CHAPTER XX
Certainly Vernon's story was the most amazing that any girl had everlistened to. Notwithstanding my great joy I could not take it all in atonce. The first time of telling seemed to have little or no effect onme, except that it lightened my heart in a most curious manner of a loadwhich was almost insupportable. I sprang suddenly to my feet.
"Will you come out with me?" I said. "Shall we go up on the Downs, andwill you tell me there the whole story from beginning to end overagain?"
He smiled and said, in his bright way:
"All right, little Heather."
I flew upstairs. Aunt Penelope was moving about in her room, but I wouldnot go to her. I felt somehow that I could not meet her just yet, andshe, dear old thing, must have guessed my feelings, for she did notattempt to trouble me. I put on my hat and jacket, snatched up mygloves, and ran downstairs. Vernon was waiting for me. How tall he was,and broad, and how splendidly he carried himself!
"Oh, Vernon," I said, looking into his face, "I am so proud that you area soldier!"
He laughed.
"Thank you very much indeed, little Heather," he said.
When we got out he drew my hand through his arm, and we went up to thebeautiful Downs. We sat on the heather and he told me the story overagain; I took it in much better this time. When it was quite finished Isaid:
"We sat on the heather and he told me the story overagain."]
"And father--what is to become of father?"
"I'm afraid he'll have to go on living with Lady Helen," was Vernon'sanswer. But I shook my head.
"No," I said; "not at all. I have a better scheme than that. Lady Helenis very much frightened, isn't she, Vernon?"
"A 'blue funk' doesn't even describe her," replied Vernon.
"Well, then," I said, "I have a plan in my head. You and I will go up toLondon to-morrow." "I am quite agreeable, Heather--that is, if it causesyou to hurry on our wedding day."
"Oh, there's time enough for our wedding day," I said. "We mustn't beselfish, you know, Vernon."
"Selfish? By Jove!" he exclaimed. "Little you know about selfishnesswhen you accuse me of it."
"Oh, Vernon," I said, "I'm just so happy I scarcely know what to do. Butbecause I am so happy I don't want the one I love best in all the worldafter yourself to be out in the cold."
"What do you mean by that, Heather dear?"
"Just what I say. I don't want to leave my own darling father absolutelymiserable."
"Jove! you're right there. But what can you do? You can't part a manfrom his lawful wife."
"No more I can--that's quite true; but I do want to see him and--I mustsee Lady Helen, too. Vernon, you'll help me, won't you?"
"By all means," he answered. "But now, let us talk of ourselves. Howsoon do you think we can be married--in a fortnight? Surely a fortnightwould be long enough for any reasonable girl."
"I am by no means certain of that," I replied. "I will marry you,Vernon, as soon as ever I can put other matters right."
"Oh, but I have a voice in this, for I mean to marry you without amoment's delay--that is, I mean that I will give you one fortnight andnot an hour beyond. It is the fashion now to be married by banns. Well,we'll have our banns cried on Sunday next and on the following Sundayand the Sunday after, and we can be married on the Monday after that.That's about right, isn't it? That's as it ought to be."
"Vernon, you are so--so impulsive."
"Well, little girl, I'm made like that. When I want a thing I generallycontrive to get it, and that as soon as possible. Jove! I did have workin getting you. If I hadn't thought and thought, and very nearly drivenmyself distracted, do you imagine for a single moment I'd have ferretedout that secret of Gideon Dalrymple's? So much thinking is exceedinglybad for a fellow, Heather, and the sooner you can set his heart at rest,the better for his general health."
"All right," I replied. "I will marry you in a fortnight if father ishappy and if Aunt Penelope is satisfied."
"You needn't doubt her," said Vernon. "I put the question to her beforeyou entered the drawing-room. When you were upstairs, putting on thatpretty frock and tidying your hair, I had the brunt of the businesssettled with her. She likes sharp work; she told me so. When youappeared on the scene I was quite like an old family man pouring out thetea for her, and all the rest."
"There never was anyone like you," I said, and I took his hand timidlyin mine.
"Come--this is all nonsense! Kiss me, Heather."
"No, no, Vernon--I--I can't."
"Don't be a dear little goose. I must be paid for what I've done. Kissme this instant."
"It's your place----" I began.
"All right, if that's how you put it."
He clasped his arms round me and drew me close to him and kissed me overand over and over again.
"There now," he said; "it's your turn."
"But you have kissed me."
"Of course, I have. I want _you_ to kiss _me_. Now begin. Come, Heather,don't be shy."
I did kiss him, and after I had kissed him once I kissed him again, andmy dark eyes looked into his blue ones, and I seemed to see thesteadfast, bright, honourable soul that dwelt within his breast, and Iknew that I was the happiest of girls.
