CHAPTER VI.
The lovers walked back to the house planning their future. Mary, who had been anxiously waiting for Roger, met them as they entered. Roger had been extremely melancholy for several days, and Mary feared the effects of the doctor’s decision upon his nervous system, but as she saw his beaming countenance, and the tender smile which he bestowed upon Victoria, she realized that something wonderful had happened.
“Here is your mother, dear Roger,” whispered Victoria. “Shall we tell her?”
“Of course, no one will rejoice more than she. Dear mother, the very dearest mother in all the world, I’ve found a daughter for you. She has promised to be my wife. Wish me joy, for joy unspeakable is mine.”
Mary clasped Victoria in her arms. “My precious child, I have prayed for this day, but I did not think my prayers would be answered so soon. Thank God for his goodness.” She kissed Roger tenderly. “So the doctor’s decision had no terrors for you, my son?”
“Not after this blessing came to me, dear mother. An hour ago I was bewailing my fate. Now I am the happiest man alive. Nothing can terrify me so long as I have the assurance of this dear girl’s love. God bless her.”
Victoria ran laughing from the room, only to meet her mother in the hall. “Whither so fast, my dear?” called Lady Vale.
“You are wanted in the library,” was all the reply Victoria made.
Lady Vale was far from pleased at the news which Mary hastened to impart. She had indeed promised Mary that she would not interfere between the young people, if they chose to love each other, but she had relied on Victoria’s good sense in avoiding anything approaching tenderness on Roger’s part, and she had been so imprudent as to fall in love herself. Lady Vale had different views regarding Victoria’s future. There weremany brilliant parti’s in England. Men of noble birth, who were sure to succeed in life, and who could place Victoria on the highest round of the ladder. What imbecility to bury herself in this obscure place, just because of her generosity of heart, and womanly sympathy, had led her to think she loved a blind man. Lady Vale set her thin lips quite firmly together, as she noticed Mary’s radiant face and Roger’s evident happiness.
“Ah, Augusta, how happy we shall all be here together,” said Mary, “for of course you will dispose of your English estates, and live here with us. This house is large enough for half a dozen families.”
“Are you not looking too hastily into the future, my friend?” said Lady Vale, coldly. “Victoria has more than myself to consult. She is not yet eighteen. Her guardian’s consent is needed. She is much too young to think of marrying. Sir William Pelham will at least think so, I am sure. He has full control of her until her eighteenth birthday. I can do nothing.” She did not add that she would lose no time in penning a letter to Sir William, enjoining him in strictest confidence to withhold his consent to this to her distasteful marriage. Her speech was like a cold-water douche to her hearers.
“How soon will she become eighteen?” asked Roger.
“Next December.”
“Then will she be free to do as she chooses?”
“She does not come into her dower until she is twenty-one,” replied Lady Vale, evasively.
“But she can marry at the age of eighteen?” persisted Roger.
“No doubt she can,” returned Lady Vale, “but girls at that age are fickle. She may have changed her mind by then.”
Mary looked sadly at her friend. She saw that Lady Vale was far from pleased at Victoria’s choice, and as she thought of it she could hardly blame her. If she had been blessed with a lovely high-born daughter, would she willingly have consented to her wedding a comparative nobody; moreover one so afflicted as Roger? She laid her hand on Lady Vale’s shoulder. “Dear Augusta, let the children settle this matter between them. If Victoria repents of her choice; if she wishes at any time to be released, Roger will immediately give her her freedom. Is it not so, my son?”
“Most assuredly so, mother. I have no wish but for Victoria’s complete happiness. She shall not be bound by any promise, except by her own sweet will. I am human enough to be selfish, and to crave her love and care, but I am not so selfish that I will not seek her happiness before my own.”
Lady Vale smiled and placed her hand in Roger’s. “Then you do not insist upon an engagement, or a formal announcement of marriage until Victoria is her own mistress? I have no need to write to Sir William.”
“That is for Victoria to decide, Lady Vale. I leave her free to do as she chooses. Whatever she thinks is right will please me.”
