A Search For A Secret: A Novel. Vol. 3

by G. A. Henty

  CHAPTER V.

  TERRIBLE TIDINGS.

  And now, when all seemed so fair and smooth, when I thought that at lastfortune had resolved to make amends for all her frowns--with Harrylooking forward hopefully to his new appointment in Australia, withPolly engaged to a man whom I felt sure would make her happy, with fiveand a half years passed since Percy left for India, and only two and ahalf to look forward to, and these I felt sure would be happy ones,spent as we had arranged that they should be, with Polly and herhusband--now was to come the blow which should shatter for ever myfabric of happiness, and destroy at once all those plans which I hadvainly fancied were so fixed and settled.

  It was the end of March. Polly was to be married in July. Early in themonth I had received my periodical letter from Percy. It was written inhis usual spirits; but there was one part of it which made me ratheruneasy at the time, although I did not think that it could be anythingserious. It was as follows:--

  "You must not fidget yourself, dearest, about what I am going to saynow. I should not say it at all, but the fact is so notorious that Ihave no doubt you will see allusions and accounts in the newspapers,which will very likely, as newspapers often do, greatly exaggeratematters, and had I not written to you on the subject, might make youvery uneasy. Some of the native troops are grumbling and disaffected. Itseems that some one has persuaded them that the cartridges they use aregreased with pig's fat, on purpose to destroy their caste. However, theauthorities are quite awake, and several of the regiments have beendisarmed; and there, no doubt, with a severe punishment of some of theringleaders, the matter will end. These scamps are too well treated,and, like all men who are too well fed and too much petted, they mustfind something to grumble at. The cartridge question is a mere pretext,and could be at once avoided by withdrawing all the cartridges whichhave been served, and letting the men make them for themselves. Isuppose it will blow over, as these things usually do; but the nativemind is certainly a good deal disturbed; strange rumours are going aboutthe country, and the natives in general have an idea that the Company'sraj, or rule, is going to end shortly; but I confess that, for my part,I don't think John Company is at all likely to give up this trifling bitof country in a hurry."

  The rest of Percy's letter was written in his usual way, and was veryloving and tender. He said that in a little more than two years heshould be thinking of starting for England, and that as he had notfallen in love with any native princess yet, he thought there was everychance now of his claiming me when he got back. It was a very longletter--longer even than usual; but long as it was, how often and oftenI have read it over since!

  It was the last I ever received from him.

  The letter was written from a place in India then but little known inEngland, although it has attained a terrible celebrity since. It wasdated from Lucknow, where Percy had recently been sent with a very goodstaff appointment, his regiment being in quite another part of India.The mail which brought his letter, brought, as he had predicted,accounts of disaffection in the Bengal army; but still, no one thoughtthat it was anything very serious, and I did not feel at all uneasy, forthe scene where the regiments had been mutinous and were disarmed, was avery long distance from the place where he was stationed.

  The next mail brought news of how the disaffection was spreading--freshregiments had mutinied, and had been disbanded; and the next--oh, what athrob of agony it sent through England!--told of risings and massacres,and unutterable horrors. Oh, it was terrible! With what fearful anxietyI waited, as thousands did in England at that dreadful time, for thearrival of the next mail! and how that anxiety grew when the post onlybrought darker and darker news, and tidings that at every station therewere risings and massacres.

  Every one during that two months was very, very kind to me. We were veryquiet, for Harry brought no one in now, and Charley Horton was our onlyvisitor. He tried to moderate his big hearty voice for my sake, andbrought me down what cheering news he could from the City,--of howpeople thought it would not spread farther, and that our troops wouldsoon get the upper hand again. I tried hard to believe him; but I couldnot but feel that he only told me so to cheer me, and not because hebelieved what he said.

  At last one morning Harry went up as usual to catch the eight o'clocktrain, but instead of going by it, came back in twenty minutes after hehad started. As he came in at the gate I saw that he had the paper inhis hand, and I felt intuitively that there was bad news in it, and thathe had come back to tell me.

  "Do not be alarmed, Agnes," he said, as he came in, seeing the look ofterrible suspense on my face. "There is nothing about Percy in thepaper."

  "Thank God!" I murmured.

