CHAPTER XXXII
IT was at a late hour for Les Plans, when Letty, seeing a light, timidly pushed open the kitchen door, and beheld Frau Hurter bending over the table, iron in hand, and oh, happy opportunity, alone! She was nervously anxious to have a little private talk about Cara—but how to begin?
“I wonder if you would mind pressing this?” she enquired, exhibiting a strip of delicate embroidery. “See, it is finished at last.”
“Yes,” assented Frau Hurter, straightening herself, taking it from her, and examining it carefully. “Beautiful work,—and should fetch a good price.”
(‘A good price’ was herne plus ultraof attainment.)
“It is for a blouse for Mitli.”
“Ah—true—everything is for Mitli.”
“I’m afraid she is out of favour with you?” ventured her mother timidly.
“Ach ye! She is indeed changed. It is another Mitli,Mein Frau. I have eyes and ears, and I hear tales—half of them I do not believe—for I still love thekindli—I cannot help myself.”
“What have you heard? I implore you to tell me. Who has been talking?”
“Elizabeth Baer for one. I met her a few days agoat market, and she came over and spoke, and said that Mitli is a Wustus Madel, and had a bad influence on her girl Berthe—she had forbidden her the house!”
“No!” ejaculated Letty in a tone of angry astonishment. “Impossible!”
“Yes; Mitli puts ideas into Berthe’s head, ideas about money, dress, and young men, and she makes the girl her tool, and has, Jesus Maria! corrupted her mind.”
“My child corrupt anyone! How dared she say such things!”
“At least she makes trouble,—and now she no longer is received—no, not these two months.”
“Oh, surely you must be mistaken,” but the remonstrance was half-hearted; “she was there last week.”
“No doubt Mitli pretends she still goes to Les Lilacs—it has its conveniences.”
“But if not at the Baers,—whereis she?”
“Ah,” putting down the iron, and lifting her hard brown hands, “it is not for me to say; but this I know; she deceives us. Many an hour when the girl is supposed to be at classes, or with her school mates, Mitli is elsewhere. She has been given too much love, and liberty, and too much trust.”
And with this pronouncement, Frau Hurter turned to the stove to fetch another iron.
Cara’s mother ascended to her room, filled with anxiety and far-reaching fears. As she stood at the open window, looking out on the lake and the stars,inhaling air honey-sweet, with the breath of flowers,—a singular desolation, a sense of homelessness, and loneliness, came upon her. Something had overtaken her, from which there was no escape; something had died in her heart—the belief in Cara’s truth, and innocence. She opened the communicating door very gently, and peeped into the next room. Cara was asleep, with a candle guttering beside the bed. An open book lay on the floor. Letty picked it up and glanced at the title.Bel Ami, Guy de Maupassant. Then she blew out the light, returned to her own room, undressed, and went to bed, where she lay awake for hours; blaming herself for blunders and failures, making good resolutions, now and then bursting into stifled sobs, till the sparrows in the pear tree began to twitter, and an exquisite new day came stealing down the mountains. Now that she had an assured income of two hundred a year, Letty had ceased to work incessantly for daily bread, and had spare time, to spend with her girl, to share her walks, and excursions, and amusements; but her proffered companionship appeared to be unwelcome. When she suggested a row on the lake, a tea picnic, a steamer trip, she was generally assured that such outings were impossible, Cara’s engagements were so numerous; she was playing tennis with the Maas girls, or spending the day at Engelberg with her drawing-mistress, or going to the swimming baths with their friends of the Weggisgasse, and much-sought-for Mitli seemed to have no desire and no leisure, for the society of her mother.
During the last fortnight, a sudden and strange change had come over the girl; looking back, Letty dated it from the day of the fête, or a little later. She had become silent, moody, and almost morose—as if she cherished a mortal grievance and was offended with everyone; and sometimes when she looked up her mother found Cara’s eyes fixed upon her with a sullen, almost hostile expression. What did it mean? Cara no longer cared to visit the Paradis, to tea ordéjeuner—once hailed as a welcome treat. She shut herself up in her room, writing letters, and every morning walked down to Mitzau to the post office,—instead of awaiting the leisurely arrival of the facteur.