Lady Vale cordially shook his hand, and after kissing Mary, left the room in search of Victoria. She had already decided that the quicker they left for England, the better it would be for all concerned. Victoria, parted from Roger, would soon forget him, and once back at Valecourt, Lady Vale would see to it that her daughter never held any communication with her blind lover. She found Victoria in their private apartments, busily engaged in giving her French poodle a bath.
“So my daughter, who has never seemed anything but a child to me, loves somebody else better than her old mother, and is going to forsake her,” and Lady Vale kissed Victoria while a convenient tear dropped on her cheek.
“Oh, no, mamma, I am not going to forsake you. We can all live here so cosily together, and you ought not to say that I love somebody better than you. Did you love grandma less because you loved papa too? Of course I love Roger, but it is a different love than that which I bear you.”
“You forget, my love, how impossible it would be for me to live here altogether. I must be at Valecourt a part of the year. It is high time we were returning now. We had better start in a few days. It is considered highly improper to remain in the house with yourfiancé.
Victoria stopped scrubbing the poodle, and looked with astonished eyes at her mother. “But, mamma, I cannot leave Roger. We are to be married so soon it would be hardly worth our while to leave and then come back. It would be better to all go together.”
“Indeed?” interrogated Lady Vale, slightly raising her eyebrows, “and may I ask when you intend becoming Mrs. Willing?”
“Well, we thought in a month, sure, mamma. Roger needs me now if at any time, and I don’t see what we want to wait for. Of course we shall be married quietly, and that will please both of us.”
“You certainly have not lost any time in arranging matters, Victoria; you seem to have forgotten that Sir William must be consulted, and that your mother requires a certain amount of obedience shown her.”
Victoria opened her eyes quite wide. “Why, mamma, I never dreamed that you would have the slightest objection. I have been so used to doing as I thought best, that I never once thought but what you would be as delighted as Roger’s mother. She certainly does not object, and what has Sir William to say about it?”
“He can say a great deal, my child. If you marry without his consent before you are eighteen, your landed estates go to me, to hold until my death. Then they revert to your cousin, Dora Vale. There is but very little ready money you know. Less than a thousand pounds I think.”
“But why should Sir William refuse to let me marry whom I wish?”
“For the very same reason your dear papa would have if he were alive. He would say that you were too young to know your own mind. Come, Victoria, listen to reason. Let us go back to England, to dear old Valecourt. I promise not to interfere between you and your love, but take plenty of time to make your decision, then when you are eighteen, if you are still of the same mind, I will not withhold my consent to your marriage, after a suitable time, say two or three years.”
“Two or three years!” gasped Victoria. “Why that is an eternity. How nice it is to have somebody map out your life for you. Oh no, mamma, we don’t wait two years or even two months. I don’t wish to seem disrespectful to you in what I am saying, but I think I am old enough to know my own mind, and not to be treated like a great baby. Roger would die before the two years were passed, and so would I. If Sir William chooses to withhold his consent, he may for all us, and Dora Vale is welcome to the estates. They will be aGodsend to the poor girl. She is a governess, or something, is she not? If justice were hers half of it would belong to her. Just because her father married beneath him, as grandpapa thought, he must needs be cut off with the proverbial shilling. Turn about is fair play, I’m sure. If I marry without Sir William’s consent, I only return to Dora what is rightfully her own.”
Lady Vale shook her head. “Headstrong like your father,” she said, turning to leave the room. “The least opposition to your wishes only makes you the more determined, but I warn you, Victoria, while there is yet time, to pause, and reason whether it will give you pleasure to offend your parent for the whim of a moment. I do not easily forgive.”
She went out leaving Victoria sitting on the floor of the bath-room, holding the dripping poodle in her arms. “Flotsie, mamma’s the angriest I ever have seen her, but we don’t care. She wants me to do as she likes, and I want to do as I like, and I’ll win the day, of course. She can’t remain angry with her only daughter so very long.”
Flotsie shook her long, silky ears, and barked intelligently, and so the conference ended.
Lady Vale exploded a bomb at the luncheon table by quietly saying: “A sailing vessel starts for Queenstown next Wednesday. I have written to engage passage for myself and Victoria. We have had a most enjoyable time here, and have staid much longer than we should have done. It will be early September ere we reach home, and we have many important engagements for September.”
