CHAPTER XXXIX.A FRIENDLY VISIT.
Captain Waring had departed for England without ceremony or beat of drum (leaving his debts behind him), also presumably his cousin, who had not had the common decency to leave P. P. C. cards—no, not even on the mess or the club—and who had treated poor Honor Gordon shamefully; indeed, several matrons agreed that in the good old days such a man would certainly have been shot or horsewhipped!
How Colonel Sladen had chuckled, surmised, and slandered, had bemoaned the girl’s lost good looks, and her aunt’s idiotcy to all comers, as he waited impatiently for his afternoon rubber! Nextto his whist, the relaxation he most thoroughly enjoyed was abonâ fideill-natured gossip, with a sauce in the form of sharp and well-spiced details.
No reliable information respecting Mr. Jervis had as yet been circulated—for Clarence, on second thoughts, had kept his late comrade’s plans and whereabouts entirely to himself.
Mrs. Brande knew, and held her tongue. What was the good of talking? She was much subdued in these days, even in the colour of her raiment. She rarely went to the club; she dared not face certain questioning pitiless eyes in the awful verandah; indeed she kept in the background to an unparalleled degree. Nevertheless she had her plans, and was prepared to rise phoenix-like from the ashes of her former hopes. She was actually contemplating a second venture, in the shape of a niece. She thought Honor wanted cheering up, and a face from home—especially such a lovely face—would surely have a happyresult. But Honor’s thoughts were secretly fixed upon another countenance, a certain colourless, handsome face—a face she never expected to see again. Her mind dwelt with poignant memories on a pair of eyes, dim with wordless misery, that had looked into her own that hateful June morning.
“We can well afford it, P.,” urged his wife, apropos of her scheme. “One girl is the same as two—one ayah between them.” She little knew Fairy.
“Please yourself,” cried Mr. Brande, at last; “but Honor shall always be my niece, my chief niece, and nothing shall ever put her nose out of joint with her uncle Pelham.”
“No one wants to! I should like to see any one try that, or with me either. But what a nose Fairy has! Just modelled to her face like a wax-work.”
Mrs. Brande talked long and enthusiastically to Honor about her sister. But Honor was not responsive; her eyes were averted, her answers unsatisfactory; indeed, shesaid but little, and looked positively uncomfortable and distressed. And no doubt she felt a wee bit guilty because she had prevented the child from coming out before. But that was very unlike Honor; Mrs. Brande could not understand it.
How she would exult in a niece who was a miracle of loveliness, instead of being merely a pretty, bright, and popular girl. Not that Honor was very bright now; she was losing her looks, and Honor’s love affair had come to such a woeful end. Honor was not the sort of girl to take up with any one else; and, indeed, she could not wonder. Poor Mark! of all her boys, he was the one nearest to her heart.
Still she considered that he had carried filial love a great deal too far, when she had thought over his sacrifice in moments of cool reflection. It was a shame that Mark, and Honor, and a magnificent fortune should all be sacrificed to an eccentric old hermit.
Mrs. Brande said little; she was notreceiving the support and encouragement she expected. She placed Fairy’s photograph in poor Ben’s silver frame in a conspicuous place in the drawing-room, and she mentally sketched out the rough draft of another letter to Hoyle.
Before this letter took definite shape, Mrs. Langrishe came to call—a dinner “call”—in full state and her best afternoon toilet. Seating herself on the sofa, she began to tell Mrs. Brande all about her dear invalid, exactly as if she were talking to a most sympathetic listener—instead of to a deadly rival.
“He is such a nice man, and so quiet in a house.”
“For that matter,” retorted Mrs. Brande, “he is quiet enough out of the house, and everywhere else.”
“And he is so contented and easily amused,” continued Mrs. Langrishe. “I left him with Lalla reading aloud to him.”
“Do you think that isquitethe thing?” inquired Mrs. Brande, with a dubious sniff.
“Why should she not do it as well as hospital nurses?” demanded her visitor.
Mrs. Brande reflected on the result of her own nursing. Would this nursing have the same effect?
“Hospital nurses are generally young, single, and very frequently pretty,” resumed Mrs. Langrishe. “They read to their patients, and take tea with them, and no one says a word. All the difference between them and these girls is, their uniform and their experience; and surelynoone ever dreams of making a remark about those excellent, devoted young women!”
