CHAPTER XXXIII
“SO she has known for a whole fortnight and kept it to herself,” said Mrs. Hesketh with luminous eyes. “I had no idea that Cara was capable of such amazing self-control. This accounts for her inexplicable silence, sullenness, and studied insolence tome.”
“Of course, the information was startling,” pleaded Letty. “Her whole little world turned upside down; the child has taken the news amazingly well, and is so sweet and affectionate. This morning she asked me to tell you that she is very sorry and ashamed of her rudeness to you, and intends to turn over a new leaf.”
“I am not sure that I have much faith in these new leaves,” rejoined Mrs. Hesketh ungraciously; “but I am prepared to accept the olive branch. You say the girl is sitting at home sewing, whilst you are abroad? You appear to have changed places.”
“Only for once. It was so important that I should see you. Now Cara has been enlightened, perhaps it is for the best—ithadto come some day.”
“And malicious Miss Plassy has spared no details—you have nofurtherdisclosures to fear. Bring Cara to dinner to-night, I should like to have a talk with her, and we will smoke the pipe of peace.”
For the next ten days all went smoothly. Cara nolonger yearned for solitary excursions into Lucerne; on the contrary, she appeared to be glad of her mother’s companionship, and had figuratively attached herself to her apron string!
Meanwhile, arrangements for a move were in progress. Mrs. Hesketh had written home, announcing the arrival of two friends, ordering alterations in the house, and entering into treaty for a new motor.
A whole month had passed, and there had been no reply to Cara’s filial appeal—an appeal which had cost hours of thought, and been written and rewritten again and again. Her heart and her hopes sank; this condition was salutary, the girl—like all bullies—was absurdly elated by success, whilst failure bowed her to the earth. In despair of her father’s favour and rescue, she now turned to her mother, whom she contemplated by the light of her illuminating story. She dwelt on that passionately pleading figure, that ringing voice, those piteous eyes, and appealing hands; and could not but believe that every word she uttered wastrue. Her father’s silence was ample proof of his unnatural character; he must be a brute! And she herself had witnessed one of the principal scenes in her mother’s history. That afternoon on theSchiller, when they had met the handsome English officer, who implored her mother to agree to something, and her mother had not consented; now she learnt that he had asked her to marry him, and leave her, Cara, at school—and the Mum had refused. She recalled his urgent air, and her mother’s tears. It was evident that she cared for him—andno wonder! Had she been in her mother’s place, his offer would have been accepted—bien sur!And the Mum was so pretty—no matter how shabby or simple her clothes, she always looked well-born—a lady to the tips of her fingers. Everything she accomplished was so neat, so finished: her room and belongings so orderly; such a contrast to her own apartment, which was always untidy; she never could find anything, and flung away hats, stepped out of skirts, kicked off shoes, and left the Mum to clear up, and put her things straight. She seemed at last to realise, what her mother stood for in her life, and became thoughtful, helpful, and affectionate. She ran errands, carried parcels, and was altogether another and softer Cara. These were indeed halcyon days for Letty! She brought her good news to the bedside of her friend, who was confined to her room with a serious bronchial attack.
“The child is so changed,” she said, “so warm-hearted, loving, and confidential. She has confessedeverythingto me; all about those odious men, and how they taught her to smoke, and supplied her with cigarettes and chocolates, and took her trips in motor-boats. She declares she only went with them for the fun of the thing, the thrilling excitement of adventure, and possible discovery! She will never deceive me again as long as she lives—we are to havenosecrets from one another.”
Here Mrs. Hesketh murmured something inarticulate into the down quilt, and her visitor continued:
“And she is so interested in Sharsley, and asks meto tell her all about the place, and about Thornby and Oldcourt. Oh, Cousin Maude,” and she sank on her knees by the bed, and took her hand in hers, “I am so happy at last! I am well repaid for my strivings. Cara and I are now all in all to one another.”
During this interview, Cara had been waiting for her mother in the lounge—she was now full of these touching little attentions. As she waited one of her English acquaintances happened to enter, paused, and bowed with ironical ceremony. Then he approached, and said in a jocular key:
“Hullo, Goldylocks! what are you doing here? Why so proud?”