Her announcement was received with different emotions, by the different persons assembled around the table.
Andrew, who had been away all the morning, and who therefore had not heard of the important event which had happened in his absence, looked up with a strange sinking at the heart. To lose Victoria now meant certain failure. He was gaining more influence over her every day, and it would be only a question of time, when he could keep her under his mesmeric power for hours if he chose, and then he would be able to carry out the plan he had formed. He must in some way thwart Lady Vale, and prevent her from leaving America for some time at least.
“You must not think of leaving us for months yet,” he said. “We are only just getting acquainted. We had counted upon having you with us all winter, had we not, mother?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Mary, casting an appealing glance at Victoria. “How can we part with Victoria, who has grown to be one of us?” She divined Lady Vale’s intentions regarding her daughter, and felt sad accordingly.
Roger said nothing, but his face which had seemed so radiant a few moments ago, looked gray and troubled. Victoria was watching her lover. She saw the shadows fall upon his face, and her own clouded while she glanced at her mother with flashing eyes. “Mamma may go, if she chooses, butIstay here.”
“Open war is declared,” exclaimed Andrew, laughing, who thought Victoria only in fun.
“Yes, it is open war,” replied Victoria, rising and moving to Roger’s side. “Mamma knew my plans before luncheon. She thinks to frustrate them by taking me back to England, and so separate me from Roger, but I have promised him never to leave him, and I shall keep my word.”
Roger turned his head, and kissed his sweetheart’s hand, which was lying on his shoulder.
Andrew started to his feet. “Never leave him,” he repeated. “Do you mean to say that you are going to marry my brother?”
“Why not,” replied Victoria, quickly. “Is there any law to prevent it?”
Andrew saw that his violent emotion was drawing attention toward himself, so with an effort he mastered his passion and became seated, saying with a laugh which sounded forced: “Well, this is the greatest surprise I ever experienced. It nearly took my breath away. You two have been uncommonly sly to spring so unexpected a pleasure upon the rest of us poor mortals. It is not too late for congratulations, I hope?”
“Oh, no,” replied Victoria, blushing as she felt Andrew’s piercing eyes bent upon her. “It only happened this morning, and it seems not to have met with the approval of all concerned.”
“I am delighted,” said Andrew, rising and taking Victoria’s hand. “Roger is to be congratulated, andso are we all for gaining such an acquisition to our family.”
Mary rose and went over to Lady Vale. “I am sure you will withdraw your decision of so soon returning home, dear Augusta, now that you see how united we may all become.”
“I shall sail on Wednesday, and Victoria will accompany me,” replied Lady Vale with more haughtiness in her manner than the gentle Mary had ever witnessed.
Roger arose and, led by Victoria, left the room. They sought their favorite seat near the lake. “Well, my darling,” said Roger sadly, “your mother will prevail I suppose, and carry you away from me.”
“Never!” interrupted Victoria. “I’m not a baby in swaddling clothes.”
“But you are under age, pet. Your mother will influence that man, who is your guardian, to be nasty toward us, and who knows what may happen after we are separated. I am very much afraid we shall never meet again. It is not as if I had my eyes, sweet one. Once I would have defied them to have taken you away.”
“Do you care if I lose my estates, Roger? Would you take me poor as a church mouse?”
“Do I care if you are poor? Why, my darling, I can’t begin to use the money I have now, what would I do with more?”
“Then I’ll marry you to-morrow.”
“Your mother will never consent.”
“We will dispense with her consent, dear Roger. When we return to the house man and wife she will bow to the inevitable, and laugh with the rest of us. It’s a long ways off to my birthday. One hundred and fifty days.” She said this so naively that Roger immediately took her in his arms and kissed her repeatedly. “Oh, my angel, what an age to be kept in durance vile.”
“Yes, Roger, an awfully long time, and so many things can happen in that time. All I lose by marrying you now are my estates, which will revert to a little cousin whom I have seen but twice. Grandpapa disinherited her father for daring to marry a governess, so papa got it all. Now little Dora will get it back; that is when mamma is through with it, so you see I am really playing the good Samaritan in two cases—marrying you, and enriching Dora.”
