Cousin Geoffrey's will.
When the morning broke I thought over the visions of the night anddetermined to banish them. Tom Valentine was going to Africa in a week.I should probably never see him more. Well, never mind, he was a braveand interesting man. I was glad to think he liked to talk to me; thathe, the hero of many an adventure, thought me a good listener--thoughtit worth his while to thrill my ears and heart with stories both ofperil and of sadness. I was glad to know that in a very distant degreeI could claim cousinship with Tom Valentine. I determined not toassociate him with Cousin Geoffrey's odious will. This will degraded mycousin. I would think of him apart from it in future. I believedmyself quite strong enough to carry out the resolve.
Soon after breakfast that day a pretty little victoria, drawn by a pairof ponies, stopped at the Grays' house. I was in my room at the momentand had a good view of the carriage sweep. I bent from my window to seewho had arrived. Lady Ursula Redmayne sat in the victoria.
A moment or two later I was summoned to see this capricious young woman.I felt certain that she was devoured with curiosity, but I wasdetermined to parry all her questions.
Lady Ursula was alone in the drawing-room when I entered.
"How do you do, Rosamund?" she said. "You did not expect me to find youout here: but of course Rupert and Tom told me all about you. Sit downthere, where I can take a good look at you. Rosamund, what a remarkablywicked young woman you are."
"I don't understand you, Lady Ursula."
"Please call me Ursula. We shall be cousins when I am RupertValentine's wife. Do you know, Rosamund, that I have taken an immensefancy to you!"
"What! you have taken a fancy to a wicked young woman!"
"Yes, yes; particularly as she is in reality more naughty than wicked.Rosamund, why did you not come to the Chamber of Myths at the appointedday and hour?"
"I gave Captain Valentine my reason."
"Pardon me, you did not give him any adequate reason; but it is so easyto deceive a man. Now, _I_ want the truth. Come, Rosamund, confide inme. You know that letter contains news of the deepest interest to you,perhaps to me, perhaps to others. Ah, you blush! I have hit upon thetruth."
I had been sitting when Lady Ursula began to speak, now I stood up.
"As far as any one can predict the future, Lady Ursula," I said, "thecontents of my Cousin Geoffrey Rutherford's letter will never be knownexcept to the two people who are already in possession of the secret."
"Who are they?"
"I am one, Mr Gray is the other. Think what you like about the letter,Lady Ursula, you are never, never likely to know more of its contentsthan you do at this moment."
Lady Ursula was a person largely blessed with the bump of curiosity, butshe was also a lady, and she knew when to stop.
Her face wore a blank, half-amused, half-indignant expression. Thencoming up to me she bent forward and kissed my forehead.
"I might have guessed I should have my drive for nothing," she said."Now then, to change the subject. Where did you get that fascinatingdress you wore last night?"
"The dress I wore last night was my mother's wedding-gown."
"Delicious! Who but Rosamund Lindley would have dared to appear in anantiquated robe of that sort! My dear, your daring deserved itssuccess. Rupert declares that he thought his great-grandmother hadsuddenly come into the room. His great-grandmother young and--andbeautiful."
I scarcely heard Lady Ursula's last words. I was standing by the windowwatching a boy who was approaching the house. He was a telegraph boy,and as he walked up the steps I saw him take a yellow envelope out ofthe little bag fastened to his side. I knew even before the servantbrought it in, that that telegram was for me. I also knew that itcontained bad tidings. My heart sank low in my breast.
Lady Ursula's gay, high voice kept rambling on. I ceased to hear a wordshe was saying. The drawing-room door was opened. The neatparlour-maid walked up the long apartment. She held out a silversalver, with the telegram lying on it.
"For you, miss," she said. "And the boy is waiting to know if there isany answer."
The contents of the telegram were brief and emphatic.
"Your mother is very ill; come home at once."
My father had dictated that telegram. I raised a cold, white face toLady Ursula's.
