CHAPTER VI
A tall man was standing on the hearthrug when I came in. There was acheerful fire burning in the grate, and he was standing with his back toit, and apparently enjoying the pleasant glow which emanated from itsbright depths. There was also a young man in the room who was nearly astall as the elder gentleman. The younger man had very dark eyes and anolive complexion, straight, rather handsome features, and a strong chinand a good mouth.
"John," said Lady Carrington, "here is little Heather."
"How do you do, my dear--how do you do?" said Sir John.
He came forward as he spoke and wrung my hand, looking into my eyes witha curious mingling of affection and amusement.
"Ah!" he said; "you have grown a good bit since that wonderful nightlong ago, eh, Heather?"
"I am grown up," I answered, trying to speak proudly, and yet feeling,all of a sudden, quite inclined to cry.
"Yes, of course, you're grown up," responded Sir John, and then his wifeintroduced the strange gentleman to me. His name was Captain Carbury,but when the Carringtons spoke to him they addressed him as "Vernon." Hehad a nice, frank manner, and it was he who was deputed to take me intothe next room to lunch.
"I have heard a lot about you," he said. "The Carringtons have beenquite keen about you. They've been wondering what day you would arrive,and making up all sorts of stories about what you'd look like, and yourlife in the past and what your life in the future will be."
"Heather, you must not mind Vernon, he always talks nonsense," said LadyCarrington. "Will you have clear or thick soup, dear? We always helpourselves at lunch, it makes the meal so much less formal."
I said I would have thick soup, and Captain Carbury took clear. Helooked at me again once or twice, and I thought that his expression wassomewhat quizzical, but, all the same, I liked him.
I had made in the course of my life a little gallery of heroes; theywere of all sorts and descriptions. In that gallery my father held theforemost place, he was the soldier _par excellence_, the hero above allother heroes. Then there were splendid persons whose names werementioned in history. The great Duke of Marlborough was one, and SirWalter Raleigh, and King Edward the First, and King Henry the Fourth.And there were minor lights, great men, too, in their way, statesmen andambassadors and discoverers of new worlds. But besides the historicalpersonages, there were those few whom I knew personally. Amongst thesewas one of the many "Jonases" who had lived with Aunt Penelope, and whowas admitted into a somewhat dark and shadowy part of my gallery.
He was a very ugly Jonas, and slightly--quite slightly--deformed; thatis, one shoulder was hitched up a good bit higher than the other. Inconsequence, he never felt happy or comfortable in buttons, and used tocoax me to let him play with me in the garden in the dress he wore athome, which was loose and unwieldy, but, nevertheless, fitted thatmisshapen, poor shoulder. Aunt Penelope had been very angry with him fornot appearing in his buttons costume, and she was not the leastconcerned when he told her that it made his shoulder ache; she was moredetermined than ever that he should wear his livery, and never be seenout of it while in her employ. He told me, that poor Buttons, that hewould have to wear it, notwithstanding the pain, for the very littlemoney he earned helped his mother at home. It was after he said this,and after I found out that what he said was true, that I put him into mygallery of heroes. He never knew that he was there. He became ill quitesuddenly of some sort of inflammation of the spine, and was taken awayto the hospital to die. I wanted very badly to see him when I heard hewas so ill, but Aunt Penelope would not hear of it. Then I gave her amessage for him.
"Tell him, if you are going yourself," I said, "that he is in my galleryof heroes. He will know what it means."
But Aunt Penelope forgot to give the message, so that poor Jonas neverknew.
But I had other heroes also. There was a pale young curate, like thecelebrated curate in the song, and my heart went out to him--my girlishheart--in full measure, and I put him into my gallery right away; thereI gave him a foremost place, although I never spoke to him in my younglife, and I don't think, as far as I remember, that his eyes ever metmine.
And now last, but by no means least, I put Captain Carbury into mygallery of heroes, and as I did so I felt my heart beating withpleasure, and I looked full up into my hero's face and smiled at himwith such a look of contentment, admiration, and satisfaction that hesmiled back again.
"What a nice child you are," he said. "I wonder what you are thinkingabout?"
Some visitors had now come in and had joined Sir John and LadyCarrington in the drawing-room, and Captain Carbury and I were alone.
"You ought to be very proud," I said, lowering my voice to meet his.
"What about?" he asked.
"Why, this," I answered; "I have done you a tremendous honour."
"Have you, indeed? I can assure you I am pleased and--quite flattered.But do tell me what it is."
"I have just put you, Captain Carbury, into my gallery of heroes."
"You have put me into what?" said the young man. He sat down by my sideand lowered his voice. "You have put me into what, Miss Grayson?"
"I have a gallery," I said, "and it is full of heroes. It, of course,lives in my imagination. You have just gone in; those who go in nevercome out again. There are a great many people in my gallery."
"Oh, but I say, this is interesting, and quite fascinating. Please tellme who else holds that place of vantage."
I mentioned the Duke of Marlborough and Sir Walter Raleigh and a few ofthe heroes of old, but I said nothing about father, nor about the palecurate, although I did mention Jonas.