We went slowly back from the Downs into the more shady part of thelittle town. We stopped at Aunt Penelope's house. A great deal had beenhappening in our absence. Buttons was flying about like a creaturedemented, the parrot was calling in a voice loud enough to deafen you:"Stop knocking at the door!" and Aunt Penelope was in her very best capand in her softest and most stately black silk dress. She wore blacksilk dresses of the sort which are never seen now. It was thick; itwould almost stand by itself; it had a ribby sort of texture, and inorder to enrich the silk it was heavily trimmed with bands of blackvelvet and with a fringe of what they called black bugles. The effectwas at once dull and extremely handsome. It suited Aunt Penelope to anicety--that and her little cap with the real point lace and the softmauve ribbons.
When I appeared she just nodded to me and said something to Vernon, andhe said: "Yes, certainly." I ran upstairs. Presently I heard a tap at mydoor. I went to open it; Aunt Penelope stood outside.
"May I come in, Heather?"
"Of course, darling auntie."
I took her hand; I drew her into the room.
"Heather, I know--it's too wonderful. What a splendid fellow! Heather, Iam glad."
"Oh, auntie, my heart is bursting with happiness!"
"Heather, child, I'm a woman of few words, but if your mother were aliveshe'd be proud of this day. He has the very soul of honesty in his face;he is better looking than your poor dear father ever was, but he has thesame sort of nature, so boyish, so impulsive, so brave. He's adear--that's all that I can say about him."
"And if you weren't a dear for your own sake, you'd be one for callinghim one," was my somewhat incoherent answer.
"Well, now, that's enough sentiment, child; we must to business. How doyou like my dress?"
"It's magnificent--and you have put it on in honour of me."
"In honour of a captain in His Majesty's army. Child, I do so greatlyrespect army men."
"Oh, yes, I see. Thank you, so do I. Indeed, it's a very handsomedress," I continued.
"I think so," she replied. "It was made fifteen years ago, at least. Ionly wear it on the very best occasions, otherwise it would have gotgreasy ages and ages before now. It's amazing how difficult it is tokeep these really good silks from turning greasy; the grease seems tocling to them in some sort of fashion, and you can never get it out, tryas you will."
"It looks awfully nice--it really does, auntie."
"I am proud to be wearing it for your sake and for his to-night."
"And you have asked him to dinner?"
"Yes. I have come to speak of that. It is a real dinner; Jonas and Ihave concocted it between us. You are to know nothing about it; you arejust to eat it when it comes on the table, and to be right-downthankful. Now that you are happy you m
ust eat well, for nothing in someways takes it out of one more than happiness. You have been lookingsadly worn out, child, and now you have got to eat and drink and getyour pretty, youthful roses back again. Oh, Heather, Vernon agrees withme about the world; he hates fashionable people. He told me, dear boy,that for a short time he was engaged to one of them. I never met anybodyso confiding."
"I know all about his engagement," I said. "I saw her once, too; she wasvery handsome."
"Ah, yes; I have no doubt--a society doll. Well, he hasn't chosen badly,when he's elected that your little face and your brown eyes and yourwarm heart shall accompany him through life. You'd best smarten yourselfup a bit for dinner, Heather; I don't want your old aunt to take theshine out of you, my love--and, remember, this dress is uncommonlyhandsome."
"Yes, auntie, I know. I shouldn't be surprised if you did take the shineout of me; but I don't think I shall greatly mind."
So I put on a pretty white dress, for a few of my dresses had been sentfrom London, doubtless by my dear father's orders, and ran downstairs.Bless that boy Buttons--he had effected marvels! The tiny dining roomwas gay with flowers, the very best old dinner service had been got outfor the occasion, the best silver had been polished up, and I, who wasaccustomed to doing pretty nearly half the work of the house, wasn'tallowed to put my hand to anything. I really felt annoyed. I did notlike to be at Hill View without attending to its household economy.
Vernon came in from his rooms at the little hotel, looking spick andspan, as he always did. We three sat down to dinner, and certainly thatdinner was a triumph. I have often puzzled myself to wonder how AuntPenelope contrived to manage it. First of all there was soup, the bestsoup I had ever tasted, and then there was fish, trout which had beenalive a couple of hours before, and then there was pigeon pie and peasand potatoes, and afterwards strawberries and cream. There was also abottle of very old port wine, which Aunt Penelope fingered with atrembling hand.
"I have had it in the house since long before your mother was married,"she said to me. "Vernon, my boy, you will find it worthy of even yourrefined tastes."
Vernon immediately begged to be allowed to draw the cork; he said thatsuch precious old wine as that required most tender handling. AuntPenelope and I had a little glass each, and Vernon had one or two, andafterwards he told Aunt Penelope something of our plans and how he and Iwere going to London on the morrow to see my father and Lady Helen.
Aunt Penelope nodded her head several times.
"I have only one improvement to make on that plan," she said.
"Oh, but what improvement can you make, auntie?" was my reply.
"I can and I will," she said, with emphasis. "I am quite well now, aswell as ever. Now what I mean to do is this; I mean to go with you twogood young people. I will never be in your way, never for a moment, butI will guard you from the malicious tongue of Mrs. Grundy. She's a nastyold body, and I don't want her to get at you. There's a quiet littlehotel in Bloomsbury where Heather and I can have rooms, and where we canstay, and I make not the slightest doubt that I can help Heather veryconsiderably in her dealings with Lady Helen Dalrymple."
