CHAPTER XXXI
TWO days before the fête, Mrs. Hesketh had made the unwelcome discovery, that Mrs. and Miss Plassy were again her fellow guests. Many years had elapsed since they met at the Californie, Cannes; but her memory was only too retentive. There was no forgetting the tall, faded woman with a stoop, and the agreeable, gushing daughter. From her shady seat in the grounds, she had witnessed their arrival; and as one after the other, the ladies descended from the hotel bus, she was sensible of a distinct, and disagreeable shock. Supposing the Plassys were to meet and recognise Letty?—Letty, so little changed!
Undoubtedly Mrs. Plassy was a conscientious student of the daily press; would she proclaim to all and sundry that here in seclusion and sheep’s clothing was the notorious divorcée, who had kidnapped her child? And if so, what then?
As regarded herself, she would infinitely prefer to ignore these birds of Passage and of Prey; but for her friend’s sake, it behoved her to walk warily, conceal their arrival from her, and at all hazards keep them in ignorance of Letty’s vicinity.
As might be expected, Mrs. Plassy’s first duty on arriving at an hotel, was to scrutinise the list of guests.As her eye travelled over an open page in the Visitors’ Book of the Paradis, her attention was arrested by the name of ‘Hesketh.’ ‘Mrs. Carlton Hesketh and maid. England.’ Yes, it must be the same; a hateful, supercilious woman, whom it had been impossible to placate; a woman who declined to approach when a vacant seat near Mrs. Plassy was patted invitingly, and when endowed with a card, and address, made no appropriate return. Such a creature was altogether insupportable, and she decided to ignore her existence. However, this amiable intention was frustrated by Mrs. Hesketh coming up to her in the lounge, and claiming her acquaintance. She was actually quite gracious and friendly, and made flattering enquiries respecting her health, and her plans. (It was good news to the hypocritical widow, that the Plassys were moving on to Lucerne in a day or two; they were merely stopping at the Paradis awaiting the arrival of a friend.)
Thirteen years had passed over the heads of this roving couple, and had treated them with callous cruelty. Time had not brought a suitor to the feet of Miss Lydia, and on the other hand he had robbed her of her lively spirits, and a certain amount of colour and hair. Lydia was a discontented, embittered woman who had missed her way in life, and was nearing the lamentable frontier of forty. She had a good figure, an acid tongue (but could make herself agreeable), and a positive genius for dress. Lydia and her mother were sincerely devoted to one another. Proud, poor, ambitious, they contrived to make a brave show on anincome that would seem incredibly small in proportion to their pretensions, and manner of living. Their appearance and dress were ultra-fashionable, they proclaimed to envious listeners, that they had discovered a secret treasure of a ‘little’ dressmaker—but the truth was, their smart gowns were second, and even third hand—and as a rule, their choice of hotels and acquaintances were fastidious and select. Lydia announced that they were obliged to live abroad on account of her mother’s health; whilst the supposed invalid exerted her failing strength in order to get her dear girl settled. She frequented Alpine resorts, famous for winter sports, popular cures, or the Riviera, and, in short, any hunting-ground favoured by the eligible British bachelor.
In order to effect these costly adventures, the Plassys were at times obliged to exercise the most rigid economies. They haunted cheappensions, where they shared a room for eight francs a day—food and light,tout compris. Here they made their own tea with an Etna, here they washed their handkerchiefs and stockings, here they wore out their old clothes, and, so to speak, girded themselves for their next encounter with Fortune.
The ladies had come to the too-expensive Paradis, in pursuit of a very distant connection, a valetudinarian old bachelor of enormous wealth and many whims and fancies—in the hope, that Lydia might prove to be one of them!
The afternoon succeeding the fête, Letty, unawareof any lurking pitfalls, descended to the Paradis, accompanied by Cara, and Mrs. Hesketh, with a tremor in her heart, invited them to tea in a retired summer-house in the grounds. Here they would be safe. As she sipped weak tea, she noticed Letty’s haggard white face, testifying to a sleepless night, the girl’s feverish restlessness, and roving, dissatisfied eyes. It had long been planned that Tomlin was to have ‘an afternoon in Lucerne,’ accompanied by Cara as companion and courier, since the British maid could not speak a word of any language but her own. They were to visit the panoramas, the museum, and the shops, and details of the expedition were being finally discussed, when Mrs. Plassy and her daughter strolled by arm in arm. For a moment Mrs. Hesketh’s heart stood still, then throbbed on—the danger had passed! No—by bad luck Cara gave one of her loud, somewhat foolish laughs—her mother had spilt her tea.
