CHAPTERX.
Mr Portlandhad two reasons for not appearing at Usk Hall on the evening of the day he married Nell Llewellyn. In the first place, he did not fancy seeing the countess again after she had heard the truth about her letters; in the second, he foresaw more difficulty in getting away, if he left it till after dinner. To have received a summons to London by telegraph or post in the afternoon, and to have been compelled to quit Usk at once, seemed more feasible to him than to announce his determination before the assembled company, to be submitted to their cross questioning—sent to the railway station in Sir Archibald’s carriage, perhaps accompanied by the genial host himself, and to have to bribe the servants to conceal the fact that he never went at all. After thatevening, so he argued, when all the world must know that he had married Nell, he would not mind confessing the little ruse to which he had had recourse, and felt sure of receiving sympathy and forgiveness. So he went to ‘The Three Pilchards’ and engaged his rooms, and ordered his dinner in a state of pleased expectancy. The accommodation was not very grand—thecuisinewould, doubtless, not be first-rate, but Nell had never been agourmandenor a sybarite, and Mr Portland pleased himself with thinking how well he would treat her in the future. What with the various race-meetings he had attended, he had been pretty lucky lately, and the visit to Usk Hall had not failed to recoup him still more. He would be able to take his wife abroad to Paris or Italy, if she so wished it, and show her a little life. Perhaps, though, it would be better to run over to Monte Carlo or Hamburg, and so combine business with pleasure. How divinely handsome she was, ‘a daughter of the gods, divinely tall, and most divinelyfair!’ With what envious eyes he would be followed by the frequenters of the places he thought of. He had little fear that his wife would be recognised by the herd as Lord Ilfracombe’s former mistress. She had kept herself too much at home for that, and had hardly ever been seen in public whilst living with the earl. It would only be a few of his intimates who would be likely to know her again. And Jack Portland would not have concerned himself about it if they had. He had married his wife for himself—not for the world, and it was welcome to think what it liked of his choice. A few old cats, whose virtue had never been attacked during the best part of a century, might turn up their noses at her; but Nell was strong enough to hold her own, and so was he. If a thought crossed his mind that Ilfracombe, on hearing of his marriage with Nell, might insist on giving her as a wedding portion what she had refused as a peace-offering, we must do him the justice to say that it had no weight with him, excepting as it mightprove the earl’s good feeling towards them both, and be the precursor of a renewed intimacy. For, if something of the kind did not interfere, Jack Portland felt that the condition Nell had made regarding the packet of letters would prove the quietus to his friendship with Ilfracombe. If the countess told her husband the whole truth, he would never receive him again. Of that he was certain. But there was the chance that, for her own sake, Nora wouldnottell him the truth, and in that case, if he heard of the marriage first, he might never be told of the other little affair at all, and the countess secure of herself, might join her husband in extending her hospitality to him. This was what Mr Portland was dreaming of as he sat in the parlour of ‘The Three Pilchards’ smoking, and waiting for Nell’s arrival. As the time went on, and she did not appear, he grew rather fidgety. He had had his dinner at his usual hour of seven, but, as nine o’clock sounded, it struck him that Nell might expect to see supperwaiting for her, so rang the bell to order it.
‘What have you in the house? What can I have for supper?’
‘Supper, sir?’ echoed the country waiter, who though he could play a very pretty tune with a knife and fork himself, was rather taken aback at the gentleman requiring supper at nine, after a hearty dinner at seven.
‘Yes. Are you deaf? I expect my wife here soon, and she may require something to eat. What can we have?’
‘We have a joint of cold beef in the house, sir, and a veal and ham pie, and—’
‘None of those will do. I want something hot.’
‘A chicken, sir, with a cauliflower and potatoes?’ suggested the waiter.
