Works of Ellen Wood

by Ellen Wood

  How long they continued to pace that walk underneath the privet-hedge, which skirted and hid the narrow side path leading from the house to the stables, Sara scarcely knew. Captain Davenal spoke little; he seemed buried in thought: Sara could not speak at all; her heart was full. Rarely had the night’s brilliant stars looked down on a sadness deeper felt than was that of Sara Davenal.

  “You will come down again to take leave of us?” she asked, after a while.

  “Of course I shall.”

  CHAPTER X.

  A TREAT FOR NEAL.

  NEARLY four-and-twenty hours subsequent to that, Dr. Davenal was pacing the same walk side by side with Lady Oswald. The wedding was over, the guests were gone, and the house, after the state breakfast, had resumed its tranquillity. Of the guests, Lady Oswald had alone remained, with the exception of Mr. Oswald Cray. It was one of those elaborate breakfast-dinners which take hours to eat, and five o’clock had struck ere the last carriage drove from the door.

  Lady Oswald asked for some tea; Miss Davenal, as great a lover of tea as herself, partook of it with her. Captain Davenal preferred a cigar, and went into the garden to smoke it: Mr. Oswald Cray accompanied him, but he never smoked. Both of them were to return to town by the seven o’clock train.

  By and by, the tea over, the rest came out on the lawn to join them — Lady Oswald and Miss Davenal in their rich rustling silks, Sara in her white bridesmaid’s dress. The open air of the warm, lovely evening was inexpressibly grateful after the feasting and fuss of the day, and they lingered until twilight fell on the earth. Miss Davenal went in then: but Lady Oswald wrapped her Indian cashmere shawl, worth a hundred guineas Hallingham said, more closely round her, and continued to talk to Dr. Davenal as they paced together the side walk.

  Her chief theme was the one on which you have already heard her descant — that unwelcome project of the railway sheds. It had dropped through for a time. There had been a lull in the storm ever since it was broached in the summer. Lady Oswald complacently believed her remonstrance had found weight with the authorities of the line, to whom she had addressed a long, if not a very temperate letter: but, in point of fact, the commencement of the work had been delayed for some convenience of their own. Only on this very morning a rumour had reached Lady Oswald’s ears that it was now to be set about immediately.

  “I am not satisfied with Oswald,” she was saying to the doctor. “Did you observe how he avoided the subject at the breakfast-table? When I told him that he might exercise his influence with the company, and prevent it if he pleased, he turned it off quietly.”

  “I think he did not care to defend himself publicly, or to enter upon the matter,” observed the doctor. “Rely upon it, he would prevent it if he could; but his power does not extend so far.”

  “I know he says it does not,” was the observation of Lady Oswald. “Do you think he is true?”

  “True!” repeated Dr. Davenal, scarcely understanding in his surprise. “Oswald Cray true! Yes, Lady Oswald. Never man lived yet more honestly true than Oswald Cray.”

  He looked towards Oswald Cray as he spoke, pacing the broad middle walk with his son and Sara; at the calm good face with its earnest expression, every line, every feature speaking truth and honour; and the doctor’s judgment re-echoed his words.

  “Yes, Lady Oswald, he is a true man, whatever else he may be.”

  “I always deemed him so. But — to protest that he would help me if he could; and now to let this dreadful threat arise again!”

  “But he cannot prevent its arising,” returned the doctor, wishing Lady Oswald would exercise a little common-sense in the matter. “He is but a servant of the company, and must carry out their wishes.”

  “I don’t believe it,” peevishly replied Lady Oswald. “He is the engineer to the company; and it is well known that an engineer does as he pleases, and lays his own plans”.

  “He is one of the engineers; the junior one, it may be said. I suppose you will not forgive me, Lady Oswald, if I point out, that when your interests and the line’s are at issue, as in this matter, Oswald Cray, of all others, is forced to obey the former.”

  “Was there ever so monstrously wicked a project formed?” asked Lady Oswald, with some agitation. —

  “It is very unfortunate,” was the more temperate reply. “I wish they had fixed upon any grounds but yours.”