Mrs. Plassy deliberately halted, turned about, and approached.
“Oh, dear Mrs. Hesketh,” she exclaimed, with lifted hands, “how charming you all look! How much pleasanter to have tea out of doors.” Then, glancing at Letty, she paused, and in a different key added, “I think I have met—Mrs.—er—Mrs.——”
“Glyn,” added Mrs. Hesketh precipitately.
“Oh, yes,” with a slight bow, and steadily regarding her she added, with deadly significance:
“I know!”
Then, turning to her daughter, “Lyddy, you have met Mrs. Glyn at Cannes.”
Lyddy smiled and stared—her expression implied that she, too, knew all.
“And this young lady?” she asked, turning to Cara.
“My daughter,” replied Letty in a faint voice.
“Are you staying here, Mrs. Glyn?” enquired Mrs. Plassy, and her tone was frigid and judicial. “I did not see your name in the hotel list.”
“Oh, no,” broke in Cara, attracted by these fashionable strangers, “we live in a farm up the hill, called Les Plans.”
“How absolutely delightful!” murmured Miss Plassy. “It must be so healthy—and so secluded,” and she threw Letty a significant glance.
“No, it’s horrid!” declared Cara rebelliously.
“Won’t you sit down, and have some tea?” urged Mrs. Hesketh (who appreciated the crisis at its full value). “There is plenty of room, and I’ll send for more cups.”
“I’ve finished,” announced Cara, rising as she spoke and offering her seat to Mrs. Plassy, who sank into it with an air of satisfaction, saying to herself as she drew off her gloves, “This will save me three francs!”
“I don’t want any tea, thank you,” said Lydia Plassy, “so Miss Glyn and I will stroll about, and make one another’s acquaintance.”
“Yes, a capital idea!” assented her parent. “Do you two girls go off and amuse one another, and we old people will talk of old times.”
Thus dismissed, the girl of seventeen and the girl of thirty-seven, walked away laughing and chattering. Their dress was almost identical—white gowns, large hats wreathed with flowers; the sole difference being that Cara wore roses, and her companion a wreath of daisies.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Hesketh and her friend proved poor enough company for a guest who was filled with a burning curiosity,—and they with a sense of icy terror.
Mrs. Plassy knew everything; was her daughter in the secret? If so, would she tellCara?
The bare idea caused Letty to feel faint! the child had always been led to suppose that her father was dead; this fact, never actually stated, was nevertheless implied. She followed the two white figures with straining eyes, and a wildly beating heart, whilst her friend and Mrs. Plassy discoursed of hotels, and society. The latter lady pointedly excluded Mrs. Glyn from the conversation; her attitude was rigid, her glance expressed hostility, and disdain.
The miserable culprit realised, that she was meeting the eyes of a world, who was still crying shame upon her, and measured the amount of condemnation that awaited her in circles where her story was known. Of late years this fact had slumbered.—At last the tension and situation became unendurable, and with a murmured excuse she rose, and moved away in search of the two girls.
“How young she looks!” exclaimed Mrs. Plassy. Then, in reply to a glance, “I mean Mrs. Blagdon.”
“Hush!” with a horrified gesture; “I’ve not heard that name for years.”
“I suppose,” resumed the other, and her manner was aggressive, “she has buried herself at the farm, on account of the child?”
Mrs. Hesketh nodded.
“Does the girl know?” she asked abruptly.
“Not yet.”
“Ah; when she finds out that she is the only child of a very rich man, I don’t thinkIshould care to be in her mother’s shoes!”
“Don’t you?” retorted Mrs. Hesketh. “Her mother has forfeited her income, her country, her friends, and devoted her life to her—is that to count for nothing?”