Lalla was not excellent, but she had certainly been most devoted—as her aunt thankfully acknowledged.
“Well, I don’t know that I should allow Honor to do it,” said Mrs. Brande, with a meditative air.
“Possibly not. It would, of course, depend upon circumstances. Now”—laying two fingers playfully on Mrs. Brande’sround arm—“I am going to be a little bird, and whisper a little secret in your ear.”
Mrs. Brande drew back, as if she thought Mrs. Langrishe was going to be a little rattlesnake.
“It is not to be given out for a few days, but Lalla and Sir Gloster are engaged. It is quite settled.”
Sir Gloster had only proposed the previous evening, and had begged that the fact of the engagement might be kept quiet for a week, until he had wired home to his all-important mother. She must be told before any one. Yes, he had succumbed to Lalla’s bright blandishments. He was a dull, heavy man; he liked to be amused. He would have amusement all day long when Lalla was his wife. She had a charming voice, and read aloud well. She brought him all the scraps of news, she was an admirable mimic, an adroit flatterer, and altogether a charming girl; and her dailytête-à-têteswere of a most stimulating character, and he looked forwardto them with keen anticipation. She gave him a capital description of the unmasking of Captain Waring, the sensation created by thesoi-disantpoor relation; how every one was certain that it was going to be a match between him and Miss Gordon; how he had absconded, and Miss Gordon was left. He had evidently joined his friend in Bombay—wiseyoung man!
Sir Gloster, who was naturally of a huffy and implacable disposition, had never recovered the shock to his affections and self-esteem. He was by no means sorry to hear that in her turn Miss Gordon had been spurned, and he was resolved to show her how speedilyhehad been consoled.
Mrs. Langrishe, when she entered Mrs. Brande’s house, had not intended to divulge her great news—merely to throw out hints, draw comparisons, and trample more or less on the fallen and forsaken.
But for once human nature was too strong for her: she would have had a serious illness if she had not then andthere relieved her mind of her overwhelming achievement.
Mrs. Brande opened her blue eyes to their widest extent; her worst fears were confirmed.
She however mustered up an artificial smile, and said—
“I am sure you are very pleased,” which was true—“and I am glad indeed to hear it,” which was not true.
“It is to be kept quiet for a week,” murmured Mrs. Langrishe; “but I am telling you as an old friend, who I feelsurewill be pleased with the news. Of course, we are all delighted; it is everything we could wish,” and she drew herself up.
“I should rather think it was!” rejoined Mrs. Brande, tartly; she was but human after all.
“My brother and all my people will be much gratified—Sir Gloster is such a dear good fellow, and so well off, andsosteady.”
“I hope he won’t be a littletoosteady for Lalla!”
“Not he; and he delights in all her fun, and singing——”
“And dancing?” suggested Mrs. Brande, significantly.
“It will not be a long engagement,” ignoring this little thrust. “This is the second week of September; we shall all be going down in another six weeks. We will have the wedding in about a month.”
It was on the tip of Mrs. Brande’s tongue to say, “Delays are dangerous,” but she closed her lips.
“Where is Honor?” inquired Mrs. Langrishe, with rare effusion.
“She has gone off down the khud to get ivy for the table. I have a small dinner this evening.”
“You are always having dinners, you wonderful woman.”
“Well, you see, in Pelham’sposition, we must entertain, and I make it a rule to have a dinner once a week.”
“You are quite a providence to the station!” cried her visitor affectedly.“How pretty those grasses are. I suppose Honor arranged them? What a useful girl she is!”
“Yes, she takes all trouble off my hands. I don’t know how I shall ever get on without her.”
“How lucky for you, that there is no chance of herleavingyou! My dear, that was a most unfortunate affair about Mr. Jervis.”
“What do you mean?” inquired Mrs. Brande, whose crest began to rise.
“Oh,” with a disagreeable laugh, “it is what didhe mean! He paid Honor the most devoted attention, and the moment he was revealed in his true colours—he fled. No one knows what has become of him.”
“Pardon me—wedo!” returned his champion, with a quiver of her double chin.
“And—where is he, dear? what is he doing?”
“He is doing a good—a noble action. Putting himself and his wishes aside forthe sake of others,” returned Mrs. Brande in a white heat of emotion.
