked rather grave and said nothing.
Perhaps it was because he did not know Beatrice well enough to join
in a conversation about her private affairs.
Then after they had looked at the dress and the opals, and had gone
downstairs and admired the rooms with their great banks of flowering
plants, Beatrice took them into her boudoir, which was the only
really comfortable room in the house, and gave them tea, and told
them racy stories, till they all laughed heartily together and felt
quite like old friends, and Guy promised to come again soon, and not
make a stranger of Desmond's sister.
"There is something about Beatrice that fascinates me always," said
Odeyne as they drove home, "and the little boy is sweet, though I did
not like to ask for him to-day, as they were all so busy. Algernon
is the one I can never quite like. He gives me the impression of
being a fast man--not a good one. But I was so glad to hear that he
had taken to business ways. I wonder why Desmond never spoke about
it. Why do you look like that, Guy? Don't you think it's a very
good thing?"
"That depends upon what he does," answered Guy gravely. "I do not
quite understand how such elasticity of means can have been made in
so short a time. I don't profess to understand business, but common
sense tells me it is not likely that it has been done in the ordinary
course of business."
"But, Guy, how else could it be done?"
"It sounds much more like gambling in stocks and shares. You know
there are fortunes won and lost every day on the Stock Exchange. It
is another form of gambling, and rather a terrible one. I hope that
Desmond is not dabbling in that sort of thing in the way of business.
Keep him from it with all your might, Odeyne, if there is any danger;
for it generally ends in one thing, and that is--ruin."
CHAPTER XI.
_A SHOCK._
Guy and Odeyne spent the evening of Beatrice's grand ball quietly
together at the Chase, as planned. It was a great delight to both to
be once more under one roof, and living the same life. And this was
the first occasion on which they had had leisure and opportunity for
one of their long confidential chats.
Odeyne had been looking forward to it for quite a long time, the
other days having been so full of employment and the calls of
friendship. Yet now that it had come, the young wife was not so
uncloudedly happy as she had expected to be. Although she asked
innumerable questions about the old home and friends there--questions
she had been treasuring up against the time when she and Guy could be
alone and at leisure--yet she often felt her attention straying as
she talked, and was conscious of a dull indefinite weight at her
heart that she hardly wished to drag into the light of day.
And yet as time went on, and the old familiar relations between
herself and Guy re-established themselves without any effort on
either side, the desire to confide in and consult him became too
strong for resistance; and suddenly breaking in upon what he was
telling her, she said almost abruptly for her--
"Guy, dear, you won't think it unwifely of me, will you, if I talk to
you a little about Desmond?"
"Not a bit," he answered; "you know Desmond and I were always fond of
one another. Sometimes I think it was his goodness to me when I was
ill and good for nothing that made the first link between you two."
"I think it was. Guy, Desmond is the dearest of husbands. I don't
think any two people could be happier than he and I; and yet every
now and then I have such a strange feeling of misgiving. It comes
over me that perhaps I am not the best wife he could have chosen.
There are times when I feel that I have not the influence over him
that I ought to have. He will give me everything I want. I am
almost afraid of admiring anything, lest he should at once send for
it, whether we need it or not. But sometimes I wonder whether he
would give up things for me if I asked it--and then I do not feel so
sure."
Guy looked grave and thoughtful. Few as had been the days he had
spent at the Chase, they had given him time to observe many things,
and he understood Odeyne almost more fully than she expected him to
do.
"He does spend a good deal of money, Odeyne--generously and kindly,
to be sure, but rather over-lavishly. It might be a good thing if
you could put a check upon that."
"I do try very often," she answered, "but you heard how he answered
me the other day; and if business is so good----"
"That is just my puzzle," answered Guy. "I do not know so very much
about business; but I have never looked upon a berth like Desmond's
as such an immensely lucrative thing. No doubt it is very
advantageous to him to have it. He will probably in time build up a
solid little supplementary fortune to leave behind him. But I do not
quite understand how it puts him in command of such large sums of
ready money; and yet when I chaffed him the other day about the bills
he was running up, he declared everything was paid for on the spot.
He had had enough of debts, he said, at college. He never meant to
contract any more. And I was very glad to hear him say that,
although it left the other puzzle untouched."
Odeyne said nothing for a while, but looked into the fire, and when
she spoke there was a certain hesitation in her tones.
"Guy, what were you saying this afternoon--about Algernon Vanborough,
you know--and the Stock Exchange?"
"Why, that it looked rather as though he must be dabbling in
speculation in stocks and shares, going into the City, and suddenly
having command of money again. No doubt there is a great deal to be
made in that way; but it needs a cool and clever head, and I should
not think Algernon Vanborough had that."
"I do not like him much," said Odeyne. "But Beatrice spoke as if
Desmond were helping him. I thought it was in the way of business."
"Yes, some kind of business; but Beatrice was very vague about it
herself. It is a word that carries a wide meaning."
"Oh, Guy!" exclaimed Odeyne, with sudden anxiety and distress, "do
tell me, is there anything wrong in that sort of speculation--and do
you think that Desmond is speculating too?"
"I confess it looks a little like it," answered Guy; "but as to
whether or not such speculation is honest, I hardly know how to
answer. Of course 'men of the world' would laugh at the notion of
calling it anything else. And there is a certain buying and selling
of stock that is perfectly fair and legitimate; but undoubtedly there
can be a shady side to it; and in any case I should shrink from
gaining large sums of money without doing honest work for it. Your
gain is somebody's loss. It seems a perilous pastime to indulge in.
It draws men on and on into deeper places. In its essence it is a
form of gambling, Odeyne, although it may not be recognised as such
at the outset."
At that word Odeyne caught her breath a little. It filled her with a
vague terror and distress. More than once she had been warned about
Desmond's tendency towards that perilous amusement, but she had
fondly thought that her influence was holding him back from it.
"Then, Guy, would you have me speak to him about it? Do you think I
should warn him?"
"I am rather shy, Odeyne, of giving advice where husband and wife are
concerned. I think you are the best judge of what you should say to
Desmond. His love for you is very true and deep. If he knew that
anything in his conduct distressed you, surely he would give it up?"
Odeyne sighed, and a little pucker furrowed her brow.
"Some things he would directly; but I do not feel so sure about it
when it seems to be business. He would be very kind, and he would
explain it all so that I should see it was all right, but I don't
feel so certain that he would give it up. That is where it sometimes
comes over me that another woman might have made him a better wife.
I am not strong-willed enough to have the influence I sometimes want."
"There is influence of another kind," said Guy thoughtfully after a
long pause. "A man with a very high standard before his eyes--the
highest standard of all--shrinks back from all such doubtful things
with an instinct of repulsion, and does not argue about them. He
feels the evil possibilities, and lets it alone. Try and win Desmond
to such a standard as that, and the rest will follow of itself."
Odeyne drew a deep sigh.
"If only I could!" she answered. "If only I could! But, Guy, I am
sometimes in danger of growing careless and forgetful myself, and
Desmond does not care for being talked to."
"I don't think talking ever does much good," answered Guy in the same
thoughtful way. "You must live your lessons, _Schwesterling_, not
talk them. And then there is always the power of prayer. I often
think we forget what a mighty weapon that is if used regularly, and
used aright."
Odeyne covered her face with her hands, and there was a sound of
tears in her voice as she answered--
"Oh, Guy, it is not so easy to be good, to think of all these things,
to keep unspotted from the world, here, in this big house and amongst
the people I live with, as in the dear old home. I do try; but there
is always so much to distract my thoughts. You will pray for us,
Guy, will you not, dear brother? For me as well as for him; for
indeed--indeed I need it!"
Very soon after that Guy persuaded Odeyne to go to bed. She had
intended to sit up for her husband; but she was really tired, and Guy
opined that they might be very late, since a light snow had fallen,
and travelling would be heavy. He would sit up and see that there
was a blazing fire, and some hot soup ready for them as ordered; and
presently Odeyne let herself be persuaded, and went off to bed.
Although rather anxious and troubled in mind, she strove to put aside
gloomy thoughts, and to reassure herself by thinking of the many
lovable traits in her husband's character. She could not expect
perfection, of course; and when she contrasted him with Algernon
Vanborough and some of his associates, she felt that she had cause
rather for thankfulness than disquiet, although, to be sure, Desmond
was just a little too easily led.
She had dropped asleep, with her door half open, that she might hear
her husband's voice when he returned, and feel assured of his safety,
when she was roused by a stir in the hall, and sat up in bed to
listen.
The hall being two stories high, and her bedroom door opening upon
the gallery just at the head of the staircase, she could hear any
sound there, and even any words spoken in a loud voice, and to-night
as she sat up listening, she was perfectly certain that she heard
Edmund say in answer to words spoken by Guy--
"It's all right--don't make a fuss or wake Odeyne. They'll bring him
in directly. We'll have him all right before she sees him."
In a moment Odeyne was out of bed, trembling in every limb. Desmond
had been hurt. There had been an accident on the slippery roads. He
always _would_ take his dog-cart and drive so fast. She was hurrying
into a rather elaborate wrapper, which would pass for a tea-gown, and
was hastily coiling up her abundant hair as these thoughts passed
through her brain. She must go to him, and see to his hurts. She
was afraid of nothing but suspense. In another moment she was out
upon the gallery, and looking down into the hall below, saw Desmond
being supported into the hall between Edmund and the footman, an
idiotic grin upon his face, a babble of thick and incoherent talk
proceeding from his lips.
"It is a head injury!" she said to herself, her heart almost standing
still. "He must get to bed at once, and I will attend to him"; and
she flew down the staircase.
Guy suddenly glanced up and saw her, and came striding to meet her,
looking almost stern in his gravity.
"Odeyne, don't come down--don't let the servants see you. Go back to
your room. I will come to you there if you like. Desmond would
rather that you did not see him now--with the men-servants about and
all."
Then she understood. She gave a low wail that went to Guy's heart;
and turning she went back to her own room, and threw herself into the
chair beside the fire, feeling as though the foundations of the earth
were giving way beneath her.
How long she remained thus she knew not. A light tap at the door
aroused her. She started up and heard Edmund's voice asking if he
might come in. She lighted the candles upon the toilet table, wiped
the traces of tears from her face, and went to the door trying to
appear as calm as possible.
Her soldier brother came a few paces into the room, and put her back
into her chair.
"I'm awfully sorry, Odeyne; I feel half to blame myself; but I've
come to tell you it's not nearly so bad as you may perhaps think--the
sort of thing that might happen to anybody who hadn't a very strong
head. It was Algy Vanborough's fault. That fellow is a great fool.
It was an awfully jolly ball, and Desmond had been Beatrice's right
hand all through, dancing with all the wall-flowers, and trotting out
little first-season misses whom some of the fellows turned up their
noses at. Nobody could have been nicer and kinder all along. And at
supper it was the same. He was everywhere, looking after
everybody--a hundred times more good than Vanborough. I daresay he
got thirsty, and perhaps he may have drunk rather more champagne than
was quite wise; but he was not the least excited or anything at the
house--make yourself quite easy about that."
"Then when was it?" asked Odeyne with dry lips.
"As I say, it was that fool Algy's fault. We were getting into the
dog-cart; Desmond was in already, and he came out with glasses of
'something hot, just to keep out the cold, you know.' Well, it was a
bitter night; one couldn't altogether fall foul of him for that. But
when I tasted my glass it was so horribly strong--whisky punch or
some heady mixture like that--that I wouldn't drink it. I was going
to warn Desmond, but he had already drained his glass; and of course,
after the champagne, and with the change into the cold air, it got
into his head; and I had to take the reins before we'd gone two
miles. That's the whole story, Odeyne. I'm awfully sorry you saw
him, but really it was the sort of accident that might happen to the
soberest fellow living. Don't you remember when Mary came in
dripping that day of the thunderstorm last summer year, how we gave
her some hot brandy and water, and she couldn't walk straight after
it?"
"Yes, I remember," said Odeyne with rather dry lips. "Thank you for
coming and explaining it, Edmund. I suppose it was only an accident.
But I wish it hadn't happened! Oh, I wish it hadn't happened!"
"So do I," answered Edmund sincerely. "But, honestly, Odeyne, I
don't think it's anything to trouble over seriously. Desmond hasn't
a very strong head, and Algy had no business to give him that fiery
stuff. He didn't think what he was doing when he drank it. It
wasn't as if he had the least craving. It was forced upon him when
he was in a merry, rollicking mood, and he took it without a thought,
as I was nearly doing myself."
"I will try not to make too much of it," answered Odeyne. "I should
not mind quite so much if the servants had not seen. I am afraid it
will be all over the place soon."
"I'm afraid servants see such much worse sights than that in many
houses that this won't make much impression on them," answered
Edmund. "All your people are fond of Desmond. He is a very kind and
considerate master. Now go to bed, little sister, and we will look
after Desmond. A headache to-morrow will be all the result of
to-night's mischance--and probably a resolve not to be careless in
such a fashion in the future."
Walter Garth walked up from the station in the snow-lighted darkness,
to see welcoming ruddy gleams shining out of the window of his pretty
cottage home. His footstep outside was apparently heard from within,
and Alice opened the door, standing looking out into the darkness--a
pretty picture of homely prosperity and cheerful affection.
"Is that you, Walter? How late you are!"
"Yes, it was the train. There was a bad fog in town. I thought we
should never get out. Glad we don't have to live in that choking
reek, little wife. One can breathe down here!"
Alice relieved him of his coat, went through what was evidently a
little daily pantomime of searching his pockets, and brought out a
box of bonbons from one of them. It seemed as though Garth had taken
a leaf out of Desmond's book, for he seldom returned home without
some little trifling gift for his wife. Often enough it was a small
household requisite he had been asked to buy, but a parcel of some
sort he almost always had, and Alice had come to look upon it as her
rightful due.
"Anything happened up at the house?" asked Walter, as he sat warming
himself before the fire luxuriously.
"What sort of thing do you mean?" asked Alice, who was bending over
the tea-pot, kettle in hand.
"Why, the master wasn't in town to-day; and yet he hadn't sent for me
to go to him for orders this morning. Of course I thought he would
be there himself, and told them so; but he didn't come, and Mr. Drake
was rather put out. He said there were letters waiting to be
answered, and that the master had them, and should have sent them in
if he wasn't coming himself. They rather jumped upon me. But I
couldn't help it."
"Of course not," answered Alice. "Well, it's just like this; the
master came home screwed from Mrs. Vanborough's ball last night.
This morning he had a tremendous headache, and couldn't think about
business anyhow. He didn't get up till twelve, and then they say he
was as cross as a bear. It's a shame! because it puts about the
mistress so. She has looked like a ghost all day."
Walter Garth gave vent to a low whistle.
"I hope that's not a failing of the master's though! I had no idea
of it!"
"Oh no, it isn't now," answered Alice quickly. "Thomson says there
was a time once, when he was at college and got into a fast set, when
he would take too much now and again; but he's been quite better of
that for ever so long now. It was just an accident last
night--nothing more."
Walter looked rather grim.
"It's the sort of accident that may cost him dear if he does not look
out. Mr. Desmond St. Claire has a good deal of quick cleverness, and
he's been uncommonly lucky, I will say--partly because I've looked
sharp after things too. But he hasn't too much ballast on board; and
he'd be one to lose his head pretty badly if he took to losing.
Besides, he can't afford to play fast and loose with all the irons he
has in the fire just now. That headache of his to-day will cost him
several hundred pounds, and perhaps lose him as much more."
Alice looked quite aghast.
"Oh, Walter, is that possible?"
"To be sure it is. He's been speculating in several things, and has
had rather a lot in the Chou-Chou mines, which are being boomed just
now. He ought to have sold to-day. I did, and my little speculation
brought me twenty-five pounds profit. He has hundreds where I have
tens. I expected a telegram all day, but never got one. I believe
the boom's over now, and that they will come tumbling down like a
house of cards! Well, he can afford to lose now and again. He's
been piling up money in fine style lately. Sometimes I'm half afraid
of his luck--lest it should make him reckless, or that it should get
whispered about in the office. And that would never do!"
A great deal of this was as Greek to Alice, but she understood very
well that her husband had made twenty-five pounds in a day, and her
eyes sparkled at the thought.
She asked a good many questions that made Walter laugh a good deal,
and finally she said in a puzzled voice--
"But I don't still understand where all the money comes from."
"Oh, out of the pockets of poor fools, who speculate without
understanding what they are about. They think these boomed affairs
are going to turn into something very wonderful, and rush in and buy
when they are very high. Then we, who know how the thing really
stands, sell high what we've bought for almost nothing, get our
money, and then down they go with a crash, and the fools are left
lamenting, with waste-paper certificates for their proceedings!"
"Oh, but, Walter, isn't that rather hard on them?"
"Gives them a very good lesson, which, if they take to heart, may
save them from further losses. People who don't know what they're
about shouldn't gamble in stocks."
"But, then, if there were none of these fools, as you call them,
left, how would you make your money?" asked Alice ingenuously, and
Walter laughed.
"Well, it seems a merciful arrangement or provision of Providence
that the race of fools never becomes extinct," he answered. "As fast
as one set collapses another rises up. It is seldom that dupes are
not to be had--if only the wirepullers know what they are about."
"Is it quite honest to take their money and give them only waste
paper in return?" asked Alice.
"They get their money's value when they buy. Of course, if they
choose to hold on too long--till the thing drops to half, or bursts
up altogether--that is their affair. In all buying and selling the
purchaser takes a certain risk that the goods may be accidentally
destroyed. It's the same on the Stock Exchange. They can get good
things for their money if they try. But if ignorant fools dabble in
risky speculations--well, they deserve to come to grief."
"I hope you won't come to grief," said Alice anxiously. "I should
hate to be poor, and to have people making remarks. They would be
sure to be spiteful, because they are jealous of me for having got
such a pretty home and such nice clothes. They say I have been made
a favourite of, and that favourites never come to a good end."
"Who say so?" asked Walter quickly.
"Oh, the girls up at the house. They have always been rather jealous
of me, because the mistress has me about her and talks to me. They
don't quite like it because I've married better than they can expect
to do. And the master thinking so much of you doesn't please them
much either. I take them presents of chocolates and things, just to
show I bear no malice, and that I am rich enough to buy such things.
But they would be delighted, I know, if we came down in the world.
So take care you don't, Walter dear."
"Not I!" he answered confidently. "I go about with my eyes open, and
I have plenty of irons in the fire. I always do say it doesn't do to
have all your eggs in one basket. And now, wifie, what did you say
about that diamond necklace the mistress had given her on Christmas
Day? Did you say you had set your heart upon having one like it for
your next ball?"
Alice opened her eyes wide; she had not said or even thought of any
such thing, that she could remember, but her face flushed at the bare
idea.
"Farmer Blackthorne's eldest daughter is going to be married early in
the spring, and I've heard that there'll be a fine to-do when that
happens. Now, if you'd like a necklace made just like the
mistress's--in my sort of diamonds--well, I think I could manage that
out of my little winnings! I like my wife to put them all to shame,
and if the diamonds aren't real, at least they sparkle just as much,
and look as pretty."
"Oh, Walter, you are good! I should like that! And the mistress
will never know. She won't be much about at that time. Can you
really get it made?"
"Of course I can, if you can take the pattern of the necklace very
carefully for me, or bring it down here some evening for me to take
the pattern myself, which would be almost better. Then I could have
one made to look just like it, and you can copy one of her dresses
too, and play my lady for all the world."
Alice looked delighted. She had been called "my lady" half in
derision, half in admiration, at the last ball she had attended, and
her vain little head was almost turned with the compliments received.
It was delightful to think of figuring again in even finer trim on
another occasion, and Alice had tried on her mistress's jewels often
enough to know that they looked most becoming and beautiful clasped
round her slender neck.
"Oh, I'll bring it down to-morrow evening. I'll just manage to bend
the clasp, or something, cleaning them, and ask leave to take them
down for you to mend. Everybody knows how clever you are with your
fingers. You won't want it long, I suppose? I can run back with it
in an hour or so?"
"Oh yes, a few minutes will be enough for what I want, and then you
shall have your facsimile necklace, little wife!"
CHAPTER XII.
_LITTLE GUY._
Winter had given place to spring; the first bright coldness of that
fitful season had yielded to the balmier airs and warmer suns of May.
All the world seemed astir with happiness and life, and there was joy
within the walls of the Chase, because a beautiful little boy had
been born to Odeyne, and it seemed as if the little heir had indeed
the prospect of every happiness and indulgence that wealth and love
could bestow.
Who more proud and glad than Desmond when the glad news was told? He
quite won afresh the heart of Mrs. Hamilton by his tenderness to his
wife and child. And when the doctor, not quite satisfied with the
tardiness of Odeyne's recovery, suggested change of air for her, no
one could more unselfishly have set his own comfort aside, and
forwarded the scheme for mother and child to pay a visit to the
Rectory House in Devonshire, than did Desmond.
Of course it was a sacrifice; for he could not come too. It was
impossible to leave business for any length of time. He promised
visits as they could be managed--a run down now and then, whenever he
could get away. But he would not let Odeyne consider his loneliness,
or make any arrangements for a speedy return. She was to stay with
her own people till she was really strong again. Her health was to
be the first consideration in everything.
"It is so good of Desmond to make my way easy," said Odeyne to Mrs.
St. Claire, who was paying one of her periodic visits to her
grandson, of whom she was immensely proud. "I do want to get strong
again; and if they think the change will do it, of course there is
nowhere I should like so well to be; but it is hard to leave Desmond.
I suppose," with a little appealing glance at her visitors, "that you
and Maud could not come to stay here till I get back?"
Odeyne observed that Maud flushed from brow to chin, and bent over
the baby to hide it. Maud was now very tender and gentle to Odeyne,
and they felt that a strong bond united them, although they seldom
had opportunity for intimate talks. She was rather surprised at this
sudden flush, and looked at Mrs. St. Claire, who replied in her
slightly incisive way--
"Well, my dear, that did occur to me; but perhaps it was not a
well-judged thought. It does not do to change the mistress of the
house too often; and as Desmond pointed out, whilst thanking us for
the kind proposal, it is quite possible you may soon be able to come
back yourself, and perhaps it is making rather a needless fuss over
the matter."
"Then you did suggest it to Desmond? He did not tell me."
"No, my dear. You are not to be troubled about arrangements.
Desmond evidently has ideas of his own, and will not be solitary
altogether. He has some bachelor friends he wants to ask down. The
house has been rather shut up for some time now. He will enjoy a
little male society again, and, of course, Maud might be rather in
his way."
"He has had Guy all this time," said Odeyne. "He has not spoken of
being dull; but then Desmond is so unselfish!"
"A very good quality in a man, my dear," said Mrs. St. Claire
briskly, as she rose to go. "Take care you keep him up to it. Well,
I suppose I shall not see you again before you leave; but mind you
come back well and strong, for you will have to pick up the reins of
government with a strong hand when you return. Don't spoil the boy!
Though he is too young yet to be much the wiser if you do. I always
think I spoiled Desmond--my only boy--and I have repented it since."
She took the child from Maud and gazed at him long and earnestly.
"More like a Hamilton than a St. Claire, I should say," she remarked.
"Well, perhaps it is best so."
Odeyne did not quite hear; she was talking to Maud.
"You think you cannot come down for the christening? Do if you can!
I should so like it!"
"I will if I can leave mother; but she is more dependent on me than
she will allow. However, I shall be godmother, whether I am there or
not! You won't cheat me out of that?"
"Of course not. Mary shall be sponsor for you; and you don't mind
his being Guy Desmond? It is Desmond's wish that the Guy shall come
first. He won't have two Desmonds in the house."
"No, it makes confusion. Guy is a pretty name. And it is natural
you should like your father to christen him. Well, good-bye, dear; I
will come if I can, and I will look after Desmond in your absence as
well as he will let me!"
Odeyne thanked her and took her boy into her arms. She was not a bit
uneasy or unhappy. She had been upstairs for many weeks now. She
had her mother with her; Guy was in the house to be a companion to
Desmond; and he was tenderness itself when he paid his frequent
visits to her. His punctuality and regularity at business had evoked
much praise from Mrs. Hamilton, and as she lived almost entirely with
her daughter, she had seen nothing to excite any uneasiness.
Little Guy could not fail to be the object of the most absorbing
interest to mother and grandmother; and Desmond himself was proud of
his son to an extent that was amusing to see.
He brought him the costliest corals and bells, as though he expected
him to begin to cut his teeth forthwith, and provoked peals of mirth
from the fat, comfortable nurse by his remarks and suggestions for
his son's comfort, as well as by the extraordinary medley of
offerings he brought.
"Sir, sir, you'll kill the blessed lamb!" was the exclamation
constantly heard from the inner room; but little Guy grew and
flourished apace notwithstanding.
Of course it was a wrench to Odeyne to contemplate leaving husband
and home for a slightly indefinite period; but there was joy in the
thought of seeing all the dear home faces, and showing her boy in the
old place; and she intended to get strong very fast, so that she
might soon return to her duties here. Moreover she confidently
expected Desmond would make a way of coming to see her for a week or
two later on, when the present press of business was over. Maud had
smilingly said that Desmond, like men in general, could mostly find a
way of carrying out any pet project; and what could be nearer his
heart than a visit to the Rectory, to see wife and son, and perhaps
fetch them home?
Odeyne had several callers during the last days before she quitted
home. She had not yet been downstairs, but she saw her friends in
the pleasant room which had been turned into a boudoir for her during
these last weeks, and which was very near her own room.
Here it was that Guy would come and sit with her, whilst her mother
took an airing, looked a little after household matters, or paid
calls on those who had called upon her. Guy was with her when the
Ritchie sisters were announced, and as Jem immediately took almost
forcible possession of Odeyne, Cissy fell to the lot of Guy to
entertain.
Jem was disconsolate at Odeyne's threatened absence.
"Just as we thought you would be coming out again, and the Chase open
to all the world! We all looked forward to the garden parties you
would give, and the nice things that would go on when you were about
again! It's not been half so amusing since you have been shut
up--and now you are going away altogether for ever so long!"
"Not for ever so long, only for a few weeks; and we will try to make
up for it later on, and have plenty of parties. And you shall go on
having your drives, Jem. I will see about that. You are looking all
the better for them, I think."
"Father says they are the making of me," answered Jem, who was
decidedly stronger than she had been in the winter. "And it's
angelic of you to send the carriage for us as you do. It does mother
a lot of good too, I can tell you. But it isn't the same as when
you're there! I wish you weren't going away. I don't like it a
bit--nobody does."
Odeyne laughed. Jem's girlish adoration of herself was well known to
her by this time, and was not unwelcome. Moreover, Jem's frankness
of speech often gave her an insight behind the scenes which was
sometimes useful. She had learnt a good deal from her free-spoken
little friend, albeit Jem had sometimes been cautioned against a
freedom that bordered on impertinence.
And now her unruly tongue betrayed her into a remark which an older
and wiser person would have hesitated to make.
"I do hope you won't stay away too long! They all say that it will
be so bad for Desmond if you do! There has been a difference in him
since you have been shut up so many weeks."
And then Jem, catching the look in Odeyne's eyes, suddenly stopped
and grew crimson.
"I beg your pardon, I don't think I ought to have said that."
"No, dear, I don't think you ought," answered Odeyne quietly; "but
never mind, little harum-scarum. I know your tongue runs away with
you too fast sometimes! We will not quarrel, you and I, this last
day. You want to see little Guy, don't you? Run and tell nurse to
bring him."
Jem went with a crimson face, but soon forgot her confusion in the
delight of baby-worship. Hitherto Jem had dubbed all babies alike as
"nasty little red-faced things--as like as peas in pods!" But Guy
was in her eyes the noble exception. He was like nobody but his
darling self; and certainly he was an exceptionally pretty and
good-tempered baby.
Odeyne forgot her momentary vexation and uneasiness in watching the
pretty play between the pair on the floor; and she also observed
something else between the pair in the window, which caused her to
look at them somewhat more closely, with a curious thrill at heart.
When at last Cissy rose and said good-bye, she held her hands rather
long, and said--
"If Desmond should not be able to come and fetch me home when the
time comes, and I want a companion, do you think you could spare time
to run down and see us all, and take care of baby and me on the
return journey?"