She was restless, irritable, strange; undoubtedly her condition had something to do with her correspondence, and her mother, acting upon her newly formed resolutions, made bold enquiries.
One afternoon as they were walking down the hill together, she screwed up her courage and said:
“Who is it you are writing to so constantly, Cara?”
“No one in particular,” answered the girl, with a toss of her head.
“But what a waste of time and energy!” Again she braced herself, determined to exercise an authority too long relaxed.
“I think, dear, that I ought to know who is your correspondent.”
“Why, Mum,” and Cara came to a standstill, “this is somethingquitenew! You’ve never asked such a thing before.”
“But I believe I should have done so, Cara. Better late than never. I’m afraid, dear child, that I have been hitherto too slack, too busy with my work, to take a proper interest in your affairs.”
“This is too funny!” cried Cara angrily; “that old Hesketh spy, has put you up to this.”
“No—and that is no way to speak of her,” reproved Letty with surprising spirit; “and now I must insist on knowing who it is, that you have been writing to to-day?”
“Oh, then, since youinsist,” said Cara, putting her hand in the pocket of her coat, “here is my correspondence,” and she exhibited a letter addressed to, ‘Peter Robinson, Regent Street, London, W.’
“A man certainly, but a stranger to me.”
(There was another letter remaining in her pocket, and this was inscribed to, ‘Hugo Blagdon, Esq., Sharsley Court, Yorks.’)
Letty, as she received Peter Robinson’s letter, felt a little abashed. Could all the other suspicions have the same ending? Oh, could they?—if so what a heavy load would be lifted from her mind!
“Yes, I see,” she assented, “you are sending for patterns; but surely you are not continually writing to shops?”
“Why not?Youknow best, why I have no English correspondence. The July sales are on, and one gets things for half of nothing, trimmings, stockings, gloves, scarves. Tomlin gave me the tip.”
“Oh, did she?” murmured Letty, not a littledaunted by Cara’s manner; then she resumed with an effort, “Cara, my dear, why will you not be more open with me, and confide in me, and tell me things? No one in the world, takes as much interest in you, or is as anxious for your happiness, asIam.”
The girl glanced slyly at the pretty, incredibly young-looking woman who was her mother; with her clear complexion, abundant hair, and slim figure, she might almost be a contemporary of her own!
“What sort of things?”
“Just the sort of things you tell your girl friends.” Cara broke out into an irrepressible shout of laughter,—laughter, in which there sounded a note of mockery or derision,—and Letty, with a heightened colour, added:
“Frau Hurter has informed me, that you no longer go to the Baers—is this the case?”
“Yes, I’ve had a terrific row with Berthe and her mother—horrible, bourgeois brutes!”
“But you used to be so fond of Berthe—you’ve known one another nearly all your lives.”
“I never knew her, or found her out, until lately. I’ll tell you all about it another time. Here is the Paradis. I’m not going in. Give myhateto Mrs. Hesketh. Oh, well, darling Mum, don’t look so shocked,” patting her lightly on the arm; “you know, I never mean the quarter of what I say, and you also know, that she can’t endure the sight of me!” Then Miss Glyn embraced her mother, and turned quickly about to walk to Mitzau, and post her letter.
Mrs. Hesketh, who was awaiting her friend in thelounge, looked unusually solemn as she asked, “What have you done with the girl?”
“She has gone to the post. I think, dear Cousin Maude, she has a sort of instinct that you don’t care for her.”
“Let us have tea at once,” said her friend, brusquely ignoring the question; “afterwards, we will go up to my room and hold a meeting.”