‘Yes, yes. The best you have, whatever it may be. Get it ready as soon as you can. My wife may be here at any moment. Another bottle of that champagne too, which I had at dinner. Cursed bad stuff,’ he added to himself, as the servantleft the room, ‘but women don’t know the difference. Well, who would ever have thought I could have stood such discomfort as this, with so good a grace, for the sake of a woman? Butsucha woman! I don’t believe she has her peer in England. As for that little sharp-featured, flirting, deceitful countess, she can’t hold a candle to her. What fools and blind men are with regard to women! It is quite impossible to decide why one piece of femininity should hold them as in a vice whilst they pass over or ignore the virtues of another. Now, to my mind, Nell combines all the perfections of which human nature is capable. She is beautiful, amiable (a bit of a temper, but she very seldom shows it, and a woman is worth nothing without a spice of the devil in her), dignified, sensible, and modest. She would have made a magnificent countess; beaten Lady D—— and Lady S——, and all the other Court beauties hollow. However, I’m very glad Ilfracombe didn’t see it in that light, and that the crumbs from the rich man’s tablehave fallen to my share. Hang it all! What a time she is. It’s nearly ten. Surely she isn’t going to play-off any airs and graces on me, and pose as a blushing bride. Or is it only a womanly dodge to make her welcome more assured? She needn’t fear missing it. I never felt so much for any woman in my life before. I almost think, if she thought it worth her while, that she might make a better man of me. I wonder if she will learn to love me? I know what her love for that ass Ilfracombe was, and that it is worth a man’s trying for. I wonder—I wonder—by Jove! that’s the half-hour striking. Whatever can be the reason of this delay? Waiter,’ continued Mr Portland to the man, who now appeared with the supper, ‘is that half-past ten that struck just now? Surely, your clocks must be very fast.’
‘Don’t think so, sir! I heard the missus asking the master to put ’em on a bit just now. Do you think the lady will come to-night, sir?’
‘Of course she will! What do you mean by asking me such a question?’
‘Only, you see, sir, we’re obliged to close at eleven, whether we like or no, so the missus told me to ask you if—’
‘Here!’ exclaimed Jack Portland, quickly; ‘get me pen and ink and paper at once. I must send a messenger up to Panty-cuckoo Farm!’
‘Panty-cuckoo Farm,’ repeated the waiter; ‘Mr Llewellyn’s place? That be better than a mile and an’ arf away from here, sir. It’ll take a good bit of time to carry a letter there to-night.’
‘Never mind! I’m willing to pay for it, and for keeping you up as well, but the message must be carried by some one. Whom have you to send?’
‘I expect the ostler can go, but I’ll ask the missus,’ replied the waiter, as he went to consult the higher powers.
In a few minutes he returned to say the ostler would take the letter, and Mr Portland despatchedthe missive on itsway. It contained but a very few words, only, ‘What is the reason of this delay? Pray come at once! Am waiting here impatiently.Jack.’
He did not know into whose hands it might fall, so thought it best to be as curt as possible, and then he sat down to get through the time as best he might till his messenger returned. How trying are the moments when we wait in utter darkness, the explanation of some mystery which is inexplicable to us. What a thousand and one fancies rush through our brain, as we attempt to penetrate what is impenetrable! How we ‘think’ it may be that—or we ‘fancy’ it must be this—or we ‘fear’ the other. Then, tired out with conjecture, we resolve not to think at all, but wait the natural sequence of events, only to fall back upon fancy and worry ourselves to death with imagination, and, after all, it usually turns out to be nothing—a bogy conjectured up by our anxiety—due as likely as not to the selfishness of our friend, who had notsufficient feeling for us to suspect what we were suffering on his behalf. We have all, at some time or other, experienced the feeling of suspense under which Mr Portland was suffering now,—yes, actuallysuffering!
This selfish, immoral, dishonourable man had found his match at last in fate. Nell Llewellyn was the one creature who had ever awakened any better or higher feelings in his hardened heart, and he was suffering the agony of thinking that she might have repented of her bargain and meant to play him false as he had played so many other people. The ostler took his time to walk to Panty-cuckoo Farm. He was going to be paid for his trouble under any circumstances, so he didn’t see the fun of hurrying himself. Besides, the farm was more than a mile away, and one mile makes two on a dark night, so it was twelve o’clock before the waiter reappeared with Mr Portland’s own note on a salver.
‘If you please, sir, the hostler, he ‘avebeen to Panty-cuckoo Farm, but everybody’s a-bed, and he couldn’t make no one hear.’
