Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli

by Marie Corelli

  “No,” — and the girl looked at her wonderingly— “but he was better than my own father who deserted me!”

  “Dear me! Your own father deserted you! How shocking of him!” and Lady Blythe turned a pair of brilliant dark eyes full on the pale little face confronting her— “And your mother?”

  “She deserted me, too.”

  “What a reprehensible couple!” Here Lady Blythe extended a delicately gloved hand towards her. “Come here and let me look at you!”

  But Innocent hesitated.

  “Excuse me,” she said, with a quaint and simple dignity— “I do not know you. I cannot understand why you have come to see me — if you would explain—”

  While she thus spoke Lady Blythe had surveyed her scrutinisingly through a gold-mounted lorgnon.

  “Quite a proud little person it is!” she remarked, and smiled— “Quite proud! I suppose I really must explain! Only I do hope you will not make a scene. Nothing is so unpleasant! And SUCH bad form! Please sit down!”

  Innocent placed a chair close to the table so that she could lean her arm on that friendly board and steady her trembling little frame. When she was seated, Lady Blythe again looked at her critically through the lorgnon. Then she continued —

  “Well, I must first tell you that I have always known your history — such a romance, isn’t it! You were brought here as a baby by a man on horseback’ — and he left you with the good old farmer who has taken care of you ever since. I am right? Yes! — I’m quite sure about it — because I knew the man — the curious sort of parental Lochinvar! — who got rid of you in such a curious way!”

  Innocent drew a sharp breath.

  “You knew him?”

  Lady Blythe gave a delicate little cough.

  “Yes — I knew him — rather well! I was quite a girl — and he was an artist — a rather famous one in his way — half French — and very good-looking. Yes, he certainly was remarkably good-looking! We ran away together — most absurd of us — but we did. Please don’t look at me like that! — you remind me of Sara Bernhardt in ‘La Tosca’!”

  Innocent’s eyes were indeed full of something like positive terror. Her heart beat violently — she felt a strange dread, and a foreboding that chilled her very blood.

  “People often do that kind of thing — fall in love and run away,” continued Lady Blythe, placidly— “when they are young and silly. It is quite a delightful sensation, of course, but it doesn’t last. They don’t know the world — and they never calculate results. However, we had quite a good time together. We went to Devon and Cornwall, and he painted pictures and made love to me — and it was all very nice and pretty. Then, of course, trouble came, and we had to get out of it as best we could — we were both tired of each other and quarrelled dreadfully, so we decided to give each other up. Only you were in the way!”

  Innocent rose, steadying herself with one hand against the table.

  “I!” she exclaimed, with a kind of sob in her throat.

  “Yes — you! Dear me, — how you stare! Don’t you understand? I suppose you’ve lived such a strange sort of hermit life down here that you know nothing. You were in the way — you, the baby!”

  “Do you mean — ?”

  “Yes — I mean what you ought to have guessed at once — if you were not as stupid as an owl! I’ve told you I ran away with a man — I wouldn’t marry him, though he asked me to — I should have been tied up for life, and I didn’t want that — so we decided to separate. And he undertook to get rid of the baby—”

  “Me!” cried Innocent, wildly— “oh, dear God! It was me!”

  “Yes — it was you — but you needn’t be tragic about it!” said Lady Blythe, calmly— “I think, on the whole, you were fortunately placed — and I was told where you were—”

  “You were told? — oh, you were told! — and you never came! And you — you are — my MOTHER!” — and overpowered by the shock of emotion, the girl sank back on her chair, and burying her head in her hands, sobbed bitterly. Lady Blythe looked at her in meditative silence.

  “What a tiresome creature!” she murmured, under her breath— “Quite undisciplined! No repose of manner — no style whatever! And apparently very little sense! I think it’s a pity I came, — a mistaken sense of duty!”