“Ah, you witch,” cried Roger, catching her to him again. “Who could resist your sweet persuasive tongue. Not I. Do with me what you will. We cannot be married too soon to suit me. Shall we enlist Andrew in our behalf?”
“No, no!” exclaimed Victoria quickly. “He—he—” she stopped confused.
“He—he—he what?” laughed Roger. “He don’t want you himself, does he?”
Victoria was silent. Roger held her with such force that she almost screamed. “Has he ever made love to you, my darling?”
“Just a little, a long time ago, but I think he has given up all thoughts of it lately.”
“Well I should hope he had,” said Roger, somewhat dryly.
“But do you know, Roger, dear, I am awfully afraid of him at times. He has such a peculiar manner, and really fascinates me in a way I cannot describe to you. I like him, and still I hate him. I am drawn toward him, yet he repels me. Did you ever know of his having any mesmeric power?”
“No, he was always a quiet fellow. I never understood him. There has never been that love with us which is said to exist so strongly between twins; but you are mine now, dearest; you will soon be his brother’s wife, and as such are sacred. Now, when shall we be married, sweetheart?”
“As soon as possible, Roger. We will confide in your mother. She will help us out I know, and see to all things needful. Oh, love, it don’t seem possible that I am so soon to be all your very own.”
CHAPTER VII.
The parties left by the young couple in the dining-room separated without a word. Mary went to her own room in tears. She feared for Roger if Victoria should leave him. He had confided to his mother how nearly he had come to taking his life that day, and how he had been saved by an angel. For the first time in the friendship of over forty years, Mary felt her heart angered toward Lady Vale. She was taking the wrong course to so oppose two such hot-headed people as Victoria and Roger, and Mary resolved to go in search of her friend and lay the matter seriously before her.
As for Andrew, his whole being was in a state of torment. The announcement had come upon him so suddenly that he half doubted his own ears and eyes. “Victoria in love with his blind brother? Absurd! Did nothecontrol her heart? Washenot gaining an influence over her whereby she would in time be all his own? And did Roger think for a moment that the prize was his? Well, he would soon let him know who held the whip hand. He would mesmerize Victoria when he knew Roger was where he could hear them, and then he would compel her to say things which should cause Roger to believe her false. Oh, this was not a losing game for him yet. Oh, no.”
He walked out of the house and toward the lake. As he neared the stone seat he espied the lovers clasped in each other’s arms. The sight maddened him. All the evil in his nature came to the surface. He turned on his heel muttering, “Ah! how dearly shall he pay for every kiss lavished upon her who is mine alone. Oh, how I hate him for coming between us, for she was beginning to love me, I know it, but she shall love me again, I swear it. Oh, if the devil were only here, so that I might make a compact with him. How quickly would I sell my soul for the price of her love.” He went into the summer-house and threw himself upon the wooden seat, and abandoned his thoughts to wickednefarious schemes, whereby he might win Victoria from Roger.
Mary at once lent her ear to Victoria’s plans, but she first pleaded with Lady Vale to consent to an early marriage. Lady Vale coldly listened until Mary had pleaded her case, then she calmly answered that she should take Victoria with her Wednesday, and leave the matter entirely in the hands of Sir William, in whose wisdom and judgment she had perfect faith. Mary left the room in despair, and sought Victoria to whom she told her failure.
“I knew you would meet with no success,” replied Victoria. “Mamma is very determined. So am I. Now, come, dear Mrs. Willing, you must see about getting the necessary papers drawn up, as of course Roger cannot be of much assistance, only by being present, and the speedier our marriage is consummated the more at ease we shall feel.”
Andrew little thought, as he assisted Victoria to a seat in the family carriage the next day, that he had touched for the last time Victoria Vale’s hand. That when next he saw her she would be Victoria Willing. He would not have worn so confident an air as he watched the carriage disappear, in which were also his mother and Roger, if he had suspected that his brother was about to make his own the girl whoheconsidered was already withinhispower.
The three occupants of the carriage were strangely silent for a wedding party. Mary held Roger’s hand within her own. He frequently raised the slender hand to his lips in mute silence. She knew his thoughts. They were full of gratitude for what she was doing, and although her heart misgave her, she would have dared much more for the pleasure of seeing her darling son happy.