Goldylocks raised her eyes, stared at him fiercely, and resumed her study of a picture paper; and after a momentary hesitation, Captain Seymour felt compelled to pass on. Cara had done with these odious free-and-easy men, who joked with her, flattered her, and then talked her over, and laughed at her behind her back. That thought acted as a lash, and kept Miss Blagdon’s exuberant impulses in check.
Presently her mother reappeared, and as they climbed the hill together, arm in arm, she said:
“Cousin Maude is so much better, the doctor thinks she may move in ten days, and we will travel with her. You know the school idea has been abandoned, and you can easily keep up your music, and French with me. I do hope you won’t find Thornby too dull; there is no one in the village now, except the Dentons.”
“And your aunt—the hunting lady?”
“No; she lives in Brighton, I am thankful to say, but the poor old Holt is closed. Cara,” and her mother halted on the little plateau, “Mrs. Hesketh has been frightening me. She asks, if your father claimed you, what would you do?”
“Whyyouknow, Mummy,” throwing her arm round her waist, “I’ll never, never leave you!” and she covered her face with kisses.
“If you had been a boy, darling, of course I’d never, never have dared to carry you off; but I wanted you so badly, and he did not; you were left alone with your nurse in a corner of that great big house, your father ignored you; he dislikes girls—even grown-up girls.”
“Yet he married a girl, Mummy. Why you were only my age—seventeen!”
“Yes, dear, but your father soon got tired of me. At seventeen, I was years younger than you are; I was painfully timid, silly, and undecided—and——”
“You are undecided still; but there is no one in all the whole world, as clever and good, as my own beautiful Mum,” and Cara bent her fair head, and kissed her mother on the lips.
Hugo Blagdon was now a stout, irascible, red-faced man of fifty-seven, who for the sake of his health was every year compelled to take ‘a cure’ at Carlsbad, and here Cara’s letters followed, and found him. As he casually opened number one, then glanced atthe signature, his complexion changed from red to purple.
“What the devil does this mean?” he muttered.
He was soon in possession of full information. In Cara’s fine bold hand, she assured him that only within the last twenty-four hours she had learnt her own and her mother’s story, and that her father was still living. She went on to say, that she was weary of exile, had a craving to see her native land, andhim; described herself as tall and fair, very fond of outdoor sports, and games, and hoped that he would soon write to her, send for her, and allow her to know him, and remained his affectionate daughter, Caroline Blagdon. ‘P.S.—Please address Miss Glyn, Poste Restante, Mitzau. I am sending you my photograph.’
“By George!” he exclaimed when he came to the end of her epistle, “a grown-up daughter, and she writes with spirit; no milk and water abouther!” Yes, and here was her photograph. It was many years since he had experienced such a thrill of expectation, as when he cut the string, and uncovered a cabinet-sized photograph which displayed a handsome girl, with a resolute jaw, broad shoulders, and large hands. It must be confessed, that the likeness did not do justice to the sitter’s best points—her hair, complexion, and teeth.
“Not bad-looking,” was her father’s verdict. After gazing at it for a long time, studying the dress and details, he put both letter and photo into his breast coat pocket, and went off to his bath.
No need to do anything in a hurry; letter-writing was the mischief, and dangerous. He would take his time,—and he did. Several anxious epistles from Les Plans remained unnoticed, and hence his daughter’s despair. It was evident that there was nothing before her, but the prospect of a dull life in an English village, and she decided to make the best of circumstances.
Her father, meanwhile, had resolved to motor to Lucerne for his ‘after cure,’ but not commit himself in any way. He would first look round cautiously, and see how the land lay.
Hugo Blagdon in his magnificent car arrived early in September, and put up at the National. After an excellent lunch—concluded with coffee and liqueur—he strolled forth on the Quai, and stared frowningly on the lovely scene; the mountains and hills of all shades of blue, the lake gay with traffic; finally he went into the Casino gardens and bestowed his heavy form upon a seat. The band was playing, and the place was crowded. He debated with himself the question of a bock—yes or no—the verdict was ‘no’: he had recently lost ten pounds in weight and must keep himself down. Bye and by, among the crowd, he was glad to recognise a racing acquaintance, and signalled to him to join him at his little table.