"Oh, you can, you can," I said; "it will be quite splendid!"
So the plan was carried out. Jonas was informed that very evening thatMiss Penelope and I were going to leave Hill View early on the morrow.
"We shall probably be back in a few days," said Aunt Penelope. "In themeantime, Jonas, you must attend to the house cleaning; give it athorough turn-out. Wash every scrap of paint, Jonas; be sure you washthe backs of the shutters, don't leave a single place with a scrap ofdirt in it; remember, I'll find it out if it exists--be certain ofthat."
"Yes, mum; thank you, mum," said Jonas. "I'll be sure to do what youwish, mum."
"And Jonas, you understand the garden. You can get the grass into orderand remove all the weeds. We may be having a smart time down here by andby, there's no saying, there's no saying at all, but at least rememberthat you haven't a minute to lose. You are a good boy, Jonas, and you'llwork as hard when I am away as though I were at home."
"Yes, mum; of course, mum," said Jonas. "Me and the parrot," he added.
"Stop knocking at the door!" shouted the parrot.
"There! if that bird isn't enough to split one's head," said AuntPenelope.
She went upstairs. Vernon had already gone back to the hotel. Buttonsgave me a feeling glance.
"Stay below for a minute, missy. Is it true? Is there nuptials in this'ere thing?"
"Yes, Jonas."
"I thought as much. Didn't I twig it when I heard his steps and saw thestarty sort of way you got into? I'm a smart boy, I am. Missy, you'llhave me at the wedding, won't you?"
"I promise you, Jonas, you shall certainly come," I answered rashly.
The next day we went up to London. We had no special adventure on ourjourney to town. We went first-class. I remembered my journey down, andhow interesting I had thought the third-class passengers, but now wetravelled back in state. Vernon said it would be less tiring for AuntPenelope. When we got to Paddington we drove to the little hotel thatAunt Penelope knew about; it was a quiet little place at one corner of asmall square in Bloomsbury. It was very old-fashioned and not muchfrequented of late. The proprietor, however, knew Aunt Penelope quitewell. Had he not entertained her and my mother also in the long-ago dayswhen they were young? Aunt Penelope was anxious to secure the samerooms, and, strange as it may seem, she managed to get them. Thelandlord was very pleased indeed to show them to her, and she told meafterwards that the sight of them brought a prickly sensation into theback of her eyes, and made her feel inclined to cry. The rooms werequiet and clean, and that was the main thing. Vernon did not think muchof them, but they pleased Aunt Penelope, and that, of course, was themost important matter of all.
Having arranged about the rooms, Vernon now suggested that we shouldengage a taxi-cab and drive straight to Hanbury Square, but here AuntPenelope put down her foot.
"What sort of cab did you say, my dear boy?"
"A taxi-cab, auntie." He called her "auntie" from the very moment wewere properly engaged.
"I don't like new sorts of cabs," replied my aunt. "I want what in myyoung days used to be called a 'growler.' I hate hansoms; I wouldn'tdare go in one of them."
In vain poor Vernon pleaded for the light and swift motion of the cabwhich was driven by petrol. The old lady held up her hands with horror.
"Not for worlds would I go in a motor-cab," she said. "Vernon, I haveadmired you and stood up for you, but I shall do so no longer if youeven mention such a thing to me again."
So in the end we three had to drive to my stepmother's in a four-wheeledcab. Aunt Penelope said that it was quite a handsome conveyance, and notthe least like the "growlers" she used to remember in the days when sheand her sister were young. We got to the great and beautiful house aboutnoon. We walked up the steps and Vernon rang the bell.
"Perhaps they'll be out," I could not help whispering in his ear.
"No, I think not," he replied. "I sent a telegram this morning which Iimagine will keep them at home. Now, you'll keep up your courage, won'tyou, darling?"
"You needn't be afraid," I replied.
He gave my hand a squeeze, and the door was flung open. The automatonwho opened it could not help becoming flesh and blood when he saw myface. A queer flicker went over his countenance; he coloured, faintlysmiled, then, remembering himself, became a wooden man once again.
"Is Lady Helen in?" I ventured to say.
"Yes, Miss Dalrymple. I'll inquire of her ladyship if she can see you,and----" he glanced at Vernon, he looked with downright suspicion atAunt Penelope.
"It is all right," I said. "We can go into the little sitting-room atthe left of the hall. Will you please say that I have called, and thatMiss Despard and Captain Carbury are with me? Say that we wish to seeher ladyship."
"And as soon as possible," snapped Aunt Penelope. "Have the goodnessfurther to inform Lady Helen that we are in a considerable hurry,
andwould be glad if she would make it convenient not to keep us waitinglong."
"Certainly, madam," replied the man. He disappeared, and we waited inthe little room towards the left of the hall.
"Aunt Penelope, you _are_ brave," I could not help saying.
"I come of a brave stock," said the old lady. "Did not my father diewhen little more than a boy in the battle of Inkerman, and mygrandfather at Waterloo? Yes, I had need to be brave."