“I am Mrs. White,” Adeline answered, swallowing the last syllable of the name. “My husband and I came over on the same ship with Mr. Wilmott. We saw a good deal of him.”
“Oh, how fortunate that I should find you! How did my husband conduct himself on the voyage?”
“Very miserable,” said Adeline.
“Did he speak of his family?”
“Never a word.”
“Dear, dear! How unfeeling of him! Dear me! What a man! And he has left this place, you say?”
“Some time ago.”
“Where did he go? Wherever it is I shall follow him.”
“He left in the darkness of night, with no word to anyone, but ’tis said he went to Mexico and died of a fever there. Now, I can give you the address of the two Irish gentlemen who are staying in New York and who can tell you much more about him than I can. If any two men on this continent can help you to discover what the true end of your husband was, these are the two.”
“He died!” cried Mrs. Wilmott, on a note of frustration. “You say he died! Oh, surely not. He never had a day’s illness in his life. He can’t be dead.”
“’Tis said he died in Mexico,” said Adeline, plucking a handful of grass.
“Who says so?”
“The word came and went. I cannot remember who said it first.”
“I must talk to these people. Who are they?”
“They’ll be glad to talk to you for, when he left, he owned money to everyone in the neighborhood. I suppose you will pay his debts?”
“Never!” There were two sharp points in Mrs. Wilmott’s eyes. “I am under no such obligation or ever could be.”
“It is a strange country,” said Adeline. “You never know what will be brought up against you.”
James was always talking about the East,” said Mrs. Wilmott. “He appeared to be fascinated by the East. I can’t imagine why he came here.”
“I believe he thought he was bound for the East.” Adeline laid the handful of grass in a little mound like a grave. “But he got on the wrong ship.”
“Dear, oh dear, oh dear! It’s enough to make me say I am well rid of him.”
“I think you are indeed,” said Adeline. “A man like that is bound to do something desperate. It boils up in him for years and then it bursts forth.”
“I thank heaven that my child bears no faintest resemblance to him. She is the image of my father.”
“I don’t like Grandpa,” said Hettie.
Mrs. Wilmott almost screamed — “Hettie, how dare you say such a thing! Your dear Grandpapa who is so superior to other people in every way!”
“I don’t like him.”
Mrs. Wilmott turned to Adeline in despair.
“I don’t know what has come over the child. Before we left home she was the most docile and respectful girl you could imagine. Now she will say quite shocking things.”
“It’s the travelling,” said Adeline. “It ruins them. On the voyage out there was a young girl about your daughter’s age, travelling with her mother. Well, what did this girl do, d’ye suppose? At the first port she eloped with my own young brother whom I was bringing out here! She ran off with him and left her widowed mother. The poor lady was carried to the dock on a stretcher, more dead than alive.”
A slow smile spread over Hettie’s face. There was a brightening of her eyes. But Mrs. Wilmott paled as the news of her husband’s death had not made her pale. She looked with a kind of horror at Hettie. Then she said rather tremulously to Adeline: —
“What do you advise me to do?”
“I advise you to go straight to New York and make inquiries from the two gentlemen whose names I shall give you. Then, when you are satisfied of your husband’s whereabouts or of his departure from this life, you can sail from there. I am told their sailing clippers are unequaled for comfort and their new steamships too.”
“That is just what I shall do! And if I can locate Mr. Wilmott it will be due entirely to you.”
“I never liked him either,” put in Hettie.
Mrs. Wilmott looked meaningly at Adeline. Then she said — “Stop scratching your limbs, Hettie.”
“They itch.”
“You must control yourself.”
“I hate the midges.”
“You have said that far too often.”
“Not so often as they have bitten me. Mamma, when can we go?”
“Very soon, Hettie.” Mrs. Wilmott opened her reticule and took out a small memorandum tablet. She handed it to Adeline. “Will you be so kind as to write down the names and addresses of the gentlemen in New York.” Their hands touched. A feeling of benevolence came over Adeline. She had the feeling of taking care of Mrs. Wilmott, guiding her in the way she should go. She wrote the names of D’Arcy and Brent in her bold handwriting and returned the tablet.
