The Three Brides

by Шарлотта Мэри Йондж

  "You need not go on trying to demolish me. I was going to say that I had only thought of the demoralization, from the betting side; but yesterday it was as if you had fascinated my eyes to look behind the scenes. I could not move a step without falling on something abominable. Roughs, with every passion up to fever-pitch, ferocity barely kept down by fear of the police, gambling everywhere, innocent young things looking on at coarseness as part of the humour of the day, foul language, swarms of vagabond creatures, whose trade is to minister to the license of such occasions. I declare that your wife was the only being I saw display a spark of any sentiment human nature need not blush for!"

  "Nay, Raymond, I begin to wonder whose is the exaggerated feeling now."

  "You were not there," was the answer; and they were here interrupted by crossing the path of the policeman, evidently full of an official communication.

  "I did not expect to see you so early, sir," he said. "I was coming to the Hall to report to you after I had been in to the superintendent."

  "What is it?"

  "There has been a burglary at Mrs. Hornblower's, sir. If you please, sir," to Julius, "when is the Reverend Mr. Bowater expected home?"

  "Not before Monday. Is anything of his taken?"

  "Yes, sir. A glass case has been broken open, and a silver cup and oar, prizes for sports at college, I believe, have been abstracted. Also the money from the till below; and I am sorry to say, young Hornblower is absconded, and suspicion lies heavy on him. They do say the young man staked heavily on that mare of Captain Duncombe's."

  "You had better go on to the superintendent now," said Raymond. "You can come to me for a summons if you can find any traces."

  Poor Mrs. Hornblower, what horror for her! and poor Herbert too who would acutely feel this ingratitude. The blackness of it was beyond what Julius thought probable in the lad, and the discussion of it occupied the brothers till they reached the Reynolds colony, where they were received by the daughter-in-law, a much more civilized person than old Betty.

  After Fanny's dislocated arm had been set, the surgeon had sent her home in the Rectory carriage, saying there was so much fever in Wil'sbro', that she would be likely to recover better at home; but she had been suffering and feverish all night, and Dan Reynolds was now gone in quest of 'Drake,' for whom she had been calling all night.

  "Is he her husband?" asked Julius.

  "Well, I don't know, sir; leastways, Granny says he ought to be answerable for what's required."

  Mrs. Reynolds further betrayed that the family had not been ignorant of Fanny's career since she had run away from home, leaving her child on her grandmother's hands. She had made her home in one of the yellow vans which circulate between fairs and races, driving an ostensible trade in cheap toys, but really existing by setting up games which were, in fact, forms of gambling, according to the taste of the people and the toleration of the police. From time to time, she had appeared at home, late in the evening, with small sums of money and presents for her boy; and Mrs. Dan believed that she thought herself as good as married to 'that there Drake.' She was reported to be asleep, and the place 'all of a caddle,' and Julius promised to call later in the day.

  "Yes, sir," said Mrs. Reynolds; "it would be a right good thing, poor girl. She've a kind heart, they all do say; not as I know, not coming here till she was gone, nor wanting to know much on her, for 'twas a right bad way she was in, and 'twere well if them nasty races were put down by Act of Parliament, for they be the very ruin of the girls in these parts."

  "There's a new suggestion, Raymond," said Julius as he shut the garden gate.

  Raymond was long in answering, and when he spoke, it was to say, "I shall withdraw from the subscription to the Wil'sbro' Cup."

  "So much the better."

  Then Raymond began discussing the terms of the letter in which he would state his reasons, but with an amount of excitement that made Julius say, "I should think it better not to write in this first heat. It will take more effect if it is not so visibly done on the spur of the moment."

  But the usually deliberate Raymond exclaimed, "I cannot rest till it is done. I feel as if I must be like Lady Macbeth, continually washing my hands of all this wreck and ruin."

  "No wonder; but I should think there was great need of caution-to use your own words."

  "My seat must go, if this is to be the price," said Raymond. "I felt through all the speeches at that gilt-gingerbread place, that it was a monument of my truckling to expediency. We began the whole thing at the wrong end, and I fear we are beginning to see the effects."