Cissy's face was instantly flooded with bright colour, and the
confused delight of her reply caused Odeyne to look steadily at Guy,
when the door had closed behind the sisters, to find an answering
glow upon his cheek.
"Guy, is it so?" she asked gently.
He came forward and put his hand upon her shoulder.
"I don't know how to answer you," he said; "I never thought of
anything at first, except what a sweet unselfish girl she was. She
used to come in and out so often, and was so fond of you. We
generally talked of you when we got together--of you or of Desmond,
and somehow we grew intimate very quickly. But you know I have never
looked upon myself all these years as anything but a rickety old
bachelor. I hardly know how I have let myself dream of anything
different. Certainly I am much better and stronger than I used to
be, but----"
"You are as strong now as many men who marry and enjoy quite
reasonably good health!" cried Odeyne eagerly. "Oh, Guy, it would be
delightful if you would come and live near us. When you get Uncle
Godfrey's money----"
"Yes, I know," interrupted Guy quickly, "but somehow I don't like
waiting for dead men's shoes. I wish I could do something for
myself."
"I don't think you are strong enough for that," said Odeyne, "and you
know dear old Uncle Godfrey made you his heir just because you were
the delicate one of the sons, and could not go out into the world.
I'm sure if you were to tell him all about yourself and Cissy it
would please him very much. He has always called you 'his boy,' and
been so fond of you."
"I would tell him gladly, if there were anything to tell," answered
Guy; "but you know I have not spoken a single word yet. She may
perhaps have guessed something--one can't be always quite as careful
as one intends. Oh, Odeyne, do you really think there would be a
chance for me, and that it would not be selfish to try and get her?
You know I have been a very troublesome fellow in my time, and might
be so again. You had a good dose of it, and know what it is like!"
"If you don't give her a worse time than you gave me, you need have
no fears," answered Odeyne with shining eyes. "Oh, I am very
pleased. I like all the Ritchies, and Cissy is particularly
unselfish and sweet. Some day we will drive across to Uncle Godfrey
and tell him all about it; you know Desmond is sending down one of
the carriages and a pair of horses for my use at home; and then we
will have Cissy over and take her to see him. His dear old heart
will make room for her at once in its warm depths."
So now Odeyne had another and very vivid new interest with reference
to this visit home. For the old great-uncle, who lived not far away,
and who was Guy's godfather, and had made the boy his heir long ago,
was now very aged and in a critical state of health, and Odeyne was
desirous to see him again, as her father was of opinion that he would
hardly last through the summer. At his death Guy would succeed to a
modest independence of about five hundred a year--certainly not a
large income according to Desmond's ideas, but enough for persons of
modest tastes and inexpensive habits to set up housekeeping in a
quiet way. Guy had talents which might be turned to account to
augment that income by a little, and Cissy had a thousand pounds of
her own (though Guy did not know that), Dr. Ritchie having set aside
this sum for each of his children, to be paid over on their making an
independent start in life. The idea of Guy's setting up near to her,
as she believed he would if he should succeed to his inheritance, was
a source of the greatest pleasure to Odeyne, and helped her to forget
Jem's hasty words about Desmond, which occurred to her once or twice,
and which she had some thoughts of naming to Guy, asking if he
thought they required explanation.
And now the day of departure had come, and Desmond was helping his
wife into the carriage with the greatest tenderness and care, kissing
away her starting tears, promising to run down very soon to visit
her, and indulging fond hopes of seeing her back well and strong
before many weeks had passed.
Odeyne clung to him passionately, her heart almost failing her at the
last, begging him to take care of himself, to send for her if he
wanted her, to be all that he had been since their marriage. Not
more openly than this would Odeyne allude even to him to the
anxieties that sometimes preyed upon her in secret; and Desmond
kissed her again, pressed her hands, and promised, bidding her dry
her eyes, and not set little Guy howling by the force of example.
Alice was standing by the carriage with the baby in her arms, her own
tears falling slowly one by one.
There had been a little discussion once as to whether she should
accompany Odeyne in the capacity of nurse; but it had been decided
that it would not be right to take her from her husband, even though
he was obliging and accommodating when the plan had been proposed.
Alice had not been specially eager to go, although greatly devoted to
Odeyne and little Guy; so the monthly nurse had been retained,
pending other arrangements, and now Alice almost wished that she were
going after all.
It was so hard to part from her mistress and the darling boy, and her
life would be a lonely one without the house to come to.
"You must look a little after the master's comforts, Alice," said
Odeyne; "keep his clothes in nice order, and write to me about things
at home sometimes."
And Alice promised through her tears, and watched the departure of
the carriage with blinded eyes, feeling somehow (although she could
never have expressed it in such words) as though the good angel of
the house were flying away from it, leaving it open to other and more
baneful influences.
Two days later, when her husband came back from the City, he said to
her gaily--
"How would you like to live up at the great house, wifie, whilst the
mistress is away? The master has been talking to me about it. He
thinks it would be a very good plan."
"To live at the house?" questioned Alice, "but why? What should we
do there?"
"Well, he is going to have a good deal of company down, one way or
the other, and of course that means he will not be able to go into
business quite so regularly. So to have me on the premises will be a
great advantage, he thinks, and save a lot of time and trouble. It
really may be a good thing in other ways, Alice; for the master does
want a bit of looking after, more ways than one; and he's got into
the way of talking very freely to me, and taking what I say in very
good part."
"But what should I do there all day, not having the mistress to see
to?" asked Alice.
"Oh, you could look after things a bit--put flowers in the rooms, and
see to the gentlemen's mending and washing. You could make yourself
useful in lots of little ways, and have a good time too. It would
save us all housekeeping expenses, and it might be a good thing for
us other ways too."
Alice was not quite sure that she thought it a comfortable plan; but
she liked variety, and rather dreaded the dulness of the lodge in the
absence of her mistress. She had friends as well as enemies amongst
the servants at the house, and on the whole she thought it might be
an amusing change.
"What sort of company is the master going to keep?" she asked with
some interest. "I didn't hear anything about that from the mistress."
Garth laughed a little.
"Gentlemen like the master don't tell everything to their wives, my
dear, whatever some good folks may do. The master has been a very
exemplary husband, but he has had a precious dull time of it lately,
and now he's going to have his little fling. I don't blame him
either. It must be rather dull work tied to a sort of saint, like
the mistress, and not a clever one either. I often wonder what he
finds in her to be so fond of. She's not a patch upon my wife, now,
in the matter of looks, and she hasn't got that little spice of the
devil in her which makes a woman ten times more irresistible, and
which my little Alice can display at the right time."
Alice pouted, and called him a bad man to say such things; but a
little flattery went far with her, and greatly as she loved her
mistress, she was always a little flattered at being favourably
compared with her.
Two days later the Garths removed to the quarters assigned them in
the big house; and already Alice noted a difference in the atmosphere
that reigned there. A little relaxation of rules had taken place
during the time that the mistress was unable to take an active part
in domestic government; but so long as Mrs. Hamilton was in the house
to give orders by proxy, nothing very remarkable had happened. A
little more waste, a little more extravagance, irregularity at
church, later hours than there was need for, had crept in; but things
had gone pretty much in the old grooves so long as there were ladies
in the house; but with only gentlemen to look after, things at once
became different.
To begin with, the cook was sent on a holiday on full wages, whilst
her place was taken by a French man-cook, who, it was whispered,
received wages large enough to keep a curate and his family in
clover. A smart-looking housekeeper was added to the
establishment--only till the return of the mistress--and she and the
cook carried on an endless flirtation together; but as they were both
excessively polite to Alice and her husband, and treated them almost
as though they were guests in the house, the girl was very well
content with the life and the variety of her daily round, kept all
the rooms bright with flowers, decorated the dinner-table day by day,
and gave all those dainty touches to the house which in the absence
of the mistress it would otherwise have lacked.
As for the guests, she soon ceased to keep count of them and their
names. They came and went in a confusing medley. Sometimes the
house was full from basement to attic. Sometimes it would empty out,
and Desmond and his guests would all depart upon a drag and be absent
several days. When at home they kept very late hours, playing
billiards or cards, often until daylight broke in upon them.
Sometimes the master went up to London, but more often he sent Garth
in his place; and Alice would often notice a shadow of uneasiness
upon her husband's face.
"Is anything the matter?" she asked him one day.
"Nothing special, but I'm afraid the master is going it too fast.
He's broken out worse than I thought for. He does not have bad luck
on the whole--and he is uncommonly good at billiards. I can watch
him there, for they have me in to mark for them. But he's going the
pace altogether too fast. He wasn't made for it. He hasn't the head
to stand it. I look after everything for him as sharp as I can; and
he's very good about taking hints from me--I will say that for him.
But it would do him a world of good to go down to the country for a
spell. He's been drinking more wine than is good for him these last
few nights, and that I dread more than anything. He can't stand it,
and if he once takes to it, it'll ruin everything, sooner or later."
Alice looked rather frightened.
"It would break the mistress's heart if he took to drink," she said.
"O, Walter, don't you think I'd better write and ask her to come
back?"
He turned upon her almost roughly--
"Don't be a little fool, Alice! Can't you see that no power on earth
could stop the master just in the middle of his little fling, and
with all the race meetings and everything coming off? No, the only
chance is to wait till they are over, till he has had a sharpish
lesson perhaps, or is a bit sickened with the crew he is getting
about him. That will happen by-and-by, I daresay; and then if the
mistress comes back--well, she may just have a chance of putting a
spoke in the wheel. It is a thousand pities some men can never keep
their heads! Why, with care and prudence, going on quietly and
steadily, the master might have died a millionaire; but the way he's
going now he's more likely to die in a ditch!"
"O, Walter, but can't anything be done?"
"I'm doing all I can, and that's a good bit, I can tell you; for it
wouldn't suit my plans at all for the master's affairs to bust up (as
the Yankees say) just yet awhile. But they are getting suspicious
about him at the office, wonder why he doesn't come, and what the
rumours mean which get about. He'll have to be a bit more quiet and
prudent if he means to keep out of trouble. I wish Mrs. Vanborough
and her set were farther! It's they who do half the mischief.
Things wouldn't be nearly so bad but for them. If it doesn't end in
the Hon. Algernon coming an awful mucker, and dragging the master
down with him--well, I shall be very much surprised."
Nevertheless, in spite of gloomy prognostications, there was plenty
of fun in the house. In the absence of the master and his guests at
the races the servants got up balls, and invited their friends, and
Alice figured on one occasion in one of Odeyne's ball
dresses--slightly worn it is true, but very fine for the maid, and in
the imitation set of diamonds, which the envious maids declared that
nobody would know from the real. And Alice's giddy little head was
soon turned by all the flattery she received, though letters to her
mistress only spoke of bright and pleasant topics such as village
gossip afforded.
"Mrs. St. Claire can tell her other things, if she thinks she ought
to know them," she reflected, and held her peace.
CHAPTER XIII.
_THE HOME-COMING._
"I am so sorry that Desmond has never found time to come over, mother
dear; it has been quite a disappointment to us both. But you
understand how it has been, and that business has to be considered;
and he has had friends to entertain at home, too. I am very glad he
has not been alone all the time; but, oh, how I do want to see him
again!"
"I am sure you must, dear child. We have enjoyed having you more
than I can say, and we shall miss you and the boy terribly. But now
that you really are well and strong, I would not keep you away from
Desmond longer. A large house wants its mistress at the helm. You
must not be discouraged if you find things gone a little out of gear
during your absence. Desmond is too easy-going to be quite the best
master, and bachelor ways are not our ways. Still, a little firmness
and a patient, cheerful, prayerful spirit will help you along
wonderfully, and there is always little Guy for your comfort and
solace."
"And Desmond, mother dear," said Odeyne, with her old bright smile;
"Desmond must come even before little Guy."
"Yes, my love, I hope so indeed; and having a little child to think
for and to train up ought to be dear Desmond's great help and motive
in setting a good example to his household and the world. I know you
will help him all you can, my dear. But the unconscious influence of
a little child is often an immense power."
Odeyne did not altogether understand some of her mother's words.
Mrs. Hamilton was parting from her daughter with some uneasiness of
spirit; for she had had a long letter from Mrs. St. Claire a few days
before, and since then she had seemed in haste to send Odeyne and the
boy back to the Chase.
They had paid a long visit at the Rectory, for Odeyne had not made
the rapid progress hoped for, and Desmond kept insisting that she
should not be hurried, that she must get quite strong before she
returned, and that he was getting along very comfortably. His
letters were full of affection, and Odeyne fully believed that it was
business and business alone which kept him from running down as
promised. She was very happy in her present life with her brothers
and sisters, her parents, and her child. She was always looking
forward to the expected visit which never came; and now she was going
back to her husband and her home with a happy heart, quite prepared
for a few difficulties and worries in the household, but confident
that her husband's loving support would be hers in whatever might
arise.
She had engaged a very nice gentlewoman as nurse for little Guy, and
she was eager beyond words to present the beautiful boy to his
father. She was full of this thought as they neared the familiar
country, and when every landmark became known to her, and she could
almost see the woods and chimneys of the Chase as the train flew
onwards towards the station, she took the baby into her own arms, and
leaned eagerly out of the window to catch the first glimpse of
Desmond as the train steamed up.
There were several persons on the platform, but for a moment she did
not see her husband. Then one of the figures made a rapid sign and
movement towards her. It gave Odeyne a momentary shock to realise
that she had seen her husband without recognising him!
"Oh, Desmond!" she cried, as he flung open the carriage door, "I
hardly knew you with a moustache! It seems to have changed you
somehow."
"Does it? Oh, you will soon learn to know me with it! Well, how are
you, my darling? Quite strong and well again? That is right. What,
am I to kiss that little rogue too?--and in face of all the railway
porters? Have you taught him to say 'Daddy' yet, eh?"
"Desmond! he is only four months old!"
"Too young to talk? Well, he will learn quite fast enough, I dare
say. Give him to nurse, love, and come to the carriage. She and the
child will follow in the station brougham with the luggage. Well,
how are they all at the old home? And has Guy come into his fortune
yet?"
"Don't talk of it quite so lightly, Desmond dear; we all love Uncle
Godfrey, and shall grieve for him when he goes. I saw him to say
good-bye, and he looked terribly frail. Guy is staying in the house
with him. It is a comfort to all of us, and he likes it. It will
not be long now, I fear."
"Well, well, he is very old, you see; and it will be a good thing for
Guy. So you had little Cissy down, did you? And they got matters
squared up between them? I never thought Guy would be the first
brother to marry; but then he has really the best prospects. I've
got my suspicions about Edmund here; but an army man has to think
twice about matrimony in these days. Not but what Maud's got a tidy
little fortune of her own."
"Oh, Desmond!" cried Odeyne, her breath rather taken away by
Desmond's rattling talk, "do you really mean that?"
"I mean I have my suspicions. I notice they always gravitate
together in society, and all that sort of thing. It may be my fancy,
but I've got the notion that he's rather smitten by old Maud. I
never thought her fascinating myself, but other fellows may have
different tastes."
"Maud has always been your great champion, Desmond," said Odeyne,
with just a touch of reproach in her voice.
Somehow she felt a little vague sense of chill and jar in this first
meeting with Desmond. He seemed more inclined to rattle on in a half
nonsensical fashion, than either to ask or answer the questions that
seemed so all-important to her.
And then, had he really changed, or was it only her fancy? Of course
the moustache made a difference; but was there nothing else?
She looked at him again and again, and seemed to miss something that
had once been there. What it was she could not say, but she felt she
missed something in his face, and something in his manner towards
herself, that had always been there before.
It was not affection exactly; he was full of welcoming words and
affectionate speeches, but his manner was a little boisterous; there
was a lack of softness and tenderness about it. He laughed and made
jokes all the way home, and put aside any inquiries of hers with a
jesting response.
Somehow Odeyne had pictured a different kind of meeting, and was just
a little chilled. Then she reproached herself, and argued that the
fault was her own for staying so long away from home.
Desmond had been thrown upon bachelor society, and it had had this
slight and passing effect upon his outward man.
Then they drove up, and Odeyne found herself at home again.
There were changes in the house, too, which her quick eyes noted at
once.
Butler and footman were both strangers to her. There was a good deal
of new furniture in the house, but yet it did not look as
well-furnished as of yore, for there was a certain indefinable
appearance of confusion and disorder. Moreover, the whole house was
permeated by a smell of tobacco smoke. It seemed to cling about the
draperies in spite of any number of open windows and the scent of the
flowers; and it certainly gave a little shock to Odeyne to realise
that her dainty drawing-room, in which she took such pride and
pleasure, had not been kept sacred from the entrance of smokers.
Upstairs, things were more like themselves, save for the
all-pervading scent of tobacco. Alice was awaiting her mistress with
an eager welcome.
Odeyne thought that she also was changed. She looked rather pale and
thin, her eyes were very bright, and she was dressed, perhaps, a
little too much for her position; but Odeyne had always been lenient
to Alice's little vanities.
She would have liked to ask a good deal about the master and the
household, but somehow Alice gave her no satisfaction. Her answers
were vague and unsatisfactory; and she seemed to be listening all the
while for the arrival of little Guy and her lady's luggage.
When the child did come, Odeyne herself forgot everything in the
interest of inducting him into his nurseries, and Alice's delight in
the boy atoned for all else.
Then she had to go down to give Desmond his tea, and surely now, she
thought, they would take up their old sweet relations together.
She would tell him all she had done at home, and hear all the details
of his life during her absence.
Odeyne talked on about the home-life at the Rectory, and gave him
innumerable messages sent by old friends there, or recounted the
sayings of the local wiseacres about the beauty and promise of little
Guy; and Desmond laughed and made semi-nonsensical replies, but
seemed somehow as though he hardly took in all that she was saying.
His attention kept wandering off, she knew not whither, and at last
she asked gently--
"Is anything the matter, Desmond?"
He started and looked hard at her, saying almost roughly--
"What do you mean? What should be the matter?"
"Nothing, dear; I only thought you seemed preoccupied, and not quite
like yourself. But perhaps it is only my fancy."
"You always were rather given to fancy things, weren't you?" he
answered, laughing. "You'd better give up the habit, it's rather a
tiresome one. Of course a man always has his own cares."
"Yes, and you have had my share too, all this while, dear; I am
afraid you have had trouble with the household. I see you have
different servants. I hope Thomson has not left altogether. Perhaps
he is away for a holiday?"
"Oh, no! He took himself off, and so did several more. You will
find a good many of the upper servants new. I've got a housekeeper,
too, but, of course, if you don't like her, you can send her packing.
But I think she understands her business, and will be useful. You
see, dear, we must live a little differently now, and entertain and
go out altogether more than we have done. We have had a very
delightful honeymoon sort of time, but we must not make ourselves
ridiculous. You are quite well now, and we have our position to keep
up. We must begin now to do as other people of our position do. It
does not answer to be odd."
"I did not know we were odd," said Odeyne, with a little smile,
though there was a strange sinking at her heart. "But, of course, if
you want things to be different you have only to say so. I will do
my best to please you."
"Of course you will; you are a capital little woman, and only want to
see a little more of life to be quite perfect. You see we shall soon
be having the shooting upon us, and then we shall have the house
full; or else pay visits ourselves to other houses, where there are
pleasant gatherings; and when the season comes, we must have our
house in town for a while. Beatrice has her eye upon one quite near
theirs. You must be presented, and all that. I don't consider that
you've seen anything of the world yet, little wife. I mean to
introduce it to you now."
Desmond rattled on in that vein all through the day.
He wandered by Odeyne's side through the gardens after tea, talking
the whole time, and speaking of so many new friends and acquaintances
that she grew quite bewildered.
He came with her to the nurseries to see the child when she asked
him; but he very soon had enough of the boy, and bore her off with
him, declaring that it was his turn now, and that he wasn't going to
be ousted by his son; and Odeyne smiled through all, and tried to
think that soon she would get into the swing of things here, and that
it was only her fancy that they had so greatly changed.
The dinner was rather a surprise to her; it was served with a quiet
elaboration that was altogether new. All the dishes were handed, and
the variety and richness of these was quite a revelation. It was
beautifully dainty, but she knew enough of housekeeping to feel a
qualm at the cost of such cookery.
"Oh, it's not poor old Masters!" answered Desmond with a laugh, when
she spoke to him afterwards. "I sent that good soul packing some
time ago; indeed, I let her go for a holiday directly, and then wrote
and told her to get another situation elsewhere. This fellow is
quite an artist in his way. He is a first-rate chef. And you
needn't bother any more with ordering the dinners, little wife. He
does all that, and the housekeeper gets him all he wants. It's far
more comfortable than the old way."
"But, Desmond, the expense!"
"Oh, well, until I begin to grumble at the bills you needn't trouble
your economical little head about that! All I want of my wife is to
dress up and look pretty and bright, and be charming to my friends.
The rest of the things can take care of themselves. You needn't
bother, my darling."
But Odeyne herself felt that the foundations of domestic life were
giving way with her; nor was she reassured upon the morrow, when
Desmond kept warning her that she need not hurry over her toilet, as
they seldom breakfasted before ten.
"But your train to the City, Desmond," she said. "And we ought to
have prayers before the servants disperse to their work."
"Oh, my dear child, we never have prayers now. It's quite out of
fashion. People don't understand that sort of thing now, and it
doesn't do to make ourselves ridiculous, or to ram those antiquated
customs down the throats of our friends. I'm sure you would never
get your present establishment into that function. Don't look so
scandalised, my love. I assure you that you hardly ever find a house
of any pretensions whatever where they have family prayers!"
"I do not think I quite believe that, Desmond," answered Odeyne very
gravely. "But even if it were true, I cannot see that it is any
excuse for us, who have been taught better, to omit the gathering
together of our household to ask God's blessing. Do you think we
shall not be in danger of losing that blessing, to a greater or less
extent, if we are ashamed to ask it openly because of the sneers of a
portion of society?"
"My dear girl," said Desmond a little sharply, "you have been brought
up so strictly that you cannot weigh these things. In a household
such as ours, prayers would be simply a mockery, and be thought a
fearful nuisance by every person except yourself. I don't intend
religion to be rammed down reluctant throats in my house, so let us
have no more discussion about the matter."
Odeyne was silenced, but the smart of tears was in her eyes. Desmond
had never taken that tone with her before, and it cut her to the
heart.
There were other troubles in store for her that day. Desmond took
the eleven o'clock train to town--he always used to go by the earlier
one--and she was left alone to make discoveries for herself. She
wished to learn something of the life that went on below stairs, but
was quickly made to feel herself an intruder upon a province with
which she had no concern.
The fine housekeeper was courteous, but freezing, and evidently not
accustomed to take orders save in the most general way from the
mistress. The French cook was obsequious and bland, but altogether
overpowering. There were only a few of the under-servants left whom
Odeyne had engaged or known, and these had grown smart and pert in
their appearance and manner. She felt as though she would never
again be mistress in her own house, and was thankful in the extreme
that she had at least one servant of her own choosing in the nursery,
and resolved to keep that department under her strict surveillance.
The housekeeper graciously permitted her to give orders of her own
for the feeding of the child, remarking that she knew very little
about such matters herself, but would take care that Mrs. St.
Claire's orders were carried out.
Then Odeyne departed, and went to her own boudoir, where she sat down
and indulged herself in a quiet cry, from which she was roused by the
sound of voices and steps in the corridor outside.
She rose quickly, dashing away her tears; but Mrs. St. Claire's sharp
eyes instantly detected them. She and Maud were her visitors, and
they made no attempt to talk pleasing trivialities; but, after
exchanging warm kisses, the mother at once drew Odeyne to her side
and said--
"My dear, I know you must feel it. It cannot be otherwise. But you
must not give way, or think that nothing can be done. Desmond's head
has been turned by his successes. He has more cleverness than we
have any of us given him credit for, and when a man is successful he
is often extravagant and self-willed. But now that he has got his
good little wife back, all will be well. You have always been his
good angel, and you will continue so to the end, I am sure."
"Oh, if I had never gone away!" sobbed Odeyne, breaking down more
under sympathy than she would have done had her mother-in-law spoken
less kindly.
"My dear, you were sent away. It was no fault of yours. It has
turned out badly, I admit; but, after all, things are not past
mending. Now, dear, you know I have never intermeddled with your
private affairs before, but will you tell me a little what is
troubling you chiefly now? Perhaps if we take counsel together we
can help and cheer one another up. And then I must see the boy; but
let us get disagreeables over first."
Odeyne was only too glad to pour out her troubles into sympathetic
ears, and was relieved to find that Mrs. St. Claire did not take
quite so serious a view of the domestic difficulties as she had done
herself.
"My dear, I am sorry your nice old-fashioned ways of household
management have been disturbed; but, as things are now, I should be
disposed to keep on the housekeeper to direct matters, only taking
care that I held the place of her mistress. Desmond is quite bent
upon having his fling at high life. And if he can afford it, perhaps
he is justified in desiring it, and may settle down quietly
afterwards. Probably he will tire of it in time, for stability has
never been Desmond's strong point, and he takes everything in such a
headlong fashion, that the recoil is usually to be reckoned on as
pretty safe."
"Perhaps he is recoiling now from the quiet life we led together,"
said Odeyne sadly; "I was so happy all the time. I never thought
that it could be tedious to him."
"I am sure it was not," said Maud, taking Odeyne's hand and caressing
it covertly. "He was very happy, too. But he has got into a bad
set, and they have led him on. Half of it is Algy's fault. It is
his friends that do Desmond so much harm."
"And your task, my dear," said Mrs. St. Claire briskly, "is to seek
to exercise a wise discretion with regard to Desmond's friends. I
will give you all the help I know. Some may be encouraged and
entertained, but some he should be weaned from by every possible
means. You will have to go to work cautiously with Desmond, as all
rather weak men have a curious strain of obstinacy in their
composition, as I dare say you know. I am afraid I make you wince,
my love; but I speak a truth that bitter experience has taught me.
Desmond is a great many charming things, and has more wits than I
gave him credit for; but he is weak and vain and obstinate, and I,
his mother, may say so, though I would not suffer anybody else to do
so."
Odeyne understood and could not resent the words. She talked long
and earnestly with the mother and sister, who, whilst loving Desmond
so devotedly, had gradually come to a knowledge of his weaknesses and
vicious tendencies.
It had been very bitter to Maud to watch her brother's downward
progress of late; but she had not shut her eyes to it, and she did
not seek to condone his offences now. Odeyne heard things which
filled her with sadness and dismay; yet she was comforted and
strengthened by the visit of her husband's relatives, and the
half-hour spent in the nursery made amends for much. The grandmother
was delighted with little Guy, and thought him immensely improved and
grown. She liked the nurse, and approved all Odeyne's arrangements.
She stayed to lunch at the Chase, and left Odeyne a good deal happier
than she found her, although the cloud had not lifted altogether from
her spirit.
An hour or two later in sailed Beatrice, actually leading her little
toddling boy by the hand.
"My dear, I could not let the day pass without coming to see you! I
am delighted to get you back! How do you find Desmond looking? He
is the dearest, cleverest fellow, and we make a great deal of him in
our set, I can tell you! Really you have a treasure of a husband,
and I hope you appreciate him. If you knew what some wives have to
go through, you would!"
Odeyne had the little boy on her lap, and caressing him saved her the
necessity of a direct reply. Somehow she felt she could not discuss
Desmond with Beatrice, as she had done with her visitors of the
morning. Beatrice was looking remarkably well and elegant, and had
the air of a woman who has not a care in the world.
"We have such delightful plans. Has Desmond been telling you about
them? Just a few garden parties and dull local functions, to do our
duty to the neighbourhood, and then delightful house parties here and
at our place, and with other friends through the autumn, and perhaps
a run to Monte Carlo, or some nice sunny place in mid-winter. They
say that Grindelwald is all the rage now for tobogganing; but we
shall see. And then a real London season--I was cheated out of mine
this last spring and summer, for Algy had let the house when we were
in such low water, and really it did seem best to pay off the debts
first. But we will change all that now, and be really extra gay.
You will have a delightful time, Odeyne. I almost wish I could be
you, to go through so many delightful first experiences."
"But, Beatrice," said Odeyne in a puzzled voice, "you talk of
impossibilities. Desmond has his business to attend to, and I have a
baby to consider. What do you think is to become of either if we go
gallivanting about like that?"
