CHAPTER III.
HOW THEY CAME HOME.
"The Warren, "May 2nd, 18--.
"MY DEAR CHILD,
"Lucy's letter announcing the happy event took me so much by surprise that I could do little more than formally congratulate you. As you say, I gave you no news whatever; to tell you the truth, there was very little to give; but, my dear child, you will have to come home immediately and see how the old man is getting on for yourself. The fact is that I have had a long letter from my friend Pit Town, who is greatly pleased and delighted at the birth of your boy. He alludes, my dear, to the possibility--and unlikelier things have happened--of the little fellow some day coming into his title, and what will go with it--his immense wealth. He suggests, as he delicately puts it, that he should like to see the little chap at once; but, my dear, what he really means is that the little Lucius should be seen in the flesh. When you were managing your little surprise for your husband and me, my dear, you forgot that the little stranger was the direct heir to an earldom, and that though it is exceedingly improbable that my grandchild will ever be a peer, still stranger things have happened. Baby should certainly be in evidence.
"My old friend Pit Town has written me quite an affectionate letter, and he has succeeded in considerably altering my ideas on the subject of what he calls your husband's peccadillo at Rome. When I was a young man, of course such things were frequent occurrences; but manners are changed now. You will forgive me, my dear, when I say that I think your husband has already sown a sufficiently large crop of wild oats. Let us hope his new responsibilities will sober him; I trust they may. You will hear nothing more on this matter in future, rest assured, nor shall I ever mention it to your husband.
"Pit Town thinks, and so do I, that you had better come home at once. The old man, my dear, has been very miserable without you both for the last few months; and The Warren has not seemed the same place since its young mistresses have been away.
"Lucy tells me to give you all the gossip. You will be amused to hear that the vicar's wife goes about declaring that I am on the point of a marriage with Miss Hood. The fact is, my dear, that I might have given you a mother in the form of Miss Anastatia Dodd, and I fear that, by the ladies at the Vicarage, I am looked upon as a designing old man. I need not tell you that I had no idea of paying our dear old friend the very poor compliment of making her an offer of my heart and hand, but Mrs. Dodd will have it that it is so, and as her husband says, it's no use arguing with her. When we meet, the vicar's wife greets me with a snort of indignation. I fear that this is old wives' talk. You will be glad to hear----"
Here, the letter ran off into home matters, interesting enough perhapsto the girls, but trifles which in no way concern this history. The oldman wound up by declaring his intense desire to see both the cousins andhis "dear grandchild" as soon as possible. He also gave an affectionatemessage from Lord Pit Town asking them both to make an indefinite stayat Walls End Castle.
Such was the letter from the old squire that reached the ladies in theirtemporary home upon the Swiss lake.
Somehow or other the maternal _role_, which had been so suddenly thrownupon Georgina, had become not ungrateful to her. Perhaps she found somesort of consolation in lavishing endearments upon the unconsciousinfant, the little Lucius who lay asleep upon her lap. As for his realmother, she took very little notice of the child. Whether it was pureheartlessness, or whether what had been first policy had now become asort of second nature, it is difficult to say. Lucy had begun by posingas the child's aunt, and she played the part to the life. As forGeorgie, probably the maternal instinct was strongly developed in her;it usually is in women who are naturally affectionate; perhaps it beganin pity, but it was very evident now, both to her cousin and toHephzibah Wallis, that young Mrs. Haggard was excessively fond of thelittle child of shame. Suddenly placed in her extraordinary position,separated from the father whom she loved and the unworthy husband whomshe idolized, without a friend or confidant, subdued by the master mindof her cousin, is it to be wondered at that the young wife would sit forhours nursing the unconscious cause of all her woes?
The cousins presented a remarkable contrast. As for Lucy, the flush ofhealth was on her cheek, her eyes sparkled with the triumph of herrecent escape and her delight at the success of her own machinations.Her clear voice might be heard ringing through the house as it trilledforth the little French _chansons_ of more than dubious propriety thatshe loved so well.
"Don't sulk, Georgie," she would say, and with a laugh she would placeher hand on her hip and imitating the gesture of Theresa, then still invogue, she would warble:
"Je suis l'heureuse gardeuse de l'ours."