Victoria looked out the carriage-window at the trees, whose branches seemed to wave her a friendly adieu. She could almost hear them sigh: “Farewell, Victoria Vale. Adieu, fair maiden. When next we see thee, thou shalt be a loved and loving wife. Thou wilt have taken upon thyself vows which God alone can’st break.” She glanced at Roger, whose sightless eyes were turned toward her, and whose face expressed the joy which was in his heart. Did she regret the step which she wasabout to take? Not at all. She felt no misgivings for the future, only an ecstatic joy; a sense of sweetest rest. She trusted that God’s blessing was resting upon her, although she was disobedient to her mother.
Two hours later as the sun was just sinking, leaving a trail of crimson glory on “the Five Gables,” the carriage deposited the three conspirators at the marble steps of the grand entrance. Victoria, immediately upon alighting, slipped her arm through Roger’s. “Come, my husband, let us go and make our peace with mamma.” She led him to her mother’s apartments. Lady Vale was superintending the packing of two huge boxes, and looked up as the door opened and the two culprits stood before her. Something in their faces warned her of what was coming. Her face became stern and cold. “Well, you two are married?” she said, before either could speak.
Victoria gave a little scream and cried: “Who could have told you?”
“Your faces are the tale bearers,” returned Lady Vale. “You do not need to utter a word. I am not going to heap reproaches upon your heads as you evidently expect, and then mildly pronounce a blessing over you. All that I might, can, or shall say, will be communicated to you by my lawyer. From this hour I have no child. Victoria has chosen a man whom she has known scarcely two months, in preference to the mother who bore her, and who has loved her devotedly. So let it be. I do not love her any more, and I warn her that God will visit his wrath justly upon her, as he does on all disobedient children. No good can spring from this hasty marriage. Nothing but evil.”
“Mother!” cried Victoria, springing toward Lady Vale, “you are not cursing me?”
“No, Victoria. God shall curse you; not I. Leave me now, I do not wish to see you again while I remain. Rachel will soon have all the boxes belonging to me filled. Then I shall start for New York.”
“No, no! dear mother, stay here with us. I cannot have you go away with such a bitter feeling in your heart toward Roger and me. Or if you go, let us go with you. Forgive us, darling mamma. See, I kneel to you.” Victoria sank upon her knees and threw her arms about Lady Vale. “I do not love you the less for lovingRoger too, dear mamma. Will you not make us happy by giving us your blessing?”
Lady Vale disengaged her daughter’s clinging arms. “Arise, Victoria, your pleadings are but a mere form. No loving, obedient daughter, could have so disgraced her mother as you have done this day. Did I not tell you that I had no daughter?”
Victoria gave a low wail as if struck to the heart, essayed to rise from her knees, but ere she could regain her feet she fell forward in a dead faint, breathing the name of “Roger” as she fell.
Lady Vale gazed upon the prostrate form of Victoria while Roger swiftly groped his way to her side. “Oh, God, if I could but see!” he cried. He kneeled and took his wife in his arms, softly stroking her face. Lady Vale pulled the bell cord, at the same time telling her maid Rachel to bring water.
Roger turned his sightless eyes in the direction of Lady Vale, his fine face aglow with indignation. “Madam,” he said slowly, “we may have incurred your displeasure, but we are not deserving of such bitter anger as you have shown. For myself I do not care. I shall endeavor to bear up against God’s wrath, which you seem to think will be so plentifully showered upon us; but my wife, by right of law, I am bound to honor and protect, you have used words toward her this day which I, for one, shall be slow to forget. In all courtesy to you as my mother’s guest, I cannot turn you from her house, but Victoria is mine. No earthly power can take her from me, and I advise you not to try it.”
At this moment Mary appeared at the door followed by two servants. “What has happened?” she cried, as she saw the agitated face of her son, with Victoria’s senseless form in his arms.
“Mother, I wish the servants to take Victoria to my apartments. I will explain matters when we are alone.”
Lady Vale turned suddenly toward Mary. “Did you have a hand in this scheme to rob me of my daughter, Mrs. Mary Willing?”