“I’m afraid that young people are shockingly selfish and ungrateful—especially when they are the objects of schemes for their good,” replied Mrs. Plassy, who was thoroughly enjoying herself, and determined that this detestable enemy should be remorselessly tortured. “She looks to me like a girl who had expensive tastes, and would appreciate luxury!”
“You don’t know Hugo Blagdon,” declared Mrs. Hesketh, with a note of passion in her voice, “nor the bringing up that he would have given his daughter!”
“Yes, by all accounts he is aviveur!and he looks dissipated. I’ve seen him at Monte Carlo. Yet, after all, the girl is legally his; he is her father.” A sharpness came into her speech, as she added, “Who would believethat that quiet young woman, had itinher to run off, first with an officer, and then with her own child? Still waters run deep!”
So this was how people talked of her friend!
Mrs. Hesketh’s temper was simmering to boiling-point; she began to realise that her adversary had set her heavy heel upon her neck, and intended to keep it there.
“I must say that it has been a great thing for Mrs. Blagdon—I mean Glyn—to have had your support,” continued Mrs. Plassy condescendingly.
“She is my friend—the best, most unselfish, and pure-minded woman, I have ever known.”
“Yes, yes—how splendid of you to say so! I daresay Mrs. Glyn was notquiteas much to blame as people made out.” (But in Mrs. Plassy’s tone there lurked a reservation.) “And you, dear lady, are so unusually broad-minded—I have always maintained this.”
Mrs. Hesketh swallowed her fury, and steadied her voice, resolved to come to an understanding with this odious woman at all costs.
“Cara knows nothing of the past as yet, and it is her mother’s wish and mine, that she remains in ignorance of it—for the present.”
“Your wishes are natural. If her mother’s story leaked out here, it would be so awkward for the poor girl; and no doubt the farm people might make difficulties. I suppose, according to our English law, Mrs.—Glyn—is still liable to criminal prosecution?”
“There is no fear of that,” replied Mrs. Hesketh,speaking with sharp irritation; “noeffort was made to recover Cara. Her father was thankful to be rid of her.”
“She is a fine-looking young woman, on a rather large scale. I daresay as she grows older, she will become like her aunt—too fleshy!”
“May be so; at present, the important matter is, that she should not hear that she has an aunt—or a father.”
The two women gazed at one another in silence. Then Mrs. Hesketh, mentally shuddering, prostrated herself in the dust. “Mrs. Plassy, you are the only acquaintance who knows our secret, and if you will keep it—I shall look upon it as the greatestpersonalfavour.”
“Of course you may rely upon us, dear Mrs. Hesketh,” replied the other coldly. “Not a breath shall the child hear; as a matter of fact, we are leaving early to-morrow for Lucerne. Our cousin finds the hotel too near the lake, and insists on our accompanying him.”
“Your promise is extremely kind,” said Mrs. Hesketh, “for we do not wish to disturb the present position until matters are settled in England. And if I, in any way, can doyoua good turn, you have only to name it—now or later; you will find that I can show,” here she looked into her opponent’s faded eyes with peculiar significance, “substantialgratitude for a friendly silence.”
In that exchange of glances, how much had been saidand answered! Mrs. Plassy, a faithful interpreter, felt a warm glow of satisfaction. That expressive gaze conveyed a promise to pay, and an I.O.U. of considerable value—it implied, and was good for, introductions, entertainments, prestige, and—loans.
“I am sure I shall be glad of any kindness,” she murmured with lowered eyelids; “and you have somuchin your power.”
“At any rate, you may reckon on me,” declared Mrs. Hesketh, rising from her chair. “I have a number of letters that I really must write for this post,—and I am sure you will excuse me?”
“Of course, of course—with pleasure.” Which was not precisely the right rejoinder. Then Mrs. Hesketh walked away across the grass, carrying her still slender figure with unusual dignity, though her hands were shaking, and her face was chalk-white. She felt utterly shattered, prostrated, and disgraced, by the recent humiliating interview.