  "Do you mean that you are anxious about that fever in Water Lane?"

  "There was an oppressive sickly air about everything, strongest at the ball. I can't forget it," said Raymond, taking off his hat, so that the morning air might play about his temples. "We talked about meddling women, but the truth was that they were shaming us by doing what they could."

  "I hope others will see it so. Is not Whitlock to be mayor next time?"

  "Yes. He may do something. Well, they will hardly unseat me! I should not like to see Moy in my place, and it would be a sore thing for my mother; but," he continued, in the same strange, dreamy manner, "everything has turned out so wretchedly that I hardly know or care how it goes."

  "My dear old fellow!"

  Raymond had stopped to lean over a gate, where he could look up to the old red house in the green park, set in brightly-tinted trees, all aglow in the morning sunshine. Tears had sprung on his cheeks, and a suppressed sob heaved his chest. Julius ventured to say, "Perhaps there may yet be a change of mind."

  "No!" was the answer. "In the present situation there is nothing for it but to sacrifice my last shred of peace to the one who has the chief right-in a certain way."

  They walked on, and he hardly spoke again till, as they reached the Rectory, Julius persuaded him to come in and have a cup of tea; and though he said he must go back and see his friend off, he could not withstand the sight of Rosamond at the window, fresh and smiling, with her child in her arms.

  "Not a bit the worse for her dissipation," she merrily said. "Oh, the naughty little thing!-to have begun with the turf, and then the 'Three Pigeons'! Aren't you ashamed of her, papa? Sit down, Raymond; how horribly tired you do look."

  "Ha! What's this?" exclaimed Julius, who had been opening the post-bag. "Here's a note from the Bishop, desiring me to come to the palace to-day, if possible."

  "Oh!" cried Raymond. "Where is there vacant-isn't there a canonry or a chaplaincy?"

  "Or an archbishopric or two?" said Julius. "The pony can do it, I think, as there will be a long rest. If he seems fagged, I can put up at Backsworth and take a fly."

  "You'll let James drive you," said Rosamond.

  "I had rather not," said Julius. "It may be better to be alone."

  "He is afraid of betraying his elevation to James," laughed Rosamond.

  "Mrs. Daniel Reynolds to see you, sir."

  This was with the information that that there trapezing chap, Drake, had fetched off poor Fanny in his van. He had been in trouble himself, having been in custody for some misdemeanour when she was thrown down; but as soon as he was released, he had come in search of her, and though at first he seemed willing to leave her to be nursed at home, he had no sooner heard of the visitors of that morning than he had sworn he would have no parson meddling with his poor gal! she was good enough for him, and he would not have a pack of nonsense put in her head to set her against him.

  "He's good to her, sir," said Mrs. Reynolds, "I think he be; but he is a very ignorant man. He tell'd us once as he was born in one of they vans, and hadn't never been to school nor nothin', nor heard tell of God, save in the way of bad words: he've done nothin' but go from one races and fairs to another, just like the gipsies, though he bain't a gipsy neither; but he's right down attacted to poor Fanny, and good to her."

  "Another product of the system," said Raymond.

  "Like the gleeman, whom we see through a p
icturesque medium," said Julius; "but who could not have been pleasant to the mediaeval clergyman. I have hopes of poor Fanny yet. She will drift home one of these days, and we shall get hold of her."

  "What a fellow you are for hoping!" returned Raymond, a little impatiently.

  "Why not?" said Julius.

  "Why! I should say-" replied Raymond, setting out to walk home, where he presided over his friend's breakfast and departure, and received a little banter over his solicitude for the precious infant. Cecil was still in bed, and Frank was looking ghastly, and moved and spoke like one in a dream, Raymond was relieved to hear him pleading with Susan for to his mother's room much earlier than usual.

  Susan took pity and let him in; when at once he flung himself into a chair, with his face hidden on the bed, and exclaimed, "Mother, it is all over with me!"

  "My dear boy, what can have happened?"

  "Mother, you remember those two red pebbles. Could you believe that she has sold hers?"

  "Are you sure she has? I heard that they had a collection of such things from the lapidary at Rockpier."

