CHAPTER IV.WILD OATS.
‘H
ere, Maud—here is old Uncle Maynard’s letter, if you want to read it!’
So said Tor, as he entered the drawing-room, after his visit to Thornton House; and Maud started up with an exclamation of pleasure at seeing him again so soon. When she took in the drift of his remark, her eyes opened wide with surprise.
‘The letter, Phil? Had Aunt Celia got it, then?’
‘Yes; she hadborrowedit to show to her precious husband. She found it amongst my writing-paper, she says.’
‘That’s a lie,’ said Maud, with the frankness of her nature; ‘for I tidied out that drawer the day you went to Whitbury.’
‘And I left the paper locked up that same day,’ added Tor, smiling. ‘Aunt Celia must have a vivid imagination.’
‘Did you tell her she was lying?’ asked Maud eagerly. ‘I mean, did you say that it was in the locked drawer?’
‘There was no need to say very much. Mrs. Belassis is not dense. She quite understood me. It is better to avoid saying disagreeable things, when meaning them does as well.’
‘I always want to say them,’ answered Maud candidly. ‘But isn’t she dreadful? She must have a duplicate key of your table. Do you think she has taken anything else?’
‘I shall look and see to-morrow. I don’t think there is anything in that table that she would care to possess. What beats me, is the motive for taking that letter. It is disagreeable enough, but of no value. Read it, Maud, and see if you can find out anything which could explain her deed.’
Maud obeyed. After reading a little way she became so much amused that she turned again to the beginning, and read it out aloud, so that Aunt Olive might have the benefit of the joke. She enjoyed vastly the old man’smisanthropic utterances, and her comments as she read amused the listeners as much as did the letter itself.
‘Dear, cross old Uncle Maynard!’ she exclaimed. ‘Isn’t it splendid how Uncle Belassis outwitted himself by keeping you away, Phil? How savage they must have been when they saw what he says! Oh, I really am glad Aunt Celia found it—it does so serve them right! He must have hated the Belassis family. I always thought he did. Do you think he’s really right about the will? Did Uncle Belassis make papa put that condition in, Phil? If he did, that settles the matter. I won’t have anything to do with a plot of Uncle Belassis’ making. I’ll send Lewis to the right-about pretty quick, if I’m just to be made a dupe of that horrid Belassis.’
Maud’s cheek had flushed. Her eyes sparkled with anger.
‘“Women will marry anything,” will they? Well, I’ll not marry Lewis to please his father—nothing shall persuade me. Yes, Phil; uncle was right. If you had not come back in time I might have been half bullied, half coaxed into it—for I do like Lewis, and I hate a row; butif you’ll back me I don’t care for anything, and I’ll defy Uncle Belassis to his face!’
Tor smiled and stood beside the girl, who had risen in her excitement, and was standing erect and indignant, with the letter held fast in her hands. He put his hand upon her shoulder and looked down into her face.
‘All right, little sister. You need have no fears on that point. You and I are more than a match for old Belassis; and you shall neither be bullied nor coaxed into doing anything you do not like—I will take good care of that. But leave the open defiance to me; and content yourself with the calmhauteurof thegrande dame.’
Maud’s face took a different expression, and the angry light died out of her eyes. She looked up at him with a grateful admiration.
‘You are just an angel-boy, Phil. I wish I could be like you; but I’m afraid I shall never be thegrande dame, I’m much too quick-tempered and volatile; I can’t think how you can keep so cool. I wish I could. I wish I were like you.’
‘So do not I—I like you as you are, Maud,’ answered Tor. ‘But I am not goingto let you make any important decision as to your future in a moment of heat. You must think the matter over dispassionately, and come calmly to your decision. But you see what the old fellow says about my duty. You are not to be a loser by your decision, Maud. A wish like that from a testator cannot be lightly set on one side. Remember that, Maud, when you weigh the matter in the balances.’
Tor knew quite well that the more Maud thought of a marriage with Lewis Belassis, the less she would like it, so he had no misgivings about inculcating this dispassionate consideration. He was doing the duty of an elder brother, without any fear that his own chances would suffer thereby. To be the dupe of a Belassis plot and to be the victim of his scheming would, he knew, be the more intolerable to her, the longer she looked at the matter.
But Maud broke in upon his thoughts with an imperious gesture.