  "The news," he went on, "is only what we had almost expected. The lastmail told us that they were making every preparation; and with a manlike Lawrence to lead them, there is, I trust, no fear for theirultimate safety. Still, darling, the news is undoubtedly bad. They haverisen at Lucknow. The garrison have retreated to the Residency. Theymade a sortie at first to meet the rebels, who were marching towards thetown; but it seems that our men got the worst of it. So they blew up thefort, which the last mail said they were fortifying, and all retiredinto the Residency: it appears to be a fortified sort of place, and theythink they can hold out until relief comes."

  This was terrible news. Harry gave me the paper, now, to look at. Therewas a long list of telegrams about different stations and garrisons, butthat was all I read; it was nearly word for word as he had told me,nothing more--but what could be worse? It was evident that the garrisonwas terribly weak, or they would never have abandoned the post they hadso carefully fortified. Probably they had suffered dreadfully in thatsortie, and Percy was sure to have been among them.

  Had he ever got back into Lucknow? and if so, could they hold out tillrelief came? And where was it to come from? Oh, what a terrible four orfive days that was before the mail came in with the details of the news,what a sickening agony of suspense I suffered!

  At the end of that time all suspense, all hope was over.

  The day that it was expected, Polly went down to the gate to watch ifHarry returned from the station, which he was sure to do if there wasnews.

  I could not stand there with her, but sat indoors watching her, with myheart hardly beating, and my hands grasping tightly the arms of thechair, as if to keep down the wild impulse which prompted me to rushmadly down to the station to see the paper. At last Polly moved, andthen went up the road, out of my sight, and I knew then that she sawHarry coming back again, and that the news was in.

  How long--oh, how long they were coming! I knew that, owing to a littleturn of the road, he could not have been more than a hundred yards offwhen she caught sight of him, not fifty when she met him. Oh, how longthey were! and as second passed by after second--each second seeming anage to me--and still they did not come, my heart sank lower and lower,and hope died quite out. At last they appeared at the gate. I could notsee Harry's face, for it was bent down, but Polly's was as white asdeath, and then I knew that Percy was killed.

  I did not hear anything about it for some time afterwards: I rememberthem coming in at the gate, and the sight of Polly's face, and the nextthing that I recollect, was that I was laying on the sofa, with Pollycrying softly over me, and Dr. Whitmore standing beside me.

  Harry was not there, for he had cried so terribly, and had been so muchin the way, that the doctor had been obliged to send him out of theroom. I had been for a long time in a faint, so long that they hadbecome seriously alarmed, and had sent the servant to fetch the doctor;but even with his aid, there had been a great difficulty in bringing meround.

  As soon as I recovered sufficiently to be moved, Harry came in andcarried me up to my room, and Polly got me into bed. I was very faintand weak still, and soon dozed off to sleep. I believe, indeed, that Dr.Whitmore gave me some powerful sedative. It was not till next day that Iwas recovered sufficiently to ask any questions. I had never been toldthat Percy was dead, but I knew it as well as if they had s
poken; theysaw that I knew it, and had not even alluded to the subject.

  "Let me see the account," I said at last.

  "Are you strong enough, darling?" Polly said, anxiously.

  "Yes, it cannot do me any harm, Polly. I know the worst; please let mesee how it was."

  Polly in silence fetched the paper, folded it down to the place, andgave it to me. It was the account of that disastrous sortie made fromLucknow just before the siege began. In the account of the retreat ofthe little column back to the town, during which so many noble fellowsfell, were the words: "Among the little troop of cavalry, composedprincipally of officers either on the staff, or who had found their wayto Lucknow, where their regiments had mutinied, Lieutenant Desborough,of the Lancers, greatly distinguished himself, until, heading a gallantcharge to check the pursuing rebels, he fell. He had already, earlier inthe day, been wounded, but not so badly as to prevent his keeping hisseat. In common with nearly every one who fell, it was impossible, fromthe close pursuit of the rebels, to bring off his body."

  Two or three times I read through the paragraph and then turned roundwearily to the wall. This was the end then. My Percy was dead, and therewas not even the consolation of knowing that he had been laid tenderlyin some quiet churchyard, there to wait, under that burning Indian sky,till the time should come, when we should again meet, and never partmore. But now I could not even think of him so; I had not even thatconsolation; I could not think of him as lying anywhere; his body hadfallen into the hands of the rebels, to be hacked and mutilated, beforethey left it to the jackals and wild dogs. I could not think of him atall, it was too horrible--Oh, Percy, Percy!

