CHAPTER XXVIII
THE RETURN
Posted in observation at a corner of the window Clara saw Vernon crossthe road to Mrs. Mountstuart Jenkinson's carriage, transformed to theleanest pattern of himself by narrowed shoulders and raisedcoat-collar. He had such an air of saying, "Tom's a-cold", that herskin crept in sympathy.
Presently he left the carriage and went into the station: a bell hadrung. Was it her train? He approved her going, for he was employed inassisting her to go: a proceeding at variance with many things he hadsaid, but he was as full of contradiction to-day as women are accusedof being. The train came up. She trembled: no signal had appeared, andVernon must have deceived her.
He returned; he entered the carriage, and the wheels were soon inmotion. Immediately thereupon, Flitch's fly drove past, containingColonel De Craye.
Vernon could not but have perceived him!
But what was it that had brought the colonel to this place? Thepressure of Vernon's mind was on her and foiled her efforts to asserther perfect innocence, though she knew she had done nothing to allurethe colonel hither. Excepting Willoughby, Colonel De Craye was the lastperson she would have wished to encounter.
She had now a dread of hearing the bell which would tell her thatVernon had not deceived her, and that she was out of his hands, in thehands of some one else.
She bit at her glove; she glanced at the concentrated eyes of thepublican's family portraits, all looking as one; she noticed the emptytumbler, and went round to it and touched it, and the silly spoon init.
A little yielding to desperation shoots us to strange distances!
Vernon had asked her whether she was alone. Connecting that inquiry,singular in itself, and singular in his manner of putting it, with theglass of burning liquid, she repeated: "He must have seen Colonel DeCraye!" and she stared at the empty glass, as at something thatwitnessed to something: for Vernon was not your supple cavalierassiduously on the smirk to pin a gallantry to commonplaces. But allthe doors are not open in a young lady's consciousness, quick of naturethough she may be: some are locked and keyless, some will not open tothe key, some are defended by ghosts inside. She could not have saidwhat the something witnessed to. If we by chance know more, we havestill no right to make it more prominent than it was with her. And thesmell of the glass was odious; it disgraced her. She had an impulse topocket the spoon for a memento, to show it to grandchildren for awarning. Even the prelude to the morality to be uttered on the occasionsprang to her lips: "Here, my dears, is a spoon you would be ashamed touse in your teacups, yet it was of more value to me at one period of mylife than silver and gold in pointing out, etc.": the conclusion washazy, like the conception; she had her idea.
And in this mood she ran down-stairs and met Colonel De Craye on thestation steps.
The bright illumination of his face was that of the confident manconfirmed in a risky guess in the crisis of doubt and dispute.
"Miss Middleton!" his joyful surprise predominated; the pride of anaccurate forecast, adding: "I am not too late to be of service?"
She thanked him for the offer.
"Have you dismissed the fly, Colonel De Craye?"
"I have just been getting change to pay Mr. Flitch. He passed me on theroad. He is interwound with our fates to a certainty. I had only tojump in; I knew it, and rolled along like a magician commanding agenie."
"Have I been . . ."
"Not seriously, nobody doubts you being under shelter. You will allowme to protect you? My time is yours."
"I was thinking of a running visit to my friend Miss Darleton."
"May I venture? I had the fancy that you wished to see Miss Darletonto-day. You cannot make the journey unescorted."
"Please retain the fly. Where is Willoughby?"
"He is in jack-boots. But may I not, Miss Middleton? I shall never beforgiven if you refuse me."
"There has been searching for me?"
"Some hallooing. But why am I rejected? Besides, I don't require thefly; I shall walk if I am banished. Flitch is a wonderful conjurer, butthe virtue is out of him for the next four-and-twenty hours. And itwill be an opportunity to me to make my bow to Miss Darleton!"
"She is rigorous on the conventionalities, Colonel De Craye."
"I'll appear before her as an ignoramus or a rebel, whichever she likesbest to take in leading-strings. I remember her. I was greatly struckby her."
"Upon recollection!"