‘Nonsense, Phil! I won’t have you do anything romantic and ridiculous. This is a big place, and you will want a lot of money to keepit up. As long as you are not married, I’ll live here and keep house for you; and when you marry, I’ll beg, borrow, or steal one of those dear little cottages at the end of the park, and live there on the remains of my fortune; and you shall keep a horse for me here, and ride out with me once or twice a week; and I’ll stay there an old maid, until somebody as nice as you turns up and makes love to me, and then I’ll marry him. But,’ and here she heaved a melodramatic sigh, ‘I’m afraid there is nobody else in the world half as nice as you.’
‘Of course not,’ he answered, smiling. ‘Now sit down, Maud, and let us be sensible for once. I do want to find out, if I can, why Mrs. Belassis cribbed that paper. She must have had a motive, and a strong one. She would not have done anything quite so suspicious without.’
‘That’s true,’ assented Maud; and she returned to a minute examination of the paper.
After turning it round and round several times, she proceeded to unfold it, and then her eyes opened wide with a look of comprehension.
‘Look here, Phil! She has been rubbingsomething out. There was something written in pencil on the inside. What was it?’
Tor looked over her shoulder, and saw plain traces of careful erasure. He pulled at his moustache, and whistled under his breath.
‘By Jove! So she has!’
‘What was it, Phil?’ asked Maud eagerly. ‘What had old Uncle Maynard written there?’
‘I don’t know, Maud. I had never unfolded the paper. It never occurred to me that there was writing on the inside.’
‘No,’ said Maud slowly. ‘I don’t suppose it did. Men are never curious, and there isn’t anything to make anyone turn over. I wonder what it was. Something important, of course, or Aunt Celia would not have troubled to run a risk for it.’
All three faces were grave. Tor felt that through an unconscious blunder of his, some distinct damage might have been done to Phil, though how or why he could not tell. It was not easy to see what harm could ensue from neglect of a few pencilled words—added quite as an afterthought to the letter; but at the same time, Mrs. Belassis’ conduct had made itevident that importance did attach to them; and Tor was disturbed at this discovery.
It was useless, however, to try to conjecture what the last message could have been, and lamentations over the casualty were equally purposeless. Tor had some dim hope that he might surprise the truth from one or other of the Belassis’ at some later date, but at present silence was their only course.
Maud talked herself sleepy, and went to bed; Mrs. Lorraine was about to follow her example, when Tor asked her to remain a little while longer, as he had something of importance he wished to say to her.
The gentle little widow looked half surprised at this announcement, for nobody since her husband’s death had ever cared to discuss matters of importance with her; but she assented readily, and settled herself once more in her chair.
‘Well, dear boy?’
‘I want to ask you what you know about Alfred Belassis—of his early life, I mean. You have always lived in this neighbourhood, have you not? You know as much of the family history as anyone.’
‘Yes, I suppose I do; but I do not know anything of Alfred Belassis’ early life. I never saw him until a few years before he married Celia.’
‘Who were the Belassis’?—the seniors, I mean? Were they not very much below your family in social position?’
‘Yes, I always thought so. I always wondered how Celia could make such a marriage, though we ought not to be proud I suppose; and Alfred Belassis had very good worldly prospects.’
‘I want you to tell me how it all came about, so far as you know the story. Begin with the father. How did the intimacy between the families begin?’
‘The father was James Belassis. He was a solicitor in the town of Darwen—where the coach stops, you know. He was a respectable kind of man, but not a gentleman. Nobody knew much about him until father—our father, I mean—found out that he was a very clever man of business, and gradually put all his affairs into his hands. Other people followed father’s example, and Belassis soon found himself in very much improved circumstances,and on the high-road to wealth. He had been a careful, saving man always, and had made a fair amount of money before; and I can remember father saying one day, that he had a son whom he had educated almost like a gentleman, and who was, he fancied, rather wild.’
‘When did all this take place?’ asked Phil.
‘I don’t exactly know when father first employed Belassis. It must have been when I was quite a girl. But it was, I think, in 1843 that Alfred Belassis first appeared upon the scene.’
‘What made him come?’
‘His father sent for him. He was getting on so well that he wanted his son to come and take a share of the business, and learn enough to step into his shoes. Alfred had been in the office when quite young; but his father had indulged him, and it had ended by his going off to see the world, that he might be made into a gentleman.’
‘The world must be congratulated on the gentleman it has turned out,’ remarked Tor. ‘Well, the young man came back in ’43, did he?—to a sudden prospect of wealth and importance; and what then?’