Two days later Cara and Tomlin proceeded to Lucerne for the promised outing. They accomplished a good deal of shopping and sight-seeing, and Tomlin proved wildly extravagant with respect to chocolate, picture postcards, and cheap brooches; but at the end of two hours, the girl’s patience was threadbare; she was bored to death. She hated interpreting, bargaining, and standing before shop-windows,—the contents of which she knew by heart,—and hailed with joy theapproach of Lydia Plassy, who halted, and accosted her.
“What are you doing in Lucerne?”
“Nothing; we have been shopping, and looking at panoramas, and the old bridge, and the museum.”
“Howveryexciting!” She glanced at Tomlin, who stood transfixed before some exquisite embroideries. “It is getting on for four. Do come along and have tea with me at Huguenin’s? She,” nodding at the maid, “can easily amuse herself, and meet you at the boat.”
“I should love it,” said Cara eagerly, then added in French, “She’s my policeman—and I’ll only be too thankful to be rid of her. She’s just an old spy.”
Miss Plassy graciously explained the situation to Tomlin—who recognising the lady as an hotel acquaintance of her mistress, agreed; by no means reluctant, to have an hour to spend as she pleased, and to be left to enjoy the shop-windows to her heart’s content.
Her mother had told Lydia,—from whom she had no secrets,—of her conversation with Mrs. Hesketh, and the promise and understanding which now existed between them.
“Hateful old woman, so disgustingly stuck up! Have you forgotten her airs and snubs at Cannes?” said Lydia spitefully. “Now she wants something badly she is as sweet as honey—bah! such people make me ill. She asks you a great favour—yes—but what can she do forus?”
“My dear,” replied her mother, with impressivesolemnity, “you know very well, that she has it in her power, to be averyhelpful friend.”
But it was not merely the snubs that still rankled in Lydia’s mind—she was accustomed to these; it was the never-forgotten fact, that a charming young man, who was her devoted adherent, had been drawn from his allegiance by the arrival of the mysterious beauty, Mrs. Hesketh’s companion; and though the beauty never vouchsafed him a crumb of encouragement, the capricious swain had failed to return to Lydia’s lure; Mrs. Glyn had unintentionally cost Miss Plassy her lover.
“I’vemade no promises,” said this lady to herself, “and if I get a chance, I shall pay them both out—Mrs. Nose-in-the-Air, and the divorcée.”
Now here was the ‘chance’ looking so beaming and pleased with herself, as she tripped beside her hostess, along the Liongasse; and with this girl as the instrument, Miss Plassy felt certain she could inflict satisfactory punishment upon her mother. How she talked! chattering all the time, and bubbling over with thejoie de vivre.
“Yes, thank you,” said Cara, as they seated themselves, “a Pêche Melba—I adore ices!” She removed her gloves, and settled her hat with swift instinctive touches; and presently the two were exchanging confidences as they satvis-à-visacross the marble-topped table, awaiting their order.
“We are going on to St. Moritz next week,” announced Miss Plassy.
“Are you? How I envy you! We never go on.”
“No? But why not?”
“Because we are so poor.”
“We are poor too—church mice aren’t in it!”
“But not like us; we have not enough money to travel, or to live in England.”
“Come, come, my dear girl,” protested Lyddy, suddenly planting her elbows on the table, and staring into her face, “don’t be a little ostrich! Surely you know—ah, here come our Pêche Melbas at last!”
“About what?” enquired Cara, plunging in her ready spoon.
“About yourmother, my dear.”
“My mother! What about her?” The girl’s face was expressive of profound indifference.
“Can’t you guess? Well, look here, promise me you won’t ever give me away?”
“All right,” agreed Cara with a nod. “I can keep a secret—I know lots!”
“Tell me, have you never wondered, why you live out here?”
“Yes, but I’ve told you the reason.—We are so disgustingly poor.”
“Not really poor; your father is enormously rich, actually rolling in money.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about!” protested Cara querulously. “You are thinking of other people—myfather is dead,” and she took another spoonful of ice.
“Well, yes, in a way. Heisdead to your mother.”
Cara gazed at the speaker blankly, her eyes became round, the pupils looked like two small spots.
“Listen to me,” and as Miss Plassy leant across the table, spoon in hand, her voice was emphatic, and her manner forcible. “You must know some time, and I may as well tell you—theynever will!”
“Tell me what?”
