CHAPTER XXVI
THE ANXIETIES OF LOUISE
The one definite thought in May's mind now was that she must leaveOxford before the Warden's return. A blind instinct compelled her totake this course.
It was not easy for her to say to Lady Dashwood quite unconcernedly:"You won't mind my running away to-morrow, will you? You won't mind if Irun off, will you? All your troubles are over, and I do want to get backto-morrow. I have lots of things to do--to get ready before Monday."
It was not easy to say all this, but May did say it. She said it in thecorridor as they were bidding each other good night.
Lady Dashwood's surprise was painful. "I do mind your running off," shesaid, and she looked a little bewildered. "Must you go to-morrow? Mustyou? To-morrow!"
Lady Dashwood had talked a great deal, both before May went intoGwendolen's room and afterwards, when May came back again to thedrawing-room. May had told the reason for her long absence from thedrawing-room, but in an abstracted manner; and Lady Dashwood, observingthis, looked long and wistfully at her, but had asked no questions. Allshe had said was, "I'm glad you've been with the child," and she spokein a low voice. Then she had begun talking again of things relevant andirrelevant, and in doing so had betrayed her excitement. It was indeedMay now who was calm and self-contained, all trace of her "chill" gone,whereas Lady Dashwood was obviously over-excited.
It was only when May said good night, and made this announcement aboutgoing away on the following day, that Lady Dashwood's spirits showedsigns of flagging.
That moment all her vivacity suddenly died down and she looked no longerbrisk and brilliant, but limp and tired, a hollow-eyed woman.
"I do mind," she repeated. But she gave no reason for minding, shemerely added: "Don't go!" and stared at her niece pathetically.
But May was firm. She kissed her aunt very affectionately, and was verytender in her manner and voice, but she was immovable.
"I must go, dear," she said; and then she repeated again: "Your troublesare over! Seriously, Aunt Lena, I want to go!"
Lady Dashwood sighed. "You have done a great deal for me, May," shesaid, and this gratitude from her Aunt Lena shook May's courage morethan any protest.
"I don't want to go," she said, "but I must go." That was her last word.
And May wanted to go early. Everything must be ready. She wanted to getaway as soon as Gwendolen had gone. She must not risk meeting theWarden! He might return to lunch, she must go before lunch. She must notsee him come back. She could not bear to be in the house when he readthe letter from Gwendolen. _That_ was what made her fly. To stay on andwitness in cold blood his feelings at being rescued, to witness hishumiliation, because he was rescued, would be an intrusion on theprivacy of a human soul. She must go. So May packed up over night, sleptuneasily and in snatches, conscious of Oxford all the time, conscious ofall that it meant to her!
It was a grey morning when she got up and looked out of narrow window'son to the quiet, narrow grey street. She heard no one moving about whenshe came down the broad staircase and into the hall, prepared to go,hardening herself to go, because to stop would be impossible.
In the breakfast-room she found Lady Dashwood. The two women looked ateach other silently with a smile only of greeting. They could hear stepsoutside, and Gwendolen came in with swollen eyes and smiled vaguelyround the room.
"Good morning," she said, and then gulped. Poor girl! She was making aneffort to be brave, and May gave her a glance that said plainly herapproval and her sympathy.
Lady Dashwood was almost tender in her manner.
Gwen ate hurriedly, and once or twice made spasmodic faces in trying notto break down.
Of course, no reference was made to anything that had happened, but itwas necessary to talk a little. Silence would have made things worse. SoLady Dashwood praised Potten End, and said it was more bracing therethan at Oxford; and May said she had not seen Potten End. Then bothladies looked at each other and started some other subject. They spokeat great length about the weather. At last breakfast was over, and LadyDashwood rose from her chair and looked rather nervously across atGwendolen.
"I'm ready," said Gwendolen, bravely. "At least, I've only got to put myhat on."
"There is no hurry, dear," said Lady Dashwood. "Let me see, you havenearly an hour." The car was to come at ten--an unearthly hour except inOxford and at Potten End.
Gwendolen disappeared upstairs, and the two ladies lingered about in thebreakfast-room, neither able to attend to the papers, though both readostentatiously. At last the car was announced and they went into thehall.
Gwendolen came downstairs hastily. That horrible umbrella was in herhand, in the other hand was a handkerchief. She was frowning under herveil to keep herself from crying.
"Well, good-bye, Gwen," said Lady Dashwood, and she kissed the girl onboth cheeks. "Good-bye, dear; give my love to Mrs. Potten."
"Thanks----" began Gwen, but her voice began to fail her. "Thanks----"
"My love to Mrs. Potten," repeated Lady Dashwood hurriedly, andGwendolen turned away without finishing her sentence.
May kissed Gwendolen and murmured in her ear: "Brave girl!" "Good-bye,"she said aloud.
"Good-bye," said Gwen.
