'Dear Mrs. Hamblin,--Will you come round to me this afternoon? I have something of the most important and confidential character to communicate to you, on which I require the advice which you, and you alone, could give. When you hear it you will understand the grief and consternation into which I am now plunged, and excuse the apparent incoherence of this note. Pray send me a line to say that I may expect you, and believe me yours always affectionately,
'FANNY CHADWICK.'
'This woman always deals in gush and superlatives,' said Mrs. Hamblin to herself as she glanced over the note; and she contented herself by writing a line to say that she would call at Fairfax-gardens in the course of her afternoon's drive. 'It cannot possibly be,' she thought, 'that Mr. Chadwick can have failed in business; but absolute ruin is the only thing that ought to have called forth such a demonstration.'
When Mrs. Hamblin arrived at Fairfax-gardens, she found Mrs. Chadwick eagerly expecting her. They talked on light topics until tea--which had been ordered on the visitor's arrival--was served, and then, as soon as the servant had closed the door behind him, Mrs. Chadwick broached the important subject.
'It is quite too kind of you, my dear friend,' said she--for she had quick eyes and ears, and readily picked up both the manner and the jargon of those whom she thought proper to imitate--'it is quite too kind of you to come here and to help me in the midst of my horrible perplexity. There is no one besides you in the world whom I could consult, for Mr. Chadwick happens to be away in the North, and I know also that the view he would take of the matter would not entirely coincide with mine, and it is no use having people to advise you when your whole time must be spent in combating their opinion.'
'What is this momentous question, my dear Mrs. Chadwick, which seems to have given you so much trouble?' said Mrs. Hamblin, with an appearance of great interest. 'I shall be delighted to give you any advice, though I can hardly promise that it shall be in accordance with what you wish; but at all events it shall be honest and straightforward. Now what is it that has set you so completelybouleversée?'
'I will tell you frankly,' said Mrs. Chadwick; 'it is the conduct of my sister Eleanor. You know her pretty well, though you have seen but little of her; for she avoids all my friends, and seems to take refuge in a narrow circle of her own. You have been able to judge what a home that girl has here, and how perfectly devoted I am to her.'
As Mrs. Chadwick stopped at this point Mrs. Hamblin bowed, and murmured something in acquiescence.
'You would think that in return for such advantages she would do her best to make herself amiable and agreeable to me at all events, even though she chose to decline the acquaintance of my friends. Nothing of the sort; for the last few months her conduct has been most extraordinary; and though I have put up with a great deal, I am not prepared to bear it any longer now that she has completely set me at defiance.'
'How has she done that?' asked Mrs. Hamblin.
'By thwarting a project which she knew I particularly wished carried out, and in which, Heaven knows, I was animated by no selfish feeling, as it would have been entirely for Eleanor's own benefit.'
'Indeed,' said Mrs. Hamblin, whose interest materially increased as she heard this last sentence; 'and what may this project have been?'
'Eleanor's marriage,' said Mrs. Chadwick. 'Her mother being dead, and I being the elder and married sister, I look upon myself as responsible for that girl's future, and that responsibility naturally involves the choice of a proper husband for her. I thought I had succeeded in finding such a person, a gentleman of exceptional cultivation and refinement, and one whose position in society could not be questioned. The gentleman to whom I allude is well known to you, my dear friend; and I am sure you will indorse every word I say about him--I mean Mr. Spiridion Pratt.'
The commencement of the sentence had prepared Mrs. Hamblin for the announcement of the name, so she said very quietly,
'Mr. Pratt? His would be a most eligible connection, and I don't think you have extolled his position or his merits at all too highly. And were his views the same as yours in regard to the matter? Of course as a known connoisseur he would admire Miss Irvine's beauty; but was he generally attracted by her?'
'Completely. I never saw a more thorough case of genuine admiration and affection,' said Mrs. Chadwick, whose manner was a little intensified by the knowledge that every word she said conveyed a stab to her dear friend. 'For weeks past he has constantly sought every opportunity of meeting her, and of paying her the most marked attention, and yesterday he proposed to her.'
Mrs. Hamblin's face was admirably made up, delicately and most artistically, but she obviously paled under her rouge.
'Proposed to her!' she repeated in a flat and unnatural tone. 'Miss Irvine is to be congratulated on having snared so wary a bird.'
'"Snared" is scarcely the term,' said Mrs. Chadwick indignantly; 'it isn't likely that anything like artifice would have been resorted to in this house, as the result will prove.'
'The word was inadvertently chosen, but I meant no offence,' said Mrs. Hamblin. 'Pray tell me what was the result.'
'Eleanor refused him--refused him, my dear friend!' said Mrs. Chadwick, who was easily mollified. 'When I came home yesterday afternoon I found her in tears. She told me what had happened, and hoped she would never again be exposed to such an ordeal.'
'What a very primitive person!' said Mrs. Hamblin, with icy composure. 'Did Miss Irvine state the nature of her objection to the proposition she had received?'
'She said, generally, that she liked Mr. Pratt, had always found him gentlemanly, kind, and pleasant; but that she had not, nor ever could have, any idea of marrying him. I was at first so completely overwhelmed that I could not give the matter proper thought,' said Mrs. Chadwick; 'but since writing to you I have come to the conclusion that Eleanor is acting under advice in what she did.'
'And who do you suspect is her adviser?' asked Mrs. Hamblin.
'A person whose name I have forbidden to be mentioned in this house,' replied Mrs. Chadwick, 'but with whom Eleanor was very intimate in her early youth--I mean Lady Forestfield.'
'Does Miss Irvine keep up her acquaintance with Lady Forestfield?' asked Mrs. Hamblin innocently.
'Not a personal acquaintance,' said Mrs. Chadwick severely. 'I have forbidden that long ago; but I believe they correspond, and, so far as I can gather, Lady Forestfield has actually induced Eleanor to send Mr. Pratt to call upon her.'