‘I have always thought it was at that time that James Belassis began to have hopes of making a good marriage for his son, and I believe he always had his eye upon one of our father’s three daughters. We were not bad-looking girls, Maud, Celia, and I; but men—marriageable men—were scarce, and it was not to be wondered at if James Belassis should make such a plan. His son would be rich, and he had had a gentleman’s education, and was not a match to be utterly despised in these parts; I think our father secretly favoured him. He wanted his daughters well married, I know.’
‘Did Alfred Belassis fall in with his father’s plans for his future?’ asked Tor, in rather a peculiar tone.
‘Yes, I think so. He came here often, and paid us all a good deal of attention; but for several years nothing happened. I think it was four years before he even proposed to Celia. Maud had married your father by that time, and I think it was soon afterwards that he asked Celia; and they were engaged quite a long time. I used to think he didn’t really want to marry her—he kept putting it off so much.Men were generally afraid of Celia; I think that was why she never had an offer till Alfred Belassis asked her. I don’t think she ever cared very much for him; but father was for it, and she wished to be independent. I used often to fancy Alfred was half afraid of her. He was so very long in coming to the point.’
‘When were they married?’
‘In May, 1850—I remember I did not like them to be married in May; but Celia said it was all superstitious nonsense. Alfred would have waited till June, but Celia said if it wasn’t in May it should be in April; and then they settled for May. Celia had got quite out of patience with his “shilly-shallying.” She threatened to break off the match, if he never intended to get married.’
‘Why didn’t he break it off, if he was so much afraid?’
‘Oh, he never could bear her to talk like that. He was bent on the marriage, but he seemed so inclined to keep putting it off. He acted very oddly altogether. You know Celia was a good match; for I was cut out of father’s will when I married, and Maud and Celia hadmy fortune between them. Celia was father’s favourite, and she got the most in the end.’
Tor sat still, digesting what he had heard. All pointed conclusively to the theory he had formed, that Alfred Belassis had not verified the fact of his first wife’s death, before his marriage with Celia Maynard. He had evidently been summoned home suddenly, to hear of an increase of fortune, and fairly good worldly position, and the prospect of an excellent marriage; and he had not had the honesty or courage to confess that he was already married. A wife like Nelly Roberts would be a millstone round his neck all his life, preventing his ever rising to the standing he might otherwise hope to attain; and with his usual lack of principle, and clumsy cunning, he had trusted that chance would favour him, and that the ex-lady’s-maid would remain in the seclusion where he had left her, and never trouble him more.
At the end of seven years he evidently had heard nothing of her, and had then, though obviously with some misgivings, entered a second time into the bonds of ‘holy matrimony.’
‘Why do you ask all these questions, Philip?’ asked Mrs. Lorraine. ‘What can it matter now, how or when all this happened? I know it was an evil day for all of us when Belassis entered our family; but why do you want to know the details?’
‘I will tell you why, Aunt Olive. It is a disgraceful story enough, and I do not wish it to go further; but it will be safe with you; and I think one of the family should know it.’
Mrs. Lorraine looked half surprised, half alarmed.
‘What is it, dear boy?’
‘Did Belassis ever mention a former marriage to your sister, or to anyone?’
‘A former marriage? Oh dear no! He was not married, and never could have been. He was only about three-and-twenty when he came here, and he lived here seven years before he married. Oh no, he could not have been married before that—it is quite impossible. What makes you ask such a very odd question?’
‘Because he was married before—he made a low sort of marriage, with a pretty lady’s-maid,only a few months before he appeared at Ladywell.’
And forthwith Tor launched into the history of his visit to Whitbury, and the discovery which had been forced upon him there.
Aunt Olive listened aghast, especially when it dawned upon her that her brother-in-law was a much greater rascal than even she had ever before believed, and that he had shamefully deceived her sister. Only too well did she now perceive the cause of his uneasiness before the wedding; and her dismay at the possibility, to which they could not blind themselves, fairly took her breath away.
‘I trust all may be well onthatscore,’ said Tor, knowing well what was in her mind. ‘For the girl did die, poor thing, somewhere about 1850, and we shall try to ascertain the exact date if it is possible. I do not in the least believe that this disgraceful episode need ever be made public; but I think it will give me the whip-hand of Belassis if ever he is troublesome. The secret is known only to me and to Miss Marjory Descartes. I think we are both to be trusted. I shall do nothing which might bring down sorrow and disgrace uponthe innocent. If he lets my affairs alone, I will let his.’