"Who is Jonas?" asked Captain Carbury.
"Jonas is no longer in this world. When he was here he was a very greathero."
"But what was he? Army, navy, church, or what?"
"Oh, nothing of the sort," I answered; "he was only our Buttons, and hehad one shoulder much higher than the other. I put him in because hebore the pain of his livery so bravely. You see, he had to wear hislivery, or Aunt Penelope would have dismissed him. He wore it because hewanted the money to help his mother. I call him a real hero--don't you?"
"I do. And what have I done, may I ask, to be such a privilegedperson?"
"You haven't done much yet," I answered, "but I think you can do a greatdeal. For instance, if there was a big war against England, I thinkyou'd fight and probably get your V.C."
"Bless you, child, you talk very nicely. Do you know, I have never met alittle girl who talked like this before. I hope we shall see much moreof each other, Miss Grayson."
"I hope we shall," I answered.
"I come here a good deal," continued Captain Carbury. "I am a sort ofcousin of Lady Carrington's, and she always treats me as though I wereher son. There are no people in the world like the Carringtons. By theway, you must be excited, coming up to town just in time for your----"
"In time for what?" I asked.
"Is it possible you don't know?" he said. And he looked full at me withhis dark and serious eyes. Just then Lady Carrington came up.
"I am going to take Heather away now for a little time," she said."Thank you so much, Vernon, for trying to entertain her. We will expectyou to dinner this evening--no, I'm afraid Heather won't be here; shewill be much occupied for the next few days."
"Well, good-bye, Miss Heather, and thank you so much for putting me intothe gallery," said the Captain, and then he left the room.
"He is a very nice man," I said, when he had gone and I was back in thedrawing-room. "Do you know many men as nice as Captain Carbury, LadyCarrington?"
"No, I do not," said Lady Carrington, not laughing at my remark, as somewomen would have done, but pondering over it. "He is one of thebest--that is all I can say about him."
I looked across the room. The visitors had gone; Sir John had taken hisleave; Captain Carbury was no longer there.
"I want to ask you a question," I said, looking full up into LadyCarrington's face. "Captain Carbury said something to
me."
"Yes, dear child. What?"
"He supposed I was glad or excited or something, at being in timefor--and then he stopped. Please, Lady Carrington--I see you know it byyour eyes--what is it I am in time for?"
"I was going to speak to you about that," said Lady Carrington, withextreme gravity.
"Please do," I said.
She took my hand and pressed it between both her own.
"Sir John and I," she said, "have never been blessed with a littledaughter of our very own, so we want you, as much as your father andmother can spare you, to come and be with us. We want you morning, noon,and night--any day or any hour."
"My father and _mother_!" I said, raising my voice to a shriek. "LadyCarrington, who are you talking about?"
"Of course, dear, she will be only your stepmother."
"Whom do you mean?" I asked. "Please say it out quickly. Is father goingto marry? No, it can't be--it shan't be! What is it, please, LadyCarrington--please say it quickly?"
"For many reasons I am sorry, Heather, but we must make the best ofthings in this world, dear, not the worst. Your father is to be marriedon Monday next to Lady Helen Dalrymple."
I sat perfectly still after she had spoken. Her news came on me like amighty shock--I felt quite stunned and cold. At first, too, I did notrealise any pain. Then, quickly, and, as it seemed to me, through everyavenue in my body at the same moment, pain rushed in--it filled my heartalmost to the bursting point. It turned sweetness into bitterness andsunshine into despair. Father! Father! Father! Had I not waited for him,all during the long years? And now!
I felt so distracted that I could not keep still. I stood up and facedLady Carrington; she put out her hand to touch me--I pushed her handaway. I began to pace up and down the floor. After a few minutes LadyCarrington followed me. Then I turned to her, almost like a littlesavage. I said:
"Is there anywhere in this big, grand, horrid house where I can be quitealone?"
"Yes, Heather, you shall be quite alone in my bedroom," said LadyCarrington.
I had no manners at that moment, no sense of civility.
"I know the way to your bedroom," I said. I dashed upstairs withoutwaiting for her to lead me; I rushed into the room, I turned the key inthe lock, and then I flung myself on the floor. I was alone, thank Godfor that! How I beat out my own terrible suffering, how I fought andfought and fought with the demon who rent me, I can never describe toany mortal. No tears came to my relief. After a time I sat up. I had sofar recovered my self-possession that I could at least remain quiet. Iwent stealthily towards the big looking-glass; I saw my reflection init, my little pale face, my dark hair in its orderly curls--those curlswhich even my tempest of grief could scarcely disarrange, my neat,snuff-coloured brown dress--so old-fashioned and therefore none sobeloved. That morning I had gone shopping with _her_--I had allowed herto buy me dresses on dresses, and hats and toques, and muffs, andgloves, and shoes--oh! I would not touch one of her things! I felt atthat moment that I could have killed her! To be torn from father, tofind him again and then to lose him, that was the crudest stroke of all!