'What!' cried Mrs. Hamblin, surprised out of her composure; 'Mr. Pratt has called upon Lady Forestfield?'
'Exactly; and has had a long conversation with her.'
'Conversation, too! Of what nature, in Heaven's name?'
'Of a very private and confidential nature;' said Mrs. Chadwick. 'If Lady Forestfield had expressly wanted to thwart my plans, she could not have laboured more earnestly than she seems to have done. It appears that she took her own life as the text of the sermon which she preached to Mr. Pratt, talking to him all sorts of things about the misery of marriage without love, and the difference between imaginary and real love, and a great deal more in the same style.'
'And what did Mr. Pratt say to this?' asked Mrs. Hamblin. 'He is scarcely, I should have thought, the style of man on whom such an argument would have had much effect.'
'On the contrary, he seems to have been very much impressed by it,' said Mrs. Chadwick. 'He agrees to all Lady Forestfield says, and there is quite a ridiculous friendship and confidence between the three.'
'A friendship and confidence between three people never lasts,' said Mrs. Hamblin; 'for one is always certain to be jealous of the other two. But I am much surprised at what you tell me; I confess I do not see the bond of union.'
'O, the bond of union with which they have entrapped that silly little man,' said Mrs. Chadwick, rather forgetting herself; 'is their common love of art, and their superiority over the people in society, who are supposed to be heartless and frivolous, and that sort of thing.'
'And the result of this delightful conference is, then, that Mr. Pratt has not merely been refused by Miss Irvine, but has been persuaded that she cannot love him with that pure and holy affection which is so desirable; but ought to be rather ashamed of his boldness in venturing to think of her, and quite proud of being permitted to remain her friend. Lady Forestfield's convincing powers are really very extraordinary.'
'O, I am quite disgusted with it all,' said Mrs. Chadwick; 'the time and trouble I have spent in endeavouring to secure a proper position for that girl no one can tell but myself; but I should not grudge them one atom if she had shown me the slightest gratitude.'
'The affection you have shown, and the skill you have brought to bear, have been equally ill rewarded,' said Mrs. Hamblin, who preserved her outward calmness of demeanour, although inwardly raging at Spiridion's defection.
'I am tired of it,' said Mrs. Chadwick, not perceiving the least sarcasm in her friend's tone; 'and the result is certainly enough to make me give up any farther attempt. Mr. Pratt was, as I have said before, exactly the man to suit Eleanor; but if she intends to do with others as she has done with him, and when she finds a man perfectly devoted to her she won't marry him, but will go in for making a tame cat of him, she deserves to lose any chance of settling herself.'
With all this, and very much more, Mrs. Chadwick went prosing on, Mrs. Hamblin from time to time throwing in an interjectional remark which incited her companion to continue, though it had no value or meaning in itself; for indeed her thoughts were very far away from the worthy woman, whose monotonous voice, like the dropping of water, kept ceaselessly falling on her ear. To her jealous mind the introduction of Lady Forestfield among the persons of the drama acted as a shock; for Mrs. Hamblin believed in neither virtue, nor repentance, nor honesty in friendship. Lady Forestfield had 'gone wrong' once, and there was every reason to suppose would do so again. What more likely than that she should adopt Spiridion Pratt as a lover? He was weak minded, as Mrs. Hamblin well knew, ridiculously romantic, could easily be persuaded into accepting the position of champion to beauty in distress, and would feel infinitely flattered at its being known that he had been selected by a woman of Lady Forestfield's rank to do battle for her with the world. However much she had endeavoured to persuade herself to the contrary, Mrs. Hamblin in her secret heart had never given up the intention of bringing Spiridion back to his allegiance to her, and she saw at once that anymésalliancesuch as that the possibility of which she was then contemplating would bring entire destruction upon her hopes. She could have looked on at his marriage with a quiet simple girl like Eleanor Irvine with comparative equanimity; men, as Mrs. Hamblin knew from experience, and more especially men of Spiridion Pratt's disposition, very soon tired of innocence, and it was probable, or at all events possible, that when the charm of domesticity began to wane she might without much trouble, had she been so disposed, have regained her old lover. And now all this has been knocked on the head. Spiridion had kept away from her, and so she had been left unacquainted with all that was going on. What she felt most acutely was that Spiridion had so completely ignored her. If she had had the least inkling of his intention to propose to Miss Irvine, even if, after he had proposed and had been rejected, he had come to her and taken her into his confidence, she could have prevented this horrible introduction to Lady Forestfield, and all that would probably ensue from it.
While, with rage and fury at her heart, Mrs. Hamblin was revolving these things in her mind, the servant announced Sir Nugent Uffington, and Mrs. Chadwick, stopping short in her dreary monologue, at once rose to the occasion. Here was an opportunity for her to show Mrs. Hamblin that she too had friends among the aristocracy.
'To say that I am delighted to see you, Sir Nugent, at this dull season of the year, is not to express half enough,' she chirped. 'I had an idea that you were still in Paris.'
'I only returned thence two days ago,' said Uffington, as soon as he could put in a word.
'I assure you I look upon your friendly haste to come and see us as most flattering,' said Mrs. Chadwick. 'You will excuse me telling you that you look remarkably well and seem in high spirits. Does not Sir Nugent seem in high spirits, Mrs. Hamblin?' she continued, appealing to her friend.
Mrs. Hamblin coincided, wondering all the while what had brought Sir Nugent there.
'I have cause to be in good spirits, for I am the bearer of very good news, which I particularly wish your sister to hear,' said Uffington, turning to Mrs. Chadwick.
'Her sister?' said Mrs. Hamblin to herself. 'Then his visit is sufficiently accounted for!'