‘Couldn’t make anybody hear!’ exclaimed Jack Portland, starting to his feet; ‘what was the fool about? Why didn’t he knock till hedidmake some one hear? What was the good of his going, when he only brings me my own note back again?’
‘Well, sir; he did throw stones at the bedroom winders, but no one took no notice of ’im, so Joe, he thought, ’twas no use waiting about there any longer at this time o’ night, so he bringed the note back again, and, perhaps, you’d like me to send it up the first thing in the morning.’
‘No, no,’ replied Jack Portland, angrily; ‘the ostler is a d——d fool for his pains, and you may tell him I said so. Leave the note on the table and leave the room. I wish to be alone!’
‘Are we to shut up, sir? Will the lady come to-night, do you think? The last train was in an hour ago!’
‘Shut up! shut up! Yes! Do anything you like. I don’t care so long as you leave me alone,’ was the reply.
‘Yes, sir; certainly, and what time would you like to be called in the morning, sir?’
‘Oh! go to the devil!’ cried Portland furiously, as the man disappeared, repeating his usual formula of ‘Yes, sir;’ ‘thank you, sir,’ and left him to his disappointment and conjectures.
Whatcouldbe the matter? Where was Nell? What was she doing? What did she mean? These were the questions that repeated themselves over and over in his brain, and which received no answer till the following morning. He would have his answer then, he thought. He would go up to Panty-cuckoo Farm the very first thing and tell the Llewellyns of his marriage to their daughter, and, if need be, take his wife back with him by force. No power on earth could prevent that. But it was not the sort of honeymoon he had promised himself.
Meanwhile Lord and Lady Ilfracombe were saying to each other, as we have seen before, ‘We will go over to the farm to-morrow morning and say good-bye to Nell, and tell her of all the good things we mean to do for her when she is married,’ and so at last they all slept, the husband and wife locked in each other’s arms—Jack Portland, restlessly, and starting up now and then to remember his disappointment with an oath, and Nell Llewellyn slept also, the sweetest and most peaceful sleep of them all.
She had gone straight home to her parents when she parted with Nora, and had passed a very pleasant evening with them. The old people had been particularly cheerful. Bonnie, the cow, had quite recovered, and was giving her milk as well as ever; and Sir Archibald Bowmant had met the farmer on his way home and intimated to him that he was likely to have a change of landlords.
‘I do think,’ said Mr Llewellyn, ‘as his lordship buying the old farm is the grandestthing I’ve ever heard on, and, if it come to pass (and Sir Archibald spoke of it as a settled thing), mother and me shall feel as we owe it all to you, my lass. Sha’n’t us, mother?’
‘Yes, indeed,’ acquiesced the old woman, ‘it’s all due to Nell, there’s no question of that. It was a fortunate day for us when you took service with the earl, Nell, though we were both set agen you going to London at the time; but there, one never knows how things will turn out.’
Nell looked gratified by her parents’ approval. She had been more serious and silent than usual that evening, but now she seemed to brighten up, and talked with them of all they should do and say when Lord Ilfracombe came to tell them of his kindness in person.
‘Ay! but that will be a grand occasion,’ quoth her mother; ‘and you must do credit to it, my lass. I daresay the earl will bring his lady with him, and we must all put on our Sunday best to do them honour.’
‘Mother,’ said Nell presently, ‘I have something to tell you. I saw Lady Ilfracombe in the fields this afternoon, and she said that she and the earl intended to call here to-morrow morning. They are going to leave Usk Hall to-morrow afternoon, and so I daresay they will take this opportunity to tell father about the farm. You mustn’t go out to-morrow, father, till you have seen him.’
‘Igo out,’ exclaimed the farmer, ‘on such an occasion? I should think not. Why no one in the house shall stir till they’re come and gone. Has the parlour been swept to-day, for if not you and mother will have to stay up till it’s done? I couldn’t have his lordship sitting down in a dusty room. That wouldn’t be the way to make him think us good tenants.’
‘A dusty room,’ cried the old woman indignantly. ‘We’ve been man and wife now for five-and-twenty years come Michaelmas, Griffith Llewellyn, and you can’t name the day you’ve ever seen my parlour dusty yet. The Queen herself, God blessher, might enter it any day in the week and not soil her royal robes.’