There was the familiar hall, its great bevelled doors, its oak panellingand its wide oak staircase. There was the round table in the middleunder the electric chandelier and the dim portraits on the walls. Allwas familiar, and all had been thought of as hers for a time, all tooshort; for a day that now seemed as if it could never have been; for adream and no part of the reality of Gwen's life.
There outside was the car which was to take her away for ever. RobinsonJunior was holding open the door, his snub nose well in the air, hischeeks reddened by the chill autumn wind. He was waiting for her to getin. Then he would bang the door to, and have done with her, and theLodgings would never again have anything to do with her--nor Oxford.
Oh, it was too wretched, but brave she would be, and Mrs. Dashwood atleast would pity her and understand. What Lady Dashwood thought she didnot care so very much.
Gwen went down the steps and got into the car. Robinson Junior did bangthe door. He banged it and caught a piece of Gwendolen's skirt. Then heopened the door with ferocity as if it was somebody else's fault.Gwendolen pulled her skirt and he banged the door to again. This time itshut her out from the Lodgings. The last moment had come. The car moved.The two ladies waved their hands. Robinson Junior raised his finger tohis ear. The car turned and went out of the Court into the narrowstreet.
It was all over! Robinson Junior did not come in. He slipped somewhereround at the back with mysterious swiftness, and Lady Dashwood shut thedoor herself. It was like closing a book at "The End" or writing a lastWill and Testament. It was all over!
Then Lady Dashwood, who had been so composed that May had been deceivedinto thinking that she had almost recovered from her excitement andfatigue, suddenly leaned against the hall table. "May!" she called.
May did not hear her name called, she was already retreating up thestaircase to her room as hastily as she dared. There was not much time,and yet she had not told her Aunt Lena yet that she meant to leave thatvery morning; she had mentioned no hour.
Her luggage was packed and labelled. Her hat and coat and gloves,exactly the things she had arrived in from Malvern, were there waitingfor her to put them on and go away. Meanwhile _he_ was in Town, littledreaming of what was happening. He would be back soon. It would behorrible if he arrived before she left, and there was still an hourbefore she must start for the station! She would put on her hat and thengo down, tell her Aunt Lena that she must go in an hour, and talk toher, give herself up to her till the taxi came. No, it would beimpossible for him to arrive before she left; she was foolish to worryabout it. It was pure nonsense--merely a nervous fear.
When she had put on her hat, it flashed into her mind that Mr. Binghamwas coming to dinner, ostensibly to meet her. After their talk togethershe must write to him. She mus
t scribble a little note and get it takento All Souls. She must tell him that she had to leave Oxford quiteunexpectedly.
She sat down at her writing table and took up a pen. She wrote a fewwords, and thought the words too cold and too abrupt. She must beginagain, and she tore up the letter and threw it into the waste-paperbasket. She wanted to write sympathetically and yet not to appear tothink he needed sympathy. She wanted to write as if she was very muchdisappointed at not meeting him again, but without putting it into wordsthat would sound self-assured--as if she knew and counted on his beinggrateful at her disappointment. And indeed, she thought, he was not muchin love with her. Why should he be? That was a question May always askedherself when a man professed to be in love with her. Why? Why in thename of all----, etc. May always failed to see why.
This lack of vanity in May had led many people, who did not understandher, to accuse her of flirting.
But May, in writing to Bingham, realised to the full _his_ attractions.He was too interesting a personality to be going about unclaimed. Heought to make some woman happy--some nice woman--not herself.
She began a fresh letter and was at the first sentence when a knock cameat the door.
"Come in," she called.
In came Louise, looking full of sinister importance. Her hair, which wasnever very tidy, looked as if it had taken an intelligent interest insome crisis.
Louise glanced round the room at the luggage, at the coat, at the hat onMay's head.
"Oh, Madame, what a desolation!" cried Louise, and she wrung her hands.
"I have packed very well, Louise," said May Dashwood. "I am accustomedto do it--I have no maid."
"Oh, what a desolation!" repeated Louise, as she advanced further intothe room. Then she stopped and announced, with an affectation ofhorrible composure: "I come to inform Madame that it is impossible forher to depart."
May put down her pen. "What is the matter, Louise?"
Louise drew in her breath. "My lady suffers," she began, and as sheproceeded her words flowed more and more quickly: "while Madame preparesto forsake her, my lady faints upon the floor in the breakfast parlour,she expires."
May rose, her heart beating.
"She now swallows a glass of brandy and a biscuit brought by Mrs.Robinson, who is so slow, so slow and who understands nothing, but hasthe keys. I call and I call, eh bien, I call--oh, but what slowness,what insupportable delay."
May put her letter inside the writing case and moved away from thewriting-table. She was composed now.
"Is she very ill?" she asked quietly.