"Memory didn't happen to be handy at the first mention of the lady'sname. As the general said of his ammunition and transport, there's thearmy!--but it was leagues in the rear. Like the footman who went tosleep after smelling fire in the house, I was thinking of other things.It will serve me right to be forgotten--if I am. I've a curiosity toknow: a remainder of my coxcombry. Not that exactly: a wish to see theimpression I made on your friend.--None at all? But any pebble casts aripple."
"That is hardly an impression," said Clara, pacifying herirresoluteness with this light talk.
"The utmost to be hoped for by men like me! I have yourpermission?--one minute--I will get my ticket."
"Do not," said Clara.
"Your man-servant entreats you!"
She signified a decided negative with the head, but her eyes weredreamy. She breathed deep: this thing done would cut the cord. Hersensation of languor swept over her.
De Craye took a stride. He was accosted by one of the railway-porters.Flitch's fly was in request for a gentleman. A portly old gentlemanbothered about luggage appeared on the landing.
"The gentleman can have it," said De Craye, handing Flitch his money.
"Open the door." Clara said to Flitch.
He tugged at the handle with enthusiasm. The door was open: she steppedin.
"Then mount the box and I'll jump up beside you," De Craye called out,after the passion of regretful astonishment had melted from hisfeatures.
Clara directed him to the seat fronting her; he protested indifferenceto the wet; she kept the door unshut. His temper would have preferredto buffet the angry weather. The invitation was too sweet.
She heard now the bell of her own train. Driving beside the railwayembankment she met the train: it was eighteen minutes late, by herwatch. And why, when it flung up its whale-spouts of steam, she was notjourneying in it, she could not tell. She had acted of her free will:that she could say. Vernon had not induced her to remain; assuredly herpresent companion had not; and her whole heart was for flight: yet shewas driving back to the Hall, not devoid of calmness. She speculated onthe circumstance enough to think herself incomprehensible, and thereleft it, intent on the scene to come with Willoughby.
"I must choose a better day for London," she remarked.
De Craye bowed, but did not remove his eyes from her.
"Miss Middleton, you do not trust me."
She answered: "Say in what way. It seems to me that I do."
"I may speak?"
"If it depends on my authority."
"Fully?"
"Whatever you have to say. Let me stipulate, be not very grave. I wantcheering in wet weather."
"Miss Middleton, Flitch is charioteer once more. Think of it. There'sa tide that carries him perpetually to the place where he was castforth, and a thread that ties us to him in continuity. I have not thehonour to be a friend of long standing: one ventures on one's devotion:it dates from the first moment of my seeing you. Flitch is to blame, ifany one. Perhaps the spell would be broken, were he reinstated in hisancient office."
"Perhaps it would," said Clara, not with her best of smiles.Willoughby's pride of relentlessness appeared to her to be receiving ablow by rebound, and that seemed high justice.
"I am afraid you were right; the poor fellow has no chance," De Crayepursued. He paused, as for decorum in the presence of misfortune, andlaughed sparklingly: "Unless I engage him, or pretend to! I verilybelieve that Flitch's melancholy person on the skirts of the Hallcompletes the picture of the Eden within.--Why will you not put sometrust in me, Miss Midd
leton?"
"But why should you not pretend to engage him then, Colonel De Craye?"
"We'll plot it, if you like. Can you trust me for that?"
"For any act of disinterested kindness, I am sure."
"You mean it?"
"Without reserve. You could talk publicly of taking him to London."
"Miss Middleton, just now you were going. My arrival changed your mind.You distrust me: and ought I to wonder? The wonder would be all theother way. You have not had the sort of report of me which wouldpersuade you to confide, even in a case of extremity. I guessed youwere going. Do you ask me how? I cannot say. Through what they callsympathy, and that's inexplicable. There's natural sympathy, naturalantipathy. People have to live together to discover how deep it is!"
Clara breathed her dumb admission of his truth.
The fly jolted and threatened to lurch.
"Flitch, my dear man!" the colonel gave a murmuring remonstrance;"for," said he to Clara, whom his apostrophe to Flitch had set smiling,"we're not safe with him, however we make believe, and he'll be jerkingthe heart out of me before he has done.--But if two of us have not themisfortune to be united when they come to the discovery, there's hope.That is, if one has courage and the other has wisdom. Otherwise theymay go to the yoke in spite of themselves. The great enemy is Pride,who has them both in a coach and drives them to the fatal door, and theonly thing to do is to knock him off his box while there's a minute tospare. And as there's no pride like the pride of possession, thedeadliest wound to him is to make that doubtful. Pride won't be taughtwisdom in any other fashion. But one must have the courage to do it!"
