Chapter 40

AUDRIE BRENDON TO HER MOTHER

Graylees Castle, Night of September 12th

Dearest and Wisest: I remember the first letter I wrote you (on July Fourth) about the Ellaline business began with expressions something like this: "Fireworks! Roman Candles!! Rockets!!!"

Well, my last letter about the Ellaline business begins with explosions, too. A whole gunpowder plot has exploded: Dick's plot.

We got here in the afternoon; an uneventful run, for Sir Lionel was always the same; cool but kind. I couldn't believe Dick had told him anything.

Graylees is a place to be proud of, and you would never know there had been a fire in the castle—but no injury was done to the oldest part. Mrs. Norton says Graylees is called the "miniature Warwick," but it doesn't look a miniature anything: it seems enormous. There's a great hall, with suits of armour scattered about, and weapons of all periods arranged in intricate patterns on the stone wall; and a minstrels' gallery, and quantities of grand old Tudor and Stuart furniture; there's a haunted picture-gallery where a murdered bride walks each Christmas Eve, beautifully dressed; there's a suite of rooms in which kings and queens have occasionally slept since the time when Henry Seventh reigned; there's a priest's "hidie hole," and secret dungeons under the big dining-hall where people used to revel while their prisoners writhed; and—but I haven't seen nearly all yet.

The room allotted to me looks down from its high tower on to a mossy moat choked with pink and white water lilies; on a stone terrace this side of a sunken garden, a peacock plays sentinel, with his tail spread like a jewelled shield; and against the sky dark, horizontal branches of Lebanon cedars stretch, like arms of black-clad priests pronouncing a blessing. May the blessing rest upon this house forever!

I hardly saw the country through which we came, though it was George Eliot's country; and I half expected something to happen as soon as we arrived; Sir Lionel perhaps turning on me at last, and saying icily: "I know everything, but don't want a scandal. Go quietly, at once."

Nothing of the sort came to pass, however. We had tea in the great hall, brought by an old butler who had known Sir Lionel when he visited the uncle who left Graylees to him. Afterward, Mrs. Norton showed me "my room," where already a maid engaged for "Miss Lethbridge" had unpacked most of my things, the big luggage having arrived before us. My heart gave a jump when I saw the drawers, and big cedar-lined wardrobes full of finery; but settled down again when I remembered that almost everything belonged to Ellaline, and that my legitimate possessions could be packed again in about five minutes.

Before the change of friendship's weather at Chester, I think Sir Lionel would have wanted to take me round his domain, indoors and out, but no such suggestion was made. I was in my room, and there I stayed; but I felt too restless to settle down and write to you. I kept waiting for something, as you do for a clock to strike, when you know it is bound to strike soon.

By and by it was time to dress for dinner. I couldn't bear to wear one of the grand Ellaline dresses, so I put on the old black. I did look a frump in it, in such a place as Graylees Castle, where everything ought to be beautiful and rich, but I did my hair as nicely as I could, and from the top of my head to my shoulders I wasn't so bad.

I went downstairs at eight o'clock, and Mrs. Senter was already in the great hall, standing in front of the splendid stone fireplace, watching her rings sparkle in the light of the wood fire, and resting one pretty foot on a paw of the left-hand carved stone wolf that supports a ledge of the mantelpiece—just as if it belonged to her and she had tamed it. She glanced up when I appeared, and smiled vaguely, but didn't speak. She seemed thoughtful.

After awhile, Emily came, swishing silkily. Mrs. Senter began to talk to her, praising the place; and then, just before the quarter past—dinner-time—Sir Lionel joined us, looking nice, but tired. Mrs. Senter gave him a sweet smile, and he smiled back, absent-mindedly. He gave her his arm in to dinner, and she did clever things with her eyelashes, which made her seem to blush. She wore a white dress I'd not seen yet, a simple string of pearls round her neck, and quite a maidenly or bridal look. I couldn't wonder at Sir Lionel if he admired her! At the dinner-table (which was beautiful with flowers, lots of silver, and old crystal—a picture against the dark oak panelling) Mrs. Senter was on his right hand, I on his left, his sister playing hostess. This was as usual; but as it was the first time in his own house, somehow it made Mrs. Senter seem of more importance. He and she talked together a good deal, and she said some witty things, but spent herself mostly in drawing him out. He didn't speak to me, except to deign a question about my room, or ask whether I would have a certain thing to eat. I felt a dreadful lump, and worth about "thirty cents," as Dad used to say.