As the tea proceeded, Letty was conscious that there was thunder in the atmosphere; the symptoms were as clear as when a storm was collecting in the neighbouring mountains, and rugged old Pilatus arrayed himself as a preliminary, in a series of scarf-like clouds. Although Mrs. Hesketh talked spasmodically of home news, and exchanged civil greetings with acquaintances, her manner was abstracted. Undoubtedly some subject lay heavily on her mind, and Letty hurried over her tea, declining a second cup, and said:
“Do let us go upstairs, I cannot bear suspense—anything is better thanthat.”
“So, then, you guess?” said her friend, leading the way to the sitting-room, and drawing forward two chairs on her balcony.
“I cannot guess what you may have to say,—only that I’m sure it is something to do with the child.”
“It has. Hitherto, excepting that night at the fête—and we might have been mistaken—we have had nothing to support suspicion, beyond Frau Hurter’s natural animosity towards a girl who has bewitched her son.”
“Yes,” agreed Letty breathlessly.
“And now, I have got hold of facts.”
“How? Facts!”
“By the means of unintentional eavesdropping in this very verandah.”
“Eavesdropping?”
“Yes, you know how sounds ascend. I was sitting up here last night alone, enjoying the glorious view, and moonlight—vaguely aware that some men were talking and smoking just below, and one of them who had a loud, resonant voice, was describing someone who was splendid sport. When he said ‘a flapper of seventeen,’ I pricked up my ears at once.
“‘Knows her way about,’ he went on, ‘uncommonly handsome—and up to all sorts of games.’
“Letty, I leant nearer, and listened shamelessly, and another voice asked:
“‘Where does she hang out?’
“‘At a farm up the hill here, a place called Les Plans.’
“‘Oh,’ said the other, ‘a native?’
“‘No—English—and by way of being a lady. She has lived here with her mother since she was a kid; the mother is a damned pretty woman——’
“I am repeating what I heard verbatim—
“‘—but a fool. She lets the girl go marauding all over the place alone. Ahem! Well, not exactlyalone—because she trusts her absolutely!’
“At this they all roared.” Here Mrs. Heskethpaused. Letty was now sobbing audibly, her face buried in her hands.
“Then a man asked, ‘How did you find her?’” pursued Mrs. Hesketh.
“‘Angus McKenzie gave me the tip; he was here last year—met her on the boat, and they got tremendously chummy. He used to take her about, and give her treats, when she was supposed to be having lessons in Lucerne—ha! ha! But, mind you, she knows how to take rattling good care of herself. She was capital company, with a lot of “go,” and wonderfully advanced ideas for her age—especially with regard to spending money!’”
Here Mrs. Hesketh paused, and looked at her companion, who was still sobbing hysterically.
“Letty, are you listening to me? Do please pull yourself together!”
“I am, of course, listening,” she gasped. “I am—oh, it is all my fault. Oh, Cousin Maude, do not blame the child! I’ve been a bad mother after all! I allowed her to slip out of my hands, and gave her her own way, and was too, too indulgent; but I myself was so strictly brought up, and had so little love, and sympathy, and freedom, I was resolved that Cara shouldneversuffer in the same way.”
“Letty, be quiet!” interposed her friend angrily. “I won’t sit here, and listen to you abusing yourself. You have been too self-sacrificing, and, I’m afraid, weak. But how could you oppose your will to Cara’s? Hers is of iron,—and you know your own failing. Yousent her to excellent schools, you believed she had good companions; you could not conduct her to and from school, or be always with her like a keeper—you had to work hard, to maintain yourself and her, and, when possible, you shared her pleasures and made yourself her companion—you could have done no more.”
“And I could not well do less,” said Letty as she dried her eyes. “Was that all the men said?”
“No. It seems that Cara used to climb out of her bedroom window, and descend by the pear tree into the garden, and sit in the summer-house, smoking cigarettes with visitors from the Paradis; and for this reason, the old watch-dog was put out of the way.”
“Oh, poor, poor Karo! I was sure he had been poisoned!”