“Irishmen, you say,” Mrs. Wilmott remarked.
“Yes.”
“I have never liked the Irish.”
“There you go,” said Hettie.
“What do you mean, child?”
“Saying what you tell me not to say.”
“Hettie, do you want to be punished?”
“How?”
“By a hard smack.”
“Smack me on the midge bites and I’d like it.”
Mrs. Wilmott rose. “I want you to believe, Mrs. White,” she said, “that my daughter was not like this at home.”
“That is what travelling does to them. My own daughter has not the manners she had.”
“It is deplorable.” Mrs. Wilmott held out her hand. “Well, goodbye,” she said. “I cannot tell you how thankful I am that we met.”
“Faith, so am I!” Adeline’s benevolent clasp enfolded Mrs. Wilmott’s small dry hand. “I should ask you to drink a dish of tea with me but my little girl has whooping cough” — this was indeed true — “and yours might contract it.”
The very thought of such a contingency was upsetting to Mrs. Wilmott. Again she told, and this time in detail, all she had been through with Hettie since leaving home. Hettie interrupted her by saying — “The carriage is going.”
The livery horses were indeed ambling dejectedly down the road, for the driver had fallen asleep and let the reins drop from his hand.
Mrs. Wilmott gave a cry and began to run after it.
“I’ll fetch him for you!” exclaimed Adeline. She hastened to her horse and began to lead him back to the road.
However, the driver had been woken by Mrs. Wilmott’s cries. He looked vindictively over his shoulder, again possessed himself of the reins, and the carriage was stopped.
Mrs. Wilmott’s bonnet had fallen back on her nape but she still was dignified. On reaching the carriage she opened her reticule and took out her handkerchief which she waved in farewell. Hettie looked on in complete pessimism. She said: —
“I hope we don’t find him.”
“Really!” exclaimed Adeline.
“Yes. I never liked him.”
Laughing, in sudden hilarity, Adeline mounted her horse. She trotted to where Mrs. Wilmott waited. Her face sobered. She said genially: —
“A pleasant journey to you, Mrs. Wilmott.”
“Thank you and thank you again for your help. Dear, oh, dear, when I think of all that lies before me! When I think of all that lies behind! Mrs. White, I had other chances. Mr. Wilmott was not my only suitor. I shall say that and nothing more, except that my dear father was always against the alliance. ‘You can do better, Henrietta,’ he repeatedly said. ‘James Wilmott never will be a man of consequence. There is a great lack in him.’ But I was determined and this is what I get. Do hasten, Hettie! Was there ever such a slow girl! It will be night before we reach the town. When I consider the inconvenience, the expense I am put to, it is enough to turn my hair white.” She lifted her skirt and cautiously climbed into the carriage. The driver took up his whip.
Hettie was approaching slowly, dragging her feet. Her mother urged and directed her every step. At la
st they were seated side by side.
“Say good-bye to Mrs. White, Hettie, and thank her prettily.”
“Good-bye” said Hettie, morosely.
“Good-bye, Hettie.”
The driver chirruped to his horses. As they moved off he turned to look at Adeline. He contorted one side of his face into what seemed to be a wink of derision toward the occupants of the carriage. A cloud of dust rose and, in its midst, a white handkerchief fluttered.
XIII
AUTUMN RAIN
ADELINE DID NOT go on to Jalna but returned to Wilmott’s log house. She felt a strangeness in returning there. So much had happened since she had left. Again she knocked and again she saw Tite’s dark hand draw aside the curtain. He opened the door at once.
“You want to see my boss?” he asked.
Wilmott now appeared.
“It’s a pretty sort of life I lead,” he exclaimed. “Like a criminal! And I suppose that, in a degree, I am. You may go, Tite.”