'Eleanor is out, I believe,' said Mrs. Chadwick; 'I have not seen her for some little time. I will send to inquire if she is in her room,' she added, ringing the bell; 'but you must not delay your good news. I am sure both Mrs. Hamblin and myself are equally eager to hear it. Whom does it concern?'
At that moment the door opened and Eleanor entered the room. She was rather pale, but looked very pretty, and her face slightly flushed as she advanced to greet Uffington, which made Mrs. Hamblin tolerably certain that her suspicions were correct.
'I was just saying that I particularly wished you to be present at this moment, Miss Irvine,' said Uffington, 'for I have some good news which will especially interest you. It concerns Lady Forestfield.'
'Lady Forestfield!' cried all three ladies at once, but with different intonation; Eleanor eagerly, Mrs. Chadwick flatly, and Mrs. Hamblin savagely.
'I do not see that anything that has happened to Lady Forestfield could, or at all events ought to, have any interest for a respectable family like ours,' said Mrs. Chadwick, bridling up and casting a sidelong glance at her sister.
'Will you please tell us what it is, Sir Nugent?' said Eleanor, without heeding her. 'You say it is good news--and I know it must be, or you would not have been so anxious to bring it.'
'It is good news--the best that under the circumstances could be,' said Uffington. 'The fact is, that all farther proceedings in the Divorce Court are to be stopped, and Lady Forestfield returns at once to her husband's protection.'
'O, thank Heaven!' cried Eleanor, 'this is indeed good news;' and her joy was so great that she found it impossible to restrain her tears.
'Well, indeed,' said Mrs. Chadwick, veering round at once, as she saw the position vastly improved, 'I am really delighted to hear it. Poor dear Lady Forestfield! When one imagines all that she must have gone through, it is quite delightful to think that she will be restored to her place in society again. I wonder whose influence brought that about?'
Uffington was silent on this point. He knew by Eleanor's manner that she recognised his influence in the matter, and that was all he cared for.
'And so Lady Forestfield is to be received back by her husband,' said Mrs. Hamblin, with a cold smile, as she rose preparatory to taking her leave. 'What a very strange world we live in! I confess I cannot join my voice to your chorus of congratulations, for it appears to me that Lady Forestfield is no more respectable than she was before, and that Lord Forestfield has made himself contemptible.'
The happy change which had come over Lady Forestfield's life had its effect in restoring her bodily health and, to a certain degree, her mental quietude. When Uffington first told her that her husband had consented to her taking up her abode at Woodburn she had ventured upon some slight objection. The place, beautiful as it was, had not, in her most favourable recollection of it, been what, according to her present idea, a home should be. It had been filled with people whom she never cared to see again, and had been the scene of many escapades, in which Mrs. Ingram, Lady Northaw, and their friends had played the principal characters, and the very memory of which was now repulsive to May. She had never known the place more than as one where, though nominally the mistress, she had really left all the arrangements to the housekeeper, and contented herself with the leading part in the follies which were perpetrated. And then there was the recollection of the last time she had visited Woodburn; that fatal night when, after having been spurned by her husband, she had sunk senseless on the door-step, and had been carried away, how she knew not. It was impossible, she thought, that she could go there; but Uffington firmly, but with great delicacy, urged her to reconsider this determination, pointing out the necessity of her being in her husband's house, and promising her, not merely the utmost respect and the acknowledgment of her proper position from the servants, which was guaranteed by Lord Forestfield's own written order, but the certainty of a quiet unmolested life.
So Lady Forestfield came to Woodburn, and a very few days after her arrival acknowledged to herself the wisdom of Uffington's counsel. The fresh pure air brought back the roses to her cheeks; and in her daily wanderings in the park and through the surrounding woods she gradually acquired the calm happiness and peace of mind which nature can alone restore to a soul that has been bruised and buffeted in its conflict with the world. Hitherto, at least since the days of her childhood, May had had but little appreciation of the beauties of nature; the park had been merely so much land lying between the house and the village, and she had only visited the woods for the sake of having luncheon with a shooting-party. Now all their beauties were gradually revealed to her. She would sit for hours in an oriel window of a little room which she had taken for her own, and which overlooked the park, watching the sun doing battle with the heavy dun autumnal clouds, and the wide expanse of landscape kindling into light. She took delight even in gazing on the great bare fields whence the golden grain had been reaped and carried, and the long ranges of hops gathered by the busy pickers, their dark poles, piled together in fantastic shapes, alone remaining to remind one of their recent existence. She loved to ramble in the home wood, which on her first arrival had been a sombre mass of dark green, and which now stood out flecked here and there with tints of yellow, brown, and red. For all she met she had a kindly greeting and a pleasant word. The husbandman, tramping over the newly-turned fresh-smelling earth as his furrow made the never-varying pattern, and the toiling many-childrened women in the cottages, for the first time began to understand that the 'people in the 'All' could take any interest in their welfare. When the days were wet, too, May was never dull or depressed; for the library was filled with books, and literature, which in her childhood she had loved so much, but had so long left unheeded, now again became her constant solace; and in her walks and drives, in her studies and endeavours to help the poor of the estate, May had a ready and intelligent companion in Eleanor Irvine, who, at her urgent request, came to her almost as soon as she was settled at Woodburn, and had remained with her ever since.
How this happy change in her life had been brought about, how Lord Forestfield had been induced to forego the further proceedings against her, and to consent to her being reinstalled in her own proper position, she had never learned; but she knew generally that it was Uffington's work, and to him she was proportionately grateful. She had scarcely seen him since she had been at Woodburn, but had received several letters written in the common-sense friendly spirit which had characterised all his communications with her. She found herself wondering what had led him--whom all the world looked on as a heartless cynic--to feel such interest in her, and take the trouble which she knew he must have taken in order to compel her husband to give up his long-cherished scheme of revenge, and to restore her to that position from which he imagined he had completely ousted her.