"Oh, Desmond has his own ways of seeing to business now he is such a
great man. Garth looks after things a great deal. As for the baby,
my dear, you will soon find that Desmond will not let you make a
slave of yourself to the child. You will have to turn into a
fashionable mother, my dear, and leave him to his nurse. I have
never been tied by little Gus there, and yet he is a pretty thriving
specimen!"
"I do not intend to leave little Guy to the nurse," said Odeyne
quietly. "I suppose you do not care to see him, Beatrice?"
"Frankly, my dear, I don't think I do," answered Beatrice laughing.
"I have had enough of babies for one day, bringing mine across. When
they reach the age for asking questions they become rather terrible.
Thank goodness you are some way off from that yet. Ah, here is
Desmond coming in. How delightful of him. Desmond, dear boy, I have
a hundred things to ask you! May I stay? Or do you feel that you
must have Odeyne all to yourself this first day?"
Was it Odeyne's fancy that Desmond was delighted to have a third
person at their tea out on the terrace?--that he had no great desire
for _tête-à-têtes_ with his wife? The question brought a pang with
it, yet it came again and again as she noticed the eager way in which
he and Beatrice plunged into talk about people and things quite
unknown to her. She could often hardly understand the drift of the
conversation, and presently took little Gus up to the nursery to be
introduced to his cousin there.
Beatrice turned rather curiously to Desmond and asked, "What does she
make of it all?"
He laughed, not quite easily.
"I hardly know. I think she is puzzled; but she is a loyal little
soul, and will get used to it all in time."
"I hope so. You won't let her turn you puritan again?"
"I don't think that was ever my line," answered Desmond, with an odd
inflexion in his voice. "Anyhow, if it was, that day has gone for
good now!"
CHAPTER XIV.
_A CHANGED LIFE._
"Oh, how lovely you look! What a beautiful dress! I never saw
anything so exquisite! It must have been made in fairyland! Oh, I
wish I were out and could go and see all the people. Everybody says
it will be such a sight!"
Jem was the speaker, and she was sitting on a corner of the sofa in
Odeyne's spacious bedroom, watching Alice's deft movements as she
robed her mistress for a grand fancy ball, to which she was going
that night in the character of Titania, the Queen of the Fairies.
Cissy had been invited, to her great delight, and was to go under the
chaperonage of Odeyne. Since it had become known that Cissy Ritchie
was engaged to the brother of Mrs. Desmond St. Claire, she had risen
in importance in the eyes of the neighbourhood. Guy had been much
liked during his long stay at the Chase, and people were glad to hear
that he intended coming to live near to his sister upon his marriage,
although, as Cissy took care to inform all her friends, they should
only have a small house, and live in quite a modest way.
Cissy was dressed to represent one of Titania's attendant fairies,
and looked very pretty in her own way. Odeyne had had her hair
redressed by Alice, and had lent her several sparkling ornaments to
light up her dress and give a touch of fairylike brilliance to it.
She herself was glittering from head to foot. A veritable fairy
queen could scarcely have had a more splendid show of gems. Jem was
entranced at her appearance, but upon Odeyne's face there rested a
little shadow--a shadow that was often to be detected there now,
although her gay and busy life seemed one long scene of enjoyment and
success.
"What splendid jewels you have, Odeyne," said Jem, approaching the
toilet table and looking into the various cases with which it was
strewn. "It is like a jeweller's shop."
"Yes, I have more than I want; it is Desmond's extravagance to load
me with them," answered Odeyne, smiling. "But, Alice, I don't know
why you brought up all these cases from the safe. I told you I
should only wear diamonds and pearls to-night."
"I did not like to trouble the master to wait whilst I looked them
through," answered Alice, who, like her mistress, looked a little
pale and troubled. "And you know he never lets anyone go to the safe
without being there himself. So I just took all the large cases and
brought them away. I am going to stay here till you come back,
ma'am. I shouldn't like anybody else to undress you, and I couldn't
be comfortable leaving all these things about in the room, without I
was there to see after them."
Odeyne could very well understand that Alice was afraid to leave
valuable jewellery lying about, even locked up in a bedroom, with the
present miscellaneous household. She looked relieved as she heard
the girl's words.
"Oh, if you can stay I need not trouble the master again to open the
safe till we get home. But are you sure you can be spared from home,
Alice? We may be very late."
"Walter is coming to do some work for the master, ma'am, and he will
be writing in the study till quite late, he says. I would rather
wait for him here, if I may; I don't like trusting things out of my
sight or his."
"Very well, I leave all in your charge," said Odeyne; and at this
moment Desmond knocked at the door and asked if he might come in and
show himself. He came in, looking an Oberon worthy of Odeyne's
Titania, his handsome, careless face wreathed in smiles as he turned
round for his wife's inspection, and surveyed himself in the long
mirror opposite.
No one could regard him without admiration, and yet it often came
over Odeyne with a pang that this was not the old Desmond she had
known in the days of yore. He was as gay, as merry, even as
affectionate, as ever, but there was something lacking which she
missed terribly and yet which defied definition--something there
which she wished away, and which she yet found it impossible to
complain of, so subtle and indefinite was it in essence.
In the gay life they led there was not overmuch time for thought and
analysis. Desmond's idea of pleasure seemed to be always more or
less in a whirl. Odeyne found her circle of acquaintances enlarging
every day, and invitations poured in, which her husband insisted on
accepting, and which involved them in return hospitalities on a
grander scale than anything Odeyne had contemplated during her first
year of wifehood.
She was often entertained and amused. She had a large capacity for
enjoyment. There was a natural innocent pleasure in the grandeur of
her present life, which was often present with her. But she had her
troubles too; she felt very sadly the godlessness of her household,
the absence of the gathering of the household for prayer in the
morning, the increasing difficulty of getting her servants and even
her husband to church, the hindrance sometimes placed in her own way
from regular attendance there.
She strove to be patient. She prayed earnestly for guidance, and
sought to combine gentleness with firmness in her dealing with
others, and in her relations with her husband when differences arose.
Alas! these differences were arising fast now, and Odeyne was
sometimes cut to the heart to note how little Desmond seemed aware of
it. He would turn the matter off with a laugh and a kiss, and seemed
to think it settled; and Odeyne was learning by rather bitter
experience, that fond as her husband was of her, he was by no means
easily led or influenced. He had a way of slipping away from an
argument, or evading a definite answer, which made it almost
impossible to bring any moot point to an issue, and he went his own
way with a careless obstinacy and persistency that left Odeyne
feeling strangely helpless.
His good humour and gay spirits were, however, rarely impaired, and
to-night he was in the merriest of moods. He wanted to dress up Jem
in some sort of extemporised costume and carry her off with them. He
teased Cissy about her betrothal, and made much of his wife, and even
accompanied her on her final visit to the nursery, which she never
omitted to pay.
All through the long drive in the pleasant cool of the summer evening
he rattled away most amusingly, looking so handsome and distinguished
in his bravery that Cissy thought him the most delightful of men,
although in the Ritchie family there was a good deal of discussion as
to whether or not Desmond St. Claire was not in danger of going the
pace dangerously fast. No one could well help liking him, for his
personal charm was considerable, but, as Tom Ritchie occasionally
observed, it was often the most charming men who turned out the
greatest scamps in the end.
The ball was a very grand affair, at the house of one of the county
magnates. Cissy had never seen anything so fine before, the flowers,
the lights, the magnificence of the liveried servants, and the blaze
of jewels and gorgeous raiment were quite dazzling to her.
She kept close to Odeyne, who moved along with the self-possession
and grace of manner which had always been characteristic of her. She
seemed to know a great many people, Cissy thought, and Desmond was
hailed on all sides, and seemed popular alike with men and women.
Cissy did not know one-tenth of the company, but was content to look
on and admire the fine folks; although when the dancing began she was
pleased to find partners, and being a pretty girl, light of foot, and
merry of tongue, and under the wing of Mrs. St. Claire, she did not
lack notice, and enjoyed herself amazingly.
Odeyne danced a little, but often excused herself. She soon found
herself a seat upon the balcony, where she could watch the dancing
and keep an eye on her charge, yet enjoy the clear cool stillness of
the summer's night.
Here it was that Edmund found her, wandering out in a pause of the
dancing. He was in uniform, looking very handsome and gallant.
Odeyne had twice remarked him in the room, dancing with Maud--who was
there under Beatrice's nominal care. Now he too had to come out for
a breath of air, and Odeyne rose at once and took possession of him.
"Edmund, I was hoping I should see you to-night. You come so little
to the Chase now."
There was a slight accent of reproach in her voice, and he looked
down at her quickly as he said--
"But, Odeyne dear, you understand why I stay away?"
Her eyes were turned upon him with a doubtful expression.
"I am not quite sure--I don't want to know too much--yet, Edmund, I
think I should like to know. I have been wondering about it. I
asked Desmond once, but he only laughed and said he supposed you
found metal more attractive elsewhere. I think he meant Maud."
"Desmond has a right to say what he likes to you, but he knows quite
well that there is a very good reason why I should not come often to
the Chase now that it is always full of company. In plain words, I
cannot afford it."
"What do you mean, Edmund?"
"Desmond knows well enough. It began whilst you were away, but it
goes on just the same after the ladies have retired. They play very
high play there, no matter whether it is cards or billiards. Most of
them are rich men, and all are very careless. It may do for them,
but it does not do for me. I soon saw what it must end in, and I
took myself off. I don't care to come to a place and make myself
conspicuous. Desmond meant very kindly in asking me. He thought I
should win money by my billiard playing, which is rather good, though
I say it. I did win a little, and that set me thinking. I couldn't
make that sort of thing fit in with our father's teaching, nor with
the sort of standard I've always tried to live up to. One doesn't
want to sit in judgment on others, but I saw it wouldn't do for me,
so I've been keeping aloof, as you see. But don't misunderstand me,
Odeyne. It's not that I love you the least little bit less. If you
were in trouble, and would send for me, I'd go through fire and water
for you."
Tears had sprung to Odeyne's eyes. She could not command her voice,
but she pressed Edmund's hand. His words had cut her to the heart,
little as he had meant them to. The cry of her heart was, "Oh, why
cannot Desmond feel that too? Why cannot he be content with all the
good things God has given us?" But she could not speak these words
aloud, and the next minute their retreat was invaded by Beatrice, who
came sweeping down upon them in a gorgeous Cleopatra-like robe,
jewels blazing upon her bare neck and arms, and her rich draperies
rustling yards behind her on the floor. How she contrived to dance
in them was a mystery, but she did dance when she had a mind to--not
else.
"Well, what mischief are you two hatching out here together? Odeyne,
why don't you dance more, and show yourself? Everybody is raving
about your dress, and you hide yourself away, and don't half look
after that giddy boy of yours. He's carrying on all sorts of
flirtations with dowagers and wallflowers promiscuously. Have you
seen the picture gallery? Well, you really should. I know this
house very well. I'll do the honours for you. Come along."
She took Odeyne by the arm and led her out, saying, laughing, as they
got a little way off--
"We must contrive a few happy moments for those lovers. He's so
diffident, and she's so cold, that they will never pull it off unless
we help them. And really I should like to see poor Maud with a lover
at last. It has always been her fate to be passed over in life, and
there's a lot of good stuff in her, if one could only get beneath the
crust."
"I did not know whether that idea was Desmond's fancy," said Odeyne;
"but I'm afraid nothing can come of it for a long time yet. Edmund
has very little but his profession, and you know Maud has been
brought up in luxury all her life."
"Yes, but she has money. She must have a good fortune by now. It
has been accumulating for her ever since she came of age--she has
hardly spent anything. Maud isn't like me. She doesn't want a gay
life and everything that money can buy. Perhaps she's all the
happier for it," and Beatrice suddenly broke off and heaved a long
sigh.
"I think happiness has very little to do with being rich," answered
Odeyne; and Beatrice gave her a quick sidelong glance.
"I know what you mean--people can overdo it," she said in a rather
rapid way. "Odeyne, I wanted to ask you--I wanted a moment with you
in private. Do you think Desmond is going the pace too fast, and
getting reckless? I'm half frightened sometimes at the way things
go. It's delightful, of course, and I never had Algy in so good a
temper month after month before. He's always perfectly certain that
everything is right--but then that's his way. He doesn't understand
business a bit. He takes the good the gods send, and asks no
questions. But Desmond is clever--they all say that--and he is the
leading spirit. Is he ever gloomy and restless at home? Does he
seem anxious or troubled? Does he go on like a man upon whom dark
care is secretly preying?"
"No, indeed," answered Odeyne. "He is always gay and lively. My
difficulty with him is that he can never be grave for two minutes
together. He turns everything into joke. One would think he did not
know the meaning of care."
Beatrice's face cleared at once.
"Oh, I am so glad--for Desmond is very transparent. You would soon
know if anything were amiss. He would let it out directly.
Sometimes I have been afraid, from your manner, that something was
wrong. I am so glad.'"
"There are other troubles in the world sometimes besides money
troubles," said Odeyne; but Beatrice only laughed.
"Ah, my dear, other troubles are very easily gilded and charmed away
by the power of gold. Believe me, if you have plenty of money you
can keep trouble and sorrow very effectually at bay."
Odeyne winced, but made no reply. Beatrice, like Desmond, had
changed a little during these past months, and not for the better.
There was no pleasure in talking to her of anything beyond the
trivialities of life. She seemed to have no interest beyond them.
Edmund and Maud were still out upon the balcony. There was a slight
pause in the dancing. The room was suffocatingly hot, and the
company had streamed out upon one of the great terraces, where ices
and lemonade were to be had, as well as cups of all sorts. Maud and
Edmund could see the gay shifting throng, lighted up by the glow of a
myriad coloured lanterns.
Maud said, as though continuing a train of thought, or some talk that
had gone before--
"Do you wonder that I am tired of a life that has seemed nothing but
a shifting sort of show--like that?"
"You have had your mother to care for, Maud. Has not that been a
sweet and sacred charge? How could I ask you to leave it for what I
have to offer?"
"My mother has never really cared for me," answered Maud sadly yet
steadily; "it is Desmond and Beatrice who really have her heart,
though they give her so much anxiety. I think it is always the
prodigal son who is the real favourite. And I would not have it
otherwise. I love Desmond with all my heart; although I know now
that mother judged him better than I, and that he will make a
terrible mess of his life before he has learnt his lesson!"
"You think that, too?"
"How can anybody who knows anything of life help thinking it? Is it
not always the way with temperaments like his? He will be led on
from step to step. He will plunge more and more deeply, believing in
his cleverness and his luck. He may be very lucky for a time,
because he is careful; but he will get reckless at last--and then
will come a crash!"
"And can nothing be done to hold him back?"
"Nothing, I fear. His marriage seemed just at first as though it
would influence him. But, like everything else, he got used to it,
and to Odeyne; and she is too inexperienced and gentle to exercise
much restraining power. But were she the strongest woman in the
world I believe the result would be the same. Our mother is no
weakling, but she could never hold back Desmond. When the fit is on
him he will go his way."
"And your life has been shadowed through him," said Edmund gently.
"It seems as though all the greatest suffering in life came through
those we love best."
Maud was silent a moment, and then looked up bravely at him.
"It is so often, Edmund; but not always--ah! I trust not always!"
Something in the appeal of her tone made him put out his hand and
take hers in a close clasp.
"Maud, I never intended it should come to this; but love is too
strong. I cannot help telling you how I love you!"
"And why should you not tell me, Edmund? Ah, if you knew how hungry
my heart has been for love, year after year, year after year!--and it
never came to me."
"It is good of you not to blame me for my precipitation, for I have
still my way to make in life, and we may have long to wait. Will
that be hard, Maud? Will it, by-and-by, seem to you unfair that I
spoke so soon?"
"Edmund, if you knew how happy it makes me to know that there is one
to love me and care for me above all others! Rather it is I who
should feel that I am the unworthy one. No shadow hangs upon your
name. No threatened cloud of misfortune gathers in your sky! But
look at Desmond! look at Beatrice! Who knows what may overtake them
in a few short years? May it be nothing worse than poverty, when it
comes!"
There was a pause, and then Maud spoke slowly and thoughtfully.
"I have often thought that some day Beatrice will come back with her
boy to live with our mother. I am afraid for Algernon. He is a man
I could never trust. Mother and Beatrice would get on better without
me----"
She stopped suddenly, and he knew what she would say. Then she
should come to him.
"My darling, if you do not mind poverty."
"We should not be so _very_ poor," she answered quietly. "My father
left me twenty-five thousand pounds."
He stood and looked at her in surprise. He knew, of course, that
Mrs. St. Claire was a wealthy woman, but it had never entered his
head that Maud had a fortune of her own.
"I am glad I did not know that before," he said.
"So am I, if it would have made a barrier between us," she answered.
"We both had that when we came of age, but I fear poor Beatrice's is
all gone. It was not tied up as it ought to have been--at least not
nearly all. It was a great mistake--especially with a man like
Algernon."
So if Odeyne did not specially enjoy the ball, it may be gathered
that others did. It was a very brilliant affair, and the local
papers were full of it afterwards. But Desmond came home a good deal
flushed and excited, talking rapidly and in a very nonsensical
fashion the whole time of the drive, and making Cissy open her eyes
very wide at some of his remarks.
Odeyne said nothing till they reached their room that night, when she
put her hand upon his arm and said softly--
"Desmond dear, I wish you would not!"
He understood her, and his face flushed hotly.
She did not know for a moment whether he was going to be angry; but
then he put his arms round her suddenly and said--
"Oh, my dear little wife, you are ten thousand times too good for me!
Why cannot I be the sort of man that you would make of me, if I gave
you the chance?"
She put her hands upon his shoulders, and her loving eyes looked full
into his.
"No, Desmond darling--not that--but the kind of man God would make of
you if you would let Him. But how can you expect it when you never
ask Him, and never seek to learn His ways?"
He knew what she meant--that the old habit of prayer, which had been
dropped when she was ill, had never been resumed. He hung his head
as he replied--
"Odeyne, I'm not worthy to pray for myself; but go on praying for me,
my faithful little wife, for I need it more than you can well
understand."
"I never do forget to pray for you, dear husband," she answered.
"But you, my darling, pray for yourself too; pray to be kept from
temptation and evil. God is never deaf to the weakest prayer."
He made a strange sound between a laugh and a sob; but when Odeyne
knelt in prayer that night, Desmond, for the first time for many a
long month, came and knelt silently beside her.
After that, for a little while, matters were better at the Chase.
For a time they were without visitors, and there was a little lull in
the round of social gaieties. Desmond, who liked variety above
everything, enjoyed even the variety of domestic life by way of a
change. He made much of Odeyne and little Guy, resumed some of his
old habits of earlier rising and quiet evenings at home, and cheered
Odeyne's heart by his tenderness to her--real tenderness, not just
boisterous affection.
A good many of his less desirable friends were going abroad just now.
He spoke once or twice of taking Odeyne away for a Continental trip;
but she pleaded so hard to remain at home after her long absence, and
the weather was so exceptionally hot and pleasant, that he was
content to let her have her way.
So although he talked of a gay autumn, a big house party and plenty
of shooting at their own and other places, he was for the present
content to remain at home with wife and child, contenting himself
with an occasional run to town, or a short visit paid to Beatrice, or
some friend in the neighbourhood.
Odeyne began to restrain the extravagance in the household as she had
not ventured to try and do at first. She got rid of some of the
servants with whom she was most displeased, and began to feel that
the reins of government had not altogether slipped from her hands.
She could not get Desmond to recommence family prayers, or to
discharge any of the new men-servants, whom Odeyne disliked and
distrusted; but at least things were better and more orderly than
when she came back, and the reforms had been made without one angry
word having passed between her and her husband.
Mrs. St. Claire expressed open satisfaction with her daughter-in-law.
"My dear, you are doing most excellently. A nagging or a whining
woman would drive Desmond wild. But your tact and your judgment do
you immense credit. No one could have shown more skill in dealing
with a very critical and difficult situation. I hope Desmond
appreciates the treasure he has got. For if he escapes, without a
crash, it will be to his wife that he owes it."
"Tact!--judgment!--skill!" said Odeyne to herself, when she was
alone, "ah no!--if I have done any good at all, it is just because I
have never stopped praying for Desmond, and for guidance to do aright
myself! And if this dreaded crash is avoided, it will be no doing of
mine--but just God's mercy. Yet even if it should come I would try
to bear it bravely. For it might be His way of answering my prayers
for Desmond, though the world might not see or understand!"
CHAPTER XV.
_CLOUDS IN THE SKY._
"Desmond, dear, is it really necessary?"
"Of course it is necessary, you foolish child! Why, you have never
spent a week in town in your life. You have not seen a London
season, or been presented, or anything! You know it is part of the
programme of the year. I think you will like the house I have
chosen; but of course you can go up and inspect it, and see if there
are any objections."
Odeyne looked at her husband with something of appeal in her eyes.
As she did so she wondered again for the hundredth time whether it
was her fancy that a change was slowly, but surely, passing over
Desmond. She had fought all through the autumn against her growing
fears. She had striven by every loving artifice in her power, and by
the strength of her own true love, to keep him as far as possible the
Desmond of old, the husband she had wedded with such hope and
confidence two short years ago.
They had been gay during the past months; visiting other houses
occasionally, more often entertaining a large house party at the
Chase (an alternative greatly preferred by Odeyne, on account of
little Guy), their domestic life had, of course, been much interfered
with. They lived, as it were, in public, and had little time for
confidential intercourse--a thing which Desmond appeared, if
anything, rather to shirk--but Odeyne's patient love and tenderness
never failed her, and seemed to act in a measure as a restraining
influence upon her husband. She had striven to believe that things
were well with him, that he was returning to those more legitimate
occupations and interests which had once been his. She had rejoiced
when the house emptied itself, and she was free from the obligation
to associate with men whom in her heart of hearts she dreaded and
disliked. She strove in all things to play the part of hostess
courteously, but she heartily disliked and feared some of her guests,
and was rejoiced to see them go.
Earnestly did she hope that now they might resume a life of quiet
domestic happiness. Little Guy was just reaching the fascinating age
when walking and talking begin to be attempted, and Odeyne looked
forward to seeing the father taking a fond pride and delight in his
beautiful boy.
Desmond was affectionate by nature. With all his faults he had never
failed her there. She was sure that the little one would win his
way, when once the father had time and opportunity to notice him. Of
course he had not wanted the little fellow shown off and brought down
with so many bachelor guests in the house. He dreaded being
ridiculed as the fond father and doting parent, and had given pretty
strict orders that little Guy was to be kept to his own quarters.
Nor had Odeyne desired it otherwise with the company they had
recently entertained. But, oh, how she had looked forward to the
time when they would be alone together, with the bright spring days
before them! How happy they would be then! Desmond was always
different when he got away from the influences of those fast and
loud-voiced fashionable people to whom he seemed to have taken such a
fancy. Odeyne lived through the winter in the hopes of better days
in store, and just when these seemed about to commence, up cropped
the old talk of the London season, and although Odeyne had said all
along that she did not desire to go in the least, and much preferred
the quiet of the Chase, Desmond seemed to take no note of her words,
although from time to time she hoped that the plan would fall to the
ground.
He had not spoken of it all the last week, though he had been a great
deal in town--up every day from early morning till quite the late
evening train. Still he had not spoken of moving there until to-day,
when he came home full of pride and delight in the house he had
found, and the gay times they were to have.
Had he forgotten, or did he simply ignore what Odeyne had so often
said on the subject? As she looked at him, asking herself the
question, she was struck anew with the sense that Desmond had
changed--was changing month by month--that she could no longer reckon
upon influencing him, pleading with him, modifying his ideas by
showing him how little they accorded with her own. The loving give
and take which had characterised their early married life was slowly
but surely giving place to the arbitrary rule of the husband, to
which the wife must submit whether she would or no. Perhaps Odeyne
had never realised this so keenly as at the present moment, and the
pang it brought with it was sharp and deep.
"It is not likely that I shall find fault with any house you have
chosen, Desmond," she answered gently, for she never permitted
herself to speak a sharp or angry word to her husband. "You are a
great deal more particular than I am. But you know I did not want to
go to town at all. I have said so all along."
He laughed in the boisterous but mirthless way which had grown upon
him of late.
"Oh, that is all nonsense, you know. You must have a London season
and see the world. You must be presented and see something of life.
One only vegetates down here."
"I have seen a good deal of life even down here latterly, Desmond,
and as for being presented, and seeing a little of London Society, a
visit to Beatrice would be amply sufficient. I am sorry that you are
determined upon taking a house for ourselves. I think it is a
needless expense."
"Oh, bother your everlasting talk about expense!" cried Desmond, more
roughly than Odeyne had ever heard him speak before. "What does it
matter to you so long as I have money to meet it? Your economical
scruples are really rather trying, my dear."
"I am sorry you are vexed with them," answered Odeyne with quiet
dignity. "But you know I was brought up so differently."
"Yes, but you need not for ever play the country parson's daughter!
I wish you would brisk up and be a little more lively and _chic_--if
you know what that means! One gets tired of hearing one's wife
always dubbed the fair Puritan, or the uncloistered nun, or even the
patient Griselda!"
Odeyne was more deeply hurt than she had ever been before. Something
in her husband's tone and look cut her to the heart. It was with
difficulty she was able to command her voice and to speak naturally.
She would not attempt any reply to his last words; she went back to
the question of the house.
"I hope there are pleasant rooms that will make into nurseries for
Guy," she said. "I care more about that than anything. I am sorry
for the child's sake that it is necessary to go to town at all; but
if it must be, the great thing is to be sure that we have suitable
quarters for him."
Desmond looked rather taken aback.
"Why, you don't think of taking the boy, do you?"
"Did you think of leaving him behind?"
"Why, yes, to be sure. Haven't you always said how bad London is for
country-bred children?"
"I fear it is. But it is still worse for a child to be taken from
his mo--from his parents for an indefinite time."
"Oh, nonsense! He would be much better down here."
"No, Desmond, he would not!" answered Odeyne, with unwonted firmness.
"If things were as they used to be in this house, if we had our
respectable, faithful servants--those whom your mother engaged for us
at the outset, some of whom had lived in your family before--if our
old household were here now, I might be able to consider the point
with different feelings. As it is, it is out of the question. It
was all Hannah could do to get along at all, just those few days we
have been away at different times on our visits--never more than ten
days at any one time. I told you when we came back what sort of
goings on there were in our absence, but you only laughed and made
light of it, and said it was the way of the world nowadays. You know
that I cannot cope with it single-handed, when I have not the power
to dismiss the ringleaders. I would no more leave Guy in the house
when we are away, now that he is beginning to notice and understand,
than I would put him in a den of wild beasts. Nor would Hannah bear
it, if I wished to do it. If we go to London for the season the
child must come too. I have given way to you so far in everything,
as you well know; but in this I cannot and will not. I have my
duties as a mother as well as those as a wife."
It was almost the first time that Odeyne had asserted herself in this
way, and it was not without its effect upon Desmond. He did not
gainsay her--perhaps he was a little ashamed at having the condition
of his household so clearly set before him; he only shrugged his
shoulders and said--
"Well, I think you will find a young child a great hamper and fetter
in London, and if he gets ill you will only have yourself to thank.
Why not send him to the mother and Maud, as Beatrice is going to send
Gus?"
"Mamma would not have room for two children and two nurses," answered
Odeyne. "Gus is quite sufficient of a handful alone, as Maud has
said."
She did not like to add that Gus had learnt from his father and his
father's associates words that she would not for anything hear from
Guy's innocent little lips. It went to her heart to hear how the
unconscious, sturdy little fellow rattled out his ugly vocabulary,
with the air of one who expects his audience to laugh. Odeyne felt
more like crying sometimes when she had the child in her company.
Doubtless the best possible thing for him would be a residence under
his grandmother's roof, with Maud's firm hand upon him. For since he
had grown to the engaging and prattling age, Beatrice had suddenly
become immensely proud of showing him off, and he had been
outrageously spoiled all through the past winter. Neither parent,
however, desired to be bothered with a young child in London, so he
was to be sent to his grandmother's safe keeping, as the Vanboroughs
had an offer of a tenant for Rotherham Park, and, let matters be
never so well with them, the Hon. Algernon never refused an offer
that would bring grist to the mill.