When they were alone, Adeline said rather breathlessly — “I’ve seen her!”
“Not Henrietta?”
“Yes.”
“My God!” He stared incredulously. “Is she here then?”
“She was. She’s gone. I had no time to find Philip. When I reached the road I met her coming in a hired carriage.”
“I tell you,” he said, between his teeth, “I will never go back to that woman. But I am done for in this place! Where is she?”
“On her way back to the town. Tomorrow she will go to New York in search of you. I told her it is said here that you went to Mexico and died of a fever. Ah, the lies I’ve uttered on your behalf!”
“And she believed you?” He cared nothing for the lies. He turned a look of concentrated anxiety on Adeline.
“Do I do things well or do I not? Of course, she believed me. I told her you had lived near here with a cow, a pig and an Indian. You lived in a swamp, I said, and when you left you were in debt to all the neighborhood.”
He could not restrain a look of consternation. “Good God, and that is my epitaph in England! Henrietta will tell everyone. She can’t control that tongue of hers.”
Adeline turned to him fiercely. “Follow her then and deny it! She’ll be easy to find.”
He made an excited turn about the room. “Don’t be angry with me,” he said. “Don’t expect me to say the right thing at such a moment. Don’t imagine that I’m not overflowing in gratitude to you. But I’m fairly dazed by it all. It’s happened so quickly.”
“You resent my blackening your character. Who cares for character! You are not seeking a situation! Oh, James Wilmott, the thing was to be rid of that woman! I could see meanness and cruelty sticking out all over her. What a time you must have had to please her!”
“I never pleased her — not after the first year. And I resent nothing you told her. I am grateful, with my whole soul. Just think — if it were not for you — she might have her feet on this land at this moment!” He just touched Adeline’s shoulder with his thin hand. “There you stand — beautiful and strong — and my protector — not from Henrietta but from what she would make of my life!”
“Don’t thank me. I loved getting the best of her. Faith, if ever she comes back, I stand ready for another bout!”
“If only we had some way of finding out if she really goes to New York and if she sails from there!”
“We have!” said Adeline triumphantly. “Thomas D’Arcy and Michael Brent will tell us!”
“D’Arcy and Brent!” cried Wilmott, stiffening. “How could they know anything of the matter?”
“I gave her their address so she could find out all the truth about your trip to Mexico from them.”
“You must have been mad!” shouted Wilmott. “What do they know of this affair?”
“Nothing. But I shall write posthaste and tell them to expect her. I know those two Irishmen. D’Arcy is a rip and Brent a regular playboy. They’ll like nothing so well as to tell fairy tales to Henrietta for my sake.”
“You place yourself in a strange light,” said Wilmott. “What will they think of you?”
“There you go, wondering what people will think! I say people will think ill of you no matter what you do. It’s human nature.”
“I would not have taken a thousand pounds and had those two told this of me.”
“Then I shall not write to them.”
“Have you no reasoning power?’
“No. I have only instinct. Why?”
“Naturally they will have to know everything — now you have sent Henrietta to them.”
“You need not care. You will never see them again.”
“I possibly never shall. But will Messrs. D’Arcy and Brent refrain from telling this good story to their friends after dinner?”
“I will swear them to secrecy, James.”
“Do you think they will remember to be secret when they have drunk well? No. All their friends will hear this story.”
“You need not care. You are dead.”
“I had better be,” he returned bitterly.
They eyed each other coldly. Then Adeline exclaimed in exasperation — “What in the name of God did you expect? Did you expect me to meet Henrietta with a full-fledged plan in my head, with no weak spots in it? I think I have done very well but what thanks does one ever get for interfering between husband and wife?”
“She is no wife to me, nor has been for five years.”
“Then why worry about her now that she is far away? I may add that Hettie doesn’t want you back.”
Wilmott stared. “Was Hettie there?” he asked incredulously.
“She was. And showed no desire for a reunion with her papa.”