  “I wish they had! It will send me into my grave!”

  Careless words! spoken, as such words mostly are spoken, unmeaningly. If Lady Oswald could but have known bow miserably they were destined to be marked out! If Dr. Davenal had but foreseen bow that marking out would affect all his after-life — change, as it were, its current, and that of one who was dear to him!

  “And because that worry was not enough, I have had a second to annoy me to-day,” resumed Lady Oswald. “Jones gave warning to leave.” —

  “Indeed!” returned Mr. Davenal, and the tone of his voice betrayed his concern. He knew how minor vexations were made troubles of by Lady Oswald; and the parting with Jones, her steady coachman of many years, would be a trouble not much less great than this threatened building of the sheds.

  “Why is Jones leaving?” he inquired.

  “Because he does not know when he’s well off,” was the retort, spoken querulously. “The servants latterly have been all quarrelling together, I find, and Jones says he won’t remain. I asked Parkins what she was good for not to stop their quarrelling, and she burst into tears in my face, and said it was not her fault. You are best off, doctor. Your servants are treasures. Look at Neal!”

  “I don’t know that Neal is much of a treasure,” was the doctor’s answer. “I’d make him over to your ladyship with all the pleasure in life. Do you feel the chill of the evening air?”

  Lady Oswald looked up at the clear sky, at the evening star, just visible, and said she did not feel the chill yet Dr. Davenal resumed.

  “I have grown to dislike Neal, Lady Oswald. In strict correctness, however, ‘grown to dislike is not the best term, for I have disliked him ever since he has been with me. He” —

  “Disliked Neal!” interrupted Lady Oswald, wondering whether she might trust her ears. “You dislike Neal! Why?”

  “I can scarcely tell you why. I don’t think I know, myself. But I do very much dislike him; and the dislike grows upon me.”

  “You never mentioned this. I thought you were so satisfied with Neal.”

  “I have not mentioned it I have felt a sort of repugnance to mention what would appear so unfounded a prejudice. Neal is an efficient servant, and the dislike arose to me without cause, just as instincts do. Latterly, however, I begin to doubt whether Neal is so desirable a retainer as we have deemed him.”

  “In what way do you doubt him!”

  Dr. Davenal smiled. “A doubt has arisen to me whether he is true — as you have just said by Mr. Oswald Cray. I shall watch the man; and, now that my suspicions are awakened, detection will be more easy. Should he turn out to be what I fear — a deceitful fellow, worse than worthless — he will be sent out of my house head foremost, at a minute’s warning, and get his true character. Lady Oswald, I think I could pardon anything rather than deceit.”

  “How angrily you speak!” breathlessly exclaimed Lady Oswald.

  The words recalled him to courtesy.

  “I fear I did; and I ought to have remembered that he was a respected servant once of Sir John’s, that it was you who recommended him to me. You will pardon my warmth, Lady Oswald. To any less close friend than yourself I should not have mentioned this. The fact is, a most unjustifiable trick was played me yesterday, and it is impossible for me to suspect anybody but Neal. I shall watch him.”

  “What trick was it?” asked Lady Oswald.

  Dr. Davenal hesitated before he spoke. “Perhaps it would be scarcely fair to mention it, even to you, Lady Oswald. I am not certain: there’s just a loophole of possibility. If I find I am wrong, I will honestly confess it to you; if the contrary,
you and the world will know what a worthless scamp we have nourished in Neal.” —

  Very agreeable words indeed! especially to Neal himself, who had the satisfaction of hearing them. Mr. Neal, with his soft tread, was gingerly pacing the narrow path behind the privet-hedge, his steps keeping level with theirs; he having strolled out to take the evening air, and to hear all that he could hear.

  They were interrupted by the approach of Captain Davenal and Mr. Oswald Cray. It was getting towards the hour of their departure. Sara came up with them. The doctor laid his hand on his daughter’s shoulder, and she walked by his side.

  “Going? Nonsense!” said the doctor. “There’s no hurry yet.”

  “When shall you be down again, Oswald?” asked my lady.

