Marion Fay: A Novel

  CHAPTER XIII.

  LADY FRANCES SEES HER LOVER.

  On the Monday in that week,--Monday, the 5th of January, on whichday Hampstead had been hunting and meditating the attack which hesubsequently made on Zachary Fay, in King's Court,--Mrs. Vincent hadpaid a somewhat unusually long visit in Paradise Row. As the visitwas always made on Monday, neither had Clara Demijohn or Mrs. Dufferbeen very much surprised; but still it had been observed that thebrougham had been left at the "Duchess of Edinburgh" for an hourbeyond the usual time, and a few remarks were made. "She is sopunctual about her time generally," Clara had said. But Mrs. Dufferremarked that as she had exceeded the hour usually devoted to herfriend's company she had probably found it quite as well to stayanother. "They don't make half-hours in any of those yards, youknow," said Mrs. Duffer. And so the matter had been allowed to passas having been sufficiently explained.

  But there had in truth been more than that in Mrs. Vincent'sprolonged visit to her cousin. There had been much to be discussed,and the discussion led to a proposition made that evening by Mrs.Roden to her son by which the latter was much surprised. She wasdesirous of starting almost immediately for Italy, and was anxiousthat he should accompany her. If it were to be so he was quite aliveto the expediency of going with her. "But what is it, mother?" heasked, when she had requested his attendance without giving the causewhich rendered the journey necessary. Then she paused as thoughconsidering whether she would comply with his request, and tell himthat whole secret of his life which she had hitherto concealed fromhim. "Of course, I will not press you," he said, "if you think thatyou cannot trust me."

  "Oh, George, that is unkind."

  "What else am I to say? Is it possible that I should start suddenlyupon such a journey, or that I should see you doing so, withoutasking the reason why? Or can I suppose if you do not tell me, butthat there is some reason why you should not trust me?"

  "You know I trust you. No mother ever trusted a son more implicitly.You ought to know that. It is not a matter of trusting. There may besecrets to which a person shall be so pledged that she cannot tellthem to her dearest friend. If I had made a promise would you nothave me keep it?"

  "Promises such as that should not be exacted, and should not bemade."

  "But if they have been exacted and have been made? Do as I ask younow, and it is probable that everything will be clear to you beforewe return, or at any rate as clear to you as it is to me." Afterthis, with a certain spirit of reticence which was peculiar withhim, he made up his mind to do as his mother would have him withoutasking further questions. He set himself to work immediately to makethe necessary arrangements for his journey with as much apparentsatisfaction as though it were to be done on his own behalf. It wasdecided that they would start on the next Friday, travel throughFrance and by the tunnel of the Mont Cenis to Turin, and thence on toMilan. Of what further there was to befall them he knew nothing atthis period.

  It was necessary in the first place that he should get leave ofabsence from Sir Boreas, as to which he professed himself to be inmuch doubt, because he had already enjoyed the usual leave of absenceallowed by the rules of the office. But on this matter he foundAeolus to be very complaisant. "What, Italy?" said Sir Boreas. "Verynice when you get there, I should say, but a bad time of year fortravelling. Sudden business, eh?--To go with your mother! It is badfor a lady to go alone. How long? You don't know? Well! come backas soon as you can; that's all. You couldn't take Crocker withyou, could you?" For at this time Crocker had already got intofurther trouble in regard to imperfections of handwriting. He hadbeen promised absolution as to some complaint made against him oncondition that he could read a page of his own manuscript. But he hadaltogether failed in the attempt. Roden didn't think that he couldcarry Crocker to Italy, but arranged his own affair without thatimpediment.

  But there was another matter which must be arranged also. It was nowsix weeks since he had walked with Lord Hampstead half-way back fromHolloway to Hendon, and had been desired by his friend not to visitLady Frances while she was staying at Hendon Hall. The reader mayremember that he had absolutely refused to make any promise, and thatthere had consequently been some sharp words spoken between the twofriends. There might, he had then said, arise an occasion on which heshould find it impossible not to endeavour to see the girl he loved.But hitherto, though he had refused to submit himself to the demandmade upon him, he had complied with its spirit. At this moment, asit seemed to him, a period had come in which it was essential to himthat he should visit her. There had been no correspondence betweenthem since those Koenigsgraaf days in consequence of the resolutionswhich she herself had made. Now, as he often told himself, they wereas completely separated as though each had determined never againto communicate with the other. Months had gone by since a word hadpassed between them. He was a man, patient, retentive, and by naturecapable of enduring such a trouble without loud complaint; but he didremember from day to day how near they were to each other, and hedid not fail to remind himself that he could hardly expect to findconstancy in her unless he took some means of proving to her that hewas constant himself. Thinking of all this, he determined that hewould do his best to see her before he started for Italy. Should hefail to be received at Hendon Hall then he would write. But he wouldgo to the house and make his attempt.