  The next day Ada came down to see me. Grieved and shocked as she was,the dear girl had thought of me, and of my sorrow--greater even thanhers--and so had driven down in her brougham to see me.

  Polly left us to ourselves, and Ada cried with me, and talked with meover her dead brother, till our tears ceased to flow so fast, and wewere both comforted.

  The next day I was about the house again, and the next Polly went toLondon to buy mourning for me. Not for herself, although she hadintended to do so, but I would not allow it. I pointed out to her thatHarry would sail in little over three months now, and that it wasabsolutely necessary that our original plan should be carried out, andthat she should be married before he started. I showed her howinconvenient delay would be; for that we had given notice to give up thehouse at that time, and I knew the landlord had already found a tenantfor it, and that therefore there would be nowhere for her to be marriedfrom. Consequently, that our plans must hold good as before intended,and it would be a useless expense for her to go into mourning.

  Polly endeavoured at first to argue that her marriage should bepostponed; but finding that I would not hear of it, and seeing that itreally would be very inconvenient, she gave way. However, when she cameback from town, I found that she had bought a black dress and bonnet forherself, to wear until her marriage.

  Charley Horton came that evening. I did not see him, but Polly did, andhad a long talk with him. Polly told me afterwards that directly he camein and had inquired after me, he said--

  "Well, Polly, all we can do is to try hard to make your poor sister ashappy as we can. Her loss will in one way be your gain, Polly; for shewould have gone back with her husband to India, and you would not haveseen her for years. Now, you will be always able to keep her with you,as of course she will live with us, you know."

  Polly thereupon, as she confided to me, straightway bestowed uponCharley, to his great embarrassment and delight, the first kiss whichshe had yet vouchsafed him.

  "Do you know, my dear old bear, that only this afternoon I was thinkingthat, perhaps, we should not be married after all?"

  "You don't say so, Polly," Charley said, in great astonishment; "and whynot?"

  "Well you see, Charley, I cannot leave Agnes now, and if you had raisedthe least difficulty or question----"

  "Oh, come now, Polly, dash it----I beg your pardon, but I can't help it.No, really now, that is too bad. Why I should be glad, very glad to haveAgnes to live with us. I like her almost as much as I do you. Not sowell you know, Polly, and in a different sort of way, but still verymuch. And even if I did not----No, really now, Polly, that's not fairon a man."

  "Never mind, Charley, it is all right now; but you see I was thinking somuch of my sister and of her life, that I almost forgot what a good oldbear it is, and you don't know how pleased I am that you have spoken asyou have done."

  Polly then had a serious talk with him; for he was of course anxious toknow whether she wished her marriage postponed. But she told him what Ihad said against any alteration being made in the time; and so to hisgreat pleasure it was settled that things should remain as previouslyarranged. When Charley had gone, Polly came up to me to tell me howwarmly and sincerely he had expressed his pleasure at the thought of mytaking up my permanent residence with them.

  I expressed my earnest satisfaction; for I would not for worlds havedamped her pleasure by telling her what my own resolve was. Indeed, Iwas firmly convinced that had she known it, much as she loved Charley,Polly would have at once broken off her engagement with him; for I hadquite made up my mind that I would not on any account live with her andher husband. It was not so much that I did not wish to inflict mydulness upon her, for I knew how kindly they would bear with me; but Ifelt quite unequal to join even in home society like theirs. I wascertain that at any rate for a very, very long time I should be a sad,unsociable woman. I had lived so many years on hope, that now that hopewas gone I seemed to have nothing more to live for. I knew that I shouldnot for years be fit to join in society. I felt already old and strange;the light and youth seemed at once to have faded out of my life. I wasresolved that I would return to Canterbury and take up my abode there.My heart seemed to yearn for the dear old town, with its tranquil,sleepy ways, and I felt that it would harmonize well with my changedlife, and that I should be calmer, more resigned and tranquil, therethan I could be anywhere else. And now my next thought was of Harry. Whyshould he not take a wife with him on his long journey?

  I asked him this the first time that I had an opportunity of speaking tohim alone. After much pressing he owned that when he first accepted theappointment he had thought of it; but that these Indian troubles hadbegun, and while I was so anxious and troubled he could not be thinkingof marrying; but he said that he had spoken to Nelly Planter, and thatshe had agreed to wait three years until he came back to fetch her. ButI cried--

  "No, no, Harry; take her with you. No more waiting. Oh, think of myruined life, Harry, and don't ask her to wait! Go at once, Harry! go atonce, and persuade her to go with you. There are three months yet."