'He cannot be as cynical as people say,' thought May. 'I remember having heard that he had some great trouble in his early life, and the effect of that has probably been to make him eschew society and the pleasures which society affects; and the people whom he has scorned have repaid him by branding him as a cynic. As to his real goodness of heart, however, there can be no doubt. It has been sufficiently proved by the generosity with which, at what trouble to himself I shall never know, he has advocated my cause. I wonder whether admiration of Eleanor has anything to do with it? It seems almost ungenerous in me to suspect such a thing for an instant; and yet there is no doubt that Eleanor is very good-looking, and that Sir Nugent has always shown the kindliest feeling towards her. It would be strange indeed if my misfortune should be the means of bringing together the two persons who have been kindest to me in my trouble.'
This idea presented itself pretty frequently to May's mind. Since she had been taken into Eleanor's confidence respecting her rejection of Spiridion Pratt, and by her counsel had enabled that romantic gentleman to bear his disappointment with greater fortitude than at one time he believed would have been possible, Lady Forestfield had given great consideration to Eleanor's future. The mere fact of having herself made an unhappy match did not make May think it necessary to indulge in invective against the matrimonial state, and she allowed to herself that Eleanor's gentle disposition, patient temper, and clear common sense eminently fitted her for a wife. She would have been completely thrown away upon Mr. Pratt, with whom she had not one single sentiment in common, and whom she had always regarded with a feeling of contempt softened by pity. The man whom Eleanor should marry, thought May, must be one whom she could look up to, and who would expect to find in his wife some more sterling qualities than the stock-in-trade of those which constitute a frivolous woman of the world.
Oddly enough the conversation between the two friends, which had ranged over most topics, had never touched upon this, until one day when, warmly wrapped up in furs--for the first breath of winter was in the air--they were driving in May's pony-phaeton in the park; and thus it came about.
'I have a letter from your sister this morning, Eleanor,' said Lady Forestfield, 'written in remarkably good spirits, and with many affectionate messages to you. She seems to have quite forgiven yourbouleversementof her favourite plan for marrying you to Mr. Spiridion Pratt.'
'I knew that her anger on that account would not last very long,' said Eleanor. 'You don't know Fanny, dear May; but when you do you will find that she is the most extraordinary reflection of all that is passing around her. During the season she saw all her friends, and those whose example she thinks fit to copy, intent on matrimonial schemes; Fanny did not like to be out of the fashion, and fortunately there I was ready to her hand. The next thing was to look round for the other victim, and she speedily settled upon poor Mr. Pratt, who, I firmly believe, was never more astonished in his life than when it was first hinted to him that he was desperately in love with me. This attempt at match-making served to amuse Fanny during the season, and having talked of it so much, she had really begun herself to believe in its possibility, and was therefore vexed when she found I could not be so easily disposed of. But I knew her annoyance would soon be over, and therefore I am not surprised at what you tell me.'
'She seems to be a very forgiving person,' said May, with the least tone of malice in her voice. 'You remember my discovering the difficulties you had in coming to me in Podbury-street, when you told me her objections and the strict surveillance in which she kept you. Her sentiments as regards me must also have undergone a great change, for she not only writes in the most friendly manner, but says that she and Mr. Chadwick will be delighted to accept the invitation I sent them to come and spend a fortnight here.'
'Fanny is very human, dearest May,' said Eleanor, with a blush. 'I was perfectly certain that so soon as your time of trouble was over, and you were restored to your old position, she would be quite as much in your favour as she had been the reverse. And so she, is coming down to stay here. It was out of kindness for me that you asked her, I know.'
'Not entirely,' said May. 'I don't pretend to say that I thought you had been dull with me alone, for I know that is not the case, but still I thought that we had been travelling over each other's minds long enough, and that a little diversity would be agreeable. Besides, I very much wanted to see something of Mr. Chadwick. I have heard from more than one quarter of the kind way in which he was in the habit of speaking of me at the time when I wanted a friend, and I wished to thank him in person.'
'Don't do that, or you will offend him for ever,' said Eleanor. 'He is the kindest, best-hearted man in the world--a little rough, perhaps, but a thorough gentleman in every thought.'
'You have not yet learned the extent of my company,' said May, looking maliciously at her friend. 'I have a great idea that perhaps thefiascowhich Mrs. Chadwick so deplored last season was caused by her own mismanagement; so that in order that she may have another chance of carrying out that project upon which her heart was at one time set, and that I may give her the benefit of my assistance, I have invited Mr. Pratt to stay down here at the same time--and, what is more, he is coming.'
'How can you be so ridiculous!' said Eleanor. 'You know you have done nothing of the kind!'
'Most certainly, and in all seriousness, I have, dear; not, of course, with any such idea as I have just suggested, but simply because he is a pleasant little man, whose admiration for you has now toned down into a sincere and genuine regard, and for whom I myself have a real liking. I wonder,' she said suddenly, after a pause--'I wonder whether Sir Nugent Uffington would care to come here for a few days?'
Eleanor looked quickly round at her, but seemed reassured by the calm, though earnest, expression on her friend's face.
'It is impossible to say,' she said; 'but I think he would like it very much. He seemed on the only occasion on which I saw them together to be impressed by Mr. Chadwick's honest common sense; and Fanny now thinks there is nobody like him.'
'That ought to be my opinion,' said May quietly; 'for though the subject has never been mentioned between us, I am certain that I owe all the good which has lately happened to me to Sir Nugent Uffington's interposition with my husband.'
'You think it?' said Eleanor.
'I am sure of it,' replied May; 'though how it was brought about I have not the least idea. Sir Nugent has a strangely determined manner with him, and when he first became interested about me he bade me not to cease hoping for better days. Even then, when everything was at its worst and blackest, I derived some kind of comfort from his words, and I feel now that I am indebted to him for what has been my restoration to life.'