After dinner, when Emily took us to a charming drawing-room, all white, with an old spinet in one corner, Sir Lionel stopped away for a few minutes; but when he came Mrs. Senter grabbed him immediately. She wouldn't let him hear, when Emily inquired if I could sing, accompanying myself on the spinet, but began asking him eagerly about the library, which it seems is rather famous.

"You shall see it to-morrow, if you like," said he.

"Oh, mayn't I have a peep to-night?" she begged, prettily. "Do take me. Just one peep."

So he took her, of course, and the peep prolonged itself indefinitely. I had a sinking presentiment that my dreadful flare-up with Dick had been in vain, and that after all she would inveigle him into proposing to her this very night. Since I refused to tell him that her damask cheek was being preyed upon by love of him, she would probably intimate as much herself, and bury her head between her hands, looking incredibly sad and lovable. Sir Lionel wouldn't be the man to fight such tactics as those! I knew he didn't, wouldn't, and couldn't love her one little bit, but he would be sorry for her, and sacrifice himself rather than she should suffer for his sake, when he might make her happy.

Emily chatted to me pleasantly about the church, and the vicar at Graylees, and family tombs, and such cheerful things, to which I said "Yes" and "No" whenever she stopped; but a cold perspiration was coming out on my forehead. I was just as sure as that I was alive, that Mrs. Senter didn't mean to leave the library until Sir Lionel had made her a present of himself, his books, and his castle. Probably my sub-conscious self or astral body was there, hearing every word they said. Anyhow, I knew. And I could do nothing. A thumb-screw or a rack would have been a pleasant relief.

Suddenly we heard the sound of a carriage driving quickly up to the house.

"Who can that be?" wondered Mrs. Norton. "It's after half-past nine."

"Very likely it's Mr. Burden," said I; the first moderately intelligent remark I'd made since we were left together.

She agreed with me that this was probable; but when fifteen, twenty, forty minutes passed by the clock, and Dick did not appear, she changed her mind. It must have been someone to see Sir Lionel, she thought, on business that wouldn't wait. I was not convinced of this, and longed for her to ring and ask a footman who had come; but I couldn't very well suggest it.

The house did sound so silent, that my ears rang, as they do when one listens to a shell!

Ten; ten-fifteen; ten-thirty; a Louis Quatorze clock chimed. Hardly had it got the last two strokes out of its mouth, when Sir Lionel opened the door. He was pale, in that frightening way that tanned skins do turn pale, and he didn't seem to see his sister. He looked straight past her at me, and his eyes shone.

"I want very much to speak to you," he said. His voice shook ever so slightly, as if he were going into a battle where he knew he would be killed, and felt solemn about it, but otherwise was rather pleased than not.

Then I knew my time had come. I almost looked for the steps of the guillotine, but I was suddenly too blind to see them if they had been under my nose.

"Very well," I said, and got up from my chair.

"Oh," exclaimed Emily, "don't go. If you have anything to say to Ellaline, which you'd like to say to her alone, let me go. I am getting sleepy, and was just thinking about bed. Perhaps I might say good-night to you both?"

"Good-night, dear," answered Sir Lionel. I had never heard him call her that before.

"Say good-night to Mrs. Senter for me," went on Emily to us both.

"Yes," said Sir Lionel. But I don't think he had heard.

Mrs. Norton swished silkily out. The door shut. I braced myself, and looked up at him. His eyes were on my face, and they were full of light. I supposed it must be righteous anger; but it was a beautiful look—too good to waste on such a passion, even a righteous form of it.

"You poor child," he said in a low voice, standing quite near me. "You have gone through a great deal."

I started as if he had shot me—that way of beginning was so different from anything I had expected.

"Wh-what do you mean?" I stammered.

"That I always knew you were brave, but that you're a hundred times braver than I thought you. Dick has come back. He has brought with him a girl and a man from Scotland—bride and groom."

All the strength went out of me. I felt as if my body had turned to liquid and left only my brain burning, and my heart throbbing. But I didn't fall. I fancy I caught the back of a tall chair, and held on for dear life.

"Ellaline," I murmured.

"Yes, Ellaline," he said. "Thank God, you are not Ellaline."

"Thank God?" I echoed in weak wonder.