As they sat, discussing jockeys, weights, and other matters, the man said:
“This is a great season, I have never seen the place so full, nor so many pretty frocks, and faces. Hullo—look there!”
Two ladies were crossing the gardens, both tall and both wearing summer hats, and white gowns; their air and good looks distinguished them from the crowd.
For a moment Blagdon stared with stolid incredulity, then he hastily put down his cigar, for he had recognised Letty! A beautiful, self-possessed Letty, with an air of fragile grace, who, although laden with several parcels, carried herself like a queen; the girl, of bigger build, with clouds of hair and marvellous colouring, was his correspondent Cara,—she looked every day of twenty!
He was actually gazing at his own wife and daughter—so were others; the pair had been accosted by friends, and stopped to talk, and this afforded the spectators an opportunity to admire.
“By Jove, Englishwomen are hard to beat! I bet those two are English,” said his companion. “The elder is the best looking—a handsome woman. The young one seems full of go, and what teeth and colouring! But she hasn’t her sister’s figure.”
Here indeed was an entirely different individual to the cowering Letty of fourteen years previously, and how well she had worn! Now she would shine in any company—his wife—yes, and his daughter. She, too, was ripping: so sure of herself; he watched her gay gestures and broad smiles, her well-cut frock, and neat figure—rather on the heavy side. What a complexion! By George, she’d make ’em all sit up! Yes, he decided to claim her—a handsome wife was one thing: a handsome daughter, reflected still more credit on a fellow.
Cara was a Blagdon—his own flesh and blood, and he was sick of his old associates.
“I say, Blagdon, you are not very gay; the after cure depressing? Eh?”
“No, I’m all right,” with a shake of his great shoulders. “I’m just thinking of a good thing I’ve come in for.”
Repton stared. Was old Blag off his chump? had he been drinking?
“Oh, it’s only a filly of mine, a rare one, that will show ’em all the way,” and he chuckled to himself.
“Ah, then, I’ll look to you for a tip!”
Blagdon noted the break-up of the party, which concluded with cordial hand-shaking, and adieux. Subsequently mother and daughter walked away talking together eagerly—evidently the best of pals. He rose instantly, followed, and kept them in view. In the Swan Platz, opposite Cook’s, the two separated; Letty to cross the bridge, the girl to enter the Arcade: here he saw her disappear into a shop, and waited. As he waited, he meditated; he was full of impatience to claim this creditable daughter; in face her mother, in manner and figure a Blagdon. What—cold thought—would Connie say?—Con, more or less lived with, as well as on him. She had the Blagdon will, tongue, and temper. Well, from the girl’s air and off-hand manner, he expected she could hold her own; and by George, he had done a lot for Con, from first to last, and paid her debts over and over. It was time he did something for his onlydaughter,—who had not cost him a farthing since she cut her first teeth. As he conferred with himself, the girl came briskly out of the shop. He had been pretending to be looking into the window, and at once accosted her.
“I say,” he began, staring hard into her face, “aren’t you—er—Caroline—Blagdon?”
She stood stock still, and surveyed him with startled eyes, and a heightened colour.
Could this heavy, elderly man, with a large, reddish face, be her father? Why Kaspar at the landing-stage looked more distinguished. Of course his clothes and voice were all right—but——
She nodded curtly.
“I got your letters,” he resumed, “and as I was in Germany motoring, I thought I’d come on here and look you up. Seeing is believing. I’m your father, you know.”
“Yes—are you?”
“I say, let’s walk about a bit, where we can talk. Where’s your mother? I bar meeting her.”
“She has gone across the bridge to say good-bye to some friends; we are leaving next week. She won’t be back for an hour. I’m to meet her at the five o’clock boat.”
“Oh, so then we have a clear hour! Come along to the National.”
For a perceptible pause Cara’s hesitation was obvious: she neither spoke nor stirred—and her reluctance enormously enhanced her value in her father’s eyes.—However,as she said to herself, she might as well hear, what he had to propose—no harm—in that!