Odeyne went up to look at the town house next day. It was a very
sumptuously furnished place, with a good hall and staircase, and fine
reception-rooms. The other parts of the house were less to her
liking, and it was not at all easy to find quarters for the child and
his nurse, as Desmond was exceedingly averse to giving up any of the
best bedrooms for that purpose. He and Odeyne came nearer to a real
dispute upon that point than they had ever done in their lives
before. It required all Odeyne's patience, tact, and firmness to get
the matter settled without harsh words being spoken.
Fortunately Desmond quickly put away from him any vexed question,
and, as he was very much delighted with the house, and with the
prospect of his London season, he soon forgot his annoyance, and was
quite merry and chatty as they sat at lunch in a fine shop, where he
said the best meals in town were to be had.
"It will be such a capital thing to be so near to business!" he said.
"It's all very well for you down at the Chase to talk of the delights
of the country; but when one has to spend a couple of hours a day in
a grilling railway carriage the joy is considerably modified, I can
tell you. I do want to be in the City a good deal now. There are a
great many very important things going on wanting my constant
presence. I shall be exceedingly glad to be within half-an-hour's
drive of the--of the office; and you have the Park so near that you
will hardly feel cooped up at all. It's almost like living in the
country."
Odeyne smiled, without exactly agreeing to the proposition, but
answered that if Desmond had business that required a sojourn in
town, she would do her best to be happy.
"When you put it on the ground of amusement, well I know that I
should be happier at home; but if your duties require more of your
time, why, that is another thing altogether."
"Well, they really do," answered Desmond eagerly. "I don't bother
you with details, you know."
"No, sometimes I wish you would tell me a little more. Everything
that you do would be interesting to me."
"Oh, you wouldn't understand details. They are only for men. But I
assure you I have a great many things going on that need much
personal overlooking. It doesn't do to be too far away. Not even
Garth and the telegraph can do all that is necessary. It will be an
immense boon to be so near the spot. You will have your reward,
little wife. If you don't like London so very much, you will like to
think that your husband is growing to be a really wealthy and
important man of business!"
Odeyne smiled a little sadly.
"I do not think that wealth and happiness have a very close
connection, Desmond, dear. Sometimes looking back, it seems to me
that we were happier before we were so rich. The old days were very
sweet, and we had all that we could want then."
For a moment a shadow fell across Desmond's face, and then he turned
to Odeyne with something like the old look in his eyes.
"Little wife, I'm not sure but what you're right," he said, with
sudden energy. "But look here, let's make a sort of bargain. You go
through this one season my way, and leave me a free hand with my
undertakings. Then at the end of that time we will go home; and if
things have turned out as I expect, I shall be able to retire upon my
laurels, and not trouble myself with money-grubbing any more! If we
are not millionaires we shall be rich enough for all practical
purposes; and we will settle down like staid married people, and turn
over a new leaf--or rather, perhaps, turn back to the old one, and
make that our model."
Odeyne felt the tears very near to her eyes as she said--
"Oh, Desmond, if we only could!"
"Well, why not? I declare we will! This sort of thing is a
tremendous strain. I couldn't stand too much of it. I might even
lose my nerve, and that would be fatal. No, no! we will go through
with it this time, and then we will retire from the world, and live
for one another--and the boy!"
Storm clouds had long been hanging in Odeyne's sky, but as she heard
these words, and felt indeed that Desmond was sincere in speaking
them, she trusted that the sunshine was not far away, and that if she
could but be hopeful and brave better times might yet be in store for
them.
She went home happier than she had started out, although the three
months' residence in town was an inevitable thing.
* * * * * *
"You have heard of the master's latest idea?" said Walter Garth a few
days later, coming in upon his wife after the close of his day's work.
Alice looked up with a rather troubled face. She had altered a good
deal of late. Her pretty face had grown pale and rather thin. In
her eyes there was often a startled, hunted look, as though she were
suffering from some undefined terror. She was still dainty and
pretty, with a lady-like air and way of speaking, but she had laid
aside a good deal of her old archness and affectation. She looked as
though she had other matters to think of than just the adornment of
her own person.
Walter Garth had changed very little in outward appearance, save that
he looked increasingly respectable and gentleman-like. His manner
was still very quiet, but it had acquired an ease and decision which
showed that he was accustomed to give advice and to meet with
respectful hearing. He dressed well, and spent his evenings now
almost invariably in reading, and in the study of some foreign
language.
Alice used to wonder at this, and ask what good it was to him: but
she never got anything from him but a rather sardonic smile, and the
reply that foreign travel was often a pleasant relaxation, and that
when he had made his fortune he might like to show his wife something
of the world.
Truth to tell, Alice had grown just a little bit afraid of her
husband of late. She was certain that he had plans and projects in
his head of which he never consciously spoke. He was affectionate
and indulgent to her in his way, but she always felt that one half of
his life was a sealed book to her.
The only glimpses she ever got of it were at night sometimes, when he
would talk in his sleep, and utter mysterious phrases, the import of
which she never fully understood, but which filled her with a vague
sense of dismay.
He appeared at these times to be like a man walking on the verge of a
precipice, or upon ice so dangerously thin that it may at any moment
give way beneath the feet.
How she obtained this idea she never could actually say, for it is
always strangely difficult to recall the words of a person speaking
in sleep, when once the moment has passed by. Here and there a
phrase would remain with Alice, and once she asked Walter if he could
tell her what it meant; but he gave her such a strange, stern,
startled look, and asked her so sharply where she had picked up the
words, that she never dared repeat the experiment, and had to make up
some false explanation of having seen them in a newspaper; and even
so she was certain that he was only partially satisfied.
Yet there was one sentence, often repeated, that always stayed with
her, do as she would to forget it. He often spoke it in his sleep,
when evidently troubled by bad dreams, and lying tossing to and fro.
"And at worst there are always the jewels--always the jewels!" he
would keep saying; and Alice, as she heard him, would shiver all
over, and ask herself timidly what he could mean. So a certain
reserve had grown up between the pair, and Alice was not the proud
and happy wife she had once been.
At her husband's question she looked troubled and said--
"Do you mean about going to London with them? But you won't do that,
will you, Walter?"
"Why shouldn't I?" he asked quickly.
"Why, we live here, and you can go up every day. What does the
master want beyond that?"
Alice could hardly have said herself why she dreaded the idea of
anything which would bring Walter into closer relations with his
master, but dread it she did. She had hoped that the move to London
would break that constant intercourse, and transform him more to the
office clerk again, and keep him away from Desmond St. Claire; but it
seemed that it was not to be.
"We can live anywhere where my work lies, for that matter," he
answered rather curtly, "and my work is where Mr. St. Claire is. In
point of fact he rather begins to want a private secretary, and there
is nobody who could do the work for him half so well as myself."
"But you belong to the office, Walter."
He gave a little dry laugh.
"I belong, if you like to employ that phrase, to Mr. St. Claire, and
have done this long while. The office has seen precious little of us
these last months, I can assure you. We have business on hand of
which the office knows nothing, although we keep up a sort of
attendance there."
Alice looked troubled and perplexed, though she remained silent. She
was a little afraid of questioning Walter.
"The long and the short of it, Alice, is that Mr. St. Claire can't do
without me. He is going the pace altogether too fast, and it is all
he can do to keep his nerve. He is wonderfully quick and clever, but
he lacks stamina, if you know what I mean. He can set things going,
but they would often go to pieces if I were not at his elbow to look
after him, and see that he forgets nothing. If he would be content
to give himself unreservedly to the business, he might do a lot, but
he is a bit of a fool too, and he will have his pleasures. He will
burn his candle at both ends. I've spoken till I'm tired of
speaking. He's a man that will go his own way; but he knows that he
can't do without me, and now he wants me to give up everything else
and live in the house as his private secretary, and really I believe
I must do it, at least if things are to have any chance of pulling
through. I can tell you it is not child's play that is before us
these next weeks; but if we can pull through we shall land a big
fish, and no mistake!"
"And if you can't?" asked Alice, her face growing rather pale at the
thought.
Walter slightly shrugged his shoulders.
"Oh, we don't think about that--it's better not. We want all our
wits and our nerve. Now, Alice, don't you babble about these things
to anybody in this world, least of all to Mrs. St. Claire. You know
how many times I've told you that men have been ruined before this by
the gossiping tongues of foolish wives."
"I shall not say a word, Walter, you may be quite sure of that,"
answered Alice a little bitterly. "Mrs. St. Claire has quite enough
troubles of her own without my adding to them. But if you go with
the family to London, what am I to do?"
"Well, that you can arrange with your lady. If she likes you to come
too, so much the better. I am not a proud man. I never profess to
be other than I am. I have married a lady's-maid, and if my wife
likes, under the circumstances, to go on with her attendance upon her
mistress, I shall not interfere."
"If you go, I would rather be with you," said Alice; and in her heart
she felt that she would rather be near her mistress if trouble were
to fall upon them than anywhere else in the world.
Of late Alice had begun to cling more and more closely to her lady.
Odeyne was the one person in the world in whom she felt a perfect
confidence and trust. She was always the same--always kind and
considerate, and the girl was acute enough to see that there were
troubles and clouds at the great house as well as those at her own
home.
It was an extra trouble to Odeyne to leave the Chase just now,
because Guy's wedding with Cissy was to take place soon, and she felt
that Desmond should have postponed the London visit till afterwards.
But Desmond seemed to think it absurd to pay any heed to that event.
They would run over for it if possible; and of course Guy and any of
his family might make what use they liked of the Chase in the absence
of its owners. But as for making any sacrifice of his own personal
convenience, that plainly never entered into his head.
It hurt Odeyne to have to write home with nothing better than the
offer of an empty house for the home party; but perhaps Edmund had
prepared them beforehand, for they made no lamentations or
remonstrances; and yet Odeyne felt that she would almost sooner they
had done so. It seemed so strange to feel that a little barrier of
reserve had crept up between them. Yet how could either she or they
speak words which should cast any reflection upon Desmond?
It was a comfort to Odeyne to hear that Alice could and would
accompany her as maid. She had feared that Garth would think it
derogatory to his wife's dignity that she should continue in this
capacity.
Alice and Hannah, the nurse, were fully to be trusted where little
Guy was concerned, and Odeyne, who knew her life would be a very full
one, was greatly relieved that Alice would be near to Hannah when she
had to leave the child.
"It is only for three months, Alice," she said, trying to speak
cheerfully. "We country people do not like the thought of London;
but the days will go by very fast, and then we shall come home and
settle for good, and forget all the disagreeables, and be happy
again!"
CHAPTER XVI.
_THE PACE THAT KILLS._
Odeyne sat in her well-appointed carriage, being rapidly driven from
one grand house to another, leaving cards, paying short calls, or
presenting herself for a few minutes at some fashionable reception.
Her manner was gracious and free from any shadow of constraint or
anxiety; she spoke with her customary gentle amiability. She fancied
that some amongst her friends looked at her with curiosity, and threw
into their manner a shade of compassionate concern when they
addressed her, but if she were conscious of this she gave no sign.
Nevertheless her heart was strangely heavy within her, and as she
drove homewards through the westering sunlight, her duties all done,
she lay back in her carriage with a cloud of care upon her brow, and
the shadow deepening in the eyes which now looked as though they were
no strangers to vigils or tears.
What was going on about her? What was the meaning of the strange
sense of pressure and peril that seemed to be advancing upon them
step by step? She had striven to fight against this feeling as a
delusion of a wearied and jaded mind, but latterly it had become
urgent and intense.
Why was Desmond so strangely preoccupied that he could neither eat
nor sleep? Why could he never even spare the time to accompany her
into society as he used to do, and yet was more urgent than ever that
she should go, and that she should appear in all the richest
trappings that wealth could buy?
Only this morning he had been almost fiercely insistent that she
should carry out a very long programme of social duties; he had
sketched out himself exactly where he wished her to show herself, and
had charged her to be very gay and bright.
"Mind you let everybody see that you are well and happy, and that
nothing is the matter," he said more than once, "and don't forget the
ball at the Mastermans' in the evening. If I am not back in time,
Beatrice will call for you and take you. I will settle all that with
her. I have to step across to see Vanborough before I go to the
City."
"Not back before ten o'clock, Desmond?" Odeyne had said. "Surely
business cannot keep you all those hours. It is not good for you.
You are looking terribly haggard and jaded as it is."
He turned upon her almost roughly, although as he continued to speak
his manner grew gentler--
"Nonsense! whatever you do, don't go saying things like that about me
if people ask questions. It's only the hot weather, and being cooped
up in town so long. I thought we should have been able to get back
sooner. I tell you what, Odeyne, once let me get these few
transactions pulled through and we'll go home and shut ourselves up
there together, and not see a soul but our own people for as long as
ever you like. I'm sick to death with noise and bustle and the sea
of faces about one. Sometimes I wish I'd never come at all--never
begun this sort of thing. I don't think the game is worth the
candle--I don't indeed!"
Something in the underlying bitterness and weariness of the tone in
which these words were spoken touched Odeyne to the heart. She had
gone over to her husband and kissed him tenderly, and he had suddenly
clasped her in his arms almost passionately and had said--
"You deserve a better husband, my loyal and precious little wife!
Oh, if I had only been worthy of you! But you will try to think
kindly of me and forgive me all the pain and trouble I have
brought--when once we are free again."
"Forgiveness is no word between husband and wife, dearest Desmond,"
Odeyne had said gently, "because we are one, you know."
His parting kiss and clasp had been balm to her heart, and yet the
day had dragged slowly along, although she had carried out to the
letter her husband's wishes, and a strange presage of coming
misfortune weighed upon her heart.
She reached home to find Desmond still absent, and she sat down to
her solitary dinner alone. For once she did not even take the
trouble to dress. She would have to dress for the ball later. She
wondered if Desmond would return to take her. She heartily wished
she need not go. But she would do nothing at such a time to thwart
his lightest wish. She was afraid that something terribly wrong was
threatening. What it could be she had no idea. Of his business
matters Desmond never spoke a word, but she was certain from a number
of things that he was engaged in some very large and hazardous
transactions, and that for some time he had been exceedingly and
increasingly anxious.
Apparently some crisis was near at hand, and after it had passed
there was a hope of better and quieter days. It seemed as though he
were as weary as she of the round of the treadmill of business and
pleasure, and was panting for the freedom and quiet of their own home.
The hope that buoyed up Odeyne's heart all through the day was that
the return home was near at hand, and that Desmond had learnt a
lesson which might remain with him throughout his life. Tired as she
was, she prepared cheerfully to carry out her husband's wishes in the
minutest detail. She chose her most becoming ball-dress, and let
Alice arrange her hair in the newest mode. It was patent that a good
deal depended upon her keeping a brave face before the world, and if
so, Desmond should never have to say that she had failed him at a
pinch.
She was nearly dressed, when the sound of rustling draperies, and a
short, sharp knock at the door, announced the arrival of a visitor,
and Beatrice came hastily in.
She was dressed with her usual elaborate care and richness, but her
face was strangely pale, and had an odd, drawn look that startled
Odeyne as she caught sight of it in the mirror.
"Beatrice!" she cried, releasing herself from Alice's hands and
turning quickly round, "something is the matter!"
"Yes," answered Beatrice, in a voice not quite like her own, "my
jewels are gone!"
"Your jewels? Do you mean they have been stolen?"
"Yes--it must have been yesterday whilst we were at dinner. But I
only found it out this afternoon! I have had a detective. Every
inquiry has been made, but at the present moment there is no clue as
to the thief. Probably somebody who knew his business very well."
"Oh, Beatrice!--taken from your room whilst you were at dinner, you
say?"
"That seems the most probable solution, for there is no trace of
violence anywhere. The man must have slipped in during the arrival
of the guests, whilst the door was standing open. All we know is
this. Your man, Garth, came with a note for Algernon whilst we were
at dinner, and had to wait for the answer. He was put into the
little alcove just at the head of the first staircase, and as he was
waiting he noticed a man coming downstairs with a bag in his hand,
who let himself quietly out at the front door. He thought nothing
much of it at the time, supposing it to be some hair-dresser or
person of that kind, who had preferred to make use of the front
rather than the back staircase, knowing that all the guests were at
dinner. But it is supposed that that was the burglar, and Garth
thinks he could identify him if he saw him again, and has described
him pretty minutely to the police. Whether I shall ever see my
jewels again is quite another matter," and Beatrice bit her lips
nervously as though to try and bring back the blood to them.
Odeyne saw that she was trembling all over. She had never seen
Beatrice so unnerved before.
"What does your husband say?" she asked.
"Oh, he had hardly time to take it in at all. Desmond telegraphed
for him just after the discovery was made, and he went off in a
tearing hurry, leaving me to think of everything. I have not seen
him since. He telegraphed that he could not get back, but that I was
to go to the ball with you."
"You do not look fit, Beatrice," said Odeyne.
"Fit! what does that matter? Alice shall rouge me up--if you have
such a thing as a rouge-pot amongst your toilet accessories! And you
must lend me jewels to-night, Odeyne, it won't do to appear without
them at the Mastermans'. We must both of us make a brave show, my
dear--just to prove to all the world how gay and prosperous we are.
Go and get your mistress's jewels out, Alice, and dress me up as
cleverly as you know how. Oh, I am not going to throw up the cards
till the game is lost. I will at least die game--as the men call it!"
"Beatrice, how wildly you talk," said Odeyne, as Alice went into the
dressing-room to get the jewel-cases. There was no safe in this
house, but they were securely locked up in a strong cupboard with a
Bramah lock.
"Do I?" she queried with a short laugh. "I suppose it is a way we
all of us have, when life or death hangs upon the next throw of the
dice! Come, Odeyne, don't look at me like a scared creature. You
must know by this time as well as I that something very critical is
at hand. It is going to be neck or nothing, I take it, with a
vengeance!"
Odeyne did not understand; but Alice was coming in with the
jewel-boxes, and she made no reply.
"Take what you want," she said; "I am going to wear the string of
pearls you sent me for a wedding present, Beatrice, and some
ornaments that Desmond gave me soon afterwards."
"Well, make yourself grand enough, that is all; and I will have your
diamonds, I think. I hope they will not be recognised as yours. I
hardly think so. I was always rather great at diamonds myself--when
I could get them."
Beatrice approached the table and opened some of the cases, and then,
suddenly bending close down over them, uttered a sharp, startled cry.
"What is the matter?" asked Odeyne, who suddenly felt as though she
were walking through a bad dream, not knowing from moment to moment
what might happen next. "What is the matter?" she cried, coming up.
"Look!" cried Beatrice, whose face was as white as paper, and whose
hands shook like aspens. "Look at your diamonds, Odeyne."
Odeyne looked, but could see nothing wrong.
"They are all there safe," she said, thinking that Beatrice had gone
temporarily off her head with excitement. "What is the matter with
you?"
"With me? You mean with them!" answered Beatrice, holding up case
after case and closely examining them. "Odeyne, don't you
see?--don't you understand?"
"See what? Understand what?" asked the girl, half frightened in
spite of herself at her sister's words and looks.
"Somebody has been tampering with your jewels, Odeyne," said
Beatrice. "These are not diamonds at all--they are only clever
imitations. Somebody has done a very clever thing--has had
duplicates made of your real stones in paste, and has quietly
substituted the sham for the real! You have been even more
shamelessly robbed than I have, my dear, for there has been a
diabolic cunning and preparation over this fraud."
Odeyne stood silent and thunderstruck. If she had had time to
observe anything else she would have noticed that Alice had suddenly
turned as white as ashes, and put her hand to her heart as though
some blow had been struck home there. She clutched at the back of a
chair as though to save herself from falling; but neither her
mistress nor Mrs. Vanborough had thoughts for her just then.
"What does it mean?" asked Odeyne, putting up her hand to her head in
bewilderment. "What does it mean?"
"I think it means that there are traitors in the camp," answered
Beatrice in a strange, dry voice. "I think it means that the rats
are deserting the sinking ship, and human rats have the cleverness to
carry off booty before they leave for ever."
But Odeyne could make nothing of these words. Her head was in a
whirl. She stood looking down stupidly at the glitter of the sham
gems, and all she could think of to say was--
"Are you sure they are not right, Beatrice? They look just the
same--to me."
"You are not the first person who has been deceived by false gems, my
dear," answered Beatrice, pulling herself together with a short,
sharp laugh. "I think you have rather a faculty for taking glitter
for gold. Don't be too much startled, my dear, when the truth comes
home to you."
Odeyne heard these words without fully understanding them.
"Ought I to do anything?" she asked.
"I wouldn't trouble to-night. Let us see first what the night is
going to bring forth," answered Beatrice. "There may be wheels
within wheels that we know nothing about. Desmond himself may know
all about it. Men have been driven to stranger shifts before this,
than borrowing their wife's jewels for a while to tide them over a
crisis."
Odeyne's pale face suddenly flushed crimson.
"Beatrice!" she exclaimed, almost fiercely. "You forget yourself, I
think!"
"Perhaps I do," answered Beatrice, without a shadow of offence in her
tone. "I think I have had enough to send me silly to-night. But
come, Odeyne, we must not stay staring at these paste things like two
blind owls. Paste or no, I must wear them to-night. They will pass
muster in the throng we shall meet. Mrs. Vanborough's present
reputation stands well enough to admit of the fraud undetected.
Here, Alice, clasp this thing on my neck, please. It is at least
lighter to wear than the original. Why, girl, your hands are like
blocks of ice. You give me the shivers! You needn't be frightened
at what you've heard. Your mistress is not the kind who will turn
upon you, and accuse you of complicity with the robber."
"Alice, you are ill," said Odeyne. "But you must not give way. I
should never think of blaming you. Indeed you have very little to do
with my jewellery. We have always kept it locked away ourselves. It
is probably the same gang that have robbed Mrs. Vanborough. Now
don't tremble and look so white, but go to bed quietly. I can do
very well without you when I come back, and I may be late. I do not
feel sure of anything."
Time was getting on, and little as the two sisters-in-law felt
disposed for the scene of gaiety which lay before them, loyalty to
their husbands kept them to their appointment.
They put the finishing touches to their toilets, and then went down
to the carriage.
"You don't think that girl knows anything about it, I suppose?" said
Beatrice as they drove off. "She looked like a ghost, and was
shaking like an aspen."
"I would trust Alice with untold gold!" answered Odeyne warmly. "I
have had my fears for her. At first I was afraid she was going to
have her head turned by all the admiration she received. She did try
for a little while to play the fine lady rather too much. But she
has good feeling and right principle, and of late she has been quite
her own self again. I am certain she would die sooner than rob me.
You must nob wrong her by a doubt, Beatrice."
"I think I have reached the stage when I doubt everybody," answered
Beatrice a little bitterly. "I know Algy might be capable of getting
up a plant like this, and keeping the jewels safe and snug somewhere;
and I should not be certain of Desmond for that matter. Men often
want a reserve fund to fall back upon in case of emergency. I don't
think I could doubt you, Odeyne, but as for Alice and that husband of
hers--I would not make too sure of their honesty, my dear. That man
Garth is much too clever not to be a bit of a villain at heart!"
Odeyne was silent. She shivered a little at the recklessness of
Beatrice's tone. Then a remembrance flitted across her brain of some
words spoken long, long ago by Cissy Ritchie--now Cissy Hamilton,
Guy's wife, her own sister--respecting the man Garth. She had not
liked his face. She had thought it untrustworthy. But Desmond had
always found him most faithful.
It seemed as though Beatrice was following out a similar train of
thought, for she spoke suddenly aloud, though almost as one who
speaks to herself.
"It might have been he. He knows the house. He was there some time,
and there was nobody about. His description of another man may be
just a clever bit of lying, to put us on a false scent. I should not
be surprised in the least."
Odeyne knew what she meant, but said nothing. The dream-like feeling
was coming over her again. A sort of numbness settled down upon her
faculties. It gave her temporary relief from the terrible tension of
the past day. She did not wish to be roused. She would sooner go on
feeling it all a dream.
They arrived at the house whither they were bound. It belonged to
one of the City princes, and the gathering included a great many
persons who were more or less connected with the City and Stock
Exchange. Others were there from a higher sphere. It was a very
large assembly and a rather mixed one.
There was dancing in one great room, and the entertainment was called
a ball; but great numbers of persons made no attempt to dance, but
moved about the other rooms, talking together, and watching those who
came in with more or less of interest.
It seemed to Odeyne as though the arrival of herself and Beatrice
excited a certain amount of interest and attention. Was it fancy
that they were both regarded rather closely, and that there was more
than met the ear in some of the words addressed to them?
She felt also as though Beatrice were acting a part all the while,
although she could not have explained why. She was so gay, so racy,
so brilliant. She made sallies that convulsed her listeners, and her
_grande dame_ air had never been more striking than to-night.
When questioned about husband or brother she unhesitatingly declared
that they would soon be here. They had been detained by business
rather late, and must dine, poor things, and have a smoke before
turning out; but they were probably on their way now to answer for
themselves; and so on, and so on; whilst Odeyne, who was certain that
Beatrice knew no more of their movements than she did herself,
listened in amaze, and was thankful that her sister-in-law's quick
readiness saved her from the necessity of answering any of these
embarrassing questions.
Yet what did it matter whether Desmond and Algernon appeared or not?
And why did so many persons ask for them? Once she heard a whisper
behind her quite distinct and clear.
"I think it must be all right after all. Those are Mrs. St. Claire
and Mrs. Vanborough. They would hardly have shown their faces
to-night if----"
A burst of music from the ball-room drowned the conclusion of the
sentence. Odeyne felt her heart beating almost to suffocation, and
she moved away from Beatrice's side and made her way out into a
little covered balcony which she thought was quite empty. It was,
however, tenanted by one person, a slight, girlish young creature,
the young wife of an acquaintance of Desmond's, just known to Odeyne
by sight and name.
As she sat down wearily, Mrs. Neil came up to her with a hesitating
and almost deprecating air, and, sinking down upon the lounge beside
her, clasped her hands nervously together, forgetting in her visible
embarrassment to go through the ordinary form of greeting.
"Oh, Mrs. St. Claire," she said, "I am so glad to see you here. I
have been so unhappy these last days; but you will tell me if I am
wrong. It is all right, is it not? It is only wicked people who
call it all a gigantic swindle? It will be all right in the end,
will it not?"
Odeyne felt her lips growing dry. She had some trouble in framing
her question.
"What are you talking about, Mrs. Neil?"
"Oh, don't mind keeping up before me--I know all about it. My
husband has lots of shares; he says he will be ruined if--but of
course that will never be! It is only a horrid calumny! Only I
should be so glad to hear you say that you knew it was all right and
a real genuine thing."
"If you would tell me what you mean," said Odeyne, "I should,
perhaps, be better able to answer you; but----"
"Oh, Mrs. St. Claire, _of course_ I mean the mine--the gold mine they
are all going wild about in the City. Mr. St. Claire and Mr.
Vanborough are two of the directors, and they say they know all about
it. You must have heard them talk. They say they have got up the
whole thing."
"My husband never talks to me about business," answered Odeyne,
trying to speak very calmly. "I have never heard him mention any
mine. But I think--I hope--that if he is concerned in any scheme it
will at least be honourably conducted. No one can be certain of
success; but I think you may be sure that there will be upright
dealing."
"That's what I said!" cried the little wife eagerly. "I was sure it
would not turn out a swindle. Oh, I am so much obliged to you. You
have made me happy again. I have been so wretched all day. It is so
hard to be ruined in one night by some terrible crash--and
disagreeable people frightened Alfred so, and said he had been a fool
to trust his money in the hands of a known speculator. But I am sure
your husband would never do a wicked thing, would he, Mrs. St.
Claire?"
There was such childish appeal and such earnestness in the
girl-wife's manner that Odeyne could have cried aloud in the anguish
of her spirit.
Why could she not say that Desmond was above all reproach? Why could
she not assure her that there was nothing to fear? She had said all
she dared to do, but she could not go on repeating that assurance.
Each moment that she reflected more upon the situation, the less
assured did she feel that something terribly wrong was not hanging
over them.
She rose suddenly to her feet and moved away.