"Good-bye," I said. "This explains why I must leave you." I put thetelegram into her hand and rushed out of the room. I am not quite sureto this day whether I bid the kind Grays good-bye. I know that somehowor other I found myself in a cab, and in some fashion I caught an earlytrain, and reached home in the bright spring sunshine before the day hadhalf travelled through its course.
Even our ugly garden showed faint traces of the resurrection of allthings. A stunted lilac-tree was putting out buds. An almond-tree wasadorning itself in a hazy pink robe. There was a faint, tender perfumeof violets in the air. I turned the handle of the shabby littlefront-door and went in.
If spring had given tokens of its presence outside, however, it hadprinted no fairy footfall inside our ugly and desolate little home.Inside there was close air, confusion, untidiness; but there was alsosomething else--supreme terror, a dark fear. The shadow of this fearsat on my father's brow. He hurried to meet me the moment I set footinside the threshold; his face was unkempt, unwashed, his eyesbloodshot; he held out a trembling hand, and grasped my shoulder.
"Thank heaven you have come, Rose," he said.
"How is mother?" I managed to gasp.
My father's painful clutch on my shoulder grew harder and firmer.
"Come in here," he said. He dragged me into the drawing-room, andsoftly closed the door. "Listen," he said; "yesterday night yourmother's cough grew worse; this morning she broke a blood-vessel."
"Then she is dying," I said in a voice of terror.
"No, she shan't die--you have got to save her!"
"I? Father--father--how can I?"
"Don't prevaricate--don't look me in the face, and tell lies at thismoment. Dr Johnson and Dr Keith, from London, are both up-stairs.They will tell you what you have to do. Go to them; obey theirdirections. There is not a moment to be lost."
My father's trembling hand still held my shoulder; he emphasised hiswords with cruel pinches. I wrenched myself away with a sudden effort.
"You hurt me when you hold me like that," I said.
"Who cares whether I hurt you or not, child? it's your mother's lifethat hangs in the balance. What matter about _you_--what are _you_? Goup-stairs to the doctors. Listen to their directions and obey them."
I was sobbing feebly. My father's manner had unnerved me.
"I hate women who cry," he said, turning away. "You have always made agreat profession of caring for your mother. Go up-stairs now, and acton it."
"How can I?" I repeated. "Father, why do you speak to me as you aredoing? My mother wants money, peace, rest."
"Exactly, Rosamund. Penury and a hard life are killing your mother. Goup-stairs. Don't talk any more humbug. Get your mother what she wants.Gray, the lawyer, has been here this morning."
"Oh," I said, "and he has told you?"
"He has told me that you can be rich if you please. He has told me alsothe source from which the wealth can come. You think that I will shrinkfrom that source. I shrink from nothing that will save your mother.Gray thinks it highly probable that you will act like a weak idiot."
"Father, did Mr Gray tell you what I had to do?"
"He did not. I did not ask him. Whatever it is, do it. Go up-stairsnow and see the doctors."
My father opened the drawing-room door and pushed me out. He locked thedoor behind me. I heard him pacing the little room, and his groans ofagony reached me through the thin panels of the locked door. I stumbledup-stairs. On the landing I met George. His hair was ruffled; his eyesred and sunk into his head. He had evidently been crying--crying, hardman that he was, until his eyelids were swelled and blistered.
"So you have come,
Rose," he said; "that is well. You will puteverything right, of course?"
"You have seen Mr Gray, too," I whispered. "Yes, yes; for God's sakedon't lose a minute in putting things straight."
"But can I?" I whispered back. "Even money cannot always, alwayssave."
"You can but try," retorted George. "Go and speak to the doctors. Ourmother's life depends on your actions I am firmly convinced. Here isDr Johnson. Will you talk to my sister, doctor?"
The family physician motioned me into a spare bedroom. He introduced meto the London doctor, and they began a semi-technical explanation of mymother's case.
