I Say No

by Wilkie Collins

  CHAPTER XXXI. MOIRA.

  When Alban presented himself the next morning, the hours of the nighthad exercised their tranquilizing influence over Emily. She rememberedsorrowfully how Doctor Allday had disturbed her belief in the man wholoved her; no feeling of irritation remained. Alban noticed that hermanner was unusually subdued; she received him with her customary grace,but not with her customary smile.

  "Are you not well?" he asked.

  "I am a little out of spirits," she replied. "A disappointment--that isall."

  He waited a moment, apparently in the expectation that she might tellhim what the disappointment was. She remained silent, and she lookedaway from him. Was he in any way answerable for the depression ofspirits to which she alluded? The doubt occurred to him--but he saidnothing.

  "I suppose you have received my letter?" she resumed.

  "I have come here to thank you for your letter."

  "It was my duty to tell you of Sir Jervis's illness; I deserve nothanks."

  "You have written to me so kindly," Alban reminded her; "you havereferred to our difference of opinion, the last time I was here, sogently and so forgivingly--"

  "If I had written a little later," she interposed, "the tone of myletter might have been less agreeable to you. I happened to send it tothe post, before I received a visit from a friend of yours--a friend whohad something to say to me after consulting with you."

  "Do you mean Doctor Allday?"

  "Yes."

  "What did he say?"

  "What you wished him to say. He did his best; he was as obstinate andunfeeling as you could possibly wish him to be; but he was too late.I have written to Mrs. Rook, and I have received a reply." She spokesadly, not angrily--and pointed to the letter lying on her desk.

  Alban understood: he looked at her in despair. "Is that wretched womandoomed to set us at variance every time we meet!" he exclaimed.

  Emily silently held out the letter.

  He refused to take it. "The wrong you have done me is not to be setright in that way," he said. "You believe the doctor's visit wasarranged between us. I never knew that he intended to call on you; I hadno interest in sending him here--and I must not interfere again betweenyou and Mrs. Rook."

  "I don't understand you."

  "You will understand me when I tell you how my conversation with DoctorAllday ended. I have done with interference; I have done with advice.Whatever my doubts may be, all further effort on my part to justifythem--all further inquiries, no matter in what direction--are at an end:I made the sacrifice, for your sake. No! I must repeat what you saidto me just now; I deserve no thanks. What I have done, has been done indeference to Doctor Allday--against my own convictions; in spite of myown fears. Ridiculous convictions! ridiculous fears! Men with morbidminds are their own tormentors. It doesn't matter how I suffer, so longas you are at ease. I shall never thwart you or vex you again. Have youa better opinion of me now?"

  She made the best of all answers--she gave him her hand.

  "May I kiss it?" he asked, as timidly as if he had been a boy addressinghis first sweetheart.

  She was half inclined to laugh, and half inclined to cry. "Yes, if youlike," she said softly.

  "Will you let me come and see you again?"

  "Gladly--when I return to London."

  "You are going away?"

  "I am going to Brighton this afternoon, to stay with Miss Ladd."

  It was hard to lose her, on the happy day when they understood eachother at last. An expression of disappointment passed over his face.He rose, and walked restlessly to the window. "Miss Ladd?" he repeated,turning to Emily as if an idea had struck him. "Did I hear, at theschool, that Miss de Sor was to spend the holidays under the care ofMiss Ladd?"

  "Yes."

  "The same young lady," he went on, "who paid you a visit yesterdaymorning?"

  "The same."

  That haunting distrust of the future, which he had first betrayed andthen affected to ridicule, exercised its depressing influence over hisbetter sense. He was unreasonable enough to feel doubtful of Francine,simply because she was a stranger.

  "Miss de Sor is a new friend of yours," he said. "Do you like her?"

  It was not an easy question to answer--without entering into particularswhich Emily's delicacy of feeling warned her to avoid. "I must know alittle more of Miss de Sor," she said, "before I can decide."

  Alban's misgivings were naturally encouraged by this evasive reply. Hebegan to regret having left the cottage, on the previous day, when hehad heard that Emily was engaged. He might have sent in his card,and might have been admitted. It was an opportunity lost of observingFrancine. On the morning of her first day at school, when they hadaccidentally met at the summer house, she had left a disagreeableimpression on his mind. Ought he to allow his opinion to be influencedby this circumstance? or ought he to follow Emily's prudent example, andsuspend judgment until he knew a little more of Francine?

  "Is any day fixed for your return to London?" he asked.