  On Thursday morning, the day on which Hampstead arrived at TraffordPark, he went down from London, and knocking at the door asked atonce for Lady Frances. Lady Frances was at home and alone;--alonealtogether, having no companion with her in the house during herbrother's absence. The servant who opened the door, the same who hadadmitted poor Crocker and had understood how much his young mistresshad been dismayed when the Post Office clerk had been announced,was unwilling at once to show this other Post Office clerk into thehouse, although he probably understood well the difference betweenthe two comers. "I'll go and see," he said, leaving George Rodento sit or stand in the hall as he liked best. Then the man, with asagacity which certainly did him credit, made a roundabout journeythrough the house, so that the lover stationed in the hall might notknow that his mistress was to be reached merely by the opening of asingle door. "A gentleman in the hall?" said Lady Frances.

  "Mr. Roden, my lady," said the man.

  "Show him in," said Lady Frances, allowing herself just a moment forconsideration,--a moment so short that she trusted that no hesitationhad been visible. And yet she had doubted much. She had been veryclear in explaining to her brother that she had made no promise. Shehad never pledged herself to any one that she would deny herself toher lover should he come to see her. She would not admit to herselfthat even her brother, even her father, had a right to demand fromher such a pledge. But she knew what were her brother's wishes onthis matter, and what were the reasons for them. She knew alsohow much she owed to him. But she too had suffered from that longsilence. She had considered that a lover whom she never saw, andfrom whom she never heard, was almost as bad as no lover at all. Shehad beaten her feathers against her cage, as she thought of thiscruel separation. She had told herself of the short distance whichseparated Hendon from Holloway. She perhaps had reflected that hadthe man been as true to her as was she to him, he would not haveallowed himself to be deterred by the injunctions either of father orbrother. Now, at any rate, when her lover was at the door, she couldnot turn him away. It had all to be thought of, but it was thought ofso quickly that the order for her lover's admittance was given almostwithout a pause which could have been felt. Then, in half a minute,her lover was in the room with her.

  Need the chronicler of such scenes declare that they were in eachother's arms before a word was spoken between them? The first wordthat was spoken came from her. "Oh, George, how long it has been!"

  "It has been long to me."

  "But at last you have come?"

  "Did you expect me sooner? Had you not agreed with Hampstead and yourfather that I was not to come?"

  "Never mind. You are here now. Poor papa, you know, is very ill.Perhaps I m
ay have to go down there. John is there now."

  "Is he so ill as that?"

  "John went last night. We do not quite know how ill he is. He doesnot write, and we doubt whether we get at the truth. I was verynearly going with him; and then, sir, you would not have seen me--atall."

  "Another month, another six months, another year, would have made nodifference in my assurance of your truth to me."

  "That is a very pretty speech for you to make."

  "Nor I think in yours for me."

  "I am bound, of course, to be just as pretty as you are. But whyhave you come now? You shouldn't have come when John had left me allalone."

  "I did not know that you were here alone."

  "Or you would not have come, perhaps? But you should not have come.Why did you not ask before you came?"

  "Because I should have been refused. It would have been refused;would it not?"

  "Certainly it would."

  "But as I wish to see you specially--"

  "Why specially? I have wanted to see you always. Every day has beena special want. It should have been so with you also had you been astrue as I am. There should have been no special times."

  "But I am going--"

  "Going! Where are you going? Not for always! You are leavingHolloway, you mean, or the Post Office." Then he explained to herthat as far as he knew the journey would not be for long. He was notleaving his office, but had permission to absent himself for a time,so that he might travel with his mother as far as Milan. "Nay," saidhe, laughing, "why I am to do so I do not in the least know. Mymother has some great Italian mystery of which she has never yetrevealed to me any of the circumstances. All I know is that I wasborn in Italy."

  "You an Italian?"

  "I did not say that. There is an old saying that you need not be ahorse because you were born in a stable. Nor do I quite know thatI was born in Italy, though I feel sure of it. Of my father I havenever known anything,--except that he was certainly a bad husband tomy mother. There are circumstances which do make me almost sure thatI was born in Italy; but as my mother has been unwilling to talk tome of my earliest days, I have never chosen to ask her. Now I shallperhaps know it all."

  Of what else passed between them the reader need learn no details.To her the day was one of exceeding joy. A lover in China, or wagingwars in Zululand or elsewhere among the distant regions, is amisfortune. A lover ought to be at hand, ready at the moment, to bekissed or scolded, to wait upon you, or, so much sweeter still, to bewaited upon, just as the occasion may serve. But the lover in Chinais better than one in the next street or the next parish,--or only afew miles off by railway,--whom you may not see. The heart recognizesthe necessity occasioned by distance with a sweet softness oftender regrets, but is hardened by mutiny, or crushed by despair inreference to stern parents or unsuitable pecuniary circumstances.Lady Frances had been enduring the sternness of parents, and had beenunhappy. Now there had come a break. She had seen what he was like,and had heard his voice, and been reassured by his vows, and hadenjoyed the longed-for opportunity of repeating her own. "Nothing,nothing, nothing can change me!" How was he to be sure of thatwhile she had no opportunity of telling him that it was so? "Notime;--nothing that papa can say, nothing that John can do, will haveany effect. As to Lady Kingsbury, of course you know that she hasthrown me off altogether." It was nothing to him, he said, who mighthave thrown her off. Having her promise, he could bide his time. Notbut that he was impatient; but that he knew that when so much was tobe given to him at last, it behoved him to endure all things ratherthan to be faint of heart. And so they parted.