“Oh well,” rather disconcerted, “if you and Honor, and above allMr. Brande, are satisfied, of course there is no more to be said——”
“No,” pointedly. “I hope no more willbesaid. Have you seen the photograph of my other niece, Honor’s sister?” making a desperate effort to rally and change the conversation, and reaching for the frame, which she solemnly placed in Mrs. Langrishe’s hand.
“What do you think of her?” Here at least she was certain of scoring a small triumph.
“Think, my dear woman! Why, that she is perfectly lovely.” (It was safe to praise a girl who was in England.)
“At first she was coming out to me,” her aunt pursued, “but she changed her mind. Now we are thinking of having her out in November with the Hadfield’s girl.”
“Indeed,” said Mrs. Langrishe, reflectively, and still nursing the picture, as it were, on her knee.
She had a wonderful knack of picking up odd bits of news, and her brain contained useful little scraps of the most promiscuous description. Her mind was a sort of ragbag, and these scraps often came in appropriately. She rummaged out a scrap now.
She had recently heard, from a cousin of hers (an artist), of a Mrs. Gordon, a widow with two daughters, one of them lovely, who was sitting to him as Rowena—an ideal Rowena—but who was also a dwarf—a sort of little creature that you might exhibit.
“Does your niece live at Hoyle, and is her name Fairy?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?” rather eagerly.
“I have heard of her, recently, from my cousin, Oscar Crabbe. And why did she not come out?” looking at her with a queer smile.
“Her health was not very good—and there was some other reason—which I have not been told.”
“I know the reason, and can tell you, if you like,” said Mrs. Langrishe, with an air of affectionate confidence.
Here was an unexpected opportunity of planting a dart in her adversary’s side.
“There is no object in keeping the matter secret, it is just as foolish as that scheme of young Jervis’s, who was like an ostrich sticking his head in the sand. By the way, it appears thatthatis quite an exploded idea! Every one in Hoyle knows Miss Fairy Gordon’s appearance—she is extraordinary lovely—but——”
“But not mad? Don’t say she is mad!” protested Mrs. Brande, excitedly.
“No, no; not so bad as that. But,” looking steadily into her listener’s eyes, she added, “poor little creature, she is adwarf! She never grew after she was ten, I am told. Yes, it is a dreadful pity,” gazing into her hostess’s horrified countenance.“Sitting down, she is just like other people—but when she stands up, she seems to have no legs.”
“A dwarf! No legs! And she thought of coming to me! And I was just going to write and ask her to start in November,” repeated Mrs. Brande in gasps.
“Well, my dear, it is a most fortunate circumstance that your letter has not gone. What could you have done with her? You could never have taken her out exceptafter dark.”
This was a terribly effective thrust. Mrs. Brande was wholly unable to retaliate, and made no reply.
“A dwarf!” Her mind conjured up a little fat sallow woman, such as she had once seen outside a show at a fair, and that miserable stunted native who was carried about Shirani, begging, on the shoulders of a boy.
And her niece, of whose picture she was so proud, that she had placed it in a solid silver frame—her lovely niece was like that!
“I wonder Honor never told me,” murmured Mrs. Brande at last.
“And I do not,” was the emphatic rejoinder. “From all accounts, the mother and sisters have always spoiled the little one, who believes that she is in no way different to other people, and is too ridiculously vain. Even if she had been five foot six, I am sure that you are far happier without her,” concluded Mrs. Langrishe, rising and squeezing her hostess’s hand as she spoke. And having offered this small fragment of consolation, she rustled away.
Mrs. Brande, poor woman, had been indeed trampled upon, and crushed to the very earth. She had been asked to join in her rival’s song of triumph over Miss Paske’s superb success; she had been condoled with on her own dear girl’s misfortunes; and she had been informed that she was aunt to a dwarf!
She sat for some time in a shattered, stupefied condition; then she got up, and hastily carried off Fairy’s photograph andlocked it away in a box, secure from all eyes, and from even the ayah’s inquisitive brown fingers.
Honor noticed the absence of her sister’s picture from its usual post of honour—it was nowhere to be seen—the absence of Fairy’s name in conversation, the sudden cessation of all interest in Gerty Hadfield’s movements, and guessed rightly that some one had kindly enlightened her aunt, and that she was in possession of theotherreason now.