As they strolled together past the shops, Blagdon was gratified to note how many eyes were bent on his companion. This was the sort of girl that appealed to him; she was well turned out, too, and walked as if the whole earth belonged to her.
“Lived here always?” he asked abruptly.
“Yes, since I was four. Now I’m seventeen.”
“And look every day of twenty or more,” he exclaimed with habitual brusquerie.
“Do I? And you,” considering him with cold, undaunted eyes, “I suppose are sixty—or more?”
Blagdon’s face assumed a deeper hue. His neck appeared to swell, an apoplectic seizure seemed imminent; he was not accustomed to be thus bearded.
However, for once, with a violent effort, he restrained himself, and answered:
“A fellow’s the age he feels—a woman the age she looks.”
“That’s rubbish!” declared his bold companion, “and was certainly invented by aman!”
“I say, young lady, you seem to have a fairly sharp tongue!”
“A sharp tongue and a sweet temper,” she retorted.
It was evident to her electrified and humbled parent, that the girl did not care a brass farthing whether he reinstated her or not! The saucy young woman was entirely independent, and made no secret of her attitude. The chances were, that if she had been appealing,eager, and slavish, he would not have been so anxious to claim her—but Cara had taken her father’s measure, with a very sure eye.
“Well, here we are,” he continued, leading the way up the steps; “come into the lounge, and let’s get to know one another. I saw you and your mother together just now—you seem to be tremendous pals.”
“So we are,” said Cara, as she threw herself carelessly into a comfortable chair. “My mother has been awfully good to me.”
“Eh? Well, at any rate, she ran away with you, and now,” coming and standing directly before her, “what do you say to givingmea turn?”
“What do you call a turn?” she enquired, looking back into his eyes, with a true family stare; the girl had a spice of the devil in her, that was certain.
“You will live with me in Hill Street,” he announced pompously; and seeing that this fact made no impression, “have a motor, and a maid.”
“Yes?” The ‘yes’ was cool and indifferent.
“As many frocks and gewgaws as you want, and theatres and dances—those are not inmyline. I’ll take you racing; I’ve a string of horses in training.”
“I love racing,” she admitted. “I’ve only seen races once, and that was here.”
“Bah!” with a gesture of contempt, “a set of platers! And so you are on the move at last?”
“Yes; we are going to live with Mrs. Hesketh.”
“That old beldame! Well, you can choose betweenThornby and Sharsley. I won’t have any half measures—you understand that?”
“Am I to be mistress of the house?” she asked hardily. “I have an aunt, I believe?”
“You have very much an aunt—she’d maketwo—but she will move into her own flat. You look as if you could hold your own, and sit at the head of a table, and square on a horse.”
“I daresay I can soon learn English ways, and I’m sure I could ride—but I don’t like leaving mother.”
“I daresay not! You don’t know what is good for you—and you can’t well bring her along, can you? It must be one of us, or the other—Glyn or Blagdon!”
“Yes, I know,” and Cara rose, and walked slowly over to the window, and looked out. She was weighing the vital question, ‘father or mother’? As she stood irresolute, her eyes fell upon a splendid motor drawn up below the hotel—le dernier motof luxury, and extravagance.
“That’s my car,” announced her father, who had followed, and was now looking over her shoulder. “If you decide onme, we will go off this evening, and I must give the chauffeur instructions about getting to Dover. You and I will go straight to Paris, and there you can rig yourself out before we go home—and the sooner we make a start the better.”
“Do you really mean, that we are to leave here to-day?” stammered Cara; who had been thinking of debating the matter, and making up her mind, at leisure.
“Oh, yes—it’s now or never.”
Cara turned pale and then red.
“I want to get back for the Leger; you can settle into Hill Street.” Noticing her change of colour, he became more urgent. “Your grandmother’s lot will take you up—the old Scropes are tremendous swells, and your cousins the Calthorpes and Montfords will trot you out and present you at Court, and all that sort of thing—balls, and so on. Of course, you are a bit young; but, as I tell you, youlookold—old enough to sport the Blagdon diamonds; and the family diamonds are quite top-hole! There isn’t a finer show in any opera-house.”