  “I believe very shortly. I must be down — about these alterations,” he had been on the point of saying, but stopped himself in time. There was no cause for bringing up the sore story oftener to her than was necessary.

  “Will you promise that they shall not build those horrible sheds?”

  “If it lay with me, I would willingly promise it,” was his reply. “I wish you would believe me, dear Lady Oswald.”

  “Of course I have no claim upon you,” she fretfully continued. “I know that. It is not my fault if I am unable to leave my fortune to you — what little I may have to leave. There are others who, in my opinion, have a greater claim upon me.”

  He seemed not to understand her. He turned his glance full upon her. “I beg your pardon. What did you say, Lady Oswald?”

  “Oswald, I have never spoken distinctly to you about my money,” she resumed. “I like you very much, and should have been glad to leave some to you; it is natural you should be looking out for it, but” —

  Every line of his pale face was ablaze with pride as he interrupted her; his voice, calm, low, terribly stern, was ten times more impressive in its truth than one loud and angry could have been. “Allow me to set you right, Lady Oswald. I have never in my life looked for one shilling of money from you: I do not recognise, or believe in, or see any claim I can by possibility have upon it: of the whole world, the Oswalds are those upon whom I could least recognise it — from whom I would the least accept it I pray your ladyship to understand me in the fullest sense of the words — from whom I would never accept it.”

  Never had he looked so like the Oswalds as he looked then. The red colour came into Sara’s cheeks, and a faint sense of dread (did it come as a prophetic warning?) stole into her heart — that that pride might prove her deadliest enemy; perhaps his. Lady Oswald’s mood changed, and she laughed.

  “You are independent, Oswald.”

  “I am self-dependent,” was his answer. “A fair field and no favour are all I ask. I believe I can make my way in the world far better than money could make it for me. It is what I mean to try at — and do, Heaven helping me.”

  “But you need not have glared at me in that way,” she said, relapsing into fretfulness. “I declare I thought it was old Sir Oswald of Thorndyke come out of his grave. My nerves are not strong, and that you know.”

  A better feeling came over him, and he held out his hand to Lady Oswald, his atoning smile wonderfully frank and sweet “Forgive me if anything in my speech or manner has offended you, dear Lady Oswald. But I believe you vexed me more than I have ever been vexed in my life.”

  “Well, well; you shall be as independent as you please,” said Lady Oswald. “Let us change the subject When do you intend to follow Mark’s example and marry?”

  “Not until I can afford it better than — than Mark could, I was going to say,” he added, glancing at Dr. Davenal and laughing.

  “You do mean to marry some time, Oswald?”

  “I hope so.”

  The answer was spoken so fervently, that they looked at him in surprise. Sara contrived to draw behind, and began plucking one of the flowers, already closing to the night He resumed carelessly, as if conscious that his tones had been too earnest for general ears.

  “Men do marry for the most part in this good old-fashioned land of ours, and my turn may come some time. I think our time is nearly up, Davenal.”

  The captain took out his watch. “In a minute or two. We can walk it in ten minutes, if we put out our best speed.”

  As they went in, Oswald Cray looked round for Sara, and found she had not followed them. He turned back to her.

  “I must say good-bye to you. Sara! you are crying!”

  “O no,” she answered, brushing away the rebellious tears. “It’s nothing.”

  He took her hand and placed it within his arm, and they advanced slowly to the house. “Will you tell me what the ‘nothing is?” he asked in a low tone, which of itself was sufficient to invite confidence.

  “I cannot bear to part with Edward,” she answered. “Nothing has been said about it; but he brought down bad news. They are ordered to Malta; and thence, he thinks, they shall go to Lidia. Edward said he should tell you as you went back to-night.”

  It was entire news to him, and he thought how greatly Dr. Davenal must feel it. Few admired that fine young officer, Edward Davenal, more than Oswald Cray. But he had no time to discuss it now, scarcely to say a word of sympathy.

  “Good-bye,” he whispered, as they halted on the threshold and he turned to press her hand in both of his, bending his face a little down. “Good-bye. And remember.”

  “Remember what?” she asked.

  “That you don’t belong quite to yourself now.”