"Things are bad, but not hopeless," said Dr Keith. "If certainmeasures are taken directly, there is no reason why Mrs Lindley may notrevive and gain strength, and have many years of life before her. Herlungs are undoubtedly affected, but the worst mischief is in connectionwith the heart. Listen, Miss Lindley. I have one emphatic direction togive. Your mother must have _no more worries_."
"No more worries," I repeated under my breath. "Yes, yes, Iunderstand."
"You are looking very ill yourself, my dear child," said Dr Johnson.
"Never mind me," I said, turning away impatiently.
"But I must and will mind you," retorted our fussy little family doctor."Dr Keith, there is not a more admirable girl in the land thanRosamund Lindley."
Dr Keith bowed an acknowledgment of my merits. Then he took his watchout of his pocket.
"I really must catch the next train," he said. "Good-bye, Miss Lindley.Johnson will go into the particulars of our proposed treatment withyou; but remember above all things, no worry. As much cheerfulness asyou can possibly manage; a generous diet, the best champagne--I haveordered a special brand--and--and--I think we'll do. In all probabilityin about a fortnight Mrs Lindley will be well enough to be moved byeasy stages to Cannes. Good-bye, Miss Lindley; keep up a brave heart."
Dr Keith went cheerfully out of the room. Perhaps he imagined that hehad given me excellent advice. Perhaps he had, if I could only haveacted on it. I rushed away to my room, bathed my face and hands, put onslippers which made no sound, and my prettiest afternoon dress. Then ontip-toe I went across the landing to my mother's room; on tip-toe myfather was coming up the stairs.
"Well, Rosamund, you have seen the doctors?"
"Yes, father."
"You know what they wish?"
"Yes, father."
"You will do it?"
"Yes--I will do it."
"Good girl. Kiss me. God bless you. George, George,--come here!"
George's red face had been peeping round his bedroom door.
"George, your sister will do what is required. By God's blessing we maykeep your mother with us yet."
"Thank you, Rosamund," said George. He bent his big sulky head andkissed me lightly on my forehead. He, too, in his fashion, was blessingme. I felt as if my heart would break.
I turned the handle of my mother's door and went in. There was noconfusion in this room. A bright little fire burned in the grate. Oneof the windows was open about an inch. The room was sweet with theperfume of violets. Somebody--my father probably--had picked a few fromthe garden and brought them in. My mother herself was lying high up inbed supported by pillows. There was a faint pink on each of her cheeks,but the rest of her sweet and lovely face was white as death. Hergentle eyes looked too bright, her lips wore too sweet a smile.
The moment I saw her the whole attitude of my mind changed. I ceased tofeel that I was about to do any sacrifice. I became eager--excited toset the seal to that which would open wide the fairy doors of peace andhealth and ease and luxury for my mother. I absolutely lived in herlife at that moment. I was nothing--she was everything. I rejoiced; myheart even danced at the thought that it was in my power to bestow agreat gift upon her. I went up and kissed her.
"You look well, Rose," she whispered, reading the joy which filled myeyes.
"Oh, yes, I am very well," I replied. "I am so glad to be back withyou, mother. I am going to stay with you night and day until you are asstrong as you ever were."
While I spoke I held her hand, which I softly stroked. In a few minutesI stole out of the room. George was still lingering about on thelanding.
"Well, well?" he whispered.
"Don't whisper, George, but come down-stairs with me at once; I want towrite a letter, and I want you to take it for me."
I sat down at my mother's desk in the drawing-room and scribbled a hastyline:
"Dear Mr Gray,--
"I will fulfil the conditions of Cousin Geoffrey's will. Please give George a hundred pounds to bring back with him.
"Yours very truly,--
"Rosamund Lindley."
George was looking over my shoulder as I wrote.
"You must get some of that money in small change," I said, looking up athim. "And then you are to buy all the things I have mentioned in thislist. Don't forget one of them, and come back by the first possibletrain."