"Yes, you are a bear, Georgie, and twice as sulky." But Georgie, palerthan usual, dark rings round her eyes, would lie flaccidly in her loungechair, the infant on her lap, and decline to be galvanized even intomomentary life by her cousin's taunts or innuendoes. There she would sitfor hours together, gazing into space, the silent victim of another'sfault. Why did she not rebel? Why did she not insist on informing herhusband at least of her cousin's lapse, of her ignoble stratagem?Probably because she was too conscientious. With some few peopletruth-telling is a sort of religion, a kind of Obi, a fetish; so it waswith young Mrs. Haggard. She had promised, nay she had sworn. A voice,more awful than that of the Veiled Prophet, ever cried in her ear, "Thyoath, thy oath." Deception, so hateful to her truthful soul, she wascompelled to carry on even against her trusting husband. Many a time andoft had she pleaded, with tears, to the remorseless girl who looked sosoft and yielding. But the tender lines of Lucy's voluptuous figurecovered a marble heart.
"Reginald would never betray you, darling," she had said. "He would doanything for my sake, for us and for this poor little thing." Here hereyes filled with tears as she kissed the unconscious infant in herarms.
"It's no use, Georgie, you've promised, and I shan't release you. Youare a most interesting young mother. You look the part; there is a sortof matronly dignity about you, Georgie, that I could never hope toattain. Don't plague me," she continued. "As for telling Reginald or anysoul alive, I'd die first; and mind you I mean it, it's no idle talk. Ifyou ever should be so cruel as to tell my secret, our secret--if youshould dare to tell it, even to hint it, Georgie"--and here the lovelyeyes seemed to scintillate with suppressed fury--"you would bid good-byeto me, at all events in this world," and then she would go off into ahalf hysterical laugh.
At first scenes such as these were frequent, but Georgie graduallyceased to plead. She had reluctantly now accepted her position, andrecognized her cousin's determination as immutable.
Lucy had read her uncle's letter aloud, eagerly breaking the seal; forher cousin had drifted into a state of listless apathy, a kind of dullindifference, from which even a letter from her much-loved father failedto rouse her. No look of interest, no answering smile lit up her oncebright features as Lucy read the letter, interlarding it, as was herway, with a running fire of comment. When she came to the invitation tothe Castle she could not restrain the exuberance of her delight, butclapped her hands in girlish glee.
"I see fresh triumphs, Georgie," she said, "with my prophetic eye. Youwill complete your subjugation of the old lord, and the philosophic Dr.Wolff will certainly propose to me. As for the heirs, they shall allsigh in chorus, from Lord Hetton to your father-in-law. But it is youwho ought to be troubled by the suitors, patient Penelope that you are.I suppose uncle's letter must be taken as a royal mandate, and that wemust leave here at once. I shan't be sorry to leave this place; therehave been no sunny memories of foreign lands for us here, have there,Georgie?" she said, with some little show of affection, as she placedher hand upon her cousin's shoulder. But young Mrs. Haggard shrank fromher touch with an almost imperceptible shudder.
Since Mr. Capt's mysterious departure from t
he Villa Lambert things hadnot gone on so pleasantly as under the reign of that invaluabledomestic. Lucy Warrender at least had missed the thousand and onedelicate attentions of the valet. The various little appetizingkickshaws that he was in the habit of concocting for the delectation ofhis young mistresses had disappeared. The living rooms and the tableservice no longer presented the attractive appearance they had doneunder his superintendence. But worst of all, Hephzibah Wallis distinctlysulked; no other word will express the condition of that love-lorn maid.Bereft of her admirer, her study of that depressing masterpiece, "TheDairyman's Daughter," became more intense; her very presence was a kindof blight as she silently performed her duties in her usual mechanicalway. Never over strong, the loss of her lover was painfully apparent inHephzibah's appearance: her muddy complexion became almost ghastly inits sallowness, and her pale lips grew almost colourless. That the girlwas ill was very evident, but the fact did not seem to dawn upon Mrs.Haggard, whilst Lucy Warrender, who was in the habit of looking uponservants very much as pieces of furniture which could be replaced whenworn out, troubled herself very little about the matter.