  "No, mother, that is no explanation. When I found that I should be able to come down, I sent a card to Lady Tyrrell, saying I would meet them on the race-ground-a post-card, so that Lena might see it. When I came there was no Lena, only some excuse about resting for the ball-lying down with a bad headache, and so forth-making it plain that I need not go on to Sirenwood. By and by there was some mild betting with the ladies, and Lady Tyrrell said, 'There's a chance for you, Bee; don't I see the very fellow to Conny's charm?' Whereupon that girl Conny pulled out the very stone I gave Lena three years ago at Rockpier. I asked; yes, I asked-Lena had sold it; Lena, at the bazaar; Lena, who-"

  "Stay, Frank, is this trusting Lena as she bade you trust her? How do you know that there were no other such pebbles?"

  "You have not seen her as I have done. There has been a gradual alienation-holding aloof from us, and throwing herself into the arms of those Strangeways. It is no fault of her sister's. She has lamented it to me."

  "Or pointed it out. Did she know the history of these pebbles?"

  "No one did. Lena was above all reserved with her."

  "Camilla Tyrrell knows a good deal more than she is told. Where's your pebble? You did not stake that?"

  "Those who had one were welcome to the other."

  "O, my poor foolish Frank! May it not be gone to tell the same tale of you that you think was told of her? Is this all?"

  "Would that it were!"

  "Well, go on, my dear. Was she at the ball?"

  "Surrounded by all that set. I was long in getting near her, and then she said her card was full; and when I made some desperate entreaty, she said, in an undertone that stabbed me by its very calmness, 'After what has passed to-day, the less we meet the better.' And she moved away, so as to cut me off from another word."

  "After what had passed! Was it the parting with the stone?"

  "Not only. I got a few words with Lady Tyrrell. She told me that early impressions had given Lena a kind of fanatical horror of betting, and that she had long ago made a sort of vow against a betting man. Lady Tyrrell said she had laughed at it, but had no notion it was seriously meant; and I-I never even heard of it!"

  "Nor are you a betting man, my Frank."

  "Ay! mother, you have not heard all."

  "You are not in a scrape, my boy?"

  "Yes, I am. You see I lost my head after the pebble transaction. I couldn't stand small talk, or bear to go near Raymond, so I got among some other fellows with Sir Harry-"

  "And excitement and distress led you on?"

  "I don't know what came over me. I could not stand still for fear I should feel. I must be mad on something. Then, that mare of Duncombe's, poor fellow, seemed a personal affair to us all; and Sir Harry, and a few other knowing old hands, went working one up, till betting higher and higher seemed the only way of supporting Duncombe, besides relieving one's feelings. I know it was being no end of a fool; but you haven't felt it, mother!"

  "And Sir Harry took your bets?"

  "One must fare and fare alike," said Frank.

  "How much have you lost?"

  "I've lost Lena, that's all I know," said the poor boy; but he produced his book, and the sum appalled him. "Mother," he said in a broken voice, "there's no fear of its happening again. I can never feel like this again. I know it is the first time one of your sons has served you so, and I can't even talk of sorrow, it seems all swallowed up in the other matter. But if you will help me to meet it, I will pay you back ten or twenty pounds every quarter."

  "I think I can, Frankie. I had something in hand towards my own possible flitting. Here is the key of my desk. Bring me my banker's book and my cheque book."

  "Mother! mother!" he cried, catching her hand and kissing it, "what a mother you are!"

  "You understand," she said, "that it is because I believe you were not master of yourself, and that this is the exception, not the habit, that I am willing to do all I can for you."

  "The habit! No, indeed! I never staked more than a box of gloves before; but what's the good, if she has made a vow against me?"

  Mrs. Poynsett was silent for a few moments, then she said, "My poor boy, I believe you are both victims of a plot. I suspect that Camilla Tyrrell purposely let you see that pebble-token and be goaded into gambling, that she might have a story to tell her sister, when she had failed to shake her constancy and principle in any other way."

  "Mother, that would make her out a fiend. She has been my good and candid friend all along. You don't know her."

  "What would a friend have done by you yesterday?"