  Aloud she said —

  “I hope you’re not going to cry very long! Won’t you get it over? I thought you would be glad to know me — and I’ve come out of pure kindness to you, simply because I heard your old farmer was dead. Why Pierce Armitage should have brought you to him I never could imagine — except that once he was painting a picture in the neighbourhood and was rather taken with the history of this place — Briar Farm isn’t it called? You’ll make your eyes quite sore if you go on crying like that! Yes — I am your mother — most unfortunately! — I hoped you would never know it! — but now — as you are left quite alone in the world, I have come to see what I can do for you.”

  Innocent checked her sobs, and lifting her head looked straight into the rather shallow bright eyes that regarded her with such cold and easy scrutiny.

  “You can do nothing for me,” she answered, in a low voice— “You never have done anything for me. If you are my mother, you are an unnatural one!” And moved by a sudden, swift emotion, she stood up with indignation and scorn lighting every feature of her face. “I was in your way at my birth — and you were glad to be rid of me. Why should you seek me now?”

  Lady Blythe glanced her over amusedly.

  “Really, you would do well on the stage!” she said— “If you were taller, you would make your fortune with that tragic manner! It is quite wasted on me, I assure you! I’ve told you a very simple commonplace truth — a thing that happens every day — a silly couple run away together, madly in love, and deluded by the idea that love will last — they get into trouble and have a child — naturally, as they are not married, the child is in the way, and they get rid of it — some people would have killed it, you know! Your father was quite a kind-hearted person — and his one idea was to place you where there were no other children, and where you would have a chance of being taken care of. So he brought you to Briar Farm — and he told me where he had left you before he went away and died.”

  “Died!” echoed the girl— “My father is dead?”

  “So I believe,” — and Lady Blythe stifled a slight yawn— “He was always a rather reckless person — went out to paint pictures in all weathers, or to ‘study effects’ as he called it — how I hated his ‘art’ talk! — and I heard he died in Paris of influenza or pneumonia or something or other. But as I was married then, it didn’t matter.”

  Innocent’s deep-set, sad eyes studied her “mother” with strange wistfulness.

  “Did you not love him?” she asked, pitifully.

  Lady Blythe laughed, lightly.

  “You odd girl! Of course I was quite crazy about him! — he was so handsome — and very fascinating in his way — but he could be a terrible bore, and he had a very bad temper. I was thankful when we separated. But I have made my own private enquiries about you, from time to time — I always had rather a curiosity about you, as I have had no other children. Won’t you come and kiss me?”

  Innocent stood rigid.

  “I cannot!” she said.

  Lady Blythe flushed and bit her lips.

  “As you like!” she said, airily— “I don’t mind!”

  The girl clasped her hands tightly together.

  “How can you ask me!” she said, in low, thrilling tones— “You who have let me grow up without any knowledge of you! — you who had no shame in leaving me here to live on the charity of a stranger! — you who never cared at all for the child you brought into the world! — can you imagine that I could care — now?”

  “Well, really,” smiled Lady Blythe— “I’m not sure that I have asked you to care! I have simply come here to tell you that you are not entirely alone in the world, and that I, knowing myself to be your mother �
�� (although it happened so long ago I can hardly believe I was ever such a fool!) — am willing to do something for you — especially as I have no children by my second marriage. I will, in fact, ‘adopt’ you!” and she laughed — a pretty, musical laugh like a chime of little silver bells. “Lord Blythe will be delighted — he’s a kind old person!”

  Innocent looked at her gravely and steadily.

  “Do you mean to say that you will own me? — name me? — acknowledge me as your daughter—”

  “Why, certainly not!” and Lady Blythe’s eyes flashed over her in cold disdain— “What are you thinking of? You are not legitimate — and you really have no lawful name — besides, I’m not bound to do anything at all for you now you are old enough to earn your own living. But I’m quite a good-natured woman, — and as I have said already I have no other children — and I’m willing to ‘adopt’ you, bring you out in society, give you pretty clothes, and marry you well if I can. But to own that I ever made such an idiot of myself as to have you at all is a little too much to ask! — Lord Blythe would never forgive me!”