  "Not yet," she said; "I hardly know how long my visit will be."

  "In little more than a fortnight," he continued, "I shall return to myclasses--they will be dreary classes, without you. Miss de Sor goes backto the school with Miss Ladd, I suppose?"

  Emily was at a loss to account for the depression in his looks andtones, while he was making these unimportant inquiries. She tried torouse him by speaking lightly in reply.

  "Miss de Sor returns in quite a new character; she is to be a guestinstead of a pupil. Do you wish to be better acquainted with her?"

  "Yes," he said grave ly, "now I know that she is a friend of yours." Hereturned to his place near her. "A pleasant visit makes the days passquickly," he resumed. "You may remain at Brighton longer than youanticipate; and we may not meet again for some time to come. If anythinghappens--"

  "Do you mean anything serious?" she asked.

  "No, no! I only mean--if I can be of any service. In that case, will youwrite to me?"

  "You know I will!"

  She looked at him anxiously. He had completely failed to hide fromher the uneasy state of his mind: a man less capable of concealment offeeling never lived. "You are anxious, and out of spirits," she saidgently. "Is it my fault?"

  "Your fault? oh, don't think that! I have my dull days and my brightdays--and just now my barometer is down at dull." His voice faltered,in spite of his efforts to control it; he gave up the struggle, and tookhis hat to go. "Do you remember, Emily, what I once said to you in thegarden at the school? I still believe there is a time of fulfillment tocome in our lives." He suddenly checked himself, as if there had beensomething more in his mind to which he hesitated to give expression--andheld out his hand to bid her good-by.

  "My memory of what you said in the garden is better than yours," shereminded him. "You said 'Happen what may in the interval, I trust thefuture.' Do you feel the same trust still?"

  He sighed--drew her to him gently--and kissed her on the forehead. Wasthat his own reply? She was not calm enough to ask him the question: itremained in her thoughts for some time after he had gone.

  ........

  On the same day Emily was at Brighton.

  Francine happened to be alone in the drawing-room. Her first proceeding,when Emily was shown in, was to stop the servant.

  "Have you taken my letter to the post?"

  "Yes, miss."

  "It doesn't matter." She dismissed the servant by a gesture, and burstinto such effusive hospitality that she actually insisted on kissingEmily. "Do you know what I have been doing?" she said. "I have beenwriting to Cecilia--directing to the care of her father, at the House ofCommons. I stupidly forgot that you would be able to give me the rightaddress in Switzerland. You don't object, I hope, to my making myselfagreeable to our dear, beautiful, greedy girl? It is of such importanceto me to surround myself with influential friends--and, of course,I have given her your love. Don't look disgusted! Come, and see yourroom.--Oh, never mind Miss La
dd. You will see her when she wakes. Ill?Is that sort of old woman ever ill? She's only taking her nap afterbathing. Bathing in the sea, at her age! How she must frighten thefishes!"

  Having seen her own bed-chamber, Emily was next introduced to the roomoccupied by Francine.

  One object that she noticed in it caused her some little surprise--notunmingled with disgust. She discovered on the toilet-table acoarsely caricatured portrait of Mrs. Ellmother. It was a sketch inpencil--wretchedly drawn; but spitefully successful as a likeness."I didn't know you were an artist," Emily remarked, with an ironicalemphasis on the last word. Francine laughed scornfully--crumpled thedrawing up in her hand--and threw it into the waste-paper basket.

  "You satirical creature!" she burst out gayly. "If you had lived a dulllife at St. Domingo, you would have taken to spoiling paper too. I mightreally have turned out an artist, if I had been clever and industriouslike you. As it was, I learned a little drawing--and got tired of it.I tried modeling in wax--and got tired of it. Who do you think was myteacher? One of our slaves."

  "A slave!" Emily exclaimed.

  "Yes--a mulatto, if you wish me to be particular; the daughter of anEnglish father and a negro mother. In her young time (at least shesaid so herself) she was quite a beauty, in her particular style.Her master's favorite; he educated her himself. Besides drawingand painting, and modeling in wax, she could sing and play--all theaccomplishments thrown away on a slave! When her owner died, my unclebought her at the sale of the property."

  A word of natural compassion escaped Emily--to Francine's surprise.