"I hope all will be right, Mrs. Neil," she said; "but I do not
understand business. Misfortune sometimes falls upon the most
honourable."
And then she found herself face to face with Beatrice, who,
underneath the rouge she had found and put on, was looking ghastly
pale.
"Come, Odeyne, we have done our duty; we can be going now," she said.
"There is a great rush for supper. We shall not be noticed. Do not
say good-night to a single soul, but just come away. If they notice
our departure they will think we are going somewhere else. We have
done what we were sent here to do. Now we had better go and see if
there is any news at home of our respective husbands."
She gripped Odeyne's arm almost fiercely. Together they went down
the staircase and had their carriage called up. When they were
within its friendly shelter Beatrice suddenly broke into dry,
tearless sobs.
"This is the last of it--this is our last appearance in public,
Odeyne," she said. "The next time we try to show our faces we should
be hooted away as the wives of the men who are posted on the Stock
Exchange as a pair of swindlers!"
CHAPTER XVII.
_DARK DAYS._
Home at last!--the house looking as usual; the butler and footman
ready to admit their mistress on her return.
Yes, the master of the house had returned, she was informed; he was
upstairs waiting for her. Odeyne drew a deep breath of relief.
Somehow she had had an awful presentiment creeping over her that she
would find Desmond gone--where or why she could not have said.
With a sense of unspeakable relief she mounted the stairs, but before
she had reached her room she was met by a message from the nursery.
"Master Guy is rather poorly. Hannah says will you please come and
see him at once? She wanted to tell you before you left, but you did
not come to the nursery as usual, and had gone before she knew."
Odeyne's heart smote her. For once in her life she had omitted her
parting visit to the child before starting forth for her evening's
entertainment. Beatrice's loss, coupled with the strange and
disquieting discovery as to her own jewels, had for the moment driven
all else from her mind. She had not remembered the nursery visit
till she was just about to enter the carriage, and then Beatrice had
said almost sharply--
"Oh, never mind. The boy will survive the loss of one kiss. We have
more important matters on hand to-night than cuddling babies. It is
high time we showed ourselves. You cannot go back now."
So Odeyne had not seen the child since afternoon, and was quite
unprepared for the news of indisposition.
Without pausing at her own door she went straight up to the nursery,
to find the boy wide awake, fretting and a little feverish. Hannah
was disturbed, because Guy was generally so bright and well.
"But there, ma'am," she said, "it's this nasty London does it. The
blessed lamb has been used all his life to be out of doors half his
time. How can he be expected to thrive cooped up in hot rooms and
baking streets?"
This was exactly Odeyne's feeling. Since the hot weather had set in
with such unwonted sultriness she had been very anxious about the
child. She was not surprised to see him a little out of sorts. It
did not make her very anxious, for it seemed to her a thing to be
expected. But she did make a resolve there and then that Guy at
least should go home to the Chase upon the morrow. Whether she could
do so immediately was a point upon which she must consult Desmond,
but the boy should leave London at once, and Cissy would look after
him and see that no harm befell him till her return. Desmond had
been speaking of returning home very soon for some little while now.
Surely after to-night they might safely go back, and leave behind
them, like a bad dream, all these cares and worries which had of late
gathered round them.
Odeyne kissed and crooned over the little crib till Guy began to be
drowsy, soothed by her presence, and weary with his long vigil. The
nursery was very hot. Odeyne sent for ice, and by a judicious
arrangement of windows and doors soon had a better atmosphere about
the boy. She believed he would sleep now, and to-morrow he should go
home. She would send a letter to Guy and Cissy, and they would be
father and mother to him for a little while, if she could not
accompany him. How good it was to picture Guy so near! What a
difference it would make to her. He was always such a help and
comfort--a tower of strength when there was need. It hardly even
struck her as strange now that she should think rather of the brother
than the husband, as a stay and support at this time. There had been
that about Desmond of late which had put it out of her power to
regard him as any bulwark between her and the waves of anxiety and
trouble.
She descended the stairs to her room. Desmond was there. His face
was deadly pale. There was a strange, hunted look in his eyes, and
yet, as she approached him with a slight exclamation of concern, his
thin lips tried to form themselves into a natural smile, as though to
allay anxiety on his account.
"Desmond, dear! are you ill? You look worn out. Why did you not go
to bed when you came in? That is the only place you are fit for."
Her eyes wandered round the room as she spoke, and noted certain
signs of disorder. They fell upon a portmanteau strapped up as if
for immediate travelling. Desmond, too, was not in the clothes he
had left the house in that morning. He was in an inconspicuous
travelling suit of grey tweed. He was holding his pocket-book in his
hand.
"I have some work still to see to, dearest," he said. "There is a
little hitch in some of our business matters, and I have to go off at
once to set things right. What money have you in the house? It is
too late to get a cheque cashed to-night; but give me what you have,
and I will leave you a cheque to present at the bank first thing in
the morning; and perhaps you had better go home then, and wait for me
there."
"Oh, Desmond! that is just what I am longing to do! The child is not
well; I want to take him home. But can't you come with us, dear? I
don't like leaving you here."
A strange little spasm passed over Desmond's face.
"I shall not be here. I have to go away on business immediately; but
I will join you at the Chase as soon as ever I can--trust me for
that. Look here, Odeyne; you just have Alice down, and get packed up
as sharp as ever you can, and be off by the first train. It will be
far the best thing for you and the boy both. Take everything that
belongs to us with you, for I shall write and give up the house
immediately; and call at the bank on your way to the station, and
draw out a good sum to carry on with. Give me all that you have, and
I think I'll have your jewels to take care of, too. I may
perhaps----"
"Oh, Desmond, I must tell you about that! Something rather terrible
has happened. Beatrice has been robbed of her jewels, and a great
many of mine--nearly all my diamonds--have been taken too, and false
ones left in their place. I don't know when it can have happened,
for I should not have known the difference if Beatrice had not found
it out."
A strange grey pallor overspread Desmond's face, and he uttered a
startled exclamation.
"What!" he cried; "tell me again!"
Odeyne told him all, not surprised that he should be horrified and
amazed, yet feeling that she did not entirely understand his frame of
mind. When he had heard her to the end he exclaimed sharply--
"And where is Garth? Let him be called at once."
"He had not come back when I left home," said Odeyne. "Alice was
asking me if I had had any message from you about him. The servants
would know if he had come in since."
"Find out instantly!" said Desmond, with a rather wild light in his
eyes. "I sent him back at six o'clock to wait here for me. They did
not tell me he had not come. I have been expecting him ever since I
arrived."
Odeyne hurried away and made the needful inquiries; but no one had
seen Garth. Last of all she went to the door of their room and
knocked. Instantly it was opened by Alice, who looked like a ghost,
but had made no attempt to undress or go to bed.
"No, she had seen nothing of her husband, she said, nor had any
message or note reached her. She was shaking like an aspen, but
denied being ill.
"Then if you are not ill, Alice," said Odeyne, "come down and help
me. I am not going to bed at all. Master Guy is poorly, and I shall
take him home to the Chase first thing to-morrow. We shall not come
back here any more, so there will be plenty for us to do. Your
master has to go away on business, and will join us later. You and I
will have all the arrangements to make, so we shall have our hands
full."
Odeyne had no room in her mind for troubling herself over the missing
jewels; it seemed to her that it was only one bubble upon a whole sea
of mystery and trouble. Alice crept, white and trembling, after her
mistress, and was closely and sharply questioned by Desmond as to her
husband's movements; but it was plain she knew nothing, and was
consumed by fears she dared not put into words. Desmond turned away
from her with a few bitter words, the meaning of which was not
understood by Odeyne, though Alice shrank at them as though struck by
a sharp blow.
"Give me those pearls you wear," he said abruptly, "and anything of
value that may be left you. And let me have the money quick. I must
not delay longer now."
With a terribly sinking heart Odeyne opened her cash-box and jewel
drawer, unfastened the string of pearls from her throat, and taking
the stars from her hair at the same time. Desmond thrust the notes
and valuables into a small bag he carried with him, and then took up
the portmanteau himself and carried it from the room, staggering a
little, like a man walking in a dream.
Odeyne sprang after him, closing the door behind her. There was a
light burning on this landing, but the rest of the house was dark,
Odeyne having dismissed the servants to bed by her husband's desire,
when she went to inquire for Garth.
"Desmond, Desmond," she cried piteously, "what is it? Oh, what is
it? Have not I, your wife, the right to share the trouble, whatever
it may be?"
He took her suddenly in his arms and kissed her passionately again
and again.
"So you will, my poor innocent darling--so you will!" he answered.
"God forgive me; for I can never forgive myself! Would to heaven I
had listened to you before, my faithful little wife! To think that
it has come to this. O my God!--forgive me my wickedness, and visit
not my sin upon her innocent head!"
A great terror came over Odeyne, and she clung to him with frantic
hands.
"Desmond!--Desmond!--don't leave me! Take me with you! I am your
wife. We took each other for better for worse. I have the right to
be at your side through everything! Take me with you, if you must
go!"
He clasped her to his breast, and yet after one long embrace he put
her from him.
"It cannot be. I will come back--if I can--if I dare. But you must
stay here--with the boy. He will comfort you for the evil your
husband has done you. For better for worse; when was it you spoke
those words before, and I made such a confident boast? Was it in
this life, or in another I have almost forgotten? Oh, my wife, that
it should come to this! Why, why was I such an arrant fool?"
He smote his brow with his hand. The bitterness of his remorse was
pitiful to see. The longing to comfort him gave to Odeyne strength
in the midst of her weakness and bewilderment.
"Dearest," she said, "I think you trusted too much in yourself; you
did not look to God for help, guidance, strength to resist
temptation. Perhaps this trouble will bring you to Him, as happiness
never did. Oh, my darling, I pray it may be so! Do you pray also
for yourself. God is very good; He punishes, but He forgives. I
shall pray for you night and day till you come back to me. But oh,
Desmond--husband--do not leave me long! I cannot bear it!"
The strain was becoming too much. Odeyne felt a mist rising before
her eyes; her head swam; she hardly knew when Desmond laid her upon a
couch on the landing and hastily called to Alice. What happened
after that she never clearly remembered, but presently knew that the
grey light of the summer dawn was stealing through an open window
near her head, and that Alice was chafing her hands and holding a
glass to her lips; but Desmond was gone.
Now they were in the train, rushing swiftly through the smiling
country, back to the home towards which Odeyne's heart had turned
with such longing all these past weeks, but which would be terribly
empty and lonely now till Desmond came back.
Alice and Hannah were with her, and little Guy, looking roused and
better already for getting beyond the region of London smoke. The
men-servants had remained behind. Odeyne had paid them their wages
and dismissed them. They appeared perfectly prepared for this, and
some instinct warned her that she had better reduce her establishment
as quickly as possible. She was not able to think connectedly yet;
but in her heart of hearts she was aware that some financial crash
had taken place, and that she must prepare herself for changed
circumstances. That was in itself a matter of small consequence to
her. Great wealth had brought little real joy to Odeyne. She could
live more happily in a cottage than she had lived in her grand London
house. But oh, if others should suffer loss and poverty from any act
of her husband's! That was the thought which kept her in an agony of
trepidation and anguish. She thought of the words heard last night
(could it have been only last night?--it seemed years ago now), and
of the cloud of pitiful anxiety in the eyes of the young wife. Oh,
it was impossible that Desmond could have done anything to involve
others in trouble! He so kind and friendly to all! Oh, no!--that
was altogether unbelievable!
But Guy would be there to meet her--Guy would tell her all. A little
while ago she had felt almost embarrassed at the thought of the first
meeting with Guy and Cissy; but that feeling was entirely swallowed
up in the present pressing distress.
For Guy and Cissy had been married, and the Chase had been full of
her own family and their guests, and yet she herself had only run
down for the day, just to witness the ceremony, and to fly back to
her many engagements, which Desmond would not or could not forego.
She had done her utmost to arrange differently, but circumstances (or
her husband's will) had been too strong for her; and although nobody
had blamed her by so much as a look or a word, she had felt herself
to be acting a heartless part, like some fine fashionable madam--not
like the loving sister Guy had a right to expect in her.
But Guy would never think of that now. As soon as he knew she was in
trouble he would come to her. She would send for him as soon as she
got home. She felt she needed some strong presence near her; but she
was startled to see him on the platform waiting for her, his face
full of kindly concern, his eyes brimful of love, asking no
questions, but seeing to everything for her, as though he were now
her rightful protector.
Not till they were in the carriage together, the servants and child
having been put into the luggage brougham, did she speak a word; and
then she turned her white face and heavy eyes towards him and asked--
"Guy, how did you know?"
"Desmond wired from Dover early this morning. I had been prepared by
Edmund two days before. He had heard things that made him very
uneasy, and went to town on purpose to see Desmond and ask. After
that he came to me here. My poor darling! what can I say to comfort
you?"
Odeyne put her hand to her head.
"I don't understand, Guy; I don't know now what has happened. Only
that we have been robbed, that Desmond has gone away for a little,
and that something is wrong about the business."
Guy gave her a quick glance, and answered gently--
"Yes, there is something wrong about the business. I do not know the
details myself yet. Perhaps you need never know them. We must just
wait and see what happens. Sometimes things turn out better in the
end than people think for. I hope you will not think that Cissy and
I have been very officious, but we had Desmond's authority. Some of
the superfluous servants have gone--including the housekeeper and the
man-cook. They began to be very insolent and overbearing, and to
spread damaging reports in the place. So they have been sent away."
"I am so glad," said Odeyne, rather wearily. "Desmond had so much to
think of he forgot to name it. I seem only to want to be quiet, and
to have you, Guy, and the boy--and--and--Desmond!" and then Odeyne's
tears suddenly ran over, and she leaned back in the carriage and
sobbed as though her heart would break.
He let her alone; and she was quiet and outwardly calm when they drew
up at the familiar door. There was no retinue of servants to greet
her to-day; but the warm clasp of Cissy's arms was more to her than
any outward show of hired service, and Odeyne was so utterly worn out
in body and mind that she let Cissy undress her and put her to bed,
and quickly fell into the dreamless sleep of exhaustion, from which
all hoped that she would not wake till outraged nature had recouped
herself for all the pressure put upon her.
It was only after Odeyne was sound asleep in the darkened room that
Cissy had time to turn her attention to Alice, who had utterly
collapsed upon their arrival at the Chase, and was lying on her bed
shaken, by storms of hysterical sobbing that seemed to tear her to
pieces when they came upon her.
Cissy, as a doctor's daughter, knew how to treat the physical
symptoms of the disorder, and Alice became more herself in time; but
there was such despair in her eyes that Cissy's heart was touched,
and bending over her she said--
"What is the matter, Alice? Is anything troubling you, beyond your
mistress's troubles?"
Alice suddenly sat up and pushed the masses of damp hair out of her
eyes.
"Oh, miss--I mean ma'am, I don't know how to bear it! I feel as
though the shame and misery of it would kill me!"
"Now be calm, Alice; you will make yourself ill if you go on so; and
for your mistress's sake you must bear up. She will need your loving
care through this time of trouble. She has depended so upon you."
Alice wrung her hands together in mute misery.
"That is just it, ma'am--that is just it! She has been such a
loving, gentle, trusting mistress, and I have deceived her--I have
betrayed her trust!"
"Alice, what do you mean? I do not understand."
For a moment there was a great struggle in the girl's mind. Must she
keep her terrible secret, or was it her duty to speak? She swayed to
and fro in the tumult of her feelings; but the desire for human
sympathy and counsel prevailed over all other considerations, and she
cried out--
"Oh, ma'am, I am afraid--oh, I am terribly afraid--that it is my
husband who has robbed them. He was always on at me about the
jewels. He would have me let him have them to study the pattern. I
was silly and vain past belief. I thought some day I would have such
things to wear myself, and sometimes he would bring me home a necklet
or bracelet just like one of the mistress's, and I would wear it at
some party, and think I looked like her. Of course they were all
shams, and I knew it, but they were very clever shams. I used to
think he did it to please me, but I begin to see he had another
purpose now. I couldn't make it out always--he was so keen to know
so many things where the jewels were concerned; and I told him
everything, and showed him everything, and contrived often to have
them in my keeping for a bit, that I might please him by a sight of
them. And so, ma'am--I fear now that he has got the real ones, and
left the sham ones in their place. There's lots of times he could
have done it, for I never would have suspected him of such a
thing--never!--never!"
She broke down into sobbing again, and Cissy, who had heard something
of the loss of the stones and the manner of their disappearance, was
lost in astonishment at the tale. True, she had always felt an
instinctive distrust of the man Garth, but she had never supposed him
capable of such deliberate treachery as this. She felt deeply sorry
for the unhappy wife, who, with all her little faults and vanities,
had been loyal and devoted to her mistress all her life through.
"But, Alice, I am dreadfully sorry to hear this. And if this is so,
where is your husband? Has he told you? How do you know?"
"My heart tells me," said Alice, with a mournful certainty that was
more eloquent than any burst of tears. "Did you not hear? He has
gone too. He was sent back with a message to my lady, but he never
came. Nothing has been heard of him since. He did not even say
good-bye to me. He had the jewels; he cared for nothing else. I
shall never see him again! He used me to get his wicked will--and
then he left me. He never really loved me--I have known that for a
long time now. He admired me, and thought I should be a useful tool
and dupe--that is all! He has said so in his sleep. He has showed
me his evil heart. He has done now what will make him afraid ever to
come back--unless he is caught and brought back! I shall never see
him again, unless I see him in a felon's dock. And once I thought he
loved me!"
She covered her face with her hands, and turned it to the wall. Her
tears were all shed now; a dull lethargy was creeping over her.
Cissy knew not whether to speak or to leave her alone, but the
question was decided for her by a knock at the door; she opened it to
find a maid standing without, who said--
"If you please, ma'am, the Captain and Miss St. Claire are here. I
am afraid to disturb the mistress. I thought I had better tell you."
"The Captain" was the name Edmund went by in the household, where he
was a great favourite. Cissy already felt as though she had gained a
brother in him.
"I will come immediately," she said, and hastened downstairs.
The drawing-room door stood open, and within were Edmund and Maud,
standing with grave, expectant faces, as though either the bearers or
recipients of evil tidings. Maud moved hastily forward.
"Mother sent me, Cissy. She heard they had come back. She could not
rest a moment; and Edmund drove me across. What has happened? and
where is Desmond?"
"I don't know," answered Cissy gravely. "Odeyne does not know. I
dare not say much--she is on the verge of a nervous fever. Desmond
is gone off somewhere--she does not know where. Guy had a wire from
him from Dover early this morning--that is the last we have heard of
him."
Edmund whistled. Maud threw up her hands with a little gesture as of
despair.
"He has absconded!" she exclaimed in a tone that was little above a
whisper.
CHAPTER XVIII.
_THE CRASH._
"Where has he gone, Odeyne? Where has he gone? He could not have
left you without a word, as Algernon has left me. They have gone
together--and surely you know where they are!"
It was Beatrice who spoke these words; but such a white, wild-eyed
Beatrice, that Odeyne hardly knew her.
She broke in upon her at dusk, on that strange day of confusion and
bewilderment, and her haggard face bespoke the mental suffering
through which she had passed during the past four-and-twenty hours.
Odeyne turned upon her quickly, and took her by the hands.
"Of whom are you speaking, Beatrice? Has Algernon gone too? What
does it mean? Oh, what does it mean?"
"It means that we are ruined, ruined, ruined!" cried Beatrice,
sinking into a chair and covering her face with her hands. "But,
Odeyne, speak, tell me--where is Desmond? You must at least know
that!"
"I do not know," answered Odeyne in a very low voice. "He went
away--I think he has gone abroad--on business. He will no doubt
write soon. Is Algernon gone too?"
"They went together. So much we know, but nothing else. It is
terrible, terrible, terrible! Odeyne, I went back home to Rotherham
Park to-day to see if there was any trace of Algy there. Do you know
what I found there? Bailiffs in possession--the place and all its
contents up for sale...." She paused and uttered a strange
hysterical laugh. "Will that be the fate of the Chase next? Has
Desmond, too, absconded, leaving a mountain of debt behind? Are we
both to be left to the mercy of our own relations, whilst our
husbands have to flee the country for safety?"
"Beatrice, what do you mean?" asked Odeyne almost sharply, conscious
of a pang at her heart that she could not understand or subdue. "Why
do you speak such terrible words? Tell me what has happened. I do
not understand."
With a great effort Beatrice commanded herself, and made Odeyne sit
down beside her.
"How much do you know of this wretched business?" she asked.
"I do not understand anything. Desmond never spoke to me of his
affairs. I know that something is terribly wrong; but I think he has
gone away to try and set it right."
"He has gone away because it can never be set right," said Beatrice,
"and because he is involved in a fraudulent scheme, which has
involved a number of persons in ruin. I can't tell how far he and
Algernon have been dupes, or how far they have duped others. I
believe that man Garth has been at the bottom of a great deal of the
villainy of this last bubble. They got to trust him more and more.
Sometimes I told Algy they left too much to him. It began by merely
dabbling in stocks and shares--speculating on the Stock Exchange
people call it; and Desmond was very quick, and made great sums, and
Algy too, by his advice. But men never know where to stop, and one
thing led to another. I don't understand details, but it is some
great mining scheme that has ruined us all. It has broken now like a
bubble--and what will be the end no one knows. Meantime Desmond and
Algy and Garth have all disappeared. That gives it a very ugly look.
Oh, if I were a man I would stay and face things out! I would never
run away like a coward, and let all the misery and shame fall upon
the defenceless women at home!" And Beatrice's eyes flashed as she
wrung her hands together half in angry scorn, half in despair.
"And your house, Beatrice, what did you say about that?"
"Algy's creditors have taken possession of it, my dear. I am a
homeless outcast. My mother will give me an asylum for the present;
and I believe there is a small pittance settled upon me which will
just keep me and the boy from starvation! You may thank your stars,
Odeyne, that the Chase is entailed, and that Desmond made a handsome
settlement upon you. His creditors will not be able to fleece you
and the boy. You will live in clover, whoever else loses."
Odeyne drew her brows together in perplexity.
"But if Desmond has debts--I don't think he has--but if he has, of
course I shall pay them. I would not touch the money till every
claim was satisfied."
Beatrice uttered a mirthless little laugh.
"My dear, I fancy that before Desmond's claims were all
satisfied--claims upon him, I should say, from those whom he has
involved in his ruin, there would be nothing left at all! It is
generally the way when men lose their heads over some scheme of
fabulous wealth and it topples about their ears. Be thankful that
you are placed above want, and stick to everything you can. That is
my advice; and if you can't help me to any news of our husbands I
will go back to mother again. One mercy is that she gauged the
characters of both Desmond and Algy pretty correctly. She is not
crushed with horror at this catastrophe as Maud is. She has been
preparing herself for it all along."
Beatrice was too restless and excited and unnerved to remain long
anywhere, and Odeyne did not seek to detain her. The day had been
one long series of shocks, and she wanted time for thought. She had
sent Guy and Cissy back to their home an hour ago, wishing to be
quiet that evening; and they had left her, hoping she would not fully
realise all that had come upon her. Perhaps she had not done so till
the arrival of Beatrice; but now she felt that her eyes had been
opened, and that she could not close them any more. She must think
out the thing that had befallen, and decide upon her own line of
action.
She went up to the nursery, to find the child sleeping the sound,
dreamless sleep of healthy childhood. He had responded at once to
removal into the pure air of his home. All the feverish fretfulness
had left him since his midday nap; he now looked as well as even his
mother could desire.
Thankful that one threatened source of anxiety was removed, Odeyne
dismissed the nurse to her supper, and sat down beside the open
window, in a position where she could command a view of the sleeping
child, to review the situation, and put together the different items
of news dropped by one and another, so as to get a clear idea of the
exact position of affairs.
But she had hardly composed herself to the task before the door
opened softly, and a wan, white face peered in, and Odeyne, after
looking at it a moment as if hardly recognising it, suddenly held out
her hand, exclaiming--
"My poor Alice, come here to me. We are both suffering the same
trouble. I fear, my poor child, it was a bad day for you when you
elected to follow me out into the world."
Alice's face quivered, but her tears had all been shed. She was calm
now, though she looked like a ghost. She came forward and stood
before Odeyne, her eyes upon the ground.
"I wanted to see you, ma'am; I wanted to tell you everything. The
fault is mine. I was deceived. I let myself be made a tool of. It
was vanity that did it--I wanted to be finer than my right station.
I see it all now; but that will not bring back the jewels--and it is
my husband who robbed you!"
She covered her face with her hands and trembled. Odeyne had begun
to suspect this before, so Alice's statement did not take her by
surprise. Beatrice had plainly spoken her opinion of Garth; and the
disappearance of the confidential clerk at such a moment looked ugly.
Yet all that Odeyne said was--
"My poor Alice, I feel for you from the bottom of my heart. We are
both in great trouble and perplexity. Sit down, my poor child, and
let us talk together. There is so much I want to know. We are both
ignorant and inexperienced; but perhaps, if we compare notes, we
shall come to a clearer understanding of what has happened. Tell me,
Alice, do you know the nature of the work in which my husband and
yours have been engaged of late? It has nothing to do with the
business house where Mr. St. Claire has been connected. It is
something altogether independent of that."
Alice did not know much, nor was she very clear; but bit by bit
Odeyne seemed to see the thing piecing itself together before her
eyes. Desmond had begun by small speculations, and had been very
fortunate. He had employed Garth a good deal in these transactions,
and the quickness of the subordinate had been very useful. Their
ventures had turned out well time after time. Algernon Vanborough,
to whom gambling in some form or another was as the salt of life, had
been drawn in--good nature prompting Desmond to try and share any
good thing with his luckless brother-in-law. Algernon had been
terribly unlucky of late upon the turf; but for a considerable time
he was very fortunate in this new sort of speculation.
Then came a repetition of a state of affairs between the two men with
which Odeyne had never been conversant, but which was well known to
the rest of the family.
Desmond had once before posed as Algernon's reformer, and the
experiment had led to his being drawn into the losses of that
extravagant young man, which might have led both of them to ruin, had
it not been for Desmond's sudden successes on the Stock Exchange. He
believed himself stronger than Vanborough and his associates. In
reality he was far weaker, as those who understood his real
disposition were well aware.
So it had proved in this case. Vanborough had been bitten by a
hundred dreams of wealth, and had plunged into speculations of the
wildest nature. Desmond was only too easily induced to follow; and
their trusted tool, Garth, was plainly nothing better than an
unscrupulous sharper. How far any one of the three had become
criminally involved could not at this moment be decided. The fact
that all three had fled in one night looked ugly, and aroused
Odeyne's keenest anxiety. But not even to Alice would she speak of
her most terrible fear. That must be locked away in the recesses of
her own heart.
"But, ma'am, you are safe, and the Chase is safe," Alice said eagerly
at the end. "Walter always told me that nothing could hurt you,
because of the settlements and the entail. The master's creditors
can't touch that. He always said that it was such a pity Mrs.
Vanborough's money had not been tied up fast too."
Odeyne looked round her, and then out of the window, at the expanse
of dewy park and gardens. She had come to love her beautiful home
very dearly; yet she spoke with great composure.
"That may be the law, Alice; but there are moral obligations to think
of as well as mere legal ones. If I find that others are suffering
loss through any action of my husband's I shall make every
restitution in my power. Master Guy is too young as yet to
understand or feel any change in position. The Chase will some day
be his, but it will not hurt him to leave it for a time. Unless
things turn out very differently from what I fear, I shall try to
find a tenant for it, and let it furnished, and live somewhere myself
on as little as possible, till all the claims that are just and right
have been settled."
Alice looked at her in mute admiration and amaze. It was some while
before she ventured upon the next question.
"But where could you go, ma'am? Back home again?"
"I think not," answered Odeyne quietly; "I do not think that would
quite answer. And I should like to be in some place where the master
could easily find me if he wanted me. I have been thinking about it
a good deal. I think I shall remove, with baby and nurse, to those
rooms in your lodge, Alice, which were built on before you married.
Hannah would come with me, and you would not leave me, Alice. There
we could hide ourselves in obscurity, and wait till our husbands
return to us!"