Again Eleanor looked keenly at her friend, and was again satisfied at May's appearance.
'It is strange that a man like that,' said May, 'should never have married; so far as one can judge, he has all the qualifications for making a woman happy.'
'There is, is there not,' said Eleanor, 'some story about him, some romantic adventure of his youth, which soured his disposition and brought on him that cynicism which men are always talking of but which I in vain have tried to discover?'
'He is not, I imagine, so cynical or so hard as he was,' said May. 'Mr. Eardley, who came to see me once or twice, told me he had never seen a man so much changed, and wondered to what influence the alteration could be ascribed.'
'Probably to longer life and greater experience,' said Eleanor demurely.
'I doubt that very much,' said May, with a smile. 'In default of some more powerful motive, Sir Nugent's nature would remain stubborn to the last. However, probably longer life has something to do with the other part of the question which we were discussing. It may be that most girls would think him too old for a husband.'
'That would not be the verdict of any girl with a particle of common sense, I should think,' said Eleanor. 'I know comparatively very little of him, and yet even I have seen him at times when he has thrown off the air of reserve which he habitually wears, and been as young as anybody present.'
May marked the eager manner and quick tone in which these words were said, and at once drew her own conclusions.
'I think, then, I will ask Sir Nugent down,' she said; 'running the risk of his being bored by us all. If, as it seems, he has taken to Mr. Chadwick, he can at least always find with him a refuge from female society.'
Eleanor did not reply to this last sentence. Perhaps she had her own reasons for thinking, or at all events for hoping, that from certain female society Nugent Uffington would make no attempt to escape. From the time of that conversation Eleanor was brighter, and evidently happier than she had been during the whole of her stay at Woodburn.
She was pleased to think that Uffington was coming to Woodburn, that she would have constant opportunities of being with him, and of listening to his best thoughts and aspirations in that voice which she knew was softer and more musical in its tone when addressed to her than to any other person, even to May. Even to May? Yes, Eleanor was very much pleased that she had had that conversation, for it had set her mind completely at rest on a point which for some time had caused her much disquietude. There was no question about it now, she thought; she had looked into May's eyes, and read there what must be the truth. She could go on very quietly now, and that sinking of the heart which she felt occasionally when she used to see May Forestfield and Nugent Uffington much together would come no more.
Two days later Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick and Mr. Pratt, travelling together, arrived at Woodburn, and were all received with much cordiality by Lady Forestfield. Mrs. Chadwick professed herself delighted to see Eleanor again, and congratulated her upon the improvement in her looks. 'It is all the country air and your sweet society, dear Lady Forestfield,' she said. 'I am determined, come what may, that nothing shall keep me in town during the autumn months again; and if Mr. Chadwick is compelled to remain there to attend to his business, I shall not stay with him; so I give him fair notice.'
'Halloo, that will never do,' cried Mr. Chadwick. 'I don't mind your imitating the swells in most ways, Fanny, but that is one of their plans that I will never have followed. To have and to hold, sickness and health, richer and poorer, death do us part--that is what we settled, you know, in St. George's Church, and that is what I mean us both to stick to.'
'My dear James!' murmured Mrs. Chadwick.
'I can perfectly understand Mr. Chadwick's feelings,' said May, with a bright blush in her face, 'and I highly applaud his resolution. The less that husband and wife are parted the better, be sure, for their domestic happiness.'
'Well, at all events,' said Mr. Pratt, with more than usual tact, seeing the awkwardness of the situation, 'there is no reason why a bachelor need stay in town. I have done so this year of my own free will; and I must say that, all things considered, I have enjoyed myself very much.'
'Is that really so?' said Mrs. Chadwick, looking at him meaningly.
'Yes, indeed,' said Spiridion, meeting the glance with good-humoured firmness. 'I daresay that perhaps, physically, I might have been better if I had gone to Ems or Carlsbad; but, morally, I found the air of London this autumn quite bracing--very bracing, indeed.'
'You have got a fine place here, Lady Forestfield,' said Mr. Chadwick, who did not understand any of these side allusions, walking into a bow window, and looking round upon the prospect. 'This bears out what I have always said--the North is well enough for business, but give me the South for pleasure. Now in the North at this time of year, and at this time of day, you would have a great thick fog looming all over here, so that you could not see your hand before your face, and there would be a real taste of coal-dust in your mouth. What's here in front beautiful turf would be brown or black swampy stuff; and them woods beyond would have lost all their pretty leaves, and been nowt but a bundle of sticks.'
'I only hope you will be able to amuse yourself while you are here, Mr. Chadwick,' said May. 'The head keeper gives plenty of promise of sport, if you are fond of shooting.'
'Yes, my lady,' answered Mr. Chadwick, in his old-fashioned manner; 'I have been fond of shooting ever since I was a boy, and used to go out on Sunday mornings at Jarrow a-birding with an old horse-pistol. I have had some great times since then, battoos, as they call 'em, and wholesale slaughter of all kinds; but I doubt if I really enjoyed any of it so much as those Sunday mornings.'
'You will have a companion in your sport in a day or two,' said May; 'Sir Nugent Uffington has promised to come down on Thursday.'
'Sir Nugent coming?' cried Mrs. Chadwick. 'That is delightful news; he is a most charming man!'
'Yes, he is a good fellow,' said Mr. Chadwick. 'I took a liking to him the first time I saw him, because I thought he spoke up so well and pluckily about--'
And here the fact of its having been Lady Forestfield's case which Sir Nugent Uffington had so promptly and readily defended came in full force upon Mr. Chadwick, causing him to stop abruptly and to become purple in the face.
Fortunately Mr. Pratt was fully equal to the occasion. 'When you tell Mr. Chadwick that he will not have a companion for a day or two, Lady Forestfield,' he said, with a smile, 'I see you perfectly appreciate my performances in the field. To tell the truth, I never could see the pleasure of tramping about over stubble and furrow, tiring yourself to death, and rendering your shoulder painful for a week.'
