Jeanne of the Marshes

  CHAPTER XX

  Jeanne awoke the next morning to find herself between lavender scentedsheets in a small iron bedstead, with a soft sea-wind blowing inthrough the half-open window. Her maid was ready to wait upon her, andher bath was of salt water fresh from the sea. She descended to findAndrew at work in the garden, the sun already high in the heavens, andthe sea as blue and placid as though the storm of the night before werea thing long past and forgotten.

  "I am never going away," she declared, as they sat at breakfast. "Itake your rooms, Monsieur Andrew. I will import as many chaperons asyou please, but I will not leave this island."

  "I am afraid," he answered smiling, "that there are other people whowould have something to say about that. Your stepmother is alreadyanxious. I have promised that you shall be back at the Hall by teno'clock."

  The gaiety suddenly faded from her face. Her lips, which had beencurved in laughter, quivered.

  "You mean that?" she faltered.

  "Most assuredly," he answered. "I have no place for lodgers here. As amatter of fact, if you knew the truth, you would admit that yourstaying here is quite impossible."

  "Well," she said, "I should like to know the truth. Suppose you tell itme."

  "I must confess, then," Andrew answered, "that I am somewhat of afraud. Berners was my friend, not my lodger, and I am Andrew de laBorne, Cecil's elder brother."

  She looked at him for several moments steadily.

  "I think that you might have told me," was all she said.

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  "Why?" he asked, a little brusquely. "I am not of your world, or yourstepmother's. When Cecil told me that he had invited some of hisfashionable friends down here to stay, I begged him to leave me out ofit. I chose to retire here, and I preferred not to see any of you. Mineare country ways, Miss Le Mesurier. I am at heart what I pretended tobe, fisherman, countryman, yokel, call me what you will. The other sideof life, Cecil's side, doesn't appeal to me a bit. I felt that it wouldbe more comfortable for you people and for me, if I kept out of theway."

  "You class me with them," she remarked quietly, "a little ruthlessly. Ithink you forget that as yet I have not chosen my way in life."

  "That is true," he answered, "but how can you help but choose whatevery one of those who call themselves your friends regards asinevitable. You must dance in many ballrooms, and make your bow beforethe great ones of the earth. It is a part of the penalty that you mustpay for your name and riches. All that I can wish you is that you loseas little of yourself as possible in the days that lie before you."

  "I thank you," she answered quietly. "You will let me know when you areready to take me back."

  "Have I offended you?" he asked, as they rose from the table. "I amclumsy, I know, and the words do not come readily to my mouth. Butafter all, you must understand."

  "Yes," she said sadly, "I do understand."

  They went down to the beach and he helped her into the boat. Her maidsat by her side, and he rowed them across with a few powerful strokes.

  "Storm and sunshine," he remarked, "follow one another here as swiftlyas in any corner of the world. Yesterday we had wind and thunder andrain. To-day, look! The sky is cloudless, the birds are singingeverywhere upon the marshes, the waves can do no more than ripple inupon the sands. Will you walk across the marshes, Miss Jeanne, or willyou come to the village and wait while I send for a carriage?"

  "We will walk," she answered. "It may be for the last time."

  The maid fell behind. Andrew and his companion, who seemed smaller andslimmer than ever by his side, started on their tortuous way, here andthere turning to the right and to the left to follow the course of sometidal stream, or avoid the swampy places. The faint odour of wildlavender was mingled with the brackish scent of the sea. The ground wassoft and spongy beneath their feet, and a breeze as soft as a caressblew in their faces. Up before them always, gaunt and bare, surroundedby its belts of weather-stricken trees, stood the Red Hall. Andrewlooked toward it gloomily.

  "Do you wonder," he asked, "that a man is sometimes depressed who isborn the heir to a house like that, and to fortunes very similar?"

  "Are you poor?" she asked him. "I thought perhaps you were, as yourbrother tried to make love to me."

  He frowned impatiently at her words.

  "For Heaven's sake, child," he said, "don't be so cynical! Don't fancythat every kind word that is spoken to you is spoken for your wealth.There are sycophants enough in the world, Heaven knows, but there aremen there as well. Give a few the credit of being honest. Try andremember that you are--"

  He looked at her and away again toward the sea.

  "That you are," he repeated, "young enough and attractive enough to winkind words for your own sake."

  "Then," she whispered, leaning towards him, "I do not think that I amvery fortunate."

  "Why not?" he asked.

  "Because," she answered, "one person who might say kind things to me,and whom my money would never influence a little bit in the world, doesnot say them."

  "Are you sure," he asked, "that you believe that there is any one inthe world who would be content to take you without a penny?"

  She shook her head.