Alice sank down upon her knees beside Odeyne, bursting once more into
bitter weeping.
"Yours will come back to you some day, ma'am; for he loves you, he
loves you. But I shall never see Walter again. He has gone for
ever. I do not think he ever cared for me. I was useful to him; but
that was all. He left me without a word or a sign. He will never
come back!"
"Oh, Alice, do not say that! I thought he was always an affectionate
husband, and that you were so happy together."
"At first I was happy, because he promised me all sorts of fine
things, and dressed me up and made a fool of me. But I never got any
hold upon him, ma'am. I was always afraid to say a word. If I
thought him wrong, I dared not say so. I wasn't true to my better
self, nor to the things I'd been brought up to. I let him coax me to
do what I knew was wrong; and though he praised me for obeying him, I
see now that he despised me in his heart. I lost his respect, and I
think when that goes, love soon follows. If I'd been a truer woman,
maybe I'd have been a happier one, and have held him back from that
great last wrong."
Odeyne was silent, casting her mind back over the past years, and
wondering whether she, perhaps, had erred in like manner. Had she
been always true to her better judgment? Could she have done more
than she had attempted to withhold her husband from his perilous
courses? Humbly she admitted her shortcomings and failings, humbly
she took upon herself freely and fully her share in the punishment;
but one ray of comfort gilded the retrospect. She had never lost her
husband's love, her husband's confidence and respect. He had always
called her his "good angel," his "guiding star." Often she had told
him that he must not thus speak and regard her--that she was no
angel, no safe guide; but his answer had always been one so full of
love that she could not chide him over-much.
Yes, he had loved her all through; nothing had changed that; and he
had always been looking forward to a time when this feverish race
after wealth should be over, and they could enjoy a quiet life
together as of old.
Ah, how happy they could have been in some humble little home, with
each other and the child, if he had only been able to see it! But
the thirst for gold was upon him, and he could heed nothing else
whilst it lasted; and when once the tide of fortune seemed to have
turned against him he lost his head, as too many men of his calibre
do in like case; then things had gone desperately wrong, and he had
become involved in all manner of ways before he realised his own
position, or the peril looming over him.
Bit by bit Guy and Edmund made all this out. Things were in a
terrible tangle. There were angry creditors to meet, and, what was
harder still, broken-hearted dupes, who had been tempted to follow
Desmond's lead, believing him to be some great financial light, and
then had awoke to find themselves cheated by the veriest
will-o'-the-wisp, and landed in a quagmire of poverty and loss.
The legitimate claims upon Desmond's estate were sufficiently heavy
in all conscience; but these could gradually be met and discharged by
incomings from the business house, the partners in which showed
themselves very well disposed and kindly at this juncture of affairs.
Although of late Desmond's attendance at the office had been
irregular and meagre, he had done some good service by his quickness
and energy, when he had really given his mind to the matter before
him, and they were ready to stand his friend now. They thought he
had made a great mistake in disappearing like a criminal, as though
his affairs could not bear the light of day. True enough, there were
some shady transactions among them, but nothing which could actually
bring him under the ban of the law. Nor were his affairs in such
desperate condition as those of his brother-in-law. There seemed
reason enough why that gentleman had given his country a wide berth
at this juncture; but Desmond would have done better to stay, and
face the thing out to the bitter end.
This was the opinion of those who strove to look into the ugly
business and unravel the many tangled skeins; but Odeyne, hearing bit
by bit how matters stood, understood better than her brothers how
terrible a thing it would be to Desmond to face the situation he had
brought upon himself.
She remembered the strained, anxious face of Mrs. Neil at that
hateful ball. It had haunted her almost ever since. The Neils were
persons who had been tempted to their ruin by Desmond's name as
director of this luckless mining venture. He might have encouraged
them to place their money in it; and there were many others in like
case with them. Oh yes, Odeyne could understand his disappearance
and his silence. Desmond had a tender heart and a sensitive nature.
He could not bear to see sorrow and suffering about him. She had
often reproved him gently for his almost reckless liberality, when
any case of distress came personally beneath his notice. How could
he bear to meet the people whom he had (consciously or unconsciously)
helped to ruin? It was not wonderful to her that he should have
fled. There had always been a vein of moral cowardice in Desmond's
nature. She had not realised it as fully before as she did now; but
this knowledge helped her to understand Desmond's desperate flight at
this juncture better than many persons understood it. They thought
he believed himself more deeply incriminated than he was. Odeyne did
not. She believed he was kept away by the dread of seeing and
hearing of suffering which his blind confidence had occasioned.
"Edmund," said Odeyne, as her brothers laid before her the state of
affairs some three weeks after the first shock, "you say that I have
an income of twelve hundred a year--apart from the business, which is
going to pay off the legal debts in instalments--and this house to
live in. What rental should I get for the Chase if I were to let it
furnished for two or three years?"
"Odeyne! what do you mean?" he asked quickly.
"I mean what I say. I am not going to live here without Desmond.
You say he may come back any day when he sees by the papers (if he
does see them) that there is no danger to himself in doing so; but I
know him better. I do not think he will come. He is gone because he
cannot bear to see and hear of the misery of the people who have been
ruined through following his lead in those wretched mines. Guy, you
have seen some of those people. Tell me, if I were to sell off some
of the expensive things here that Desmond bought for me--the house
has been perfectly crowded with them--and let the house furnished for
three years, and live at the lodge with little Guy and two servants,
on a couple of hundreds a year, how soon would there be something to
give back to these people--enough to save them from ruin? Desmond
has spent hundreds, if not thousands, upon ornaments and curios and
beautiful things that the house does not really want. If I were to
send a lot of them up to Christie's--they are all presents to me that
I am speaking of--and sell them off, would not that go some way
towards starting some of these poor things in life again? And then,
as money came in, it would go towards refunding a part of their lost
capital. Edmund, don't stare at me as though I were out of my
senses. Guy understands. I am not going to do anything very wild
and rash; but I cannot--I cannot live on here alone in every luxury,
whilst people like the Neils, and others, are ruined, and all by
trusting Desmond's advice. With the rest I have nothing to do, only
those who trusted him with their money, and lost it through him."
Edmund whistled softly to himself. Guy laid his hand upon Odeyne's
hand, and said gently--
"I will help you, _Schwesterling_--I think I know them all; there are
not so very many; but some few have lost their all. It has been very
sad to see them; but it will be new life for them to know that
something will be done. There is no legal obligation upon you, but I
think you will be happier, and there is room in our little house for
you and the boy, till you can return to the Chase again."
There were tears of gratitude in her eyes as she answered--
"Thank you, dear Guy. It will be sweet to have you so near, but I
would rather go to the lodge, and have my own little home there, and
a place for Desmond always ready. I think he will come and seek me
there some day. Till then I shall be happier there than I could be
here. Edmund, dear, you are not vexed with me. Indeed I am trying
to do what is really the most right thing, and to clear my husband's
name and good fame from any shadow that may have fallen across it."
Edmund bent over her and kissed her again and again.
"I think you are the best wife and the best woman in the world.
People may say you are doing a Quixotic thing, but I truly believe
you will be the happier for doing it, and I know that Maud will bless
you for clearing Desmond's name. She is taking it very hard, poor
darling. It has come upon her, and you, as a greater blow than upon
many."
"Thank you, dear Edmund; and you will help me to sell such things as
I can part with at once, and to find a tenant for the house as
quickly as possible?"
"There will be no trouble about that," said Edmund quickly. "General
Mannering was asking me only the other day if there would be any
chance of getting such a house in this neighbourhood. I believe he
would jump at the Chase, and give a good rental as a yearly tenant.
He would not care for any sort of lease, as his movements are rather
uncertain."
Odeyne's face brightened as it had not done for many days.
"Ah, how nice that would be! Dear Edmund, do see about it as quickly
as possible. I cannot be happy here, missing Desmond so terribly,
and feeling that all this display and expense are such a mockery. I
want to get away into a smaller place as soon as possible, and to
feel that I am doing something towards paying off what I can only
call Desmond's 'debts of honour.'"
If Odeyne met no opposition from her brothers, she was not destined
to come off scatheless in other quarters.
Upon the next day, as she stood surrounded by a collection of
articles she was selecting to send up to be sold at the first
possible date, Beatrice suddenly burst in upon her in a state of the
greatest excitement.
"Odeyne! what is this I hear? You must be mad! You must not dream
of such a thing! Let the Chase, indeed! Sell all your valuables!
It is sheer madness! What people like you and I have to do is just
to stick to everything--everything! Defy the world, and throw
sentiment of every kind to the winds! Why, if I had your
opportunities I would add to my establishment, and flaunt about in
grand style, just to show I had nothing to be ashamed of! To go and
hide your head in a hole and give up everything to pay imaginary
debts! Odeyne, you must not do it! It is absurd! it is wicked!"
Odeyne turned round with a sweet smile in her sad eyes.
"I am so sorry you are vexed, Beatrice; but I think you would do the
same if you were in my position."
Beatrice gave a hard laugh. She had changed very much during the
past weeks. She looked older, thinner, less brilliant; as if
something had gone out of her life which could never come back to it.
"I ever give up anything for a sentimental scruple! That shows how
much you know!"
"Not for a sentimental scruple, but for my dear husband's honour,"
answered Odeyne quietly. "If you loved Algernon as I love Desmond
you would do the same for him--I know you would, Beatrice, whatever
you say."
Beatrice was silent, biting her lips, and looking from place to place
in the familiar room with strange, restless glances. Then suddenly
flinging her arms about Odeyne's neck, she cried--
"Oh, we are two miserable, unhappy creatures, Odeyne; but if only I
could be like you!--if only I could be like you! Teach me how, if
you can."
CHAPTER XIX.
_THE TWO WIVES._
"Jem, dear, is this your handiwork? How good of you! I have been
wanting to see you often, but there has been so much to think of. My
poor child, you look worn out. You have been tiring yourself making
it all so pretty for me here."
Jem's face was quivering all over; she was striving to laugh and be
gay, whilst all the time she felt as though the sadness of everything
was altogether too much for her.
She turned round with a rather startled face when first Odeyne's
voice fell upon her ear. She had been working now for two days in
the pleasant rooms at the lodge, striving might and main to make them
look as much like Odeyne's favourite rooms at the Chase as human
hands could do. She had decorated the place with flowers till it
looked like a bower, and from the little personal knick-knacks sent
down from the house she had selected such as were most suitable for
each room, and produced a very home-like and artistic effect. She
had half meant to disappear before Odeyne should herself arrive; but
she had lingered on, putting an additional touch here and there, to
be sure that everything looked its best; and here was Odeyne actually
on the spot without warning of any kind.
Odeyne saw the struggle in the sensitive countenance of her little
loving admirer, and just opened her arms, into which Jem rushed with
a strangled sob; and the next minute they were sitting side by side
upon the sofa, Jem sobbing as though her heart would break, Odeyne
striving to soothe and comfort her.
Jem loved Odeyne with that passionate, almost adoring love which very
young girls often feel towards women older than themselves. The
troubles at the Chase had been heart-rending to her, and she had
shrunk from seeming to pry into the sorrow of the young wife,
although she had longed with a great and ardent longing to see her
again, and try and express her sympathy and love.
An outlet for her energies had been found in the adornment of these
new quarters for Odeyne and her child. Guy and Cissy were almost all
their time at the Chase, helping in the task of setting it in order
for the new tenants. The majority of the servants had left. Things
were rather in confusion and disorder up there; and as General
Mannering desired possession as quickly as could be, and Odeyne was
equally eager to quit, things had gone forward at a great rate; but
nobody (save Jem) had had thought or time to give to the setting in
order at the Lodge of the various goods and chattels sent down there.
Odeyne had said that she could see to all that later, and had not
troubled herself in any way about that part of the business.
Nobody, perhaps, save the loving and rather over-bold Jem, would have
had the assurance to unpack and set in order Odeyne's private
possessions and treasured articles, endeared to her by association.
But Jem's love was of that kind which ignores all minor scruples in
its desire to do service to the object of devotion; and she had
toiled and worked with a will for two long days, and now the result
was such that Odeyne looked about her with shining eyes, and
exclaimed--
"Dearest Jem, how pretty you have made it! What put it into your
head to be such a sweet little fairy? I am so much obliged to you,
my child! I thought I should never have the heart to do it for
myself; but this is lovely!"
This tribute to her success dried Jem's tears, and she looked into
Odeyne's face (as she had not dared to do before) to seek to read
there an answer to questions she must not put. But Odeyne rose with
a tiny shake of the head, as though she half knew what Jem's
beseeching gaze meant, and busied herself by admiring the pretty
rooms and their wealth of flowers.
Then arrived the pony phaeton, with Alice and Hannah and the boy.
Jem rushed at little Guy and caught him in her arms. They were fast
friends now, for Jem had made a practice of waylaying him on his
airings and ingratiating herself with him. Little Guy was the
happiest of one-year-old mortals, with a laugh and a funny name of
his own for everybody. Jem had been dubbed "Polly," for no reason
that the adult mind could fathom, and when in an extra merry mood
this would be turned into "Pretty Poll, Pretty Poll!"--to the immense
delight of Jem, who would make parrot noises and parrot faces, till
both she and the child were weary of laughing.
Guy evidently considered Pretty Poll one of the adjuncts of the new
home. He trotted from room to room holding fast by her hand,
chattered unceasingly if not very intelligibly the whole time, and
took to his new domain like a duck to water.
Jem had everything ready for an inviting tea. The kitchen-maid from
the Chase had been retained by Odeyne as cook at the lodge, and Alice
had eagerly volunteered to do all the housework with a little
assistance from Hannah. These three servants were very devoted to
their mistress, and were resolved that she should never suffer from
lack of personal and loving tendance. But for the wearing anxiety
caused by the absence and total silence of Desmond, Odeyne felt that
she could be far happier in this simple little home than she had
often been at the Chase, surrounded by every luxury. As it was, the
cloud rested upon her night and day. She could not lose the sense of
her husband's wrong-doing and weakness. She was confronted daily
with the results of his recent practices; and, though she might
strive hard to make restitution, she could never undo the past, or
forget how grievously he had fallen.
Yet her love could triumph over all else, and her prayer went up for
him night and day--that prayer which brings its answer in time,
because it is the prayer of faith.
The first night spent by Odeyne in her new home was not an unhappy
one, despite the strangeness of the change which had come into her
life. Guy came in for an hour in the evening, for the little house
he had taken for himself and his bride was less than half a mile from
the lodge. It was so comforting to Odeyne to have this special
brother so close at hand, that it made amends for much. Edmund she
had not seen for many days; but that did not surprise her, as he was
a busy man, and already he had given more time than he could well
afford into the examination of her affairs.
"I saw him three days ago--he was looking very seedy," said Guy; "but
he would not allow anything was the matter. I hope he has not been
in any way involved in Desmond's unlucky speculations. His manner
was certainly a little strange; but I think he would have told me
before if he had been in any embarrassment. We talked so freely of
the business in all its bearings, and Edmund is very open about his
affairs."
Odeyne was easily roused to anxiety now; she had had only too much
reason to be; but Guy quieted her fears, and left her tranquil and
composed; and upon the morrow she was destined to learn something
which fully accounted for the change in Edmund.
Mrs. St. Claire had hardly seen Odeyne during these past weeks.
Although not so taken by surprise as some others by this sudden
crash, it had affected her health somewhat, and she had had little
energy or strength for getting about; but now that Odeyne had
actually taken up her abode at the lodge, Desmond's mother was
resolved to pay her an early visit; and upon the following afternoon
she and Maud were ushered up into the pleasant flower-scented room,
which had been made so trim and comfortable by Jem's loving fingers.
Mrs. St. Claire began by striving to retain her customary alert
manner, and by passing some spicy remarks about the lodge, and
Desmond's forethought in preparing it all so thoughtfully against
this catastrophe; but suddenly catching the look in Odeyne's eyes,
she stopped suddenly, and put her hands upon the girl's shoulders,
kissing her almost passionately again and again.
"My dear," she said, "I hate scenes. I do not want to make things
worse; and sympathy is often the most trying thing to bear. But I
should like to tell you how I admire and respect you. I should like
to thank you for what, in your unconventional bravery, you are doing
to save my son's honour and good name in the eyes of men who look
below the bare legal side of the matter."
Odeyne only said simply, as she returned Mrs. St. Claire's embraces--
"He is my husband."
"Would to God he were worthy of such a wife!" exclaimed the mother in
a voice that broke in spite of her efforts after calmness. "My dear,
I do not think I could do it in your place; but I can recognise
nobility and true unselfishness when I see it. He is your
husband--you want no thanks of mine, I know. But yet I must tell you
how I appreciate such conduct, though the world may call it foolish."
Long did Desmond's wife and mother talk together, feeling more drawn
towards each other than ever before. Maud meantime sat a little
apart, looking pale and inanimate, and speaking no word. Odeyne
glanced at her two or three times, but always saw her looking out of
the window with the same absorbed gaze. She felt that something was
amiss, but knew Maud too well to seek to force her confidence; but
she did hope she might have the chance of speaking to her alone
before the pair left.
Nor was she disappointed in this. The grandmother must pay a visit
to the boy before leaving, and see where he was lodged. Odeyne took
her to the nursery-room, but did not enter with her, returning to the
other apartment, where Maud still sat in the same listless way,
seemingly unheeding what went on.
"Maud, dear, is anything the matter?" she asked.
"You have not heard, then? You have not seen Edmund?"
"No," answered Odeyne with a sense of comprehension, "he has not been
here for some time. Maud, what is the matter?"
"Nothing so very much, after all; it was hardly an engagement. There
were many uncertainties and difficulties. But it is all over now. I
shall never marry."
Odeyne looked at her in astonishment. It was true that the tacit
engagement between her brother and Desmond's sister had been little
spoken about, and was looked upon as rather indefinite; but those who
best knew them had never doubted for a moment that there was warm
love on both sides, and that before long some way would be found by
which difficulties would be overcome, and the marriage consummated.
Therefore this passionately spoken reply of Maud's perplexed her not
a little.
"But what has happened to change you? I can't understand you, Maud."
"Can you not? I should have thought it was so easy. How have the
marriages with my family turned out so far?" burst out Maud with the
bitterness of long pent-up feeling. "How has Desmond treated you,
Odeyne? What of Beatrice and Algernon? It is not for me to sit in
judgment upon my own flesh and blood, yet I always maintain that if
Beatrice had been a different woman she might have held Algernon back
from much that has worked his ruin. But she wanted to be rich as
much as he did, and now what has it come to? She has to come back to
mother--to be a drag and a constant source of worry to her. Nothing
but ill follows a marriage with a St. Claire. Edmund had better be
thankful for his dismissal. We do not want a third fiasco in one
family."
"Maud! Maud!" cried Odeyne in distress, "do you know you are talking
very wildly? Is Edmund's happiness in life and his trust in
womanhood to be wrecked because Desmond has been wild and
ill-advised, and because Beatrice is--what we have always known her
to be?"
Maud clutched at Odeyne's hand and wrung it in her pain.
"Edmund will get over it--men always do. He will soon see that he
has had a good escape. He knows how near Desmond trod to the borders
of--disgrace."
Odeyne went white to the lips. Her voice shook as she asked--
"Maud, do you know what you are saying--and to me?"
"I do," answered Maud almost passionately. "Would that I did not
know! They have been merciful to you. They have put everything in
the best possible light, but I have heard all. And I, who loved him
only second-best to you--I know that only by the skin of his teeth
has he saved himself from the clutches of the law. His flight shows
that he knew himself morally guilty, though they say he is just safe
from arrest. Algernon can never return home; Desmond may. But
knowing what I do, and that Edmund knows all--oh, I cannot!--I
cannot! It humbles me to the very dust! He shall not link his name
with one that is all but smirched and sullied!"
Odeyne felt as though a sword were running through her heart. What
others had sought to hide from her, or to put in the gentlest way,
Maud in her pain had spoken out in almost merciless frankness. It
was terrible; and yet Odeyne still kept her mind upon the question of
Maud and Edmund, leaving herself and her anguish in the background of
her thoughts.
"Is Edmund to suffer for Desmond's sins?"
"It cannot be helped. It is always so. It is the inexorable way of
the world," answered Maud, speaking now more calmly, with a sort of
quiet desperation. "But there is another reason also, Odeyne.
Hitherto I have always had the uncontrolled use of my own fortune. I
have been, in a modest way, a well-to-do woman. Had I married Edmund
we could have lived in comfort on our joint means, but now all is
changed. Beatrice and her child are thrown back upon mother's hands;
Beatrice, with her expensive habits and her load of private debts for
a whole season's extravagances. What you are doing for your husband,
Odeyne, I must do for my sister; and there is her future to think of
too."
Odeyne was silent. She saw very plainly that the maintenance of
Beatrice and the boy would be no light burden.
"Mother has never been a saving woman," continued Maud in the same
steady monotonous way. "There was no reason why she should not live
up to her income. We were provided for, and there would be more for
us, in any case, at her death. She has grown used to her comfortable
manner of life; one cannot expect her to alter at her age; and there
is no margin for so expensive an addition to her household as
Beatrice, with nurse and child. The cost of these additions must
come out of my purse. Nor could I leave mother alone with such a
charge upon her hands. That was always a difficulty in thinking of
marriage--now it has become insuperable."
"Edmund would wait----" began Odeyne, but Maud interrupted almost
fiercely.
"Wait--what for? Till Algernon is whitewashed--which will be never!
Till Beatrice has learned to live upon the pittance still secured to
her?--though we believe that Algernon will contrive to get hold of
that still! No, no, no! I have made up my mind. I know what is
right, and I have done it. It is kind to be cruel sometimes. Try
not to hate me--to hate us all, Odeyne--for the misery we have
brought to you and yours! Oh, Desmond, Desmond! I loved and trusted
you so long and faithfully!"
Odeyne took Maud in her arms and kissed her again and again; but she
felt that words were powerless here. Moreover, what to say she knew
not; the whole question was so difficult. Maud had a hard and bitter
way of doing things, but Odeyne was not sure that she had not judged
rightly and well. If things were indeed in such a case, marriage did
seem out of the question, and an engagement under such circumstances
became little better than a mockery.
But could Beatrice sit down quietly and see such a sacrifice made on
her behalf? That was the question which presented itself to Odeyne
after her visitors had left her alone. Beatrice had clung about
Odeyne's neck only the other day, seeming to be longing after
something higher and better than her former code. Surely, if she
gave her nobler nature scope, she would come to understand that it
was not right for Maud's future happiness (to say nothing of
Edmund's) to be sacrificed to her present ease and comfort. She
would surely be roused, to a different sort of existence. She would
not long b& content to be a burden upon her sister.
Odeyne waited with some impatience for a visit from Beatrice, that
she might learn from her frank lips how things were going. She had
some little while to wait, for Beatrice did not come for some
considerable time and then Odeyne was surprised to find her most
elegantly dressed, looking almost as blooming as in days of old, all
her sunny good-temper restored, and her aspect as bright and beaming
as though nothing were amiss.
"I have had to do duty for us both in the neighbourhood, Odeyne," she
cried. "I suppose you could not help it--you are made like that; but
it is always a mistake for people in our circumstances to shut
themselves up, as if they could not face the world. I have been
going about everywhere and making the best of things--not ignoring
our misfortunes, of course, they are too well known for that--but
putting the best face on them, and showing that we have no cause to
hide our heads. That is what a good wife does for her husband. You
are doing your share in another way; but I am not as careless of
Algernon's good name as you might think. Already I am much better
received than I was at first. I assure you I have been very clever
and diplomatic. Really things might have been much worse. It is
such peace now, living in mother's house, with everything provided
for one, and no worries. She enjoys all the life and brightness I
bring. Poor dear Maud never had any animation, and she and mother
never got on too well together, though they hide their little
differences from the world very well."
Beatrice was always a good one to talk. Odeyne had nothing to do for
a long time but sit and listen to her in a species of amaze. She
could hardly believe this was the same woman who a week or two back
had come to her with despair in her eyes and terror in her heart.
Already it seemed as though the pleasant life of Mrs. St. Claire's
house was making amends for all that had gone before. Beatrice
seemed to feel real relief in the absence of her husband, and hardly
troubled to conceal the fact. The weary heartache which Odeyne
suffered daily through Desmond's absence did not appear to be known
to Beatrice.
"And you know, I suppose," she said at last in the midst of her
stream of animated talk, "that it is all over between Maud and
Edmund?"
Odeyne flashed a wondering look at her. Surely she could not be as
callous as she appeared!
"Maud told me so," she said; "I think it is terribly sad. They are
both heart-broken. Beatrice, can nothing be done?"
Beatrice slightly shrugged her shapely shoulders.
"I always think it is very dangerous work interfering in other
people's love affairs. Maud decided with open eyes. For my part, I
think she has chosen very wisely. The marriages in our family have
not turned out brilliantly successful so far; and Maud is very
comfortable as she is--the practical mistress of a pleasant house.
You will not take it amiss if I say that, as the wife of an officer
with little but his pay, she might have had a much less easy and
pleasant life of it."
"But then ease and pleasure are not everything, Beatrice; love has
its part to play too."
"Love has a way of flying out at the window when poverty looks in at
the door," said Beatrice, rather cynically, "and Maud was always a
cold-blooded creature. I think Edmund might do much better for
himself, such a handsome, attractive man as he is."
Odeyne could not find words in which to frame her thoughts. She had
been hoping that Beatrice would grow gentler, softer, more unselfish
and womanly; and here she was finding her more heartless than ever
she had thought her before. Trouble seemed to have seared rather
than softened her nature. Every word she spoke grated upon Odeyne's
ears. Perhaps Beatrice was shrewd enough to see something of the
impression she had produced, for she looked rather intently into
Odeyne's face, and said--
"You seem to think that I have something to do with this affair of
Maud's ruptured engagement."
Odeyne was silent, not knowing what to say. Beatrice paused for a
while, but receiving no reply, broke out again--
"Well, and if I have, can I help it? I must have a home somewhere,
and my mother's house is the natural asylum for me under the present
state of affairs. How can I help myself? I am grateful to Maud for
helping to pay my bills, although I have told her that since Algy
will have to be made a bankrupt, she really need not trouble herself
so very much. But she can't see things in that light. I can't live
upon nothing. And after all, she is my sister. I am grateful to
her--I really am--but you know what Maud is--one can't gush to a
block of marble! She keeps one at arm's-length, even while she is
doing kind actions. It's a great misfortune to have such a
temperament, and really I think Edmund is well off his bargain."
"That is not Edmund's own opinion," said Odeyne, a little coldly.
"When people understand and love each other, they see in one another
what is hidden from the world. I would rather live in a cottage and
toil with my own hands, than stand in the way of the happiness of
others, and make shipwreck of two lives."
She had not meant to speak like this, but a sudden wave of feeling
swept over her and carried her away in spite of herself.
Beatrice eyed her reflectively and presently said--
"That is what you are doing already--for the sake of Desmond's good
name, is it not? Well, people like you who can practise, have a
right to preach. But I was never a heroine in any sense of the word.
Honestly, I can't see, under existing circumstances, how Maud could
marry, and take herself and her fortune away with her. And really,
with the sort of cloud hanging over all of us, I think we are better
without rushing into any more marriages. One hopes one has got to
the bottom of the slough by this time; but there is no knowing. I
think one Hamilton-St. Claire marriage is enough for the present."
Odeyne turned a little away. This sort of talk jarred very much upon
her, as did Beatrice's hollow, selfish cynicism whenever she assumed
that manner. Was it assumed sometimes as a cloak and disguise? Was
Beatrice sometimes half afraid of letting her better warmer nature
get the upper hand, lest it should urge her to sacrifices she was not
really prepared to make? Odeyne had striven to think this before,
but to-day she began to have her doubts about there being any
unselfish side to Beatrice's nature. She was glad that the door
opened that moment to admit little Guy, who came toddling in after
his afternoon walk. He ran straight up to his mother, and then
stretched up his arms towards a picture of Desmond, which hung upon
the wall, and cried--
"Daddy!--Daddy!"
It was evident that he expected to be lifted up to the
picture--evident that Odeyne was seeking to keep warm in the heart of
the baby-boy the love of the "Daddy" who had been of late but little
more than a name to him.