“And it appears, that when you supposed Cara to be spending the day with Berthe, she was really lunching and carousing with one or other of these festive strangers! This accounts, for her craze for pretty restaurant frocks, smart beflowered hats, and all the reckless bills. I gathered that she did not accept presents, beyond chocolates, flowers, entertainments, and motor rides. Sometimes she motored home after the last boat had gone, and had what they called uncommonly narrow shaves of being spotted! Now, Letty, you positivelymustassume another attitude, and be firm, and absolute. There would be no use in my talking to Cara—she abhors me. We will arrange to go to England as soon as possible, and place the youngwoman in a school; this will no doubt have a sobering effect and be a change that will do her good. I know of a capital finishing establishment in Brighton, and with your leave or without, I’ll write to-morrow.”
“Yes, as you like; but I feel bewildered, dazed——”
“You had better have an interview with Cara to-night, and tell her you know all, and that in future you will never trust her out of your sight. She shall not stir without you, or me, or Tomlin at her heels, and in ten days we start for England. Settle up with Frau Hurter, and leave all other arrangements to me. My poor Letty, I am sorry for you, but I will stand by you shoulder to shoulder, and see you through this crisis.”
“But it’s so easy for us to wonder, and blame, and plan. When Cara comes on the scene, somehow I am always put in the wrong and defeated.”
“You cannot possibly be defeated on this occasion,” declared her friend, with confidence. “All the right and might is on your side: the right of a good and too unselfish mother, and the might of the purse. Cara has no money.”
“Cara,” said her mother, coming into her room that evening, “I wish to speak to you very seriously.”
Cara, who was in her petticoats, and in the act of unpinning her abundant hair, turned about sharply and said:
“Oh, yes, let’s have it out, then! I’ve felt therewas something in the air. What has Frau Hurter been telling younow? She went for me this morning like any old fish-fag, and said I had ruined Fritz, and broken his heart, and he was no good for anything!” And she tossed back a mane of hair, and glared a challenge.
“It is not Fritz, Cara. It is about the strangers—the Englishmen, whom you meet clandestinely and go about with, motoring and amusing yourself, when all the time I’ve been trusting you, and thinking you were taking lessons in Lucerne.”
“Oh!” dropping her arms, “so it has leaked out at last! Well, it had to some day. I’ve had a ripping time, and I’m not sorry.” And this handsome young woman, with her bare arms and neck, and flowing hair, faced her accuser unabashed, and unrepentant, assuring herself, she had no reason to be afraid; she was always able to cow, and browbeat the Mum.
“Oh, Cara, Cara! Howcouldyou?” murmured her parent, with uplifted hands.
“Well, I believe most people know I’ve friends—men friends. Fritz was crazy, when he saw me speaking to Captain Seymour; but think of the awful, awful life I lead here, and other English girls have such good times! I’ve done no harm whatever—I’ve only amused myself. And why not?”
“Getting out of your bedroom window at night, and sitting in the garden with strange men from the Paradis!”
“Now, who can have told you that?” she askedsharply. “Jost?though for ten francs he swore he’d hold his tongue; treacherous old devil!”
“Never mind who told—I know everything.”
“Do you, Mum? I doubt it. I’ve had lots of affairs since I was fifteen,” and she eyed her mother with amusement. “Yes, it’s in my blood. You asked me to tell you things—and Iwill.”
Now that the ice was broken, Cara felt tempted to shock her mother; she would enjoy the sensation.
“Since you were fifteen?” repeated Letty in an incredulous whisper.
Cara nodded, with smiling complacence.
“Yes, first, there was the violinist, an Italian, who said he was a Count. He gave me chocolates and flowers,—till I spotted him in the orchestra; but even then I was gone on Pablo. After Pablo, the nice German boy from Heidelberg; he wrote me verses, and gave me a ring. There was also Anton Baer, who took me up Pilatus when you thought I was in bed at the Baers, with a sprained ankle; and Major McKenzie, who spoke to me on the boat; and Captain Seymour—and always, always Fritz.”