Wilmott exploded in bitter laughter. “What a family we are! And how unworthy of your interest in us!”
She gave him a piercing look. “If you still say us about yourself and those two, I wash my hands of you.”
“I don’t!” he exclaimed. “I announce myself free. I have never been so happy in my life as I have been here. I shall trust in a beneficent Providence and go on being happy.”
“Just trust in me,” she returned.
Wilmott turned to her, his features working, his eyes full of sudden tears. “If I am happy here,” he said, “it is because you are near me.”
Adeline gave a little laugh. “Come with me,” she said, “to Jalna. I will not leave you alone.”
He looked about him. “It doesn’t seem too much for a man to ask to have this log house in peace and yet I cannot feel at all convinced that I shall.”
“You shall not stay here alone today,” she returned. “We’ll go to Jalna and see the staircase. The men are just building it and Philip has found a woodcarver who is carving a beautiful newel post for it. The newel post is to be of walnut and done in a design of grapes and their leaves, with a grand bunch at the top. Shouldn’t you like to see it, James?”
“I should like nothing better.”
He got his hat. He no longer wore the woodsman’s clothes he had affected when he first arrived but he had kept his word about taking off his whiskers. Adeline again remarked the improvement in his appearance.
“I declare,” she said, “you look very distinguished, now that you have got rid of those whiskers.”
“As a matter of fact they were quite small ones,” he returned.
“All whiskers are too large. Don’t you want one to say that you look distinguished?”
“Everything you say is so important to me that I am bound to criticize it.”
“You are a character, James, as we say in Ireland, and sometimes I could find it in my heart to pity Henrietta.”
They went through the intricate paths that led to Jalna, he leading her horse, she with the long skirt of her habit thrown across her arm. They found Colonel Vaughan with Philip. They clustered about the stairway, discussing the width of the treads, the curve of the banister, the design of the proposed newel post. Adeline declared that, for eas
e of mounting, the steps had never been equaled. She could run up and down them all day, she said, with a baby on either arm.
Colonel Vaughan invited Wilmott to join his other guests at dinner. Wilmott was invited to Vaughanlands less frequently than he might have been had Mrs. Vaughan liked him better. She had on several occasions heard him express views on religion and politics which were antagonistic to her. She had seen that her husband admired him. She felt that he was a dangerous companion for Robert. What she disliked still more about him was the admiration for Adeline which she had glimpsed alight in his eyes. She thought it was reckless of Adeline to visit his home alone and so make herself the subject of gossip. She thought it lax of Philip to allow her to do so. She said as much to Adeline that same afternoon before dinner.
“Dear Mrs. Vaughan,” said Adeline smiling, a little dangerously, “please don’t take me to task for something entirely innocent.”
“I am not taking you to task, Mrs. Whiteoak. I am only warning you.”
“Warning me of what?”
“That you will find yourself talked about.”
“You mean that I am already talked about?”
“You must acknowledge that what you are doing is unconventional.”
“Philip and I are unconventional people. We don’t care a fig what gossips or busybodies say.”
“But these people are not gossips or busybodies. They are nice people and your future neighbors, you must remember.”
“Oh, Mrs. Vaughan, please don’t take a chiding tone with me!” Adeline’s cheeks were scarlet but she added more calmly — “While I am here with you I shall not go again alone to Mr. Wilmott’s house. I hope that will satisfy everyone.”
She went off to dress for dinner, feeling the constriction of a prolonged visit. She stopped at the children’s door and opened it. Nicholas had just been given his bath and was sitting on his nurse’s knee, wet and shining as a shell just lifted from the sea. His hair flew upward in moist waves from his forehead. His eyes had a look of infant hilarity and daring. He had thrown the great sponge to the floor and now, on Matilda’s knee, reached for his slippery pink toes. She, with the prideful, fatuous smile of the nurse, looked up at Adeline as though to say — “You may have borne him but just now he is mine, mine.”
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