Beatrice looked on, and suddenly bit her lip, rising abruptly to her
feet. Her little son never spoke of his father--hardly seemed to
seek out or to care for his mother. He was fond of his granny, and
devoted to his aunt Maud; but the sacred tie between parent and child
had hardly been formed as yet. How was it likely to be, when that
between husband and wife was so very slack?
"Good-bye, Odeyne," she said suddenly, "you deserve to be happy, and
I hope there will be better days for you in store. I would give
something to be in your place, I can tell you. But the leopard
cannot change his spots. Perhaps there will be a chance for the boy
now, with somebody besides his mother to bring him up. Desmond was a
wise man to choose such a treasure of a wife. Whether you were wise
to take him is quite another matter; but I think the magnet of such a
wife would draw any man back, even from the ends of the earth!"
CHAPTER XX.
_A STRANGE CHRISTMAS._
"Here is Maud!" cried Cissy, springing up from the breakfast table,
the little bow-window of which looked out over the road, though in
summer a screen of greenery shut in the quaint little house from
being itself overlooked. The next minute she was out in the tiny
hall, hands outstretched and face alight with smiles.
"A happy Christmas, Maud! a happy Christmas! You are early abroad.
Come in and have a cup of hot coffee. Have you had any proper
breakfast yet? Come and share ours!"
Maud let herself be led into the homely little room, where she
received a further welcome from Guy.
"Thank you," she said, "I have had a cup of tea, but I am ready for
something more substantial. As Beatrice has a cold and is
breakfasting in bed, I dispensed with that meal myself. I am on my
way to Odeyne. I wanted to be there when the post arrived, in
case--in case----"
She paused and seemed to turn her attention to the food placed before
her. Cissy's face was full of sympathy, Guy's questioningly grave.
"Maud," he said, "do you really share Odeyne's unspoken hope? Do you
think she will hear from Desmond to-day?"
Maud pressed her hands together. Her lips quivered before she opened
them to speak. A change had passed over Maud during the past six
months. Her face had lost colour and was thinner than of old, yet it
had gained much in expression. The statuesque hardness had melted
into something much sweeter and tenderer. There was a wistful
softness in the eyes that was very appealing in its unconsciousness.
Maud had always been handsome, but in old days she had met with scant
admiration in her circle. Now there were many who thought her very
beautiful, and she was more beloved than she had been at any previous
stage of her existence. This consciousness was the drop of sweetness
to her in the bitter cup she had been schooling herself to drink.
"How can I tell?" she said in answer to Guy's question; "I am
perplexed beyond measure at his long silence. It is not like Desmond
to give needless pain to those whom he loves, and yet only one
message has reached us all these months. We have done everything to
let him know that he may come back safely; yet he gives no sign. It
is wearing Odeyne out, though she is always brave and hopeful. But
he ought not to leave her in this uncertainty. He ought not!--he
ought not!"
"But surely--at Christmas," began Cissy.
"Yes, that is what Odeyne is saying in her heart--what we are all
saying and hoping. But I know Desmond so well--so well. It is like
this with him--he cannot realise what he does not see with his own
eyes. If he is somewhere far away, seeking to retrieve the past, and
to make amends for it--if he has made some plan of his own to stay
away a certain time, and then return and surprise us all, he may go
on month after month believing that his one cheerful message will be
enough to keep Odeyne from fretting--living himself in the present,
and looking forward to some future happy time when they will be
together again."
"But surely, surely he must write!"
"Of course he might! Of course he should. But I can quite believe
that he might not--might never realise all that we are suffering,
might think he was doing right and expiating his sins by hiding his
head for a time, and keeping away in exile. Oh, he has done things
like that before--on a much smaller scale. We have had days and
weeks of terrible anxiety about him in his boyhood and early manhood;
and the wondering excuse has always been, 'I never thought you would
worry so--of course I was all right. You would precious soon have
heard if I had not been!' That is Desmond all over; and now when he
has been overwhelmed with shame, and feels so utterly unworthy of
Odeyne's trust and love, and probably thinks that coming back would
bring him face to face with a mass of misery of his own making--why I
can understand in a measure that he keeps away and works out some
plan of his own. But he ought to write--he ought indeed!"
"Let us hope he will--for Christmas," said Guy, "he and Algernon too.
Perhaps they are together, taking care of one another. But Beatrice
bears the uncertainty better than Odeyne."
"The love is not the same, for one thing," said Maud. "Yet Beatrice
cares more than I gave her credit for once. She has been very
different latterly. The quiet life has given her time to think; and
when all is said and done, the marriage tie is a very solemn and
sacred thing. Poor Algernon had given her so much anxiety and
trouble, that for a time it was almost a relief to think of him as
out of harm's way somewhere. But she wants news of him badly now.
The suspense is telling upon her."
"And your mother, how is she?"
"Pretty well--not very bright. Sometimes I am afraid she is really
failing. She has never been quite herself since the troubles in
June. But she does not complain; only she is much more the invalid
than ever before. She has not left the house for nearly a month.
But the little maiden was taken to see her yesterday. It was a great
delight, and has done her good. But oh, to think that Desmond does
not know! It ought not to be! No, it ought not to be!"
Cissy and Guy both prepared to accompany Maud to the lodge, to be
there before the arrival of the postman, who was always late on
Christmas Day morning.
There had been both anxiety and rejoicing at that little home within
the last fortnight, for a little daughter had been born to Odeyne--a
frail, tiny morsel of humanity, who had made her appearance before
she was expected--but she was thriving well in spite of drawbacks,
and had already done something towards comforting the heart of her
mother.
"She will be a little Christmas present for Desmond," had been her
remark when first the tiny creature had been placed in her arms.
"Desmond will come back for Christmas, you know. We could not spend
Christmas apart, and he must come and see his precious little
daughter."
Words like this had often passed Odeyne's lips during the past days,
causing some anxiety to those about her, who were almost nervous of
the way in which she seemed to have made up her mind that Desmond
would return at this season.
When her brothers or friends had asked her what she really thought
about this, and if she had any grounds to go upon, she would smile
peacefully and say--
"I feel it in my spirit somehow. I cannot put it into words, but
something tells me he is near. He is coming back to us. He would be
sure to do so for Christmas. He may have far to come. He may not
come just to the day or hour, but he is coming--surely--surely.
Perhaps we shall have a letter on Christmas Day to say when."
This confident hope had been a powerful factor in Odeyne's rapid and
satisfactory recovery. They had never been anxious about her, only
about the little babe, whose flame of life burnt so feebly at the
first. Now the child was thriving apace too, and it was pretty to
see Odeyne's pleasure in it, and little Guy's wide-eyed interest and
curiosity.
Odeyne had both children upon the bed with her, when Maud and Cissy
entered with their loving greetings. She was looking very young and
bright and pretty, with her hair rather pulled about by Master Guy's
mischievous fingers, and the light of expectant happiness shining in
her eyes.
"I had such happy dreams about him last night," she said, as they sat
talking together. "It seemed when I awoke as though we had been
together, and I still heard the echo of his voice. Oh, it is going
to be a very happy Christmas! I am to get up to-day, you know, for a
few hours. That will be delightful; and then, when--I mean
if--Desmond comes, it will give him such a much better welcome!"
Maud and Cissy exchanged furtive glances. They did not quite like to
hear her building so much upon this fancy of hers. If it were to
meet with disappointment, might not the reaction be bad for her? Yet
her confidence could not but have some effect upon them; and there
was at least a reasonable hope of a letter; only if it came from
far-off lands, it might not reach upon the very morning of the
festival.
Alice entered the room with a tray in her hands, and Odeyne gave a
little cry; for here was the post--letters, parcels, cards, all
heaped up together; some for Desmond, some for the children--for even
Miss St. Claire had her share now--and the bulk for the mother
herself.
Odeyne sat up with a flushed face, and hastily turned them all over;
but Maud had asked Alice a question with her eyes, and had received a
sorrowful shake of the head in reply. There was nothing in Desmond's
hand amongst all these.
"Letters are often delayed at this time," said Odeyne cheerfully, as
she made this discovery for herself. "Besides, if he should be
coming himself, he would not perhaps care to write. Desmond was
never fond of the pen."
Then she turned her attention to little Guy, opening his parcels and
admiring his treasures with all the patience and fondness of a young
mother with her firstborn.
Maud slipped away into the other room, where Alice was standing
beside the window with tears in her eyes.
"Poor Alice!" said Maud gently, "I fear this is a sorrowful time for
you also. You have heard nothing, I suppose?"
"No, ma'am, and I didn't expect it," answered Alice, turning round
and wiping her eyes; "I do not expect to ever hear of him again.
They all say he has got away to Spain, where he cannot be fetched
back, and there he will stay, I am sure. He is too clever to do
anything which would put him into danger."
"But he might write to you, at least."
"I don't expect it, ma'am. I might almost say I don't wish it. I
did love him once, and meant to make him a true and loving wife; but
he has killed the love out of my heart by betraying trust and robbing
those who put their faith in him. He made a fool of me, and then
cast me off. I don't want to think hard things of one whose name I
bear, but I can't love where I can't respect. If he were to send for
me, I would go, if you all thought it right, for I've learnt that
God's way is for us to do what is right, and leave the result to Him;
but I don't think he will. I think a wife would only be a trouble to
him. Sometimes he used to tell me he was disappointed in me. That
was when he wanted me to get at papers and things which were
sometimes put in my care. I wouldn't do that--not towards the
end--and then I used to get hard words from him."
"Poor Alice!" said Maud gently, "you have been through a great deal."
"Not more than I needed, ma'am, to show me the truth of things,"
answered Alice earnestly. "I can see plainly now, looking back, how
vain and frivolous and giddy I was. I thought of nothing but myself,
and how to get on (as I thought) in life. I wanted to be a 'lady'--a
fine sort of lady I should have made! I believe it was that in me
that took Garth's fancy. He thought I might help him on. When I
began to see through it all, and knew that I should be a better and
happier woman without trying after such things as that, he changed to
me very soon. He left me with never a word. I don't want to think
harshly of him. He is my husband still. But I never want to see him
again. I want to belong always to my dear mistress and the sweet
children. Nobody knows what she has been to me all this time. And
yet she knew everything about me--she knows more than I can tell
anybody else--and it has never made one bit of difference. We always
did say down at home that there was nobody like our Miss Odeyne in
all the world."
Maud went off to church alone, for Guy and Cissy were going to pay a
visit to her family on the way, and join forces with them. Maud,
always fearful of intruding, took herself off early; and as she had
time and to spare, she made a _détour_, and found herself in a little
copse, which was endeared to her through certain associations, of
which she did not often allow herself to think at this time.
Oddly enough, it seemed as though somebody else had had a similar
motive for prowling into that place to-day. Certainly it looked very
pretty, with its carpet of brown and yellow leaves, coated with a
crisp white frost. The sky overhead was blue, necked with fleecy
white clouds, and the winter sunshine flooded the place with shafts
of pale gold light.
Maud walked thoughtfully through the leafless trees, listening to the
pleasant plash of the little stream, till suddenly she turned a
corner and came face to face with Edmund!
They both started and stood for a moment gazing speechlessly at one
another. They had not met since the day when Maud had broken the
engagement between them. Their eyes met and did not turn away. It
seemed as though they could not help devouring each other in that
fashion after the long separation.
Maud was the first to recover herself. She held out her hand and
said in tones which she strove to make steady and cheerful--
"May I wish you a happy Christmas, Captain Hamilton?"
He clasped her hand--he almost seized it; and his voice shook
unmistakably as he answered--
"You can give me one if you will, Maud."
She did not speak, but she trembled all over, and he felt it, and
would not relinquish the hand he held.
"Maud," he said, "I want no pledge. I want no promise. I ask
nothing from you whatever. But just let me hear you say that you
love me still, and my Christmas will be a happy one, even though we
may be no nearer than we have been all these past sad months."
She looked at him with a yearning wistfulness in her eyes.
"To what purpose, Edmund?" she asked, "to what purpose? Is it not
better to forget?"
"Have we either of us forgotten so far? Are we of the sort of stuff
that forgets? Maud, Maud, do you not think I can honour and love you
for your self-denial? Do you not think I can share it too? I will
never ask you to neglect a nearer duty--a prior claim--for my sake.
But tell me, sweetheart, do you love me still? and if the obstacles
were to be removed, would you come to me then?"
The tears rushed to her eyes.
"Oh, Edmund, you know I do! you know I would!"
He stooped and kissed her on the lips.
"That is all I wanted to hear you say. Now you have given me my
happy Christmas. I have got all I wanted--and more."
After that they walked to church together, but they hardly spoke
another word all the way.
Odeyne got up that day for the first time, and lay upon the couch in
the adjoining room, whence she could command a view over the park,
lying white and beautiful beneath its mantle of sparkling frost.
Her only visitor after Edmund had left, which he did almost
immediately after luncheon, was Beatrice; who, in spite of her cold,
drove over to see Odeyne, and to bring some little presents for the
boy.
Maud was not the only person who had seen a change in Beatrice during
the past six months. Others had begun to see it too. It might have
been the illness of the mother, it might have been the unconscious
influence and example of Odeyne, or even that of Maud; but whatever
the cause Beatrice certainly seemed different. She did not crave for
a ceaseless round of amusement. She was more content to live a quiet
life at home, and to interest herself in her boy. She was more
gentle in her manner towards Maud and her mother, and when she spoke
of her husband it was no longer in that half bitter, half flippant
way which had often distressed Odeyne in days gone by. She had her
ups and down, she had her varying moods, and her fits of waywardness
and selfishness, but on the whole she was a much improved Beatrice,
and to-day she had not been long with Odeyne before she suddenly
burst out with some quite unexpected words.
"Odeyne, do you think anything could be done to bring Maud and Edmund
together again?"
Odeyne, who had an inkling that something had happened only that very
day, smiled and thought it might be possible if----
"Oh yes, I know what you would say, that the situation has not
changed. But sometimes I think it has. I don't say it heartlessly,
Odeyne; I feel it terribly; but I can't blind my eyes to the fact.
Mother is dying slowly, and she knows it herself. I think we all
know it except Maud, who seems in this instance to be strangely
blind."
Odeyne looked very grave. She had suspected that her mother-in-law
ailed more than was admitted, but she had not put her fears into such
plain language.
"She was talking to me about the future only the other day. She
tells me she has willed to me all her own little private property,
and what comes under her settlement is divided between Maud and me.
I believe I should have quite enough to live upon in a quiet way with
the child. Or if it seemed better, I might go out to Algernon, if we
hear anything about him. I have not been a good wife to him all
these years; but I think after what has happened we might both do
better if we were to start afresh."
Odeyne said nothing, but her eyes were eloquent of sympathy.
"And in any case Maud ought to be free to make her own life. You
were quite right in all you said six months ago. I had no right to
let her sacrifice herself to me. Her duty towards mother is another
thing. But from that she will soon be released. When that happens
she must not let anything that I have ever said or done keep her away
from Edmund."
"Dear Beatrice," said Odeyne, with a kindling smile, "it makes me
very happy to hear you speak so--for I am sure Edmund and Maud were
made for one another."
"Maud will be a better wife than I have ever been," said Beatrice,
with a little sigh. "I have not lived with her all these months for
nothing. It is always the unselfish people who go to the wall in
their youth: but by-and-by wise folks come to know their merits, and
then they get the pick of everything, as they deserve to do."
"But I am grieved by what you say of mamma," said Odeyne anxiously;
"I had the impression that something was wrong, but----"
"Yes, she never liked it spoken about; and we have got used to it all
these years. But you know she is a much older woman than she looks.
And once or twice before she has had very slight strokes, though they
have never been called by that name. This anxiety about Algernon and
Desmond has been very bad for her. I only hope she may live to see
Desmond again. But sometimes I fear, if he does not soon come, she
will quietly slip out of life before we well know it."
"He will come very soon now," said Odeyne quietly. "He must be quite
close now, or he would have written."
Beatrice knew her sister-in-law's "delusion" on this subject, and
therefore asked no questions.
She sincerely hoped her presentiment might be true, but did not feel
any confidence in it.
She had a profound distrust by this time of men and their ways, and
perhaps she had some reason for it.
"Well, dear, let us hope he will," she said as she rose to go. "I
must not stay out longer now, as it gets dark so soon, and my cold
has been rather bad. But I could not let the day pass without coming
to see you. I am glad to find you looking so well and bright, and
the baby so flourishing. You really manage to turn out very pretty
babies, Odeyne. My Gus was a little monster for the first six months
of his life!"
"He is a dear little fellow now," said Odeyne warmly. "Mind you send
him to see me very soon. Guy delights in his society, and he is so
good to him! I think it is quite pretty to see them together. Gus
is always ready to give up to Guy, because he is the smaller and
weaker."
"Long may it continue!" breathed Beatrice as she drew on her furs.
"That is not the way with men-folk as a rule. It is the weak who
have to go to the wall! I suppose it is the influence of pretty well
a year of Maud's training. He used to be a little Turk under the old
_régime_."
Beatrice was gone, and Odeyne lay looking out into the dying day.
Alice came in and out softly, and presently brought her mistress some
tea.
Odeyne would not have the curtains drawn; she liked to look out, even
though the room got dark, and only the light of the fire gleamed upon
the walls, and flickered on the diamond lattice-panes.
The moonlight shining on the white frosty ground was a beautiful
sight to see.
Odeyne must have fallen asleep, and must have slept long and soundly.
Perhaps that was why Alice had not disturbed her to get her to return
to bed, or even to light the lamp and draw the curtains.
Even through her sleep she became conscious at last of certain
strange, unwonted sounds. It was as though feet were hurrying past
her window, and as though the owners of these feet were talking
excitedly amongst themselves as they did so.
These sounds mingled with Odeyne's dreams, and she fancied that
Desmond was coming hastening back, that they were all running to tell
her he was coming; she woke with a start to find herself alone in the
fire-lit room, speaking his name aloud; whilst beneath her window,
along the road towards the Chase--so seldom trodden by the feet of
passers-by--there seemed to be a continuous rush of hurrying feet.
Odeyne sat up and looked out, and gave a great start, uttering a
stifled exclamation of alarm and amaze.
The sky was all in a glow; the very windows of her room reflected
back the ruddy glare.
"It is a fire at the Chase!" she cried. "General Mannering had a
great party there. Something has gone wrong!" And, forgetting all
but her excitement and wonder, Odeyne suddenly rose to her feet, and
went and stood at the window to try and see what was going on.
The trees, leafless as they were, blocked her view of the actual
house-building, but the palpitating light in the sky told its own
unmistakable tale; and the rush of feet under her windows showed that
all the village was hastening by the shortest cut to the scene of
action.
Odeyne looked down and saw the glow of the fire upon the eager,
hurrying crowd. It illumined their rugged faces (many of which were
known to her), and showed her that all the place had taken the alarm.
She heard disjointed exclamations about the engine and the fire
brigade, but nothing connected reached her ears, though the red glare
grew fiercer each moment.
Suddenly Odeyne started violently, leaned forward with her face
pressed against the window, and then, with a face as white as ashes,
began striving to unfasten the latch.
But it resisted her efforts. She was weak, and the spring was
strong. Upon her face there was an extraordinary expression--a look
so strange and wild that Alice, coming suddenly and softly in,
started forward with an exclamation of alarm--
"Oh, ma'am--you should not be here!"
Odeyne pointed out of the window in the direction of the Chase. Her
words came in panting gasps.
"Alice, after him!--after him! Your master has just passed by. He
has gone to the fire. He thinks we are there! After him! after him!
and bring him back. Do not stand staring at me! I am not mad! Your
master--my husband--went past this window only three seconds ago.
You must follow him and bring him here to me!"
CHAPTER XXI.
_HUSBAND AND WIFE._
Alice stood rooted to the spot, utterly confounded by the words and
look of her mistress. Surely she had been dreaming, and had fancied
this strange thing! Or could it be that there was fever coming on,
and that this was the outcome of some delirious fancy? She did not
know what to do, for she felt she must not leave her lady, and yet
Odeyne's mood was imperious and excited. It was a great relief to
hear steps upon the stairs, and to know that others had entered the
house.
Guy, Cissy, and Jem came breathlessly in, evidently anxious to know
whether Odeyne was alarmed by the news of the fire at the Chase. The
sight of her face was enough to show them that she knew what had
happened. Guy came quickly forward, and placed her upon the couch
again.
"Do not be frightened, _Schwesterling_," he said. "It is not the
house itself, only some of the outbuildings, they say. I will go and
see, and bring you word again, and Cissy and Jem shall stay and take
care of you."
"Guy, Guy, Desmond is there! I saw him just now! He ran past with
such a look on his face. Go and tell him where we are. Bring him
back to me. You will find him. You will see him. He is not much
changed. Don't lose a moment. I am not dreaming, and I am not
ill--though I can see you all think so. It really was Desmond. I
have made no mistake. It is not so very strange either, is it? He
was on his way back--I always said so; and, seeing the fire, of
course he would think we were in danger, and would run to our rescue.
He does not know we are here. Go and find him and tell him. Bring
him back to me, quickly! Never mind anything else, only bring
Desmond back."
Guy gazed at her in amaze; but Cissy, with her quick feminine
instincts, took all in in a moment, and believed.
"Come, Guy, come!" she cried in excitement. "We will go together.
We will find Desmond! Yes, Odeyne, darling, be quiet and patient.
We will find him and bring him to you. Jem, you must stay with
Odeyne; but we will not be long gone. Come, Guy, don't let us waste
a moment! We will go and find him, and tell him where to find
Odeyne."
Guy let himself be hurried away, though considerably perplexed as to
what could have happened. Jem came up and sat down beside Odeyne,
her face kindling and flushing with excitement.
"Is it really, really he, Odeyne?" she asked.
"Really and truly it is. I saw him as plainly as I see you, Jem. I
don't wonder they think I was dreaming; but I know I am not mistaken.
Desmond is there. They will find him and bring him to me. I always
said he would come back at Christmas-time! I felt it all over me!"
and her eyes kindled with happy tears.
Jem could not remain quiet; she moved to the window, and then to and
fro between that and the next room, where a better view of the glow
from the fire could be obtained.
"They say it isn't the house, but they are afraid for the stackyard,"
she said, coming back, after having interviewed some passers-by from
the window. "General Mannering has a big party to-night to dinner,
and probably everybody was busy, so the fire was not noticed at
first. But if it isn't the house it won't matter so much. I hope
the stables are all right, and the poor dear horses!"
Odeyne lay on her couch; Alice could not persuade her to go to bed;
and Jem ran hither and thither collecting scraps of news, to which
Odeyne scarcely listened.
She seemed absorbed in one thought; all her faculties seemed
concentrated into the act of listening for certain sounds, for one
particular voice.
Jem by-and-by ceased to worry her with information, but went down to
the door and peered out into the dark night, wondering what was
happening, and whether they had found Desmond, or if it were all a
strange delusion and mistake of Odeyne's.
How long they had been gone! Why did not somebody come back? It was
bad for Odeyne, being kept in suspense so long.
Jem had a mind to scud away up to the Chase herself, and see if she
could not learn something there. But she was not used to being out
alone after dark, and she felt a certain shrinking from encountering
the rough village lads and other curious spectators that the glow in
the sky was drawing from all quarters. So she stood in the doorway
hesitating and listening, whilst the flickering redness in the sky
seemed, she fancied, to decrease a little.
Hark! what was that? Surely those were familiar voices. Yes, she
was certain she heard Guy speaking; and there was another voice,
Edmund's she fancied, answering him.
Of course Edmund might be there. Was he not one of General
Mannering's guests? She was sure she had heard so. What were they
saying? Why did they come so slowly?
"Somebody had better prepare her." Surely that was Edmund who spoke
those words. "You go, Guy. She will take it best from you. Don't
alarm her--but let her be prepared."
Jem was quivering all over by that time. What was it that had
happened? Why did not Desmond speak, if he were there?
What was the thing that must be broken to Odeyne? Was it that she
had been mistaken? That there was no Desmond after all? Oh, it
would be a cruel blow if this were so.
"Guy, what is it? What has happened? Come quick and tell me!" she
cried, as Guy's figure suddenly loomed up before her as he strode
rapidly forward. "Have you found Desmond? What is it? Don't say he
is not there! I don't know what Odeyne will do if she is
disappointed of her hope."
Guy came forward out of the darkness with a rather strange look upon
his face.
"Hush, Jem!" he said, "Desmond is close behind. But I must see
Odeyne instantly; you run and tell Alice to get a bed ready
immediately, and have everything ready for a patient. Desmond has
been hurt, but nobody knows yet how much. Now, don't delay me, for I
can tell you nothing more. Go to Alice, and I will go to Odeyne."
Jem was her father's daughter all over. Let there be something to do
for the sick, and she was full of energy and resource. In a moment
all her quiverings and excitements were over, and she went about with
Alice making ready a room for Desmond with a self-control and
quickness that would have astonished many persons, who looked upon
her as something between an invalid and a harum-scarum.
Guy went straight up to Odeyne, met the eager glance of her eyes with
a smile, and came across taking her hands in his as he said in quiet,
even tones--
"Desmond has come back--you were quite right. It was he whom you
saw"; but when she would have sprung to her feet he held her gently
back, and continued in the same composed fashion, "Wait a moment,
_Schwesterling_, I have something else to say not quite so welcome.
Desmond was rather rash in his mistaken zeal. He has had a fall, and
is rather hurt. But he is being brought back here, for you to have
him under your care. However, he will not be here for a few minutes
yet; and you must not get excited, or we shall have two patients to
nurse instead of one."
Odeyne bit her lip, and a little shiver passed through her frame; but
the old confidence in Guy, which had always been such a strong factor
in her life, enabled her to conquer herself now.
"He is not--dead--nor dying?" she breathed.
"Oh no, there are no fears of that sort. Be calm, darling. I quite
hope he is not even badly hurt; but you know what the confusion is at
such a time. Edmund and Cuthbert and Tom are bringing him back, and
when once we get him to bed we shall soon see what ails him; and your
face (if you can be calm and good) will be his best medicine when he
comes to himself."
"I will be quite calm," said Odeyne, clasping Guy's hands in her own;
"but tell me what has happened."
"It was a curious thing," answered Guy. "Just one of those accidents
that come from people losing their heads. The fire itself was
confined to the outbuildings and some of the stacks. It has been
rather disastrous there, though everything is fully insured. The
house itself was not thought even in danger and was in no danger; and
yet through the carelessness of some servant your little boudoir,
Odeyne, has been nearly burnt out."
"My little room over the porch?"
"Yes, it seems that when the alarm of fire was given, some foolish
maid was up there. She must have drawn back the curtains and thrown
up the window to look what was going on, and then have rushed off
without closing them again. The consequence was that some light
drapery was blown across the lamp upon the table, and whilst
everybody was out at the other side of the house busy with the real
fire, this minor conflagration blazed away merrily and unheeded."
"Yes, yes; but about Desmond?"
"You see, Desmond must have come rushing up--just as you
described--and he apparently was the first to catch sight of the glow
from the window which he supposed yours. We think he must have
believed that you were in some danger; for he commenced climbing up
the ivy towards the window, like a cat, and had nearly reached it,
when he suddenly lost his foothold, or a branch broke, and he came
down with a rush and a fall of brick rubble. He was stunned by the
fall; and by that time there were plenty of people on the spot. We
got him away, and before we were able to have him carried here we saw
that they had got the secondary fire well under. That is the whole
story; there is nothing behind. Desmond has been hurt, but probably
not badly; and we knew you would rather have him brought here than
taken anywhere else, though there are plenty of houses open to him,
as I need not tell you."
Odeyne nipped Guy's hand in token of gratitude; but her ears had
caught the sound of heavy footsteps in the house, and she sat up, her
colour coming and going. Guy still held her gently back.
"You shall go to him as soon as ever they have got him to bed. Just
now you would only hinder; and you know you must not do what will
throw you back yourself. You have baby to think for as well as
Desmond. I will not keep you from him a moment longer than is good
for you both."
Odeyne lay back submissively, the flitting colour in her face alone
telling her excitement. Jem came in softly with shining eyes, but
very quiet and calm.