  "Not that," she said sadly. "I am not what you call conceited enoughfor that, but I would like to believe that I might have a kind word ortwo on my own account."

  She tried hard to see his face, but he kept it steadfastly turned away.She sighed. Only a few yards behind the maid was walking.

  "Mr. Andrew," she said, "it was you whom I meant. Won't you saysomething nice to me for my own sake?"

  They were nearing the Hall now, and it seemed natural enough that heshould hold her hand for a minute in his.

  "I will tell you," he said quietly, "that your coming has been apleasure, and your going will be a pain, and I will tell you that youhave left an empty place that no one else can fill. You have made whatour people here call the witch music upon the marshes for me, so that Ishall never walk here again as long as I live without hearing it andthinking of you."

  "Is that all?" she whispered.

  He pretended not to hear her.

  "I am nearly double your age," he said, "and I have lived an idle,perhaps a worthless, life. I have done no harm. My talents, if I haveany, have certainly been buried. If I had met you out in the world,your world, well, I might have taught myself to forget--"

  He broke off abruptly in his sentence. Cecil stood before them,suddenly emerged from the hand-gate leading into the Hall gardens. "Atlast!" he exclaimed, taking Jeanne by the hands. "The Princess isdistracted. We have all been distracted. How could you make us sounhappy?"

  She drew her hands away coldly.

  "I fancy that my stepmother," she said, "will have survived my absence.I was caught in a storm. I expect that your brother has already toldyou about it."

  He looked from one to the other.

  "So you have told her, Andrew," he said simply.

  Andrew nodded. The three walked up toward the house in somewhatconstrained silence. She was trying her hardest to make Andrew look ather, and he was trying his hardest to resist. The Princess came out tothem. The morning was warm, and she was wearing a white wrapper. Hertoilette was not wholly completed, but she was sufficiently picturesque.

  "My dear Jeanne," she cried, "you have nearly sent us mad with anxiety.How could you wander off like that!"

  Jeanne stood a little apart. She avoided the Princess' hands. She stoodupon the soft turf with her hands clasped, her cheeks very pale, hereyes bright with some inward excitement.

  "Do you wish me to answer that question?" she said.

  The Princess stared.

  "What do you mean, my child?" she exclaimed.

  "You ask me," Jeanne said, "why I went wandering off into the marshes.I will tell you. It is because I am unhappy. It is because I do notlike the life into which you have brought me, nor the people with whomwe live. I do not like late hours, supper parties and dinner parties,dances where
half the people are bourgeois, and where all the men makestupid love to me. I do not like the shops, the vulgar shop people,fashionable clothes, and fashionable promenading. I am tired of italready. If I am rich, why may I not buy the right to live as I choose?"

  The Princess rarely allowed herself to show surprise. At this moment,however, she was completely overcome.

  "What is it you want, then, child?" she demanded.

  "I should like," Jeanne answered, "to buy Mr. De la Borne's house uponthe island, and live there, with just a couple of maids, and my books.I should like some friends, of course, but I should like to find themfor myself, amongst the country people, people whom I could trust andbelieve in, not people whose clothes and manners and speech are allhammered out into a type, and whose real self is so deeply buried thatyou cannot tell whether they are honest or rogues. That is what Ishould like, stepmother, and if you wish to earn my gratitude, that ishow you will let me live."

  The Princess stared at the child as though she were a lunatic.

  "Jeanne," she exclaimed weakly, "what has become of you?"

  "Nothing," Jeanne answered, "only you asked me a question, and I feltan irresistible desire to answer you truthfully. It would have comesooner or later."

  Andrew turned slowly toward the girl, who stood looking at herstepmother with flushed cheeks and quivering lips.

  "Miss Le Mesurier," he said, "on one condition I will sell you theisland, but on only one."

  "And that is?" she asked.

  The Princess recovered herself just in time, and sailed in between them.

  "Mr. De la Borne," she said, "my daughter is too young for suchconversations. For two years she is under my complete guidance. Shemust obey me just as though she were ten years older and married, and Iher husband. The law has given me absolute control over her. Youunderstand that yourself, don't you, Jeanne?"

  "Yes," Jeanne answered quietly, "I understand."

  "Go indoors, please," the Princess said. "I have something to say toMr. De la Borne."

  "And I, too," Jeanne said. "Let me stay and say it. I will not be fiveminutes."

  The Princess pointed toward the door.

  "I will not have it," she said coldly. "Cecil, take my daughterindoors. I insist upon it."

  She turned away unwillingly. The Princess took Andrew by the arm andled him to a more distant seat.

  "Now, if you please, my dear Mr. Andrew," she said, "will you tell mewhat it is that you have done to my foolish little girl?"