While I was speaking to George my father came into the room.
"It's all right," I said; "and George is going to town to get the thingswe shall immediately require. Now go, George, and be quick. Father, Iwant to speak to you."
"What is it, Rose?"
"Will you please go out and ascertain if the Priory is still to let?"
"The Priory! Are you mad, child?"
"No, I assure you I am quite sane. The Priory is a very pleasant sunnyhouse, beautifully furnished. The Ashtons only left it a week ago. Ifit is still to let, please take it without a moment's delay. It is notthe least matter about the price. It faces due south, and has a lovelygarden. I think we may be able to remove my mother there to-morrow."
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
TELL HIM TO COME TO SEE ME.
The Priory was taken, and in less than twenty-four hours, my motherfound herself the occupant of a large, luxuriously-furnished chamber.Her windows commanded an extensive and most lovely view. She had aglimpse of the winding river which made our little village a favouritesummer resort for anglers. It meandered away like a narrow silverthread in the midst of the peaceful landscape. Already there was afaint tinge of soft, pale green on the trees, and an added brightnesswas making the grass beautiful with a fresh growth. The Priory hadsloping lawns, flower-beds carefully tended and gay with all the earlyspring flowers. There were greenhouses in abundance; there weregravel-walks and tennis-courts; in short, the usual pleasure-groundswhich surround a country home of some pretension.
Inside the appointments were perfect. An able staff of servantsattended to our every want. There were suites of beautiful rooms,bright, and gay, and clean. Fresh air and sweetness pervadedeverything. In short, there could scarcely have been found a greatercontrast than Myrtle Cottage, where the Lindley family had resided forso many years, and the Priory, where that same family now enjoyed thepleasures of refined existence.
It is surprising how soon one gets accustomed to luxury. My father andbrother, who began by accepting the good things of life with a humilityalmost painful to witness, before a week was out grumbled about thequality of the soup served at dinner, and expressed in plaintive tonestheir dislike to turbot appearing too often on the board.
"You must see to this, Rosamund," George would say, shaking his head,and my father would descant on the menage of that West End club to whichhe belonged a great many years ago, before he married my mother.
Meanwhile I lived in a sort of dream. I was not unhappy, for my motherwas better. The new life suited her. My father's cheerful tones weremore stimulating and strengthening than the best champagne or thestrongest beef-tea.
At the end of the first week she expressed a desire to see Jack and hiswife again.
"I will write and ask them to come here," I said. I went down-stairsprepared to do this. I was thinking of the pleasure my letter wouldgive to Hetty. How she would hurry her own and her husband'sdeparture--how pretty and surprised she would look w
hen she came to ourluxurious new home--how nice it would be to dress her suitably, and makelife sweet and pleasant to her. I was thinking these thoughts andforgetting all about the conditions of Cousin Geoffrey's will, when Iwent into the drawing-room to fetch my writing portfolio which I hadleft there on the previous evening.
"Hey-day!" said a voice. I raised my eyes and found myself face to facewith Mr Gray. "How do you do, Miss Rosamund?" he said, shaking myhand. "I judge from your own blooming appearance that your mother ismuch better."
"Yes, she is much better," I replied.
"What a wise girl you are, and were! How much I respect you! Now canyou give me a few moments of your time?"
"Yes," I replied. My "Yes" was uttered in a meek voice. The gladnesshad gone out of my face and manner. "Yes," I repeated, "my time is, ofcourse, at your disposal, Mr Gray."
"Well, let us sit here comfortably on this sofa. Miss Rosamund, I havebeen very considerate to you, have I not? I have not troubled you withword or message for a whole week."
"I know it," I replied. "I know you have been kind." My eyes filledwith tears.
"It is a great wonder to me," began Mr Gray. He stopped abruptly. "Idon't understand what girls are made of," he continued under hisbreath--"the very nicest