CHAPTER XX
AND now to accompany the fugitive to London. At first, the mere novelty of a drive to the station that delicious June day, and the unaccustomed journey in the train filled her with a sense of overpowering freedom; but as the heavy express thundered along, her mind, as usual, began to be uneasy and undecided; her thoughts turned insistently to her deserted baby girl, and the more she reflected, the more she felt drawn to Cara—and by her very heart-strings!
When Mrs. Blagdon stepped out on the London platform, it was a woebegone young woman, with a white and frightened face, that encountered the glad eyes of her awaiting lover,—who instantly recognised that his beloved had recently passed through some great emotional storm, and that her courage had been sorely shaken by this, the most daring venture of her existence. Here was a different Letty to the one who had danced with him so gaily at the Brakesby Ball, and skimmed over the ice on Batley Mere;shewas a girl radiant with youth and expectant happiness, looking out on the future with brave and shining eyes. This Letty, with her pathetic expression and tremulous lips, recalled some poor wild bird with a broken wing,and he realised that he must treat her with extraordinary tact and tenderness.
They went together in search of her luggage, which turned out to be of surprisingly modest dimensions, and in keeping with its owner’s costume. Wearing a simple white linen and a plain shady hat, Letty might be the daughter of a curate, or a clerk, instead of the wife of a fabulously wealthy man; but her companion understood; she wished to leave Blagdon as she had gone to him—empty handed. With a lover’s memory, he recognised her little turquoise brooch, and a certain thin, old-fashioned locket.
In a few minutes the pair were in a hansom threading their way to the Cosmopolitan. Letty, sitting very far back in her corner, with a rigid profile and tightly clasped hands. It was more than two years since she had been in London, and the noise, the traffic, the varied sights, and the jostling crowds, struck her in forcible contrast to the silence and emptiness of the country.
After a long and sensitive silence, Lumley said:
“Letty, you look terribly pale and tired. I am afraid you feel knocked up?”
“No, no, I’m not tired,” she answered; “but so thirsty, I can scarcely speak.”
“We will have tea the moment we get to the hotel. It’s just half-past five now. I’ve taken rooms there.”
“Rooms,” she repeated, looking at him with a vacant gaze.
“Yes; in my name, and what will one day be yours,”and he lifted one of her hands and kissed it. “Rooms for Captain and Mrs. Lumley.”
The future Mrs. Lumley dragged away her hand, and made no reply; her face flamed, no one could call her pale now.
“Letty Lumley goes rather well,” continued her companion, unabashed; “and here we are—come along!” helping her out; then proceeding up the steps he ushered her into the entrance of the hotel. They passed through a great hall, entered a spacious lift, and were whirled to the first floor, where they were evidently expected. A ready man-servant came forward with (as it seemed to the lady) significantempressement, and threw open the door of a lofty sitting-room, furnished with heavy silk curtains, tall mirrors between the windows, a soft dark carpet, Oriental vases, cabinets, lounges, and luxurious chairs. A formal, expensive apartment, somewhat stiff and gloomy, but made beautiful with flowers.
“All the flowers you like best, Letty,” explained Lumley, as the man departed with an order for tea, “every one of your favourites, to bid you welcome.”
“Yes, lovely,” she faltered. “How—thoughtful of you!” and she buried her face in a great bowl of roses and carnations. How, she asked herself, was she, the coward of cowards, to tell Lancelot the truth? She raised her eyes, and was confronted by a Chinese incense burner; a monster in bronze, a sort of demon dog, with a high spiral tail, and a flat, diabolical head,which confronted her on an opposite cabinet, with a hideous grin.
The bronze demon, as if alive and malignant, appeared to mock her, and say:
“You know you cannot do it, you little born fool!”
She turned away, and looked out of the window, with misty eyes and a fluttering heart—aware that, her life had reached a desperate climax!
How could she tell Lancelot, so loyal, so chivalrous, and devoted, that she had changed her mind in the train, and was determined to return to Cara by the half-past eight express?
In spite of her most determined efforts, tears dropped on her blouse, and Lancelot, who had been anxiously watching her, drew her tenderly towards him, and as she sobbed on his shoulder said, ‘There, there, there!’ as if he were comforting a child. Steel herself against her lover as she might, his presence affected her deeply.