I looked at my wan face in the glass and hoped that I should die soon;that was the only thing left to wish for--to live in such a way that Ishould die soon. I thought that I might effect this by a course ofstarvation. I would begin at once. To-day was Thursday--if I ate nothingat all from the present moment until Monday, there was a good chance ofmy dying on Monday. That would be the best plan.
There came a tap at the room door.
"It is I, dear," said Lady Carrington.
I even hated kind Lady Carrington at that moment. Had she not given methe news? I went unwillingly and slowly towards the door. I unlocked itand she entered.
"That is right," she said, looking at me and suppressing, as she told meafterwards, a shocked exclamation, "you are calmer now, darling."
"I cannot speak of it," I said.
"Dear child, no one wants you to; and I have been arranging with yourfather that you are to stay with me for the present."
"Oh, I don't want that," I said, a great lump rising in my throat; "Iwant to be with him while I can have him. There is only betweennow--this Thursday--until Monday. I'd like to be with him for thatlittle time."
"But you won't, dear Heather. He will be occupied almost entirely withLady Helen Dalrymple."
"Then it doesn't matter," I said. "Did you say they were downstairs,Lady Carrington?"
"Yes; they are in the drawing-room; they are waiting for you. They askedme to break it to you, and I did my best."
"I am quite ready to--to see them," I said.
When we reached the drawing-room a servant flung open the door. LadyCarrington went first and I followed.
My father was standing with his profile towards me; he was looking at anewspaper, and I think, just for a second, he was rather shy, although Icould not be sure. Lady Helen, however, made up for any awkwardness onhis part. She rushed at me and clasped me in her arms.
"Dear little daughter!" she said. "Now you know everything; in futureyou will be my own little daughter. Think what a splendid time we'llhave together! Why, I'll take you everywhere--you won't know yourself.Just tell her, Gordon, what a right good time she'll have with me."
"Jove! I should think so," said my father.
I struggled out of her arms. If I had remained in that hateful embracefor another moment I might have slapped her. I flung myself on father'sneck, and kissed him many times, and then, all of a sudden, I began towhisper in his ear.
"Eh, eh? What, what?" he said. "Child, you're tickling me. Oh, you wantto speak to me alone! Helen, you won't mind?"
"No, dear, I won't mind."
Lady Helen looked at me out of those strange dark eyes of hers. Her facewas brimming all over with good humour, but I know she was not pleasedwith me at that moment. I had repulsed her advances, and now I wastaking father away.
"Here is a little room," said Lady Carrington, "you can both have it toyourselves."
She opened a door, and father and I entered. The moment we were alone Iceased to whisper and stood before father, just a little way off, but atthe same time so close that he could see me well.
"I have heard the news, Dad," I said.
"Well, and isn't it just rippin'?" he said. "Don't you congratulateme--I, a poor beggar--to get a wife like that, and you--a mother likethat!"
"She will never be my mother, father, if you marry her a hundred times."
"Come, come, that is so _bourgeoise_, that kind of speech is socompletely out of date; but Helen will explain to you. Now, what is ityou want, little Heather? I'm sure Helen has spent enough money on yourlittle person to satisfy you for one morning."
"Was it her own money she spent?" I asked.
"Gracious, child!" cried my father. "What other money could she spend?"
"Why, yours--I thought it was yours," I said, with a sob.
"Mine!" he said. "I haven't a stiver in the world to bless myself with.But there, I am a rich man for all that. Helen is rich, and what is hersis mine, and she's going to do the right thing by you, Heather--theright thing by you."
"Daddy," I said, very slowly, "I waited for you during all the yearswhile I was growing up, and yesterday I found you again--or rather, Iought to say a few days ago, when you came to see me at Hill View, andnow again I have lost you."
"_Bourgeoise, bourgeoise_," muttered my father; "those words arePenelope's words. She'd be sure to speak to you like that."
"Lady Carrington has asked me to stay here, and I should like to do it,"I replied; "I am not going to wear any of the clothes _she_ bought--no,not one, not one! But if you would come to see me to-morrow evening,perhaps we might have one long, last chat together. That is what Ireally wanted to ask you. Will you promise me, Dad?"
"Dear me, how afflicting!" said my father. "How afflicting andsentimental and unnecessary--and after all I have lived through! Ididn't know you'd grow up that sort of child; you were such a jollylittle thing when I took you
down to your aunt. It's your aunt who hasspoilt you. You can stay here, of course, if you prefer this house tothe Westminster. Helen won't like it; she has got a box for us at theopera to-night."
"I can't go," I said.
"Very well. She would hate to see a dismal child, and your clothes won'tbe ready for a day or two--at least, most of them--so perhaps you hadbetter stay here. I'll just go and speak to Lady Carrington."
Father left the room. By and by Lady Carrington came back alone.
"They've gone, dear," she said, "and I have made arrangements with MajorGrayson that you are to stay with us during the honeymoon, so thataltogether you will be with us for quite a month, my child. Now, duringthat month I want you to be happy and to make the best of things. Do youhear me?"
"Yes. I think I shall be happy with you. But oh! I have got a blow--Ihave got a blow!" I said.