De Craye trifled with the window-sash, to give his words time to sinkin solution.
Who but Willoughby stood for Pride? And who, swayed by languor, haddreamed of a method that would be surest and swiftest to teach him thewisdom of surrendering her?
"You know, Miss Middleton, I study character," said the colonel.
"I see that you do," she answered.
"You intend to return?"
"Oh, decidedly."
"The day is unfavourable for travelling, I must say."
"It is."
"You may count on my discretion in the fullest degree. I throw myselfon your generosity when I assure you that it was not my design tosurprise a secret. I guessed the station, and went there, to put myselfat your disposal."
"Did you," said Clara, reddening slightly, "chance to see Mrs.Mountstuart Jenkinson's carriage pass you when you drove up to thestation?"
De Craye had passed a carriage. "I did not see the lady. She was init?"
"Yes. And therefore it is better to put discretion on one side: we maybe certain she saw you."
"But not you, Miss Middleton."
"I prefer to think that I am seen. I have a description of courage,Colonel De Craye, when it is forced on me."
"I have not suspected the reverse. Courage wants training, as well asother fine capacities. Mine is often rusty and rheumatic."
"I cannot hear of concealment or plotting."
"Except, pray, to advance the cause of poor Flitch!"
"He shall be excepted."
The colonel screwed his head round for a glance at his coachman's back.
"Perfectly guaranteed to-day!" he said of Flitch's look of solidity."The convulsion of the elements appears to sober our friend; he is onlydangerous in calms. Five minutes will bring us to the park-gates."
Clara leaned forward to gaze at the hedgeways in the neighbourhood ofthe Hall strangely renewing their familiarity with her. Both in thoughtand sensation she was like a flower beaten to earth, and she thankedher feminine mask for not showing how nerveless and languid she was.She could have accused Vernon of a treacherous cunning for imposing iton her free will to decide her fate.
Involuntarily she sighed.
"There is a train at three," said De Craye, with splendid promptitude.
"Yes, and one at five. We dine with Mrs. Mountstuart tonight. And Ihave a passion for solitude! I think I was never intended forobligations. The moment I am bound I begin to brood on freedom."
"Ladies who say that, Miss Middleton!. . ."
"What of them?"
"They're feeling too much alone."
She could not combat the remark: by her self-assurance that she had theprinciple of faithfulness, she acknowledged to herself the truth ofit:--there is no freedom for the weak. Vernon had said that once. Shetried to resist the weight of it, and her sheer inability precipitatedher into a sense of pitiful dependence.
Half an hour earlier it would have been a perilous condition to betraversing in the society of a closely scanning reader of fair faces.Circumstances had changed. They were at the gates of the park.
"Shall I leave you?" said De Craye.
"Why should you?" she replied.
He bent to her gracefully.
The mild subservience flattered Clara's languor. He had not compelledher to be watchful on her guard, and she was unaware that he passed itwhen she acquiesced to his observation, "An anticipatory story is atrap to the teller."
"It is," she said. She had been thinking as much.
He threw up his head to consult the brain comically with a dozen littleblinks.
"No, you are right, Miss Middleton, inventing beforehand neverprospers; 't is a way to trip our own cleverness. Truth and mother-witare the best counsellors: and as you are the former, I'll try to act upto the character you assign me."
Some tangle, more prospective than present, seemed to be about her asshe reflected. But her intention being to speak to Willoughby withoutsubterfuge, she was grateful to her companion for not tempting her toswerve. No one could doubt his talent for elegant fibbing, and she wasin the humour both to admire and adopt the art, so she was glad to berescued from herself. How mother-wit was to second truth she did notinquire, and as she did not happen to be thinking of Crossjay, she wasnot troubled by having to consider how truth and his tale of themorning would be likely to harmonize.
Driving down the park, she had full occupation in questioning whetherher return would be pleasing to Vernon, who was the virtual cause ofit, though he had done so little to promote it: so little that shereally doubted his pleasure in seeing her return.