“I understandallabout it—this has been an awful wrench for you, a terrible day; but now you must look forward, not backwards any more. The future is ours, and I have ever so much to say to you.”
“And I to you,” she murmured, drawing away from him, and drying her eyes as she spoke. She glanced nervously about the room—a room to be imprinted on her memory as long as memory existed: for here she must part with Lancelot, and for ever. It would be, so to speak, a chamber of death, and at the thought she shuddered. How morbid she was growing, or wasshe a little mad? There was that grinning devil confronting her, with wide-open jaws, flattened ears, and staring eyes, and the background of this lofty, heavily furnished apartment seemed to weigh upon her senses; the perfume of the roses to stifle her.
“Here is tea,” announced Captain Lumley. “Shall I pour it out and bring it over to you?”
“No, no, thank you,” rising and taking off her gloves; “but if you would open the windows?”
“Won’t you take your hat off?”
She hesitated for a moment and murmured:
“My hair is so untidy.”
But ultimately unpinned her hat, and threw it on a sofa; it would not take long to put on again.
Then she sat down and began to busy herself with the cups and saucers, and her companion noticed how her hand was shaking. The buoyancy of his spirits was by this time somewhat crushed. Letty was taking it hardly; she was so sensitive. But after she had had tea, and was a little refreshed, they would discuss their plans; meanwhile he would talk any nonsense to amuse and distract her.
“This is a fine room,” he said, looking about, “and an A1 hotel. Did Frances ever tell you about Cousin Toby and his bride? No? Well, he and Rosa funked the honeymoon abroad; it was winter, and they wanted to stay in town and do theatres and have a good time; but, of course, their relations, who were in London, barred it—said they must do the orthodox thing. However, the two laid their plans, were seenoff at Victoria with due pomp, got out at Cannon Street, and sneaked back here in great glee, and would never have been found out but for Rosa’s umbrella; it was full of rice and dripped grains all over the stairs and place. The poor innocents never knew, till they saw themselves among the fashionable arrivals; but, I say, Letty, you’ve eaten nothing! Do have some of these strawberries?”
“No, no, thank you.”
“Feel better after your tea?”
“Yes; I was so thirsty, and my head ached; but now I’m all right.” She put up her hands to her beautiful hair, and he noticed that she was still wearing her wedding ring.
“Well, now shall I explain things a little, or will you talk first?”
“Do you please begin.” (Anything for a respite.)
“Then may I have a cigarette?”
“Of course you may.”
Lumley rose and took out his case, and began to walk restlessly about the room; he was one of those men who rarely sit down.
“I’ve arranged matters all right; seen our man of business, Ross, and had a tremendous jaw with him.” (He did not mention what a strenuous interview it had been, and how the old family lawyer had exhausted his wit, his eloquence, and his temper, in endeavouring, as he hoped, to turn the young idiot from his folly; from rushing headlong into social and professional extinction.
The idea of young Lumley, whom he had known as a remarkably bright, clever, steady boy, running off with a married woman,—the wife, too, of such a well-known character as Hugo Blagdon! What, he asked him, would his father and sister say? And how could he take a divorced wife into his regiment?
But it had all been a useless waste of brain tissue, breath, and temper.)
“It will be plain-sailing, Letty, now we have burned our boats; perhaps we had better dine downstairs, so as to beseentogether on account of the case.”
“No, no, no,” half rising, and looking at him with a startled expression.
“But, my darling Letty, unless you are divorced, how can you marry me? We must give some just cause, for them to go on; I’m not sure that it’s cricket—a faked elopement—but I see nothing else for it; and I understand there is no getting over the fact of a private sitting-room: so I’ve taken this,” nodding at himself in one of the long mirrors between the windows. “To-night, I shall return to my own diggings, and you will have the suite to yourself. To-morrow, we will go down to Broadstairs, I’ve secured rooms for you there. I’m afraid we won’t see much of one another till the decree nisi is out; the case, of course, will be undefended; our lawyers will arrange matters very quietly and try and keep the business out of the papers. We shall have to wait six months, and then, Letty,” and his voice had a ring of irrepressible joy, “we will be married!”
Letty attempted to speak, but he put up his hand.