Mary started at the unwonted usage of her full name by one who had never called her anything but “Mary.” “I was present at the marriage of Victoria and my son. It was no scheme, and nobody has tried to rob you of your daughter.”
“You have said enough,” returned Lady Vale, shrugging her shoulders. “I have lost a friend as well as a daughter,” and with these words she passed into an adjoining room, closing the door after her.
Mary stood completely unnerved gazing at the closed door, while the servants who were supposed to be without eyes or ears at such times, tenderly lifted Victoria and bore her to Roger’s apartments. “Are you here, mother?” he asked. Mary roused herself from the semi-stupor which seemed to have taken possession of her. “Yes, my son.”
“Then give me your arm, and while we are walking through the halls I will tell you of Lady Vale’s unjust anger.”
Mary felt saddened at what Roger told her, and as she helped to restore Victoria to sensibility, she wondered if Lady Vale had ever possessed a heart, for to one of Mary’s gentle nature, the course which Victoria’s mother had taken, seemed cruel in the extreme; and when she witnessed Victoria’s grief, which even Roger’s loving words and caresses could not assuage, she went herself to plead her new daughter’s cause with the incensed mother; but Lady Vale’s door was barred against all intruders, and Rachel, with a dignity born of the quarrel between her superiors, told Mary that her mistress would see no one, and that in two hours she would be en route for New York. Lady Vale wished to leave the house as a stranger. With these words Rachel closed the door in Mary’s face, who walked sadly away. Ere she reached her room she met Andrew, who seemed much agitated. As he caught sight of his mother his dark face became more sullen and sinister, and he said as he grasped her arm: “What is this that I hear the servants gossipping over and commenting upon? Is it true that Victoria has married Roger, and thatyouand the coachman were the only witnesses of the ceremony?” Mary trembled, for so she had seen her husband many times when in a fury. “Speak, woman!”
Mary raised her eyes. “Woman!” she echoed. “Is it thus that you address your mother, Andrew?”
Andrew bent until his face nearly touched Mary’s. “Yes, woman!” he repeated. “By what other name shall I call you? Do you know that I am going mad? Thata thousand demons are whispering horrible things into my ears? Do you know that you have helped to rob me of the only thing I ever loved on earth? Great God! What shall I do if I have lost her!”
Andrew’s mad ravings were too much for Mary’s already overtaxed nerves, and without a word, but with a horror in her eyes which Andrew never forgot, she fell as one dead at his feet. In an instant Andrew’s passion cooled. He took his mother in his arms and bore her to her room. The drawn look about her mouth frightened him. Something peculiar in the set lines of her face warned him that this was more than a mere fainting fit. He rang for assistance and sent a man on the swiftest horse for medical aid. When it came Mary was beyond all earthly cares and sorrows. Kind and willing hands labored unceasingly for hours over the still form, but to no purpose. Life had fled, and when Lady Vale left “The Gables,” she knew not that the soul of its beloved mistress had also left it never to return, nor did she know, until months had passed.
Roger seemed stupefied at this awful blow which had fallen without warning, and helplessly clung to Victoria, who roused herself to act when she divined the truth. It was she who thought of everything, proving herself such a treasure that Andrew’s admiration grew, and even in his sorrow at his mother’s death, his scheming brain was busily trying to divine how best to separate Roger from the girl who he would not acknowledge was his brother’s wife. She was his own still. He had provedthatin Roger’s very presence, by merely taking her hand in his and stroking it gently, while he spoke of what great pleasure it gave him to welcome her as a sister. What comfort would be Roger’s with such a loving companion, and although their mother’s death had been most untimely, she must not regard it as an evil omen following so closely upon the marriage. All the while he talked he noticed with satisfaction that she did not shrink from his touch, but gradually leaned toward him until her head rested upon his shoulder, and she lay passive in his arms. He looked over to Roger whose sorrowful face and sightless eyes should have appealed to his heart, but Andrew had no heart, except where his own interests were concerned, and he lookedat his brother, so unconscious of the wrong he was doing him, and thought how he would stab him through this fair creature who was controlled by his will to do his bidding, and who would not disobey him, even though he told her to kill the husband whom she adored.