“Why, about your father and mother,” a pause, followed by a dramatic whisper, “he divorced her.”
“Miss Plassy, how dare you!” Cara’s face was crimson. “I don’t believe you,” she added hysterically.
“Oh, very well, please yourself, my dear,” she replied with a mixture of malice and gaiety. “The case was in all the papers, fourteen years ago. People in England knew all about it,—and my mother remembers it perfectly.”
Cara suddenly pushed away her plate, she was trembling violently, her lips quivered. Was she going to cry?
“I’m so sorry you are upset,” continued the informer; “but to open your eyes is the truest kindness. I can’t imagine how they have kept it from you, all these years.”
“Kept what from me?” demanded the girl in a choking voice. “I can’t think why you are telling me these awful things. I believe you are inventing them.”
“Your father’s name is Blagdon—so is yours,” announced Miss Plassy with bland composure. “Hugo Blagdon of Sharsley Court, a magnificent place inYorkshire. He is enormously rich; they say he has forty thousand a year—pounds—notfrancs!”
“Oh!”
“And you are his only child, and heiress.”
Cara’s amazement was such, that she was unable to utter a word, but her face worked convulsively. At last she stammered:
“This is a joke!”
“Not at all; I only wish it were my joke! When you were about three years old, your mother ran away with a good-looking officer, I forget his name; he did not marry her, and went to India. Afterwards, she and Mrs. Hesketh travelled about together, and we met them at Cannes. Later on, we saw in the papers that your mother had kidnapped you, from your nurse, and disappeared,—and here you are! What a funny chance coming across you at the Paradis!”
“So that’s the story—and it’s all true?”
Cara’s eyes glittered with excitement, her soft pink cheeks, were paler than usual.
“True as gospel,” replied her companion emphatically; “as true as I am sitting here. If your father knew of your whereabouts, he would certainly claim you, and give you a ripping time. You might ask me to stay?” she added playfully. “You would have motors, balls, racing, a town house, a country house. I only wishIhad a chance of standing in your shoes!”
“I declare you have made me feel quite giddy,” and Cara put her hand to her head; “but I understand a lot of things—now.”
“Yes, I suppose you do.—You look pretty wide-awake.”
“I see why we have no English friends, except Mrs. Hesketh—whom I hate, and who never ceases asking bothering questions, and making nasty speeches, and tells me, that I can never repay the Mum for all she has done for me.”
“Done you out of, she means!” briskly corrected Miss Plassy.
“And I remember a man we met ages ago on the Fluellen boat; awfully good-looking; he and mother seemed so amazed to see one another. He was going to India, and they had such a talk. After he left, the Mum cried a lot. I think his name was Lumley.”
“That’s the man she ran away with!” declared Miss Plassy triumphantly.
“And now after hearing all this, I’ve got to go home to the Mum and face her! I don’t see how I can ever forgive her; she has spoiled my life. Oh,” and her voice was broken with emotion, “when I think of all I have missed, since I was a kid, it’s too, too, awful!” and large tears welled from Cara’s hard blue eyes.
“It will all come right some day,” said the other soothingly. “Why, you are only seventeen, and not even out yet. Your mother just wanted you all to herself, you see.Dofinish your ice.”
Cara felt that under the circumstances, it would be more dignified to leave the ice untouched,—but it was characteristic of her, that she gobbled down the remainder of the Pêche Melba, and left an empty plate.
“Of course, I know that I may rely on you to keep what you have heard to yourself?” continued her companion,—Miss Plassy had thoroughly enjoyed this interview;—a most pernicious satisfaction! but were the details to reach the ear of Mrs. Hesketh, the result might prove unpleasant, and a hinted-at reward be inflexibly withheld.
“Yes, you may be sure I shall hold my tongue and lie low for the present. It was awfully kind of you to tell me, and if—if—what you say ever comes true, you must stay with me and have a ripping time.”
“All right, I’ll remind you!” responded Lydia gaily.—(How delightful to kill two birds with one stone, and receive grateful acknowledgments from two quarters.) “There’s five o’clock striking now,” she added, rising as she spoke; “if you want to catch the boat, you must run for your life; here is your parasol—here are your gloves—fly!”