  "She neither saw nor heard my madness. No, mother, Lenore's heart has been going from me for months past, and she is glad of this plea for release, believing me unworthy. Oh! that stern face of hers! set like a head of Justice with not a shade of pity-so beautiful- so terrible! It will never cease to haunt me."

  He sat in deep despondency, while Mrs. Poynsett overlooked her resources; but presently he started up, saying, "There's one shadow of a hope. I'll go over to Sirenwood, insist on seeing one her and having an explanation. I have a right, whatever I did yesterday; and you have forgiven me for that, mother!"

  "I think it is the most hopeful way. If you can see her without interposition, you will at least come to an understanding. Here, you had better take this cheque for Sir Harry."

  When he was gone, she wondered whether she had been justified in encouraging him in defending Eleonora. Was this not too like another form of the treatment Raymond had experienced? Her heart bled for her boy, and she was ready to cry aloud, "Must that woman always be the destroyer of my sons' peace?"

  When Frank returned, it was with a face that appalled her by its blank despair, as he again flung himself down beside her.

  "She is gone," he said.

  "Gone!"

  "Gone, and with the Strangeways. I saw her."

  "Spoke to her?"

  "Oh no. The carriage turned the corner as I crossed the road. The two girls were there, and she-"

  "Going with them to the station?"

  "I thought so; I went to the house, meaning to leave my enclosure for Sir Harry and meet her on her way back; but I heard she was gone to stay with Lady Susan in Yorkshire. Sir Harry was not up, nor Lady Tyrrell."

  Mrs. Poynsett's hope failed, though she was relieved that Camilla's tongue had not been in action. She was dismayed at the prone exhausted manner in which Frank lay, partly on the floor, partly against her couch, with his face hidden.

  "Do you know where she is gone?"

  "Yes, Revelrig, Cleveland, Yorkshire."

  "I will write to her. Whatever may be her intentions, they shall not be carried out under any misrepresentation that I can contradict. You have been a foolish fellow, Frankie; but you shall not be painted worse than you are. She owes you an explanation, and I will do my best that you shall have it. My dear, what is the matter?"

  She rang her
bell hastily, and upheld the sinking head till help came. He had not lost consciousness, and called it giddiness, and he was convicted of having never gone to bed last night, and having eaten nothing that morning; but he turned against the wine and soup with which they tried to dose him, and, looking crushed and bewildered, said he would go and lie down in his own room.

  Raymond went up with him, and returned, saying he only wanted to be alone, with his face from the light; and Mrs. Poynsett, gazing at her eldest son, thought he looked as ill and sunken as his younger brother.

  CHAPTER XXVI. A Stickit Minister

  And the boy not out of him.-TENNYSON'S Queen Mary

  Julius had only too well divined the cause of his summons. He found Herbert Bowater's papers on the table before the Bishop, and there was no denying that they showed a declension since last year, and that though, from men without his advantages they would have been passable, yet from him they were evidences of neglect of study and thought. Nor could the cause be ignored by any one who had kept an eye on the cricket reports in the county paper; but Herbert was such a nice, hearty, innocent fellow, and his father was so much respected, that it was with great reluctance that his rejection was decided on and his Rector had been sent for in case there should be any cause for extenuation.

  Julius could not say there was. He was greatly grieved and personally ashamed, but he could plead nothing but his own failure to influence the young man enough to keep him out of a rage for amusement, of which the quantity, not the quality, was the evil. So poor Herbert was sent for to hear his fate, and came back looking stunned. He hardly spoke till they were in the fly that Julius had brought from Backsworth, and then the untamed school-boy broke forth: "What are you doing with me? I say, I can't go back to Compton like a dog in a string."

  "Where will you go?"

  "I don't care. To Jericho at once, out of the way of every one. I tell you what, Rector, it was the most ridiculous examination I ever went up for, and I'm not the only man that says so. There was Rivers, of St. Mary's at Backsworth,-he says the questions were perfectly unreasonable, and what no one could be prepared for. This fellow Danvers is a new hand, and they are always worst, setting one a lot of subjects of no possible use but to catch one out. I should like to ask him now what living soul at Compton he expects to be the better for my views on the right reading of-"