"My lady has died every day for two weeks," continued Louise; "for manydays she has died, and no one observes it but myself and the angels inheaven. Madame agonises, over what terrible events I know not. But theyknow, the spirits of the dead--they know and they come. I believe that,for this house, this Lodgings is gloomy, this Oxford is so full ofsombre thought. My Lady Dashwood martyrs herself for others. I see italways with Monsieur le General Sir John Dashwood, excellent man as heis, but who insists on catching severe colds in the head--colds heavy,overpowering--he sneezing with a ferocity that is impossible. At lastold Robinson telephones for a doctor at my demand, oh, how I demand! Itwas necessary to overcome the phlegm and the stupidity of the Robinsonfamily. I say! I demand! It is only when Mrs. Robinson comes to assistat this terrible crisis, that I go to rush upstairs for Madame. I go torush, but I am detained! 'Stay!' cries my lady, 'I forbid you to speakof it. I am not ill--it is an indisposition of the mildest.' You see,Madame, the extraordinary generosity of my Lady Dashwood! Her soul fullof sublime resignation! 'I go to prevent Madame Mrs. Dashwood'sdeparture,' I cry! My lady replies with immense self-renunciation, likethat of the blessed saints: 'Say nothing, my poor Louise. I exist onlyto do good on this earth. I ask for nothing for myself. I suffer alone.I endure without complaint. I speak not of my extreme agony in the head.I do not mention the insupportable nausea of the stomach. I subdue mycries! I weep silently, alone in the presence of my God.'"
Louise paused for a second for breath.
Nothing at this moment could have made May smile. She looked at Louisewith gravity.
"But," continued Louise, with the same vehement swiftness, "a goodmoment arrives. The form too full of Mrs. Robinson hides me as I escapefrom the room. I come to Madame here. Eh bien!" Here Louise broke offand, glancing round the room, made a gesture that implied unpackingMay's luggage and putting everything back in the proper place. "I unpackfor Madame, immediately, while Madame descends and assures my lady thatshe does not forsake her at the supreme moment."
Louise's eyes now seemed to pierce the space in front of her, she defiedcontradiction.
"I will go and see Lady Dashwood," said May, calmly. "But don't unpackyet for me. I shall put her ladyship to bed, Louise. Go and see thateverything is ready, please."
"I go to countermand Madame's taxi," said Louise, astutely.
"You can do that," said May; "I shall wait till the doctorcomes--anyhow. Ask Robinson to telephone at once."
May went down to the breakfast-room, and found Mrs. Robinson's stoutform coming out of the door. Within Lady Dashwood was seated in a chairby the fire.
"I am perfectly well, May," said Lady Dashwood, lifting up a white faceto her niece as she came up to her. "I have sent Mrs. Robinson away.That silly old fool, Louise, has made Robinson telephone for a doctor."
"Quite right of her," said May, quietly, "and I shall stop till he hascome and gone."
"You didn't mean to go before lunch?" murmured Lady Dashwood.
"I can go after lunch," said May.
Lady Dashwood leaned her head back in a weak manner.
"Not so convenient to you perhaps, dear," she murmured, but in a voicethat accepted the delay to May's departure. She accepted it and sighedand stared into the fire, and said not one word about the Warden, butshe said: "I'm not going to bed. The house will be empty enough as itis;" and May knew she was thinking of the Warden's return.
"You must go to bed," May replied.
"I can't go to bed, child. I shall stay up and look after things," saidLady Dashwood, and she knew she was speaking with guile. "You forget,dear, that--the house will be so empty!"
"I shall put you to bed," said May.
"How do you know I shall remain?" said Lady Dashwood. "The doctor willsay that there is nothing wrong." She looked white and obstinate andclung to her chair.
Then at last May said: "I am going to stay on till the doctor comes.Like all managing people, you are absolutely irresponsible aboutyourself, Aunt Lena. I shall have to stay and make you obey me."
"Oh, I didn't know I was so wicked!" sighed Lady Dashwood, in a suddenlycontented voice. Now she allowed herself to be helped out of her chairand led upstairs to her room. "And can you _really_ stay, May? _Really_,dear?"
"I must," said May. "You are so wicked."
"Oh dear, am I wicked?" said Lady Dashwood. "I knew my dear old John wasvery tiresome, but I didn't know I was!"
So May remained. What else could she do? She left Lady Dashwood inLouise's hands and went to her room. What was to be done about Mr.Bingham? May looked round the room.
Her boxes had disappeared. Her clothes were all put away and the toilettable carefully strewn with her toilet things. Louise had done it. Onthe little table by the bed stood something that had not been therebefore. It was a little plaster image of St. Joseph. It bore the tracesof wear and tear from the hands of the pious believer--alsodeterioration from dust, and damage from accidents. Something, perhapscoffee, had been spilt upon it. The machine-made features of the facealso had shared this accidental ablution, and one foot was slightlydamaged. The saint was standing upon a piece of folded paper. May pulledout the paper and unfolded it. Written in faultless copper-plate werethe words: "Louise Dumont prays for the protection of Madame everyday."