'He is more delightful than ever,' whispered Mrs. Chadwick to her hostess. 'I was afraid that Eleanor's behaviour to him might have caused some coolness between us; but he seems to have quite got over what I cannot help even to you, her great friend, Lady Forestfield, calling her rather cruel treatment of him; and though I confess I was disappointed at the failure of a plan which I certainly could not have espoused if I had not thought it would have been for the good of all, I am delighted to say it has had one excellent result, which I may tell you in confidence.' Then, dropping her voice to a tragic whisper, she said: 'He has completely broken with that person.'
'Indeed!' said Lady Forestfield, who took not the least interest, and scarcely understood what was said; 'I am glad to hear it.'
'Completely broken with her,' said Mrs. Chadwick; 'and I am sure all who have any sense of decency and self-respect must be delighted to hear it.'
The next morning, as they were returning from an early drive round the park, Lady Forestfield saw a telegraph messenger entering the lodge gate, and beckoning him to her, received from him a message with which he was proceeding to the house. It was from Sir Nugent Uffington, and ran as follows:
'Most important. I am coming down by next train, and must see you, as I return to town to-night.'
May's heart sank within her with a sense of impending trouble as she read these words, and Eleanor, to whom she handed the message, turned pale as death.
The message which the telegraph-boy brought to Woodburn had the effect of throwing a chill upon the spirits of the party, and caused more than ordinary consternation in the breasts of two of its members.
As soon as they reached the house Lady Forestfield retired to her room, not even asking Eleanor to bear her company, so deeply did she feel the necessity for silence and cogitation. Once there, she turned the key in the door to prevent any attempt at intrusion; for she knew Mrs. Chadwick to be one of those persons who are always most inclined to gossip at inconvenient seasons; and settling herself in her favourite chair in the oriel window, gave herself up to thinking of possibilities.
Taking the telegram from her pocket, she reperused it quietly. 'Most important,'--those were the first words. Sir Nugent Uffington, as she well knew, was anything but impulsive, and not in the least likely to use a term stronger than the occasion warranted; nor was it at all probable that, as he had arranged to visit Woodburn at the latter end of the week, and to spend some days there, he would come down, especially for a few hours, unless the business which brought him was of a pressing and particular nature. What could that business be? The first idea that occurred to Lady Forestfield's mind was that the influence, whatever it might have been, which had induced her husband to restore her to her former position, had waned; that the divorce action would be proceeded with, and she would again be driven forth an outcast on the world. The possibility, not the probability, of this being the explanation of the telegram was all that occurred to her; but she yet turned it over in her mind as though it were already an accomplished fact. It would be very terrible, she thought, to have again to face that wretched solitary life in the dull lodging, with all its sordid and mean surroundings; to have her miserable story again publicly commented on, and privately bandied from mouth to mouth, by those amongst whom her name was no more mentioned, and her very existence had long since been forgotten; it would be hard to give up that fresh love of life which, since her residence at Woodburn, had dawned upon her simultaneously with her appreciation of nature and the exquisite enjoyment of the country.
If this supposition were correct, she must have been at fault in the idea that the recent change in Lord Forestfield's conduct had been produced by Sir Nugent Uffington's agency, for she knew Uffington too well to suspect for a moment that anything which he had once taken in hand could be suffered to fail. What, then, could it be? For an instant a burning flush suffused May's neck as a thought, to which she had hitherto never dared to give attention, flashed across her mind. Could it be possible that this close and constant intimacy into which they had been thrown had led him to think of her with something warmer than those feelings of friendship which he had never indeed openly professed, but which by every action he had manifested towards her? She herself knew that for her own part--No, under other circumstances it might have been possible, but now it was hopeless; she had hitherto succeeded in prohibiting such a thought from entering her breast, and it should find a place there no more.
What could it be, then? Could it be the question of Eleanor's future that brought Sir Nugent thither in such haste? From the conversation which she had had with her friend, May was certain that Eleanor was deeply impressed with Uffington, and that though perhaps her rejection of Spiridion Pratt was not entirely influenced by that feeling, it was tolerably certain that, if Uffington had been the suitor, he would have received a very different reply. The spirit and eagerness with which Eleanor had combated the idea of his being too old to marry a young girl had given May a complete insight into her friend's feelings, and if Uffington's errand were to propose for Eleanor Irvine, its success was assured. May could not, however, think that this could be the case; Sir Nugent was to have come down in a few days, and would then have taken advantage of the opportunity to propose for the girl's hand if he had any such intention. It was entirely unlike him to make a special excursion for the purpose, which would necessarily lead to comment and question; moreover, it was to herself, Lady Forestfield, that the telegram was addressed, and the request that she should remain at home was made to her. May gave it up in despair; she was totally unable to divine the cause of Uffington's coming unless it related to private affairs of his own, and she could scarcely think that concerning them it could be necessary to consult her.