  “So you would make me live a life of deception with you!” said Innocent— “You would make me pretend to be what I am not — just as you pretend to be what you are not! — and yet you say I am your child! Oh God, save me from such a mother! Madam” — and she spoke in cold, deliberate accents— “you have lived all these years without children, save me whom you have ignored — and I, though nameless and illegitimate, now ignore you! I have no mother! I would not own you any more than you would own me; — my shame in saying that such a woman is my mother would be greater than yours in saying that I am your child! For the stigma of my birth is not my fault, but yours! — I am, as my father called me— ‘innocent’!”

  Her breath came and went quickly — a crimson flush was on her cheeks — she looked transfigured — beautiful. Lady Blythe stared at her in wide-eyed disdain.

  “You are exceedingly rude and stupid,” she said— “You talk like a badly-trained actress! And you are quite blind to your own interests. Now please remember that if you refuse the offer I make you, I shall never trouble about you again — you will have to sink or swim — and you can do nothing for yourself — without even a name—”

  “Have you never heard,” interrupted Innocent, suddenly, “that it is quite possible to MAKE a name?”

  Her “mother” was for the moment startled — she looked so intellectually strong and inspired.

  “Have you never thought,” she went on— “even you, in your strange life of hypocrisy—”

  “Hypocrisy!” exclaimed Lady Blythe— “How dare you say such a thing!”

  “Of course it is hypocrisy,” said the girl, resolutely— “You are married to a man who knows nothing of your past life — is not that hypocrisy? You are a great lady, no doubt — you have everything you want in this world, except children — one child you had in me, and you let me be taken from you — yet you would pretend to ‘adopt’ me though you know I am your own! Is not that hypocrisy?”

  Lady Blythe for a moment tightened her lips in a line of decided temper — then she smiled ironically.

  “It is tact,” she said— “and good manners. Society lives by certain conventions, and we must be careful not to outrage them. In your own interests you should be glad to learn how to live suitably without offence to others around you.”

  Innocent looked at her with straight and relentless scorn.

  “I have done that,” she answered— “so far. I shall continue to do it. I do not want any help from you! I would rather die than owe you anything! Please understand this! You say I am your daughter, and I suppose I must believe it — but the knowledge brings me sorrow and shame. And I must work my way out of this sorrow and shame, — somehow! I will do all I can to retrieve the damaged life you have given me. I never knew my mother was alive — and now — I wish to forget it! If my father lived, I would go to him—”

  “Would you indeed!” and Lady Blythe rose, shaking her elegant skirts, and preening herself like a bird preparing for flight— “I’m afraid you would hardly receive a parental welcome! Fortunately for himself and for me, he is dead, — so you are quite untrammelled by any latent notions of filial duty. And you will never see me again after to-day!”

  “No?” — and the interrogation was put with the slightest inflection of satire — so fine as to be scarcely perceptible — but Lady Blythe caught it, and flushed angrily.

  “Of course not!” she said— “Do you think you, in your position of a mere farmer’s girl, are likely to meet me in the greater world? You, without even a name—”

  “Would you have given me a name?” interposed the girl, calmly.

  “Of course! I should have invented one for you —

  “I can do that for myself,” said Innocent, quietly— “and so you are relieved from all trouble on my score. May I ask you to go now?”

  Lady Blythe stared at her.

  “Are you insolent, or only stupid?” she asked— “Do you realise what it is that I have told you — that I, Lady Blythe, wife of a peer, and moving in the highest ranks of society, am willing to take charge of you, feed you, clothe you, bring you out and marry you well? Do you understand, and still refuse?”

  “I understand — and I still refuse,” replied Innocent— “I would accept, if you owned me as your daughter to your husband and to all the world — but as your ‘adopted’ child — as a lie under your roof — I refuse absolutely and entirely! Are you astonished that I should wish to live truly instead of falsely?”

  Lady Blythe gathered her priceless lace scarf round her elegant shoulders.