Miss Warrender, now the master-spirit of the establishment, did nothesitate. She answered her uncle's letter announcing their immediatedeparture for The Warren. As she playfully put it: "We must hurry home,uncle, or Miss Hood will devour you, body and bones; but we must travelby easy stages as Georgie seems not over strong, and we must be carefulwith baby. As for Hephzibah I have no patience with her; but people ofher class are always helpless."
Two days afterwards they were on their way home. Travelling is not sucha very fatiguing process after all. The ladies, the baby and the maidhad a compartment of the sleeping car to themselves and journeyedcomfortably enough. They arrived safely at their hotel in the Rue de laPaix, and then Hephzibah Wallis broke down. Tired as she was herself,Georgie Haggard nursed her like a sister; all night long she sat by thegirl's bedside and watched the movements of the pale lips, which seemedto be eternally attempting to articulate, but though the lips movedceaselessly no sound came from them. The maid's condition alarmed Mrs.Haggard; there was evidently something more than mere fatigue; greatbeads of perspiration stood on the forehead, the hands were cold as iceand seemed to pick irritably and aimlessly at the coverlid. Graduallythe mutterings of the sick girl became louder.
Georgie attempted to rouse her, but in vain; she placed her ear to hermoving lips.
"It's no use, Maurice, you'll get nothing out of me." This was all sheheard, and it was evident to her mind that in her delirium Hephzibah washolding an imaginary conversation with her faithless lover.
All through the long weary night Georgie Haggard continued her watch bythe bedside, moistening the girl's lips with water and wetting herburning forehead with Eau de Cologne. In the next room Lucy Warrenderslept peacefully, and ever and anon her cousin would enter to take ananxious glance at the sleeping infant. The maternal instinct, which hadso strangely remained dormant in the child's real mother, was abnormallydeveloped, as we have said, in Georgie Haggard. At dawn, as Mrs. Haggardturned down the gas and admitted a little of the cold, cruel, greylight of early morning, she became thoroughly alarmed at the appearanceof her patient; still the ever-restless fingers continued to search forthe invisible crumbs, but they were colder now, and the finger tips werealmost blue. Georgie hurriedly rang the bell. After some time ahalf-dressed chambermaid appeared. A messenger was dispatched in hasteto summon a doctor. Lucy Warrender, very much against the grain, hadleft her couch and, head and shoulders muffled in a shawl, stood gazingat the dying woman with contracted brow. It was evident to both girlsthat a terrible change had come over Hephzibah Wallis; the lips nolonger moved, but were strained tightly over the teeth, which werepainfully apparent; while the breathing, which though rapid hadpreviously been tranquil, was now harsh, extremely loud and ofteninterrupted.
And now a doctor hurriedly entered the room. He was a dapper littleFrenchman and had arrived in evident haste. Bowing to the ladies, hegave a perceptible start when he perceived the appearance of hispatient. Taking his watch from his fob he felt the poor girl's pulse.Then he shook his head ominously. Placing a stethoscope over the regionof the heart, he listened for a few seconds.
"Madame," he said, "I can do nothing; she is beyond all human skill.Alas, I fear that in a few moments she will pass away."
Even Lucy Warrender's hard heart was filled with horror.
"Can nothing be done, doctor? can you suggest no remedy? is there reallyno hope for her?" said Mrs. Haggard.
"Alas! no, madame, the mischief has gone too far; it is an old case ofheart disease. Did she complain of ill health to you?"
"She has never been strong, doctor, and she has had a great deal totrouble her lately," said Lucy.
Suddenly, while they were yet speaking, the face of the dying girlassumed a placid expression; the lips trembled convulsively and then ahappy smile gradually appeared. The smile remained, the lips gentlyparted and then the eyes slowly opened, but in them there was nospeculation, for Hephzibah Wallis had ceased to breathe; she hadpeacefully passed away. The faithful girl was gone, carrying with herthe carefully guarded secret of her young mistresses.
As the French doctor drew the sheet over the dead girl's face, a ghastlysmile, almost of satisfaction, might have been seen on Lucy'scountenance. Both girls sobbed bitterly; but let us do Miss Warrenderjustice, her tears were tears of genuine sorrow, but her grief wastempered with a sort of awful content, that now at least her secret wasburied in the solemn silence of the grave.