Tor was not long in finding that he had got the whip-hand of Belassis pretty considerably. He was riding over the farm the following day, when the uncle joined him, mounted on an old screw, which was too broken-down in spirit to frighten the most timid horseman.
‘Ah, Phil, my boy!’ he cried with great heartiness. ‘Just the fellow I wanted to see. Ride on with me a little away from these clodhoppers—so, not too fast. I just wanted a word or so with you.’
‘Certainly, sir.’
‘Hum—ah—well—you spoke last evening of Whitbury, did you not?’
‘I believe I did, sir.’
‘Ah, yes—well, perhaps you might have observed a little constraint in my manner, did you?—a little absence of my usual frank heartiness—eh?’
‘I certainly did notice something odd. I fancied it might be a threatening of cholera,’ answered Tor, ‘you went so green.’
‘Ha! ha! Very good—cholera indeed! What a wag you are, Philip! No, no—nowlet us see—what was I saying? Oh, Whitbury? yes; and Miss Marjory Descartes. I suppose my name was not mentioned between you?’
‘She seemed to know the name Belassis, when it came up casually in conversation. I believe she had known a Belassis in past days. A relation of yours?’
‘Ah well, never mind now. I know you’re not a chatterer, Philip, and I’m going to make a father confessor of you. Ha! ha! that’s rather good, isn’t it? I say, old chap, do you know what wild oats are?’
He dug Tor playfully in the ribs. The young man smiled, and answered readily:
‘Well, yes, sir; I have some acquaintance with the article. They are generally pleasanter things to sow than to reap.’
‘Why, yes, boy; so you have found that out too! Ah me! we all run a bit wild in our youth. I dare say you have played Don Juan sometimes before now—eh? Well, never mind that. It isn’t fair to ask too many such questions. But to come to the point; what I want to tell you is this—I sowed most of my wild oats in Whitbury.’
‘Indeed!’
‘Yes, I did; and that’s why I didn’t much care to talk about the place. Now mind you, boy, I did nothing really wrong—no, no. I was wild and foolish; but I never disgraced my father’s name’—here his face assumed an edifying expression of virtuous complacency. ‘I was only a bit gay and wild; but still one doesn’t like such episodes brought to light after a number of years—you will know better what I mean when you are married, and settled down in life. My wife, now, is what I call a fastidious woman—an uncommonly particular, upright, conscientious woman.’
‘Quite so,’ ejaculated Tor softly.
‘Eh? yes, quite so; I knew you would agree with me, and you can understand that I don’t want old Whitbury gossip to come to her ears. I don’t want to meet Miss Marjory Descartes, or for her to meet Celia. I’d rather she never came near the place at all. And I’ll take it as a personal favour, Philip, if you will not talk about such things before my wife, or put ideas into her head, or have Miss Marjory to Ladywell at all.’
Belassis was flushed, breathless, and incoherent. Tor answered gravely enough:
‘I can’t promise not to ask Miss Marjory to Ladywell; but you can keep out of her way as much as you please. If I were you, I would tell your wife about these innocuous wild oats, and get the matter off your mind. However, I have no wish to introduce the subject. I always think people had much better not meddle with their neighbours’ affairs.’
Even Belassis’ thick head caught at the meaning of these last significant words.
‘Oh, ah—yes,’ he answered uneasily. ‘I never do interfere—I don’t mean to. We’ll just keep on good terms, and let one another alone.’
Belassis rode off as rapidly as he dared, feeling unequal to prolonging the interview. Tor, who had seen Maud’s hat over a distant hedge, put his horse to a gallop, and joined her by a flying leap.
‘Phil! how you do startle one! What are you up to now?’
‘I’ve been talking with our respected uncle. I don’t think he’ll bother us much more. The open defiance will hardly be needed.’
‘You met Uncle Belassis?’
‘Yes; I have just parted from him.’
‘Was he riding?’
‘Well, I can hardly say that. He sat on his horse, and the horse ran.’
Maud laughed delightedly, and her mind was diverted from the question of the interview, as Tor intended it should be.
‘Oh, Phil,’ she said, ‘there came a letter for you by the mid-day post. It’s from Germany, and I think perhaps it’s from Tor, or about him.’
Tor hastened home with all the speed he could, an eager hope possessing him that he might see at last Phil’s familiar handwriting.