  “I begin to think it must have been all a bad dream!” she said, and laughed softly— “My little affair with your father cannot have really happened, and you cannot really be my child! I must consider it in that light! I feel I have done my part in the matter by coming here to see you and talk to you and make what I consider a very kind and reasonable proposition — you have refused it — and there is no more to be said.” She settled her dainty hat more piquantly on her rich dark hair, and smiled agreeably. “Will you show me the way out? I left my motor-car on the high-road — my chauffeur did not care to bring it down your rather muddy back lane.”

  Innocent said nothing — but merely opened the door and stood aside for her visitor to pass. A curious tightening at her heart oppressed her as she thought that this elegant, self-possessed, exquisitely attired creature was actually her “mother!” — and she could have cried out with the pain which was so hard to bear. Suddenly Lady Blythe came to an abrupt standstill.

  “You will not kiss me?” she said— “Not even for your father’s sake?”

  With a quick sobbing catch in her breath, the girl looked up — her “mother” was a full head taller than she. She lifted her fair head — her eyes were full of tears. Her lips quivered — Lady Blythe stooped and kissed them lightly.

  “There! — be a good girl!” she said. “You have the most extraordinary high-flown notions, and I think they will lead you into trouble! However, I’ll give you one more chance — if at the end of this year you would like to come to me, my offer to you still holds good. After that — well! — as you yourself said, you will have no mother!”

  “I have never had one!” answered Innocent, in low choked accents— “And — I shall never have one!”

  Lady Blythe smiled — a cold, amused smile, and passed out through the hall into the garden.

  “What delightful flowers!” she exclaimed, in a sweet, singing voice, for the benefit of anyone who might be listening— “A perfect paradise! No wonder Briar Farm is so famous! It’s perfectly charming! Is this the way? Thanks ever so much!” This, as Innocent opened the gate— “Let me see! — I go up the old by-road? — yes? — and the main road joins it at the summit? — No, pray don’t trouble to come with me — I can find my car quite easily! Good-bye!”

  And picking up her dainty skirt with one ungloved hand, on which two dia
mond rings shone like circlets of dew, she nodded, smiled, and went her way — Innocent standing at the gate and watching her go with a kind of numbed patience as though she saw a figure in a dream vanishing slowly with the dawn of day. In truth she could hardly grasp the full significance of what had happened — she did not feel, even remotely, the slightest attraction towards this suddenly declared “mother” of hers — she could hardly believe the story. Yet she knew it must be true, — no woman of title and position would thus acknowledge a stigma on her own life without any cause for the confession. She stood at the gate still watching, though there was nothing now to watch, save the bending trees, and the flowering wild plants that fringed each side of the old by-road. Priscilla’s voice calling her in a clear, yet lowered tone, startled her at last — she slowly shut the gate and turned in answer.

  “Yes, dear? What is it?”

  Priscilla trotted out from under the porch, full of eager curiosity.

  “Has the lady gone?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did she want with ye, dearie?”

  “Nothing very much!” and Innocent smiled — a strange, wistful smile— “Only just what you thought! — she wished to buy something from Briar Farm — and I told her it was not to be sold!”

  CHAPTER XI

  That night Innocent made an end of all her hesitation. Resolutely she put away every thought that could deter her from the step she was now resolved to take. Poor old Priscilla little imagined the underlying cause of the lingering tenderness with which the girl kissed her “good-night,” looking back with more than her usual sweetness as she went along the corridor to her own little room. Once there, she locked and bolted the door fast, and then set to work gathering a few little things together and putting them in a large but light-weight satchel, such as she had often used to carry some of the choicest apples from the orchard when they were being gathered in. Her first care was for her manuscript, — the long-treasured scribble, kept so secretly and so often considered with hope and fear, and wonder and doubting — then she took one or two of the more cherished volumes which had formerly been the property of the “Sieur Amadis” and packed them with it. Choosing only the most necessary garments from her little store, she soon filled her extemporary travelling-bag, and then sat down to write a letter to Robin. It was brief and explicit.