As Letty stood pale and rigid, as if turned to stone, Cara concluded:
“After all, I’ve done no harm; one is young but once!”
“No harm, Cara? I think you have broken my heart! A girl of seventeen making herself notorious. Do you know that you are the laughing-stock of men at the Paradis; who discuss you, and holdyou very cheap?—no harm in losing your good name!”
“As to broken hearts,” retorted Cara, who was now plaiting her hair vigorously, “I don’t believe in them; and I’ve heard enough of that rubbish from Fritz to last a lifetime.” The term ‘laughing-stock’ had stirred her keenly, and she went on, her temper at white heat: “As for my good name, I can take care of that; and, my darling Mum,” and she drew herself up, and tossed back a plait, “youare the last person to talk of ‘a good name.’”
“What do you mean, Cara?” Letty asked faintly.
“I mean,” speaking with deliberate emphasis, “that Iknow.”
Her mother took two steps backwards, staggered blindly, and sat down on the side of the bed,—her face as colourless as the counterpane.
“Yes, I must say, I think you should not have kept it from me, Mum. Of course, I don’t think any the worse of you, dear.” She would have taken her mother’s hand, but Letty pushed her from her, with impatience, and her trembling lips put the question:
“Who told you?”
“Miss Plassy—she said Ioughtto know.”
“Yes, go on,” urged her mother in a stifled voice; “be quick and tell me.”
“She told me that my name is Blagdon. My father is enormously rich, and that you ran away with an officer when I was a kid, and were divorced, and a year later, you came and stole me from my nurse, andbrought me off here. That’s the story!—it sounds crude, but she swore it was true and in all the papers. I can get over the divorce all right,” continued Cara, with an air of superb generosity, “but really and truly, Mum, I cannot forgive you for kidnapping me, and bringing me off abroad, to lead this wretched, poverty-stricken life.”
“Cara,” cried her mother, rising to her feet, and speaking with unexpected violence, “you have heard a garbled tale—only one side. Now you shall hear mine,” and standing erect, confronting her daughter, she poured forth the story of her wrongs, her misery, and her married life.
Her eloquence—the eloquence of a bursting heart—was such, that even Cara for a moment felt moved, ashamed, yes, and repentant. So overwhelming was the effect of her mother’s picture of a blighted youth, a life of solitude, and her passionate attachment to herself, that Cara for once betrayed into real personal feeling, fell into her mother’s arms, overcome by a storm of unparalleled emotion.
At last, with sobs and caresses from Letty, murmurs of penitence and adoration from Cara, mother and daughter, exhausted by this violent strain, separated at last, to seek what rest they might.
For hours Cara lay watching the window with hard restless eyes, turning over her mother’s story in her mind, and weighing it remorselessly. As time passed, her feelings had subsided; it was one thing to be touched by a beautiful face, an impassioned pleading,and unfortunate history; it was another, in the dim, pale dawn, to recall facts—remorseless facts. The fact of the divorce—the fact that her mother had stolen her—the fact that she was an heiress—the fact that she, Cara, with all her beauty, good birth, and cravings, was poor and insignificant, and living on a few francs a week at a detestable old Swiss farm. Of course, she was fond of the Mum; certainly she was fond of her; and she had had a horrid life,—but probably she had not known how to manage people. Probably?—why, of course not—she never could manage anyone! She, Cara, had her own life to lead, and must strike out for herself. Meanwhile she resolved to be very kind and good to the Mum,—and to keep no more trysts. What brutes of men to talk! For the future, she resolved to remain under her mother’s wing; it would be too ridiculous for a great heiress to make herself cheap!
Letty as she lay also watching her window, never slept at all; her thoughts were too active. She recalled Cara’s manner, her callous admissions, her bombshell, and subsequently her surprising breakdown. This, she knew from experience, to be but a temporary affair—there had been former scenes and reconciliations, from which Cara had, as on the present occasion, emerged victorious!