May was not the only one who was brooding over what the message might portend; Eleanor Irvine, so soon as she could rid herself of the fussy companionship of Mrs. Chadwick, devoted her energies to its solution. To her the fact that the writer attached importance to an interview with Lady Forestfield seemed of alarming significance. More than once during the last few months Eleanor's heart had been wrung with the idea that an attachment had innocently, and perhaps without their knowing it, sprung up between May Forestfield and Sir Nugent Uffington. It seemed to her impossible that two such persons could be thrown together without falling in love with each other, for May, in Eleanor's eyes, was the prettiest, the sweetest, the most lovable of women; while, as for Uffington, when her own heart told her that she loved him with all the admiration and affection of which her deep strong nature was capable, she, of course, thought that every other woman must be similarly fascinated. May had never given her the smallest hint to lead her to believe in the existence of such a state of things, and, indeed, during their last conversation when the merits of Uffington and the reasons for his having hitherto remained unmarried had been fully discussed, Eleanor had taken the opportunity of narrowly watching Lady Forestfield, and was at the time convinced that no feeling stronger than grateful friendship had dictated her panegyrics. Of Uffington, however, Eleanor had never been so sure. She had fancied once or twice that he seemed attached to herself, but in such matters had had little experience, and thought she might possibly have been deceived. It seemed almost absurd to think that a man of such taste and refinement could have been thrown so much as he had recently been into the society of a woman like May without bowing to the spell which her beauty and fascination never failed to exercise. And if such were the case, if Uffington's errand were to implore May to let the decreenisibe confirmed and to trust her future to him, Eleanor felt certain that May would not have the power to resist. What would then become of her?
Mrs. Chadwick, from the sanctity of the connubial bedchamber, screamed to Mr. Chadwick, who was washing his hands before luncheon in the adjacent dressing-room, that she thought both Lady Forestfield and Eleanor were 'behaving very oddly,' but she had little idea what was going on or what importance was attached both by her sister and her hostess to the message which had just arrived. Mr. Chadwick, who was always good-tempered, contented himself by remarking that apparently something was 'up,' but that it was 'none of their business;' and adroitly turned the subject by praising the beauty of the place and the friendly warmth of their reception by Lady Forestfield.
They were all seated at luncheon, when a fly from the station was seen coming up the avenue, and Lady Forestfield, asking her friends to excuse her, at once proceeded to her boudoir, to which room she directed her servants that Sir Nugent Uffington should be conducted. That sad sinking of the heart, that painful feeling of impending danger which she had before experienced, came upon her strongly as she heard Uffington's footstep on the stairs; and, as the door opened, she had to summon all her fortitude to avoid fainting.
Uffington was perhaps a thought paler than usual, and looked anxious and careworn. He advanced towards Lady Forestfield in his usual earnest manner, and taking her hand, and holding it for an instant in his grasp, he said: 'You received the telegram?'
'Certainly,' said May, 'and I was fully expecting you. You said that your business was important--I fear also that your errand is a melancholy one.'
'What makes you think that?' said Uffington, evading her gaze.
'I do not know--I cannot tell, save that I have a certain inward consciousness of coming misery. I have been so happy for the last few weeks that, perhaps, I am more acutely sensitive of even the shadow of sorrow. But you yourself, Sir Nugent, look tired and worn--will you not have some luncheon?'
'Not until I have explained my errand, which, as you have correctly judged, is a melancholy one. You must hear with courage all I have to say, and then quietly and deliberately make up your mind as to what is the best course for you to pursue, for by what you do to-day the whole tenor of your future life will be influenced.'
The burning flush which had suffused May's features during her self-examination that morning crept over them again, caused by the same thought; but as quickly as before she east it forth, and said: 'What have you to tell me?'
'I am here to speak to you of your husband; he is very ill.'
'Richard very ill!' cried May. 'Where is he? what is the matter with him?'
'He is at the house in Seamore-place,' said Uffington. 'He was in an unsettled, unhealthy state when he arrived there a few days ago from Paris, where, for the last few weeks, he had been leading a hard life and drinking to excess. Yesterday I chanced to call upon some business, and found that during the night he had been attacked with typhus fever. His recent career has been anything but favourable to him under the circumstances, and the truth is that he is lying in a very dangerous state.'
'Good Heavens, how dreadful' said May. 'Is he properly cared for?'
'Yes,' said Uffington. 'I inquired into that. His servant Stephens, who remained with him in all his various fortunes, sent off at once for Dr. Whitaker, who, as you know, had attended Forestfield once or twice before. Whitaker fortunately was in town, and came at once. Stephens told me that he shook his head when he saw the patient, and, knowing the confidential position which Stephens occupied, told him that he thought very badly of the case. And now, dear Lady Forestfield, I am coming to what more immediately concerns you. From something Stephens told me, I sent up for the nurse in attendance, and had a little conversation with her. Afterwards I made a point of seeing Dr. Whitaker, and from each of them I learned that both during the time of delirium and in his saner moments Forestfield has made frequent reference to you.'
'To me?' cried May, trembling from head to foot; 'to me?'
'To you,' said Uffington; 'speaking of you as his wife, calling on you by your Christian name, and declaring that you are "hisafter all."
'O, thank God! thank God!' cried May, burying her face in her hands and bursting into tears. 'I knew the time would come when he would say that of me.'
'Do not excite yourself, for you will have need of your strength,' said Uffington. 'The question is now, what do you think it right to do?'
'What do I think it right to do?' repeated May, raising her head. 'Can there be any question about it? Before you told me that he had mentioned my name and spoken of me in that manner, I hesitated, simply because I was afraid that my presence might irritate him and make him worse; but now that I have heard what you said, I have no longer any reason for indecision. Will you take me to Seamore-place at once?'
'I imagined that your good heart would prompt that determination,' said Uffington; 'but, dear Lady Forestfield, it is my duty to lay the case before you in all its bareness, and you must remember that if you go to Seamore-place, and install yourself as Forestfield's nurse, as is no doubt your intention, you run the greatest risk of catching the fever.'
'I should be but little worth if I allowed such a consideration to weigh with me for an instant,' said May, with a sad smile. 'My life has not been so full of happiness that I need be particularly careful of it, and there can be no doubt that my place at such a time is by my husband's side. Will you take me with you back to town?'
'Certainly,' said Uffington. 'The express passes at five, and we will go by that.'
'By that time I will have everything ready,' said Lady Forestfield, 'and in the mean while I will see Eleanor, tell her what has occurred, and ask her to make my excuses to her sister, who has unfortunately just arrived on a visit. And now for yourself, Sir Nugent. I am sure you are sinking from hunger and fatigue, and I will order some fresh luncheon for you at once.'