  "Oh, my dear, you needn't pity her! Sappho (that was her name) fetcheda high price, even when she was no longer young. She came to us, byinheritance, with the estates and the rest of it; and took a fancy tome, when she found out I didn't get on well with my father and mother.'I owe it to _my_ father and mother,' she used to say, 'that I am aslave. When I see affectionate daughters, it wrings my heart.' Sapphowas a strange compound. A woman with a white side to her character, anda black side. For weeks together, she would be a civilized being. Thenshe used to relapse, and become as complete a negress as her mother.At the risk of her life she stole away, on those occasions, intothe interior of the island, and looked on, in hiding, at the horridwitchcrafts and idolatries of the blacks; they would have murdered ahalf-blood, prying into their ceremonies, if they had discovered her.I followed her once, so far as I dared. The frightful yellings anddrummings in the darkness of the forests frightened me. The blackssuspected her, and it came to my ears. I gave her the warning that savedher life (I don't know what I should have done without Sappho to amuseme!); and, from that time, I do believe the curious creature loved me.You see I can speak generously even of a slave!"

  "I wonder you didn't bring her with you to England," Emily said.

  "In the first place," Francine answered, "she was my father's property,not mine. In the second place, she's dead. Poisoned, as the otherhalf-bloods supposed, by some enemy among the blacks. She said herself,she was under a spell!"

  "What did she mean?"

  Francine was not interested enough in the subject to explain. "Stupidsuperstition, my dear. The negro side of Sappho was uppermost when shewas dying--there is the explanation. Be off with you! I hear the oldwoman on the stairs. Meet her before she can come in here. My bedroom ismy only refuge from Miss Ladd."

  On the morning of the last day in the week, Emily had a little talk inprivate with her old schoolmistress. Miss Ladd listened to what she hadto say of Mrs. Ellmother, and did her best to relieve Emily's anxieties."I think you are mistaken, my child, in supposing that Francine is inearnest. It is her great fault that she is hardly ever in earnest. Youcan trust to my discretion; leave the rest to your aunt's old servantand to me."

  Mrs. Ellmother arrived, punctual to the appointed time. She was showninto Miss Ladd's own room. Francine--ostentatiously resolved to take nopersonal part in the affair--went for a walk. Emily waited to hear theresult.

  After a long interval, Miss Ladd returned to the drawing-room, andannounced that she had sanctioned the engagement of Mrs. Ellmother.

  "I have considered your wishes, in this respect," she said. "It isarranged that a week's notice, on either side, shall end the term ofservice, after the first month. I cannot feel justified in doing morethan that. Mrs. Ellmother is such a respectable woman; she is so wellknown to you, and she was so long in your aunt's service, that I ambound to consider the importance of securing a person who is exactlyfitted to attend on such a girl as Francine. In one word, I can trustMrs. Ellmother."

  "When does she enter on her service?" Emily inquired.

  "On the day after we return to the school," Miss Ladd replied. "You willbe glad to see her, I am sure. I will send her here."

  "One word more before you go," Emily said.

  "Did you ask her why she left my aunt?"

  "My dear child, a woman who has been five-and-twenty years in one placeis entitled to keep her own secrets. I understand that she had herreasons, and that she doesn't think it necessary to mention them toanybody. Never trust people by halves--especially when they are peoplelike Mrs. Ellmother."

  It was too late now to raise any objections. Emily felt relieved, ratherthan disappointed, on discovering that Mrs. Ellmother was in a hurry toget back to London by the next train. Sh e had found an opportunity ofletting her lodgings; and she was eager to conclude the bargain. "Yousee I couldn't say Yes," she explained, "till I knew whether I was toget this new place or not--and the person wants to go in tonight."

  Emily stopped her at the door. "Promise to write and tell me how you geton with Miss de Sor."

  "You say that, miss, as if you didn't feel hopeful about me."

  "I say it, because I feel interested about you. Promise to write."

  Mrs. Ellmother promised, and hastened away. Emily looked after her fromthe window, as long as she was in view. "I wish I could feel sure ofFrancine!" she said to herself.

  "In what way?" asked the hard voice of Francine, speaking at the door.

  It was not in Emily's nature to shrink from a plain reply. She completedher half-formed thought without a moment's hesitation.

  "I wish I could feel sure," she answered, "that you will be kind to Mrs.Ellmother."

  "Are you afraid I shall make her life one scene of torment?" Francineinquired. "How can I answer for myself? I can't look into the future."

  "For once in your life, can you be in earnest?" Emily said.

  "For once in your life, can you take a joke?" Francine replied.

  Emily said no more. She privately resolved to shorten her visit toBrighton.

  BOOK THE THIRD--NETHERWOODS.