  I would not let Harry rest till he went. He was away two hours, and whenhe came back I saw by his face that he had succeeded, and that his wifewould accompany him on his journey.

  I pass over those three months. I tried hard for Harry and Polly's saketo keep up, and as there was so much to do with his outfit and hertrousseau, I succeeded pretty well.

  It was a very quiet double wedding in the old Putney church. I could nottrust myself to go with them, but went in to Rupert Planter's, wherethey had a quiet breakfast afterwards. When they had finished, I saidgood-bye to Harry and my new sister--good-bye for a long time, for theywere to start at once and go down to Plymouth, where the ship they wereto sail in would touch in a week's time. Charley and Polly were going upthe Rhine. They all said good-bye, and started together. I did notcry--I could not--I did not feel as if anything but my own sad thoughtscould ever make me cry again. I then went off to Ada's, where my thingshad been sent the night before. I did not return to Daisy Villa, for allhad been arranged for our leaving; everything was packed and ready, andRupert Planter willingly promised to see the boxes off, and to hand thehouse over to the landlord. Our servant was to go down for three weeksto Canterbury to see her friends, and was then to come back to Polly'snew home, which was a pretty villa on Putney Hill. There I was to meet
her, and was to get everything ready for her new master and mistress'sreturn. And so I went to Ada's for three weeks; very, very kind she wasto me during that time, and so was her husband. Ada told me that hermother felt Percy's death terribly, and that it seemed quite to havecrushed her. Ada was sure, although Lady Desborough had not said so toher, that she bitterly regretted now the course she had taken withreference to his engagement with me.

  Thus it often is with us, we take a course, and we keep to it, as if wewere infallible, and we allow nothing to alter our convictions. Wepersuade ourselves that we are right, and we hold on our course unmoved.Death steps in: and now, when the past is irrevocable, the scales thathave so long darkened our eyes, fall at once to the ground, and we seethat we were wrong after all. How much cruel conduct, how many harshwords, how many little unkindnesses do we wish unspoken and undone whenwe look upon a dead face we have loved, or stand by the side of anew-made grave! how we wish--how we wish that we could but have the timeover again! Perhaps in past times we were quite content with our ownconduct; we had no doubts in our mind but that we always did what wasright and kind, and that we were in every way doing our duty. But now inwhat a different light do right and duty appear! how we regret that weever caused tears to flow from those dear eyes, now never to open again!why could we not have made those small concessions which would have costus so little, why were we so hard upon that trifling fault, why soimpatient with that little failing? Ah me! ah me! if we could but liveour lives over again, how different, oh, how different it should be! Andyet while we say this, we do not think that there are others yet aliveupon whose faults we are just as hard, with whose failings we bear justas little, and that these, too, may some day go down into the quietgrave, and that we may again have to stand beside and cry "peccavi."

  And so with Lady Desborough; now that Percy was dead, and herrepentance--as far as he was concerned--came too late, she murmured andgrieved bitterly over what she had done. I did not see her while Istayed at Ada's, but she sent a very pitiable message to me by herdaughter, praying me to forgive her. I sent back to say that I forgaveand pitied her, but I was obliged to decline an interview, which sheasked for, that she might personally express her contrition, as I wasnot equal to such a scene. Before I left Ada's I told her of myintention of taking up my residence at Canterbury, she would havecombated the idea, but I told her at once that my mind was made up, atany rate for some time. I had already had a correspondence with Mrs.Mapleside, a very old friend of ours at Canterbury, and had accepted herinvitation to stay with her until I settled myself there. From Ada'shome I went to Polly's pretty new abode, and saw that everything was inreadiness for their return; and I then left, on the afternoon of the daythey were to come back, leaving a letter for Polly stating mydetermination and my reasons for it. I told her that I knew that shewould be grieved, but that I begged her not to try and change mydetermination, which was immoveable; and I promised to come up every sixmonths and stay for a fortnight at least with her. Polly wrote in returnquite heart-broken; but sorry as I was for the grief I knew my darlingwas suffering for my sake, I was still sure that I had acted for thebest and that my life would never be fit to mingle with gay happysociety, while in dear old Canterbury it might at least flow easily andtranquilly along.