The next few days were passed in a sort of melancholy bustle; a letterhad to be written to break the painful news to the poor old mother atKing's Warren. Poor Hephzibah was buried, her two young mistressesfollowing their faithful servant to the grave.
That night Lucy Warrender stole softly into the empty room. With her ownhands Miss Warrender carefully went through all the dead girl's littlepossessions, and she removed every letter and paper to her own room.Then she locked the door and carefully scrutinized everything, but notone scrap of writing did she find which compromised either herself orher cousin in the slightest degree. There were a few notes which hadbeen written to the girl by her mistresses at odd times, and had beencarefully treasured by the abigail. There was a little box of carvedwood which contained a photograph, the likeness of the faithless Capt.Lucy cast it into the flames, and from the fire, as it turned andtwisted like a living thing, the face seemed to glare at her menacingly.There was nothing more save the letter from the vicar's wife. Lucyperused it with a smile, and crushing it into a ball she tossed it intothe fire.
Then she returned into the dead girl's room and replaced all thatremained. Taking a glance at her sleeping cousin, whom her proceedingshad not disturbed, she herself quietly retired to rest.
Next day the girls were busily employed. From a crowd of applicants theyhad to select a nurse for the little Lucius. Their choice fell upon ahandsome Norman peasant woman dressed in the becoming, though peculiar,costume of her race. She wore the tall white cap of filmy cambric,ironed in the elaborate manner with which we are all familiar; she woretoo a massy pair of gold ear-rings and a heavy gold cross, whichindicated that her people were well-to-do. Fanchette was evidently aparagon of neatness; no spot of dust could be seen on her short dress ofFrench merino, or on the little woollen shawl pinned closely over hershoulders. She spoke no word of English and seemed rather taciturn;the only anxiety she manifested was as to the amount of herremuneration. Her references were undeniable. She was the picture ofhealth, a magnificent animal.
Probably what most recommended her to the critical mind of MissWarrender was her impassive taciturnity.
Fanchette was installed at once. She expressed her readiness to proceedto England, informing the girls that all countries were the same to heras she had no relatives and her _homme_ was serving in Algeria.
Nothing detained the party further in Paris, and they prepared to startfor King's Warren the next day.
A lett
er from the Parsonage reached them that evening; it was from Mrs.Dodd, the vicar's wife.
"King's Warren Parsonage.
"DEAR MISS WARRENDER,
"On receipt of your letter I hurried over to Goody Wallis's cottage to break to her the sad news of Hephzibah's death. Strange to say it did not take her by surprise; she told me that the girl had been ailing for several years. Of course these things do not affect people of her class to the same extent as educated persons; but it was plain enough that she was much grieved. As you can suppose I did my best to console her. I pointed out to the poor old thing that her daughter had been saved from the degradation of a marriage with a foreign person; strange to say, this appeared to give her no comfort: she did not seem so well disposed as usual to listen to good advice. So I took my leave, lending her a copy of Lawe's 'Serious Call.'
"Your uncle is quite excited at your approaching arrival, and is burning to see the little Lucius. I suppose, my dear, that this very unusual name has been selected out of compliment to you, but my husband says that he is probably called after the celebrated Irish baronet, the head of the O'Trigger family.
"I cannot express to you, my dear, my feelings of horror and indignation when I heard of the awful occurrence at Rome. Between ourselves I should think it would be better for all parties, particularly for his poor ill-used wife, if your brother-in-law remained in America. Personally, I regret to say that I shall never be able to receive him again. I'm sorry to add that my husband does not look upon the matter in the same serious light, but he was always frivolous, even for a clergyman.
"I may tell you that you are both coming back none too soon, for the squire, always a weak-minded man, seems now to be quite under the thumb of Miss Hood. That lady does not hesitate now to give herself airs to which I, for one, will never tamely submit; and I hope your cousin will take steps on her arrival to at once assert her position.
"With love to Georgie and kind regards from the vicar,
"I am, dear Miss Warrender, "Affectionately yours, "CECILIA DODD."
The next morning the sisters were driven with Fanchette and the baby tothe station of the Northern Railway, and they left for England by thetidal train.