“Of course, it’s a maddening wait, but can’t be helped. I’m going to Moscow to study Russian all the time, and I’ll write to you every day, and you to me. You might go abroad if you liked. Mrs. Hesketh has promised me to befriend you. I’ve been down to see her; she blames herself forthis, says she brought us together—not much bringing wanted on my part, eh, Letty?” And he paused and laughed, a short excited laugh.
“And what about——” she was beginning.
“Just wait one second, till I finish my innings; I’m wound up like a clock. Oh, yes, I know—the regiment. I’ve arranged for an exchange to another in India—that’s settled, and it is all right about money, too. Did you hear that I came in for a legacy this spring. I have enough for us both; to-morrow, I’ll open an account for you at Cox’s. This is only the bald, commonplace outline—and now,” coming to a standstill before her, “I’ve finished at last, and it’s your turn. What,” he asked with a smile, “haveyougot to say?”
“I’ve got to say,” and she rose and faced him with a face white as death, “that—that—I cannot—do it! No,” speaking with dry lips, “it’s no use—my heart has failed me, andI am—going back.”
Lumley’s amazement was such, that he was dumb; twice he opened his mouth to speak, but only his breathing could be heard. At last he stammered out:
“Letty, you are not in earnest,—you cannot return;the worst is over, and I shall never let you go—never; consider that settled.”
“Oh, but you must—you must!” she cried, twisting her hands together. “I screwed up my courage—I wrote those farewell letters—I wrote to him, and I left home—it seems years ago; but before I was half-way to town I had repented. Yes,” speaking between short dry sobs, “you know my besetting failing; always standing at the cross roads. This time, I have made up my mind—I am,” and she gave a great sob, “sure of myself. I love you, dear, dear Lancelot, but if we carried out your plans, we should be miserable.”
“No we shouldn’t,” he broke in with hasty emphasis; “on the contrary, for the first time for years, you will know what it is to be free and young and happy; you will live like others of your own age, and enjoy a little sunshine.”
Looking at Letty as she stood with her back to the window, it seemed incredible that this slim young girl, was already a wife and mother.
“The sun, you mean, would never shine onme,” she replied. “All the time I would be thinking of Cara, wearying to see her, and feeling the most terrible remorse. Is there anything in the whole world, that can hurt like that?”
Lumley made no reply, he was struggling hard to keep his emotion well under control, and she continued tremulously:
“No one will ever know of this madness of mine—noone but you. Hugo does not come to Sharsley for months and months; as soon as I get back, I’ll destroy my letter to him, the others as well—they were to be posted to-morrow. There’s the mail-train at half-past eight, and I shall easily catch it.”
As she concluded, she picked up her hat, and put it on mechanically.
Meanwhile Lumley stood listening to her, watching her keenly, and assuring himself that in the coming struggle between two wills, the victorymustgo to the strong.
“I am pleading as much for your sake as mine,” she resumed, looking at him with wistful dignity, and not a little daunted by his continued silence.
“Think of your poor father, who is so proud of you; think of Frances, who is devoted to you—and to me. Think of my poor little Cara, that I would be deserting for ever.”
“It is too late to talk of these things now, Letty,” he answered inflexibly. “How can you suggest returning to a fellow that deserts you, and treats you brutally and cruelly; a man that you regard with shuddering repulsion?” He was resolved to hit hard.
“Oh, Lancelot, don’t!” wincing and turning away; “if you only knew. I’d go with you to the world’s end—I would—but for the child. Yes; in spite of your father’s grey hairs, and your sister’s confidence and affection; but there is something that I cannot explain, and that you would not understand; itis themotherin me, that is drawing me back—yes, and I am going.”
“No!” said Lumley suddenly, walking across the room, and placing his back against the door. “You don’t leave London to-night—talk of madness—that would be madness indeed!”
His face looked stern and very pale; he had braced himself as for a life and death struggle.
“Yes, I will prevent you, and by all means in my power, short of force.Iknow what is best for you; I am not thinking of myself,—but of you, now. You know I love you too well, Letty, to do anything that would harm you—but to allow you to escape to that life of misery, would be a crime. A crime, against your youth and your happiness; you talk of Cara, what is she but a baby of three, and you are one-and-twenty? Why is she to devour the whole of your future? She is pretty, she is a rich man’s daughter, as far as I could judge, has a strong will; the world will go well withher. Suppose you sacrifice yourself, will she give up her best years to you, and areyouto have no life of your own? As it is, you are like some beautiful flower that has been kept in a dark room till its colour has been bleached, and its vitality is perishing. If this existence continues, what will you be in twenty years?”
