CHAPTER XXI
MR. BLAGDON was a late riser; on this particular morning it was eleven o’clock as he stood lathering his great sensual face, in front of a shaving-glass. The operation was but half completed, when his valet entered, and, clearing his throat, said:
“Beg pardon, sir, but Mrs. Blagdon has just arrived and is asking to see you.”
Blagdon’s somewhat shaky hand slipped, and gave his chin a gash. When he had carefully plastered it up, he turned to the man, with an alarming scowl.
“Jenkins didn’t let her in, did he?”
“Yes, sir, he did. She’s in the morning-room.”
“That’ll do!” said his master in a voice of thunder, and he continued his toilet with a determination that he would sack Jenkins instantly, and turn his wife out of the house. But before taking these drastic steps, he must breakfast. He went heavily downstairs, unfolding a large scented pocket-handkerchief, and stalked into the dining-room; here he was served with devilled kidneys, dry toast, and two strong whiskies and sodas. Thus fortified, he approached with loud, resonant footsteps, the morning-room, where the culprit awaited him in shivering expectation: and flinging the door wide, entered like an avenging fate.
“Well, ma’am, I shall be glad to know what the devil bringsyouhere?” he demanded. “The servants had orders not to admit you. Old Jenkins shall be kicked out to-morrow!”
“Hugo,” she said, rising, and vainly endeavouring to steady her voice, “of course, I know that after the letter, which no doubt you have read, my coming back like this must seem astonishing.”
“Outrageous! Scandalous!” he burst in. “Why, it’s absolutelyshameless!”
“But the truth is, before I got half-way to London I had changed my mind. I found that I couldn’t leave Cara, and so when I met Captain Lumley I told him this, and in spite of all he could urge, I refused to take the final step. We remained talking together too long, and I just missed the last train—the mail. I had said good-bye to him before that, and I went to the station hotel and spent the night there, and came on the first thing this morning. Hugo, I swear to you that I am speaking the truth.”
“What a fine cock-and-bull story!” he answered, with a sneer. “We have heard of people missing their trains before. I’m surprised that you and Lumley between you, couldn’t think of something a littlefresher!”
“But you believe me, Hugo?” she implored, “and I may come back?”
“No, I’m damned if you shall! Come back, indeed! I got your letter yesterday, and telegraphed at once to my lawyer. You shall be, as you said yourself,dead to me,—and I shall be dead to you. I am not likely to put up with a woman who informs me she is going off with a lover—and no doubt has a row with him, finds she hasn’t bettered herself,—and turns up at home the next day. By Jove, no!”
“But where am I to go?” she asked piteously. “What am I to do? I swear to you, that I am as innocent as Cara herself—at least, you will let me see her?”
“Not I! And now, madam, we have had enough of this,” and, taking her roughly by the arm, he led her from the anteroom, out into the great hall,—the door of which happened to be open. Without a word he pushed her violently across the threshold, and slammed the door upon her.
The fly and luggage had disappeared, there was no one in sight, as the ejected wife went slowly down the steps, and slowly down the avenue, as if she were walking in her sleep; this unexpected blow had been so staggering, that it momentarily stunned her.
Meanwhile Blagdon, with his hands in his pockets, stood in the window of the hall, which commanded a full view of the short entrance drive, his eyes fixed on the receding figure. When he saw her approach and pass through the great gates, making her final and ignominious exit, he muttered under his breath, “She’sgone!” and then he went back to the smoking-room, selected one of his best cigars, and sat down to meditate upon his future plans.
Frances Lumley, who happened to be crossing thevillage square, halted when she beheld her friend. What had happened? Why this white, stricken face? She held out her hand, and enquired:
“Is anything the matter?”
For a moment the unhappy girl seemed to choke; then—she stammered: “Yes—Hugo has just turned me out of the house.”
“Turned you out! Oh, my poor Letty! Then you will come home with me, of course?” And as she spoke, she took her arm.
It was but a few yards to the Rectory, and as they walked up the avenue, Letty halted abruptly, and said:
“I don’t think I should comehere,” releasing her friend, and supporting herself by a railing that bordered the drive.
“Nonsense!”
“But, Frances, you don’t know. It was because of your brother that—that—Hugo has cast me off.”
“Because ofLancelot!” exclaimed Miss Lumley, suddenly disconcerted; her colour rose, her eyes dilated.
“Yes,” said Letty, and then—she added, in short, gasping sentences: “I ran away to him yesterday to London—but I changed my mind. I could not desert Cara.—I came back. Hugo had returned suddenly, and read my letter, and took me by the shoulders, thrust me out, and slammed the door on me. I feel sure he will try and divorce me!”
Frances’ clear mind grasped a subject quickly. Whata disastrous affair for Lancelot! What was to be done? Obviously the first step was to take Letty into the house—she looked ghastly.
“Brother or no brother,” she said—stifling her own dismay—“you must come and stay with us, and pull yourself together. Matters may not be as bad as you think.”
“They are—and it’s all my fault. I have ruined your brother, and disgraced myself, and Cara!”
This speech brought her into the Rectory door, which stood wide, and she tottered into a chair in the hall, and fainted away.
As soon as the refugee had been restored and put to bed in the spare room, Frances, a woman of action, wrote off to Mrs. Hesketh and to her brother, and despatched a note to Bates at the Court with a request for Mrs. Blagdon’s luggage. Then she proceeded to explain matters to her invalid father, who was enchanted to hear that Mrs. Blagdon was staying with them—though he could not quite understand how it was, that she should be in his house and not her own; but his resourceful daughter satisfied his curiosity, and told a lie, with the one simple word ‘Drains!’
Exhausted by bodily fatigue and mental emotion, Letty slept soundly till the church clock, striking nine, roused her from a sleep, that had bordered upon stupor. Where was she? asked recovering consciousness. The scene was strange, and beautiful—a wide-open window, the perfume of flowers, above, in the summer sky, a slim young moon. Was she dead, andwas this house Heaven? Suddenly, with a torrential rush, black memory overwhelmed her.
During the next twenty-four hours, Frances Lumley was all that a sister, and more than some sisters would be, to the unhappy refugee. She consoled, soothed, cheered her,—keeping her own tremors respecting Lancelot entirely out of sight. Then Mrs. Hesketh appeared upon the scene, and carried her friend away to Oldcourt. Francie Lumley was a dear girl, with a heart of gold, but it was not seemly that Mrs. Blagdon should be her guest, with the case of Blagdonv.Blagdon and Lumley, imminent in the Law Courts.
It soon became noised abroad that Blagdon was about to divorce his wife, and mothers with daughters, once more began to cast expectant eyes on Sharsley.