Presentations at Court, diamonds, French frocks, balls, races, the command of a large establishment—Cara felt that her head was swimming! What were her mother and Oldcourt in comparison to such dazzling temptations? Of course, she was behaving badly; but in this world everyone must play for their own hand. The Mum had made terrible mistakes, and ‘revoked,’ so to speak. Because she had spoiled her life, why should she, Cara, do likewise? She felt confident, that she could get on all right with this burly, rough sort of father, and was not the least afraid of him.
“Yes, by Jove, you and I will make a bolt; give your mother the slip, and pay her out in her own coin, ha! ha! She’s given to running away.”
“If I come to live with you, you must never say a word against the Mum.”
“The word ‘must’ is never to be used to me,” he answered savagely.
“But why not?” demanded Cara, looking up at him with twinkling eyes, and an enchanting smile.
What cheek she had! and what teeth! Absolutely perfect. Slightly mollified, he resumed:
“If you are a good girl, I think we shall pull along together all right, and I’ll say this for your mother, she had a snaffle mouth,—though shedidbolt. Of course, you are inexperienced in English customs and housekeeping, but you have the cut of a girl who will soon know the ropes.”
“If I go with you to-day, what am I to do for clothes? All my things are up at Les Plans.”
“I can lend you a motor-coat to travel in, and you will be in Paris in the early morning. We’ll start at six, and dine on the train.”
“Very well,” she said gravely; “so be it.”
“All right, that’s settled, Cara,” and he gripped her hand with a gesture of possession. “Give me a kiss on the bargain!”
She glanced round apprehensively—they were alone in the lounge, then offered her square jaw, to his lips.
“By Jove, I’m glad to have you, my girl!” he said with hearty satisfaction. “When a man is getting on a bit, he feels the want of someone about him—someonebelongingto him—and that he—er—can be proud of.”
As Cara and her father stood side by side, the five o’clock boat moved slowly from her moorings, and cameout into the lake, exactly opposite to where they were stationed.
“It’s theStadthof. There goes mother!” said Cara with a slight catch in her breath, “wondering what has become of me; that is her I am sure—the figure at the end. She expects to see me tearing along the Quai. Don’t you see the lady with the blue sunshade—looking back?”
“No, my sight is not as young as yours,” he answered gruffly. “She may look and look, but you have done with her, you know, and have, what is called, burned your boats! Now, come along with me, and I’ll buy you a little souvenir of the occasion!”
The souvenir, took the form of a superb diamond ring, which Cara placed with ecstasy upon her third finger. The purchase had been speedy—since Blagdon, a moneyed man, always knew exactly what he wanted—and as they emerged to the water-side, Cara gazed nervously down the lake. Yes, the steamer, bearing her mother out of her life, was still in sight. Her eyes, as she watched it rounding the promontory, were blinded with tears; when she had brushed these away, she looked once more, but theStadthofand her pretty Mum, had disappeared, as far as she was concerned, for ever.
Having accomplished her errands and visits, Letty arrived punctually at the Bahnhof Pier, and looked eagerly around for Cara and her parcels; but no Caraappeared—she was not even in sight as the boat cast off. Letty and her daughter were dining that evening with Mrs. Hesketh, and at the Paradis she anxiously awaited her. Cara had missed a boat on several occasions, and come by the next; and now every time the great revolving door swung, she expected to see her enter. Time went on, dinner was over, the nine o’clock steamer had passed by, brilliantly illuminated.
“Whatcanhave become of Cara?” said her mother. “I know she was going to the Convent—it is not likethemto keep the child so late. Shall we go and wait in the lounge?”
When the ladies entered, the hall, the concierge came forward with a thin blue telegram, addressed to ‘Mrs. Glyn,’ and handed it to Letty, who tore it open with shaking fingers. As her eyes glanced over the contents, she gave a faint exclamation and dropped the paper. Mrs. Hesketh picked it up instantly, and read:
“Leaving for Paris with father. Good-bye. C. Blagdon.”
“Leaving for Paris with father. Good-bye. C. Blagdon.”