"Tom says he has managed the journey capitally. They will make him
comfortable in bed, and then you shall go to him, Odeyne. He is not
himself yet; but Tom says he spoke once, and asked, 'Is Odeyne all
safe, and the boy?' So you see he does know where he is, and that he
has got home."
It seemed long before Odeyne was summoned, but she bore the waiting
well. To feel that Desmond was back--was beneath the same roof--was
her own once more, went far to keep up her heart and courage.
Perhaps the very knowledge that he could not again disappear from her
side as he had done six months before, kept her quiet and at rest.
When Dr. Ritchie and his sons came in to reassure her, they found her
wonderfully calm and tranquil.
"He will do very well, my dear," said the doctor kindly. "He has a
broken ankle, which will keep him to his bed for some time, but that
is the worst that has befallen him; the bruises outside and in will
have ample time to set themselves to rights whilst he is tied by the
leg. Yes, you may go and sit beside him for a little while; but
don't talk much--for both your sakes. And then you will let Alice
put you to bed--like a good child; for we did not mean you to have
had quite such an exciting Christmas Day."
Odeyne smiled her thanks to all, but had no words for any.
She took Guy's arm and passed on to the room where Desmond lay.
She had no thoughts now save for him; and when she saw him lying
there with half-closed eyes and white cheek, she bent over him and
kissed him, saying softly--
"Desmond! Dear husband, do you know me?"
He stirred a little, opened his eyes for a moment, and moved his hand.
"Odeyne!" he breathed faintly, and returned the kiss she pressed upon
his lips.
She sat beside him holding his hand, and he sank into a quiet sleep.
Then she let Alice take her away, for Cissy had declared her
intention of sitting up through the night with Desmond; and Cissy was
known as one of the best of nurses, so there was no fear of any harm
coming during her vigil, and Guy would remain in the house, getting
snatches of sleep upon the sofa, and always within call if anything
should be wanted.
But the night passed quite tranquilly, Desmond and Odeyne sleeping
peacefully in the consciousness of their close proximity; and before
Desmond had fully roused himself to a consciousness of his
surroundings, Odeyne was at his side once again, with the little new
daughter lying upon her lap, ready to be introduced to her father.
The sun shone brightly into the room. Everything was beautifully
neat and in order. Flowers had been sent to Odeyne from many
quarters since her illness, and the best and sweetest of these were
collected to make bright this particular room.
Desmond had been sleeping fitfully for some while; suddenly his eyes
flashed open, and met those of Odeyne bent earnestly upon him. He
lay gazing at her, almost as though afraid to break the spell, and
then said softly--
"Is it really you, my darling?"
She laid her hand in his, and he carried it to his lips.
"Oh, my dearest, dearest love--how good it is to see you once more
after this weary while of waiting!"
"Why did you wait so long, Desmond dear? It was such a weary waiting
for us!"
"Was it? I thought it would be nothing but relief to you. I had
been so unworthy, so wicked, so reckless. I thought the best and
kindest thing that I could do for those who had ever cared for me was
to vanish out of their lives, and give no sign. I was humbled to the
very dust!"
"Did you think I should love you less because you had been through
deep waters, and were in trouble?"
"I don't know what I thought! I think I was mad with the shame and
the horror. I wanted to hide my head for ever. I could not bear to
face those whom I had injured. I don't know how I have the courage
to face them now. But it seemed as though I were being drawn back
home by cords I could not break. I had to come. I could struggle no
longer."
"You see, so many people were praying for your return," said Odeyne
simply. "That was the power, I think."
He gazed at her with hungry eyes; and then he saw the white bundle
upon her lap, and his face flushed and changed.
"It is your little daughter," she said, holding up the wee face, so
that he could look at it. "She has been with us a fortnight now, and
is doing very well, though she was the very tiniest of tiny things
when she appeared. Shall we have little Guy in to see you, dearest?
Or will it be too much?"
"The little chap! Oh, let us have him by all means," answered
Desmond, who had been much moved at the sight of the child, of whose
existence he had not been aware till now. He could not speak of it
even to his wife; but Odeyne understood the silent pressure of his
hand, and her heart swelled within her as she realised that there had
come a change over Desmond during these months of absence. Suffering
had taught him lessons which he had never learnt in prosperity, and
had probed depths in his nature which had never been ruffled before.
Instinctively Odeyne felt that this was a new Desmond come back to
her--the old love deepened, and purified, and mingled with something
that she had looked for in vain of old.
Little Guy came in in great excitement, for he had been told that
Daddy had come home, and was eagerly impatient to see him again. He
was a very fine little fellow by this time, with a considerable
command of words; and Desmond was delighted with him, and found it
hard to let him go.
Later in the day, when husband and wife were again alone together,
the first sense of strained emotion having merged into gentler and
quieter happiness, Desmond began to ask questions.
"Where are we, Odeyne? I do not remember this room, nor the view
from the window, though the furniture is familiar."
"We are at the Lodge, dearest. I have been living here since June.
It makes such a comfortable home for us, and there is plenty of room
for us all."
"The Lodge! why so it is! Those new rooms we built on. But why here
instead of the Chase, Odeyne? You had ample means to keep that on."
"Yes, dear; but I had no desire to do so. It was so big and so
lonely; and I wanted to help others who--who--had suffered through
the same crash that brought this trouble to us. I could not have
been happy living like that--when others had lost their all. Edmund
saw them, and heard what they had to say; and we reckoned that by
selling a good deal off, and letting the Chase for three years
furnished, and living quietly here, all could be put right, and
people set going and kept going, who had any moral claim upon us.
There were not so very many. The poor Neils and a few others--just
friends who had trusted us, and who owed their ruin to our advice. I
could not bear to go on living as though nothing had happened, when
they were driven to desperation. You are not angry, Desmond, dear?
Of course I would have asked your leave if I had known where you
were."
Desmond had turned his head away, and was biting his lips.
"My brave, noble, true-hearted wife!" he exclaimed at last, in tones
of deep emotion. "I had not dreamed of such a thing--and yet I might
have known--knowing what a treasure I had won! And the thought of
the misery of those poor things has been weighing me down like a
nightmare. They had trusted me with their money, and I had lost
it--lost it almost with open eyes. Legally I was not guilty; but in
my heart I was. For when I took it I thought of nothing but my own
gain; I threw it away in the wild hope of propping up what I ought to
have known by that time was nothing but a gigantic swindle. I had my
suspicions, but I would not listen or think. I let myself be led and
driven on and on. And you, my wife, have borne the brunt of it all!"
"It would have been easier had you been here to share it, Desmond,"
answered Odeyne; "but it seemed little enough to do, and Guy and
Edmund stood by me through it all. And to see the happy face of
little Mrs. Neil when a great part of their money was refunded to
them! That made up for much. She was the only one I saw myself.
The others were strangers; but I had been so sorry for her. I felt
her claim came first."
"It did. Poor Neil! I have been in despair thinking of him; just
married, and then to find himself ruined. But how did you manage to
get the money? Surely the trustees did not let you sacrifice
capital?"
"No, they had not the power, they said. We talked everything over.
But you know all the money you had thrown about on me and the house
in those two years! I told you all the time what an extravagant
creature you were! But how glad I was when the sale of all those
extravagances, and some of the horses and carriages, brought in such
a fine large sum! The hunters sold very well, and General Mannering
bought in all that he wanted for himself--he is our tenant at the
Chase, you know. I soon had enough to satisfy the Neils--for, of
course, as everybody said, speculators must put up with some loss.
They cannot expect to come off scot free. I think myself that it
would perhaps be hardly right to treat these claims just like
ordinary debts. They all knew they were speculating, although they
thought to win and not to lose. After all, Desmond, it is only
gambling in another form. Dear husband, you will not let yourself be
tempted again? Believe me, it is not riches that make our happiness.
We were more happy when we were less rich."
Desmond clasped his wife's hand closely in his as he replied--
"I dare not say 'Trust me, Odeyne,' any more. I have only too often
made promises and asseverations which have been lamentably broken;
but I pray God to give me strength to keep from such things in the
future. I have learned at least this lesson--that wealth brings as
many troubles and more temptations than modest affluence. My wife
has set me an example which I shall diligently follow. Whether or no
the world will laugh at us, we will go on as you have begun. We will
not return to our home and to our old life, until all claims which
are morally just and right have been settled. We will not have the
burden upon us of feeling that whilst we live in ease and comfort
others, by my folly, are fighting the grim battle with dire poverty
and despair. What you have begun I will carry on; and we will live
happily and contentedly in this little home until we can return to
the Chase with hearts at ease, and look every man in the face without
the feeling that he has the right to curse us in his heart."
Odeyne heard these words with a strange thrill of happiness and
relief. This, indeed, was a different Desmond from the careless,
reckless one of old. Time was when her scruples would have been
laughed or argued away. Now they were admitted and respected, and
self no longer took the place of honour in Desmond's heart.
Perhaps he read something of her thought, for he answered almost as
though she had spoken,
"Yes, Odeyne, I hope I am a different man.. My darling, I have often
thought what I must have made you suffer in old days. I would not
let your gentle counsels guide me, and you thought them lost and
quite wasted. But, believe me, the example you set me of patient
love and ceaseless dutiful obedience was not quite wasted. When I
had time to think--when I saw everything in a different light--then I
knew what my wife had been to me all this while, and how unworthy I
had been of such love and so many prayers. Yes, Odeyne, I thought of
the days when we prayed together, and my heart smote me for that time
when I prayed no more, and refused to gather our household together
to ask a blessing upon it. I saw how, little by little, the blessing
had been taken away--and yet not altogether, for were you not always
praying? But I had dishonoured God, privately and publicly, and He
had turned in a measure away from me. I saw it all. I was humbled
to the very dust. Shame and sorrow took hold upon me, and I knew not
which way to turn. It seemed to me that I must fight out the battle
alone between myself and God before I could come back. I may have
been wrong, I may have been selfish. But that was what it seemed to
me. I was like the prodigal son in the far country. I was miserable
and deserted and wretched; but at last there came the day, even for
me, when a voice in my heart bid me arise, and go back whence I had
come; and I obeyed it, and here I am."
There were tears upon Odeyne's cheek as she bent down and kissed him
again and again; and then lifting her head suddenly in a listening
attitude she exclaimed--
"Here are visitors. That is Beatrice's voice. She has come to see
you and to ask news of Algernon, which I have not had time to do yet.
Oh, Desmond, it is all like a dream; but I shall begin to understand
it soon."
CHAPTER XXII.
_CONCLUSION._
There was a rustle of drapery outside the door; then it opened wide,
and Beatrice came forward with outstretched hands and quivering lips.
But she was not alone. Close behind followed Maud, who supported the
feeble steps of her mother. Odeyne started up in astonishment at
seeing Mrs. St. Claire, and was painfully struck even in that first
moment by the change that the past weeks had worked in her. She
looked worn, and ill, and old--and till quite recently she had never
looked anything like her true age. She came forward rather feebly,
but with a strange hungry eagerness of manner; and all drew a little
away from the bed where Desmond lay, whilst mother and son exchanged
a long, silent embrace. Beatrice had turned to the window and was
biting her lips as though to keep back the tears. Odeyne looked at
her, and felt cut to the heart on her account. She, herself, had her
husband back, a repentant and changed man. But where was poor
Algernon?--what had become of him? She almost took shame to herself
that she did not know. They had had so little time together, and
there had been so much to say.
Maud put her mother into Odeyne's vacated chair by the bed. She bent
over Desmond herself, and there were loving whispers passing between
them. For several minutes Odeyne and Beatrice stood apart, not even
looking at the others; but after a while Beatrice's impatience could
no longer be curbed. She wheeled round and came forward.
"Desmond, where is Algernon?" she asked, in a shaking voice.
"In Florida, and in a fair way of doing pretty well, I hope. I left
him very hopeful and sanguine. It is rather a rough life, but he has
taken to it; and being out in the open air all day seems to suit him,
and sends him early to bed, where he sleeps instead of sitting up
playing and drinking more than is good for him. He is looking
another creature, and is really happier than I have ever known him.
I have heaps of messages for you, and he will begin to write now."
"Why did he not before?"
"I will tell you. Perhaps we were wrong. But when we made tracks
and got clear away out of the smash, I can tell you we were pretty
well ashamed of ourselves. We saw clearly enough by that time that
we had been dupes and fools, and had fooled others who trusted us. I
shall never clearly remember those last days, or know how far we were
really wicked, and how far only confused and weak. One thing, we had
played into Garth's hands from first to last, and he had fooled us to
the top of our bent. That man was an unmitigated scamp--as probably
you all know by this time."
"Yes, we were pretty sure of that. What has become of him, do you
know?"
"I don't _know_; but one can be pretty certain that he got safe to
Spain, where he will very likely live in regal pomp on his ill-gotten
gains, unless he gambles them away there. But he had a good head, if
you like. He knew what he was about. He was at the bottom of every
piece of villainy going. We thought him our tool, whilst we were
really his. Well, never mind all that. You have probably a better
notion of the state of affairs than I have. What happened was that
when Algy began to see how things really were, he got into a fearful
state of funk, came to me, and we both saw there was nothing for it
but to disappear! We did not know what the penalty might be of
remaining, and it seemed the best thing we could do to make a bolt."
"That is what men generally do in such a case," said Beatrice, with a
little touch of almost unconscious sarcasm in her voice. "I am not
sure if it always answers as well as staying and facing it out."
"I don't know," answered Desmond rather wearily. "All that part of
the business seems like a black nightmare. I cannot recall details.
I remember that we thought it the only thing to do, and we did it.
We got away to the Continent. Algy was for trying to break the bank
at Monte Carlo, but I said we had had enough of gambling for a
lifetime. I would not let him go. We had some money; and I had
Odeyne's pearls, and in Paris we sold them well. Algy had withdrawn
all his balance from the bank. Altogether we had a small capital;
and I think perhaps it was Providence that threw us across this
Florida planter, and put the chance in our way."
"Who was he?"
"An Englishman--a capital fellow. Ridgmont is his name. He had
married a French wife, and they were over in Paris for a holiday.
They were at the same hotel, and we struck up an acquaintance. He
was looking out for a partner with a little money, someone who would
be willing to live out there and look after the place regularly, for
he himself has to travel a good bit, as his wife is delicate, and
thinks she wants change pretty often. Algy just jumped at it. I
never saw him so keen after anything. I think he was sick to death
of the old life, and was bent on beginning afresh somewhere
altogether out of the old beat. The idea of orange groves and all
that fascinated him, and Ridgmont had taken a great fancy to him. We
told him everything--kept nothing back; and of course he looked
rather grave, and spoke pretty straight to Algy. But in the end he
said he'd take him back with him, and they'd see how the thing
worked. There was no mistaking that Algy was really in earnest that
time, and Ridgmont got that sort of influence over him which seemed
as though it might really be a factor in keeping him straight.
"But why didn't you write?"
"At first I think we were afraid. We did not exactly know how far
our creditors could or would pursue us; we wanted to get clear away
from Europe before we let anyone know anything. And then we were
desperately, horribly ashamed. Perhaps we were wrong, but we both
had a strong feeling that we would do something to redeem the
past--something to show that all was not vain words, before we showed
our faces again. I know for my own part I felt like that. I had
made promises and asseverations again and again, only to break them.
I felt that Odeyne had cause to curse the day when she married me,
and to bless that on which she saw the last of me! Dearest, I know
now that I was wrong--that I had never understood you; but that is
how I felt in the bitterness of my soul. And Algy was just the same.
'They will be better without us. They will be happier too,' he would
say; 'Beatrice will have her mother's house to go to, and Odeyne will
live happily at the Chase, not knowing a care or a want.' That was
Algy's way of looking at it, and I felt that I richly deserved the
punishment of banishment for a time. I forgot to consider that
others would suffer. It seemed impossible that they could continue
to love anyone so unworthy as myself."
Maud gave a quick glance at Odeyne. She had thought as much herself,
and had said it several times. The reaction from his moods of blind
confidence had always been one of almost equally blind and
exaggerated self-abasement, in which his own shame and remorse had
blinded his eyes to any but his own side of the question. Desmond
seemed to read her thoughts, and answered them with a faint smile--
"That was always the way, was it not, Maud? You always used to tell
me, from childhood, that I was 'nastier' when I was trying to be
good, than when I was regularly naughty. I have been a blunderer
from first to last. I only wonder you have, any of you, such a
welcome for me."
"But Algy," urged Beatrice eagerly, "what of him?"
"Well, Algy is out at this orange farm (if one can use such an
expression) in Florida. We put our small joint capital into the
concern, and I went out with them to see what it was like. It is a
splendid climate and lovely country--a regular fairyland at some
seasons of the year. Ridgmont has built himself a fine airy house,
with lots of room in it for all of us. Algy took to the life at
once. Of course he has to learn his work; but for the present
Ridgmont will be there, and he seems satisfied with the progress he
is making. The people like Algy, he has the sort of manner and air
that go down with them. Algy always had abilities if he chose to use
them, and his horsemanship and knowledge of horses stands him in good
stead. It is a lonely life, of course, and in a sense rather a rough
one; but he likes it, and as long as the Ridgmonts are there he is
happy enough. The rub will be when they make another trip to Europe,
and he is left all alone on the place. That will be a bit solitary
for him. But I hope he won't get into mischief."
"Wouldn't it be better for me and the child to go out to him before
that?" asked Beatrice quietly. "Algy never liked too much of his own
society."
Desmond looked at her earnestly.
"I believe it would be the making of him, if you could make up your
mind to it, Beatrice. But remember there is no society out there--no
balls, or concerts, or morning calls. The nearest house is ten miles
off--and a bad road to it!"
"I feel as though I had had enough of society to last me a lifetime,"
answered Beatrice with an air of finality which a year ago would
merely have provoked a smile. Now nobody smiled, all looked
earnestly and almost eagerly at her. "If Algy stays there, it seems
to me that my place is certainly with him. I have never posed as a
model wife, but I know my duty better than to remain here, if he is
alone over there wanting me."
"I don't think it had ever occurred to him to ask such a thing of
you," said Desmond. "But Ridgmont and I talked it over together, and
came to the conclusion that that would be out-and-out the best thing.
Of course I didn't know how it would strike you, and I told him so.
But he seemed to have a truer estimate of women than I had; for he
said he believed nine women out of ten would follow their husbands
over the world if need be, and he was kind enough to say that he
didn't seem to think my sister was going to prove herself the tenth
who wouldn't."
"And you have come home to see about all this?"
"I came home because I could not help myself. I could not bear it
any longer. I had sent one message which I hoped would satisfy you
that all was well, but I did not write, because Algy and I had both
agreed to wait a few months, and then have a good account to give.
After that I was resolved to come home, but was delayed through
Ridgmont's getting an attack of fever. I had to nurse him through
that, Algy being engaged with the outdoor things. That detained me
from week to week. But I was resolved to be home for Christmas. I
felt something dragging and pulling at me. I could not bear it any
longer. I came across in what ought to have been good time; but we
met fogs at the last, and lost a lot of time. I was glad then that
Odeyne was not expecting me--and when I did land I had trouble in
getting on. The Christmas traffic had thrown everything more or less
out of gear. Now you know all. Here I am, a battered
good-for-nothing, turned up like a bad halfpenny--to find that my
wife has been taking my burdens upon her brave shoulders, and doing
what I might have lacked the courage to do, whilst I have been
picturing her leading a life of ease and enjoyment, relieved from the
incubus of a worthless husband!"
Desmond looked more like himself as he spoke these last words, and
Maud smiled as she parted the hair upon his brow, and said--
"Nevertheless Odeyne was expecting her worthless husband back for
Christmas all the time. We were seriously afraid that the
disappointment would throw her back. But she was right after all!"
"And what shall you do now that you have returned, Desmond?" asked
his mother. "Will you remain here, or return to the Chase, when you
can get rid of your tenant?"
"We shall remain here till Odeyne's plans are all carried out,"
answered Desmond firmly. "I can never be grateful enough for her for
a scheme which will enable me to take my place in the world again,
without going in fear of encountering certain persons who might well
regard me as the cause of their ruin. When I am able to be about
again I shall go to the office and ask for a subordinate place there,
if they can make room for me. I gave them ample cause for distrust
and displeasure, but I believe, for my father's sake, they will try
me again. I never tampered with the money of the firm. I was kept
from that temptation by the knowledge that it would be so speedily
detected that the game would not be worth the candle. I was careless
and useless, but that was all. They know enough about me to have
many qualms. Yet I think they will help me to regain my old
standing. Please God, I will not disappoint them again."
Mrs. St. Claire pressed her son's hand, but did not speak. After a
moment Desmond continued--
"We shall live in a very quiet way here for a few years. We shall be
very happy, and I shall learn a great many lessons which I stand
badly in need of. I hope by the time that we can return to the Chase
with a clear conscience, I shall know better how to rule our
household there than I have ever done before. I think it will be the
best possible thing for me to live humbly for a while. I have never
known till just lately what it was to deny myself anything I wanted.
I shall have to learn that lesson now, and it will be a very good
thing for me."
This kind of talk sounded strangely from Desmond's lips, but it was a
joy to those who heard it. The change in him was marked indeed.
Odeyne's face showed the happiness which she experienced in the
change. She looked like another woman.
Mrs. St. Claire's visit was not a long one. Maud was plainly anxious
that she should return home soon. She was very frail and feeble,
Odeyne thought, as she was assisted down the staircase, and as she
kissed her daughter-in-law and the little new granddaughter, before
leaving the house, she said, in an audible whisper--
"Now I can say my 'nunc dimittis.'"
And in truth this proved to be the last time that she ever left her
own house. She went to bed upon her return, and never left it again.
Probably there was a very slight paralytic seizure of some sort in
the night, but there was no exact certainty as to this. Only a week
later, just as the New Year was ushered in, she passed away in the
night, without a sigh or a struggle, and was found so by Maud when
she rose before daybreak to visit her as was her wont. The door
between the two rooms had been open all the while, and she was a very
light sleeper, yet she had not known the moment of departure, it had
taken place so silently and suddenly.
Desmond felt the blow keenly, being so little prepared. The
daughters had known it was coming, yet they had not thought it would
be so soon.
Beatrice found herself a fairly well-to-do woman when Mrs. St.
Claire's will was read; and was in a position, if she chose to do so,
to recall her husband and live on at her mother's house in modest
affluence. But this she appeared to have no desire to do.
"I think it would be dangerous to bring him back to England and to
the old neighbourhood so soon again," she said. "I would rather go
out to him there, and while we are both young and strong we will
remain where his work lies. It will be better for him, I am sure;
and perhaps it will be better for me too. I don't want the old life
to begin again. Algy and I will do better out there, with just each
other and the child to live for. I shall go to him."
"I believe you will do wisely and well," said Desmond, when he heard
her decision. "We have both of us had something too much of self in
this world hitherto. We must learn to live up to a higher standard
now."
"That is what I want," answered Beatrice with unwonted gravity. "I
want to live up to Odeyne's standard--which is a very different
thing!"
So Beatrice made ready her simple outfit, and another for her husband
and child, and went bravely out to the new life awaiting her across
the wide Atlantic.
They missed her from the old home, and yet were glad to see her go.
Algernon wanted her, and her place was with him; and the letters they
received regularly from them were all bright and encouraging.
Novelty always had attractions for Beatrice, and she began to find
interests and pleasures even in the life of a Florida settler.
Maud was left alone in her old home. She was a woman of some
substance now, rather grave and old for her years, but with the
chance (as Desmond told her) of growing younger as time went on.
Nor was she long alone. Edmund would sooner have had her without so
large a fortune, and she had suggested handing over a share of it to
Beatrice; but Desmond pointed out that their mother had already done
for Beatrice what she thought right, and had given her the elder
daughter's portion in consideration of previous losses; and Beatrice
had declared that she was tired of riches, and would rather live upon
modest means than tempt Algernon to idleness by large ones.
So Edmund's bride was a well-dowered woman, and some men wondered
whether he would leave the army and settle down as a private
gentleman. But he had no desire to do this, nor did Maud wish him to
quit his profession. She was tired of idle men, she said; she would
rather be an officer's wife, and find work amongst the men and their
wives. Edmund told her there was a large field of usefulness opened
to her in this way; and she quickly found that he spoke the truth.
She became a busier and happier woman than ever she had been in her
life before, and, as Desmond had prophesied, grew steadily younger
and brighter.
As for Desmond and Odeyne, they lived happily in the Lodge, with
gentle, pale-faced Alice as their faithful attendant, and the two
bright and merry children growing up round them. Nothing more was
ever heard of Walter Garth, and Alice seldom spoke his name,
gradually learning to forget the painful past, though the shadow of
it would hang upon her all her life.
Cissy and Guy lived almost within hail of the Lodge, and Jem and the
Ritchies generally were the kindest of neighbours and friends.
Desmond found no difficulty in getting a place once again at the
office, and now went steadily to business in a very different mood.
He won confidence and good-will, and was presently promoted to the
place of trust which he had occupied before, and saw his way to a
partnership in due course.
But however his income increased, they made no alteration in their
manner of life, putting everything they could spare aside to pay off
what both had agreed to consider as just and lawful debts. Little by
little the claims were met and dealt with. The grateful letters they
received testified to the thankful relief their conduct caused, and
were the best of rewards. Odeyne had been brought up simply, and
found no difficulty in ordering her reduced household with careful
economy; and never had her life been so happy as now, when Desmond
was her kind, true, faithful adviser and friend, and they walked hand
in hand (as it were) through life, sharing every hope, every joy,
every care and sorrow, and at one, at last, even in faith and hope,
ordering their lives in the fear of God, and seeking in all things to
do His good pleasure, and rule even the thoughts of their hearts in
accordance with His precepts.
* * * * * *
"At last, my darling, at last! Welcome home once again!"
Desmond sprang from the carriage that had brought them back after a
month's holiday at the seaside, and was now leading Odeyne up the
familiar steps to the open door of the Chase.
Within stood the servants, smiling their welcome; and Odeyne
recognised many old familiar faces in the ranks, though her eyes were
dim with unshed tears.
The day of probation and waiting was over. Desmond's honour had been
redeemed. He stood a free man, able to look the whole world in the
face; and he was bringing back his wife to their own home once
again--that home in which Odeyne had seen so much of happiness and so
much of trouble.
But the clouds had all passed away now. The sun was shining without
and within. Husband and wife spoke kind words to those awaiting
them, and received many glad and kindly welcomes in response. The
excited children--now three in number--the youngest being led about
between the other two--ran hither and thither in great wonder and
delight; whilst the servants hastened to prepare a banquet, for the
master had said that they would sit down six at table that night, as
of course Guy and Cissy and Maud and Edmund must come. But till then
they were alone in the dear old home, to look about and enjoy it
together.
"It is so beautiful, Desmond. I think I never quite knew before how
much I loved it. We have been very, very happy all these years down
there, have we not, dearest? And yet this seems like a sort of
promised land!"
Desmond put his arm about her, as they stood looking over the dear
familiar gardens, now a blaze of summer-tide beauty, and to the hills
and woods beyond, and drew her very close to him.
"Truly the promised land--the goal of our earthly hopes. God has
been wonderfully good to us, and has brought us back, when but for
His restraining hand, it might have been impossible for me ever to
face the world again. Odeyne, there is one thing in the past that I
have never told you yet--let me tell it to you now. I was once
terribly tempted--as near the verge of crime as ever man stood. It
was upon that last awful day, when I knew not what would befall, and
I thought I saw a way, if I just gave way to this temptation. My
mind was almost made up; I was about to leave the house, when I
remembered something I had forgotten, and I went back softly for it.
I opened the door of our room--and there were you upon your knees.
You were wrestling in prayer--I knew it--I felt it in every chord of
my being. You were praying for me--and God had sent me back that I
might know it. That saved me, Odeyne. That brought me to my senses.
I was restrained from an act that would have made of me an outcast
and an alien for ever. And it was my wife's prayers that withheld
me. My own precious, precious wife, it is through your faith and
love and piety that we stand together here to-day. It is to you,
under God and His guiding Providence, that we owe our happy return to
the Chase. How can we do less now than dedicate our lives and our
home to Him and His service? You would have done so from the first,
but I would not. Let us start afresh from this day, and our home
will indeed become as a land of promise to us!"
FINIS
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