  He hastened in, leaving Sara standing there: standing there with the significant words and their meaning beating pleasant changes on her heart Captain Davenal came springing out “Hush, darling, be brave!” he said, as he took the kiss from his sister’s lips. “Leave all that until I come down for my real farewell.” And Sara was brave, and dried her tears, and confided in the prospect of that real farewell; little dreaming that it was destined never to be spoken.

  CHAPTER XI.

  LADY OSWALD’S JOURNEY.

  MR. MARCUS CRAY’S marriage had taken place on a Thursday, and the time went on to the following Saturday week with little to mark it. Enough, as events were unhappily to turn out, was to mark it then. They, Marcus Cray and his wife, were expected home that evening: but it is not with them that we have just at present to do.

  On this Saturday morning, Oswald Cray had come down to Hallingham on business connected with the line. In the course of the day he called on Lady Oswald, and found her in a state not easy to describe. That very morning certain men had been seen on her grounds, marking off the small portion of its boundaries intended to be taken for the sheds. Convinced that all her hopes of immunity had been but vain dreams, she had become angry, hysterical, almost violent Oswald Cray had never seen her like this.

  It was an illustration of the misery we may inflict upon ourselves, the evil spirit that will arise from self-grievance. In point of fact, these sheds, to be built on a remote and low portion of her land, could not prove any real annoyance to Lady Oswald; she would not see them from her window; she did not go, ever, near the spot. The grievance lay in her imagination; she had made it a bugbear, and there it was. In vain Oswald Cray pointed out to her that it had been the same thing with regard to the rail itself. When she first heard it was to skirt her grounds, she had been as alarmed as she was now; but when the work was complete, the trains were actually running, then Lady Oswald found (though she did not acknowledge it) how void of reason her alarm had been; had the trains been fifty miles off she could not have seen less of them. It would be so with regard to the sheds, Oswald Cray told her; he told her that even a less portion of the ground would be taken than was at first intended: he did not add that he, by his persistent efforts in her cause, had obtained this little concession, but he might have told her so with truth. He assured her that the thing could not prove an annoyance to her. All in vain. He might just as well have talked to the winds. She would not listen. Parkins sat in tears, administering specifics for the “nerves,” a
nd entreating my lady to be tranquil. My lady replied by saying she should never be tranquil again, and she actually abused Mr. Oswald Cray.

  “Nay,” said Oswald, good humouredly, “it is your landlord you should blame, not me. He agreed to the thing instanter — the moment it was proposed to him.”

  Lady Oswald’s cheeks were burning as she turned to Oswald. “If he had refused, instead of consented, what then? Could they have done it in spite of him?”

  “It would have been done eventually, I suppose. Not just yet: the company would have had to bargain with him, perhaps to dispute the matter with him legally: and all that takes time.”

  “Had he persistently contended against it, the company might have grown weary; have ended by fixing upon some other spot for their sheds,” she breathlessly cried, the excitement on her face deepening.

  Mr. Oswald Cray hesitated. “It is possible, certainly; but”—” I will go to him,” broke in Lady Oswald. “I will go to Low this very hour.”

  She started from her seat, upsetting a bottle which Parkins held in her hand, almost upsetting Parkins herself in her vehemence. Mr. Oswald Cray gently restrained her.

  “My dear Lady Oswald, you will do no good by going to Low now. It is too late. The thing has gone too far.”

  “It has not gone too far, Oswald Cray. So long as the sheds are not begun it cannot be too late. If Low did give his consent, he can retract it. The land is freehold, and freehold land cannot be seized upon lightly. Get my things, Parkins, and order the carriage.” And Parkins submissively retired to obey.

  “Lady Oswald, believe me,” said Oswald, impressively, “Mr. Low cannot now retract his consent if he would The agreement is signed; nay, I believe the money is paid. Your going to him will do no possible good; it can only be productive of further unpleasantness to yourself.”

  “Have you a motive in keeping me away from him?” asked Lady Oswald, and his brow momentarily contracted at her blind pertinacity. “Do you know that I have never once seen him upon this subject? — never once.”