Mr. Chadwick, who seldom allowed anything to put him out, had ensconced himself in a corner of the library, and deep in a volume of theLife of Joseph Locke, was thoroughly enjoying the early struggles of that celebrated engineer, whose career greatly resembled his own, when he was startled by the loud tones of his wife's voice, and looking up, saw that lady in a state of great agitation by his side.
'O, here you are at last, James,' she said. 'I have been looking for you all over the house, and never thought you would have hidden yourself away among these dull, musty, old books. I wonder people of position do not attend more to their libraries. Now on our shelves there is not one single volume that is not handsomely bound.'
'Still, I would not mind swopping my book collection for this,' said the boiler-maker, looking round him with pleased eyes--'there are some rare works here, my Fan. However, I suppose it was not to talk about books that you have been "hunting" me, as you say?'
'No, indeed,' said Mrs. Chadwick; 'I have got the most extraordinary news for you. O, what do you think was the business that brought Sir Nugent Uffington here today?'
'Well, indeed, I cannot say,' said Mr. Chadwick reflectively, unless it were to propose for our pretty Eleanor. 'I have fancied ever since I first saw them together that Sir Nugent had a sneaking kindness for that girl.'
'Propose for Eleanor, indeed!' cried Mrs. Chadwick; 'nothing of the sort. No such idea ever entered Sir Nugent Uffington's head. He has fixed his fancy on some one else; and he is very likely to have his way.'
'Indeed!' said Mr. Chadwick, who, when the question of Eleanor was thus disposed of, had no farther interest in Sir Nugent Uffington's matrimonial project; 'indeed!'
'Yes,' said Mrs. Chadwick; 'and the chance has come about in this way. Sir Nugent has come down to say that Lord Forestfield is very ill indeed--almost dying, I believe--and that he wishes to be reconciled to his wife before his death.
'That's good,' said honest Mr. Chadwick, slapping his great band on the book to emphasise his declaration; 'that is the best thing I have ever heard of that chap. And the poor lady, she is going, of course?'
'Of course?' repeated Mrs. Chadwick. 'I really do not see any "of course" in the matter; considering the manner in which he has treated her, and the horrible life which, according to Charley Qrmerod's account, Lord Forestfield has been living for the last few months. However, she is going, says that nothing in the world will keep her away from him, and all that sort of thing, and has sent Eleanor to beg us to accept her excuses for having to leave so hurriedly. Lady Forestfield said, too, that if we thought the change was doing us good, she would only be too delighted for us to remain, and Eleanor would make an excellent hostess; but of course, that is out of the question. What I am looking at is, what is to be the result of all this?'
'The result of our not remaining?' asked Mr. Chadwick. 'I don't see that that requires much foresight. Of course I shall go and take a house at Brighton, and you will be very happy there till Christmas, when we will return home.'
'You silly James, I did not mean that at all; I meant the result of this illness and reconciliation and that--and I see it all. I have a kind of inward conviction that Lord Forestfield will die, and then the way will be clear for the others.'
'What others?' asked Mr. Chadwick, who did not follow the thread of his wife's discourse, and was longing to get back to hisLife of Locke.
'Why, Sir Nugent Uffington and Lady Forestfield, of course,' said Mrs. Chadwick. 'You must have seen--but I declare you have no eyes. It has been perfectly plain to me for months past that he has been deeply smitten with her, else why should he have taken all this trouble of getting her back into her former position, arranging her affairs, and all that; besides, I have seen them together, and I am a pretty good judge of such matters. Now, when she is once a widow there will be no bar to their union, and you may depend upon it that that will be a match within a very few months.'
'It would seem to me to be a sensible proceeding,' said Mr. Chadwick; 'they are both well suited to each other, and if he is as devoted as you say, he might make up to her for the hard lines which she has suffered with her first husband, poor creature.'
'I wonder,' said Mrs. Chadwick, speaking to herself rather than to her companion--'I wonder what she will be called: whether she will continue Lady Forestfield, or become Lady Uffington. They are both "Ladies," of course; but I don't think if I had been a viscountess I should like descending to be a mere baronet's wife. I don't know how that is, and I shall have to wait till we get to town before I can learn, for there is no one here to tell me. I could not ask Lady Forestfield under the circumstances, and Eleanor is dreadfully ignorant on such subjects. By the way, I wonder where Eleanor is?'
It was lucky that Mrs. Chadwick did not know; for certainly Eleanor had no desire to be interrupted by her sister at that moment. After she had received the news from Lady Forestfield, and broken it to Mrs. Chadwick, Eleanor, on May's assurance that she could render her no assistance, had returned to the boudoir, and was standing in a pensive attitude at the oriel window, musing over what had occurred, when Uffington, who had finished his luncheon, entered the room. He stole quietly up behind her and called her by her name.
Eleanor started. 'I had no notion you were here, Sir Nugent,' she said with a blush.
'Fortune has so far favoured me as to find you alone, Miss Irvine,' said Uffington, 'for I have something very special to say to you; and under the present aspect of affairs it seems doubtful whether I may have another chance. I am a man of few words, but little speech is necessary to declare my intentions, and I am willing to accept your decision in a single syllable. Since I first saw you I have been irresistibly attracted towards you, and have remarked in you qualities such as I have never noticed in another woman. In short, I have learned to love you very dearly, and though my life has been neither an uneventful nor an unclouded one, I think I may say there has been nothing in it which should prevent me from placing the rest of it at your disposal if you will honour me by becoming my wife.'
Why stop to record the trembling words of happiness in which Eleanor accepted this proposal, so oddly and so bluntly made? Nugent Uffington had been the ideal man of her life, and she now saw him at her feet, conscious too that love such as his was not transient, but of that enduring quality which lasts for life.