“Dead, I hope,” she answered sharply, then with a flash of unexpected passion, “but dead or alive, I am going to stick to Cara.”
“No you are not,” he rejoined with gathering excitement. “You are going to stick tome, and till deathus do part.” Visibly shaken by the force of his own speech, he added hoarsely: “Letty, you have escaped from bondage, be thankful for your freedom!”
“It is for you, Lancelot, to release me,” she declared, “and help me to escape from here; from a situation that will bring disgrace on me—and mine.”
“Do you mean that?” he demanded fiercely, leaving his post, and coming a step nearer.
“Yes, I do,” she assented with a set wooden face,—the face of a woman of double her age. “Lancelot, let me pass. If you stand in my way, and prevent my returning home I—I—swear I will never forgive you.”
“If I had stood in your way four years ago, as I ought to have done—my home would be yours. If I let you passnow, I know, that I shall never set eyes on you again.”
His handsome tanned face had taken a curious clay-coloured shade; little drops of sweat stood on his forehead.
“Think again, for God’s sake!” His voice rose, vibrating with passion. “Have mercy on yourself.”
“Myself! No;Idon’t count!”
“Nor I? Letty, has it occurred to you, what an awful fool you have made of me?”
It was true; she had sacrificed him as pitilessly as herself—this only struck her now. For her sake Lancelot had given up his regiment, thrown his prospects to the winds, risked the loss of his friends.
“I know,” she stammered at last, “I have cost you a great deal—far, far, too much. Lancelot, I’m notworthit! I am a miserable, cowardly, half-hearted creature—and now—let me go—ohdo—I implore you, let me go!”
As they stood staring into one another’s eyes, a languid gilt clock on the mantel-piece, struck eight.
Lumley started, their discussion had absorbed more time than seemed possible—he moved aside and said in a muffled tone, “Well—if you must—you must!”
Letty came closer to him—his drawn stricken face affected her profoundly. She seized his hand in both of hers, and suddenly broke down.
“Good-bye, Lancelot; good-bye,” she sobbed hysterically. “I know you will despise me, and forget me; but as long as I live I shall love you, better than anyone in the whole world—better than Cara. But my duty is to her; if I went with you, I should always, always, be looking back.”
“Poor Letty, I’ll try, and forgive you,” he answered huskily; “but from the bottom of my heart, I believe you are spoiling two lives; and the day may come, when you will find it hard to forgive yourself,” and with a violent wrench he opened the door.
It was a strangely pale and agitated couple who descended into the great hall, and a few minutes later drove away to the station: a waiter going into the empty room, found too late, that the lady had forgotten a very damp pocket-handkerchief, and a handsome umbrella with a gold handle, on which was inscribed, “Mrs. Blagdon, Sharsley Court.”
On their way down Piccadilly Captain Lumley and his companion encountered a steady stream of hansoms carrying their gay fares to dinners or the theatres. The two, who held one another’s hands in agonised silence, seemed to be journeying away from life, and all its joys, and facing together—a dark and hopeless future.
As soon as Letty had secured her ticket she said:
“We will say good-bye now, Lancelot—please don’t come on the platform. You know this is the fast train—and I may meet neighbours.”
And there, under the flaming lamps, in the ugly, bare booking-office, came to these, who were so much to one another, that transcendent moment of a miserable and silent farewell. As Letty looked up into her lover’s face, her heart felt a piercing stab; she had once encountered a poor lost dog, with the self-same expression in its eyes.
A moment later, she was hurrying along the platform, asking for the train to Ridgefield.
“Sorry, miss,” replied an official, “but you’ve just missed her,” indicating a round red light that was vanishing into a tunnel; and the runaway had lost her only opportunity of returning home that night! This discovery was a shock: she felt vanquished—and half distracted, but recovering her courage, and summoning her wits to her assistance, she made over her luggage to a porter, and departed in quest of a bedroom in the Terminus Hotel.