  She, however, in spite of her joy, had a troubled spirit when hewas gone. She had declared to her brother that she was bound by nopromise as to seeing or not seeing her lover, but yet she was awarehow much she owed to him, and that, though she had not promised, hehad made a promise on her behalf, to her father. But for that promiseshe would never have been allowed to be at Hendon Hall. His brotherhad made all his arrangements so as to provide for her a home inwhich she might be free from the annoyances inflicted upon her by herstepmother; but had done so almost with a provision that she shouldnot see George Roden. She certainly had done nothing herself toinfringe that stipulation; but George Roden had come, and she hadseen him. She might have refused him admittance, no doubt; butthen again she thought that it would have been impossible to do so.How could she have told the man to deny her, thus professing herindifference for him in regard to whom she had so often declared thatshe was anxious that all the world should know that they were engagedto marry each other? It would have been impossible for her not to seehim; and yet she felt that she had been treacherous to her brother,to whom she owed so much!

  One thing seemed to her to be absolutely necessary. She must write atonce and tell him what had occurred. Thinking of this she sat downand wrote so that she might despatch her letter by that post;--andwhat she wrote is here given.

  MY DEAR JOHN--

  I shall be so anxious to get news from Trafford, and to hear how you found papa. I cannot but think that were he very ill somebody would have let us know the truth. Though Mr. Greenwood is cross-grained and impertinent, he would hardly have kept us in the dark.

  Now I have a piece of news to tell you which I hope will not make you very angry. It was not my doing, and I do not know how I could have helped it. Your friend, George Roden, called to-day and asked to see me. Of course I could have refused. He was in the hall when Richard announced him, and I suppose I could have sent out word to say that I was not at home. But I think you will feel that that was in truth impossible. How is one to tell a lie to a man when one feels towards him as I do about George? Or how could I even let the servants think that I would treat him so badly? Of course every one knows about it. I want every one to know about it, so that it may be understood that I am not in the least ashamed of what I mean to do.

  And when you hear why he came I do not think that you can be angry even with him. He has been called upon, for some reason, to go at once with his mother to Italy. They start for Milan to-morrow, and he does not at all know when he may return. He had to get leave at the Post Office, but that Sir Boreas whom he talks about seems to have been very good-natured about giving it. He asked him whether he would not take Mr. Crocker with him to Italy; but that of course was a joke. I suppose they do not like Mr. Crocker at the Post Office any better than you do. Why Mrs. Roden should have to go he does not understand. All he knows is that there is some Italian secret which he will hear all about before he comes home.

  Now I really do think that you cannot be surprised that he should have come to see me when he is going to take such a journey as that. What should I have thought if I had heard that he had gone without saying a word to me about it? Don't you think that that would have been most unnatural? I should have almost broken my heart when I heard that he had started.

  I do hope, therefore, that you will not be angry with either of us. But yet I feel that I may have brought you into trouble with papa. I do not care in the least for Lady Kingsbury, who has no right to interfere in the matter at all. After her conduct everything I think is over between us. But I shall be indeed sorry if papa is vexed; and shall feel it very much if he says anything to you after all your great kindness to me.

  Your affectionate sister,

  FANNY.

  "I have done one other thing to-day," said George Roden, when he wasexplaining to his mother on Thursday evening all the preparations hehad made for their journey.

  "What other thing?" she asked, guessing accurately, however, thenature of the thing of which he was about to speak.

  "I have seen Lady Frances Trafford."

  "I thought it probable that you might endeavour to do so."

  "I have done more than endeavour on this occasion. I went down toHendon Hall, and was shown into the drawing-room. I am sorry forHampstead's sake, but it was impossible for me no
t to do so."

  "Why sorry for his sake?" she asked.

  "Because he had pledged himself to his father that I should not doso. He clearly had no right to make such a pledge. I could not bindmyself to an assurance by keeping which I might seem to show myselfto be indifferent. A girl may bind herself by such a promise, buthardly a man. Had I made the promise I almost think I must havebroken it. I did not make it, and therefore I have no sin to confess.But I fear I shall have done him a mischief with his father."

  "And what did she say, George?"

  "Oh; just the old story, mother, I suppose. What she said was what Iknew just as well before I went there. But yet it was necessary thatI should hear what she had to say;--and as necessary I think that sheshould hear me."

  "Quite as necessary, I am sure," said his mother kissing hisforehead.