‘Well, well, wife, there’s enough words about that,’ said her husband. ‘I’m proud to hear his lordship’s coming to Panty-cuckoo, and glad that Nell gave us warning of it. Did you find an opportunity to ask if there’s a chance of your entering the earl’s service again, my girl?’ he continued to his daughter.
Nell left her seat and approached her father’s side, winding her arm round the old man’s neck, and laying her cheek gently against his. ‘No, dear father,’ she said, ‘I didn’t mention the subject. I don’t think I shall ever go to service again, dear. I am not so strong as I was, and it would be too hard for me.’
She strangled a kind of sob in her throat as she proceeded:—
‘I have been a great burden on you for the last year, father; but I won’t be so much longer. If I can’t go to service, I will provide for myself some way, don’t fear that.’
‘Ay, my lass, it will be as well. You’re a bonny lass, there’s no denying, but you don’t seem to care much for marriage, and when your mother and me is gone you’ll have a sore shift to provide for yourself if you have no work to do. I mentioned his lordship’s service because it seems to me as if it has left you pretty well unfit for anything else. Your hands and face and your constitootion ain’t fit for a farm-house, Nell, and that’s the truth. They improved you and they spiled you both up in London. You’re fitter for the town than the country, any one could see that with half an eye. But you’re a good girl, my dear, and mother and me, we both say that.’
‘Thank you, father,’ she replied, as she kissed him several times, more times than were necessary, according to the rough old farmer’s ideas—and then did the same by her mother.
‘Good-night, dear, dear mother,’ she murmured fervently. ‘You’ve been a good mother to your poor, thoughtless, useless Nell.’
‘Ay, that I have,’ replied Mrs Llewellyn, with the beautiful self-assurance of the poor, ‘but you’re worth it all the same.’
‘Thank you, dear, God bless you,’ said Nell gently, as she prepared to leave the room. At the door she turned and stood regarding the two old people with her lovely hazel eyes, as if she could not gaze enough at them.
‘You’re a rare fool,’ cried her mother gaily. ‘There, run away to your bed, do, and get up wiser in the morning.’
And then, as her daughter with a solemn smile disappeared, she remarked to her husband,—
‘I’m sometimes half afeared, father, if that girl ain’t a bit mazed. She do look at one so queer with them big eyes of hers. Did you notice her just now?’
‘Not I,’ replied the farmer. ‘I’ve other things to do besides noticing a maid’s eyes. So now come along to bed, wife, and forget all such rubbish, for we’ll have to be up betimes to make ready to receive his lordship.’
And the old couple went up to their room, laughing and cackling as they passed Nell’s door.
And as they did so the clock struck nine.
She heard it as she stood in her bedroom, with her hands clasped in front of her, dazed and bewildered. The world seemed to have closed on her with her parents’ good-night kisses—all the people in it appeared to have become indistinct and blurred. They were fading away before her mental vision one by one—the Earl and his Countess, Jack Portland, Hugh Owen, her father and mother, Hetty, everyone. Nell felt she had done with them all for ever. At one moment she thought of writing to Hugh Owen. He had loved her and had great hopes of her, and she had dashed them all aside. She was sorry for his disappointment and his broken faith. Should she write and tell him so. But what could she say, except that the man he saw her with was her former lover, and if he discoveredhim to be the earl, there would be another unpleasantness for Ilfracombe. Oh, no! Her life had been all a muddle and a mistake, it was best to leave it so. She could not unravel it, and the more she touched it the more entangled it became. Best to remain silent to the last. Not a thought of Portland entered her head. She had made a certain compact with him, and she had meant to end it like this all along. But she moved across the room with a soft lingering step, and eyes that seemed already covered with the film of death, and gazed from the window that looked towards the house where Ilfracombe was sleeping.
‘Good-bye,’ she murmured indistinctly, ‘good-bye.’
And then Nell turned away, and taking hold of a chair, dragged it to the wardrobe, and mounting on it took down the bottle of poison for which her mother had told her to write a label.
END.