"I thank God, yes, because it was killing me to believe that you were Ellaline—to believe you false, and frivolous, and a flirt, just because of the blood I thought you had in your veins. And I exaggerated everything you did, till I made a mountain out of each fancied fault. That fellow Burden brought Ellaline here—just married to her Frenchman to-day—because he wanted to ruin you. He told me with pride how he'd ferretted out the whole secret—traced you to your address in Versailles, learned your real name—told everything, in fact, except that he'd been blackmailing you, forcing you for your friend's sake to actions you hated. He didn't tell me that part, naturally, but there was no need, because I guessed—"

"What—what have you done to him?" The words came limping, because of the look in his eyes, which shot forth a sword.

"Oh, unluckily it's under my own roof, so I could do no more than bid him clear out if he didn't want to be kicked out!"

"Gone!" I whispered.

"Yes, gone. And as Mrs. Senter's very loyal to her nephew, she prefers to leave with him, though she has had nothing to do with his plottings—didn't even know, and I asked her to stay. She insists on going to-night when he does. I'm sorry. But it can't be helped. I cannot think of her now."

"Ellaline—" I began faintly; but he cut me short, with a kind of generous impatience. "Yes, yes, you shall see her. She wants to see you, now that she understands, but—"

"Understands?"

"Why, you see, that little beast, Dick Burden—whose mother's staying near where Ellaline was in Scotland—went there straight from Bamborough, and put the girl up to believe you'd been playing her false—prejudicing me against her interests, trying to keep for yourself things that ought to be hers; so apparently she worked herself into a hysterical state—must have, or she wouldn't have believed him against you; and the instant she was married to her Frenchman, who'd come to claim her, all three dashed off here to 'confront' you, as that cad Burden explained to me. I couldn't understand what they were all driving at just at first, but I saw that the girl was the living image of her mother, consequently the thing didn't need as much explaining in any way as it might otherwise."

"She was horribly afraid you wouldn't let her marry him," I broke in, getting breath and voice back at last.

"So she said. Oh, when she knew Burden had lied to her about you, she repented her disloyalty, and told me how you hated the whole thing. I don't wonder she thought me a brute, never writing, never seeming to care whether she was alive or dead; I see now I was a brute; but it's you who've shown me that, not she. However, she will reap the benefit. I daresay three months ago I should have growled over such a marriage, felt inclined to wash my hands of the girl, perhaps, but now—now I'm delighted to have her married and—off my hands. That sounds callous, but I can't help it. It's true. The Frenchman seems a gentleman, and fond of her—trust Ellaline de Nesville's daughter to make men fall in love!—and I wish them both joy."

"But—but if he's poor?" I dared to question.

"Oh, that'll be all right. I'm so thankful for the way everything has turned out, I'd give her half my fortune. That would be asinine, of course; but I shall settle a thousand a year on her for life, and give her a wedding present of a cheque for twenty thousand, I think. Should you say that would be enough to satisfy them?"

"They ought to be distracted with joy," I said (though deep in my heart I knew that Ellaline is never likely to be satisfied with anything done for her. She always feels it might have been a little more). "But," I went on, "maybe it's selfish to think of myself now—but I can't help it for a moment. I have been so ashamed—so humiliated, I could hardly bear—and yet I know you won't, you can't, see that there's any excuse—"

"Didn't I tell you that I thought you very brave?" he asked, looking at me more kindly than I deserved.

"Yes. And I was brave." I took credit to myself. "But brave people can be wicked. I have hated myself, knowing how you'd hate me when—"

"I don't hate you," he said. "The question is—do you hate me?"

I gasped—because I was so far from hating him; and suddenly I was afraid he might suspect exactly how far. "No," said I. "But then, that is different. I never had any reason to hate you."

"Didn't Ellaline warn you I was a regular dragon?"

I couldn't help laughing, because that had been our very name for him. "Oh, well, she—" I began to apologize.

"You needn't be afraid to confess," said he. "In the exuberance of her relief at finding all well, and not only being forgiven, but petted, she told me what a different man I was from the murderous image in her mind; and that she saw now you were right about me. Is it possible you defended me to her?"

"But of course," I said.

"In spite of all the injustice I did you—and showed that I did you?"

"I always felt myself to blame, and yet—yet it hurt me when I saw you disapproved of me. Since Chester—"

"It was that ring stuck in my throat," said he.

"You knew?" I stammered, turning red.

"Saw it in a shop window. And now I know why you did it—why you did everything, I think. Heavens, what good it would have done me to kick that little beast Burden all around the park!"

"There wouldn't have been anything left of him, if you had," I giggled, beginning to feel hysterical. "Oh, I am glad he's gone, though. I shall be going myself to-morrow, of course, but—"

"No," he said. "No, that must not be. I—Ellaline wants you."

"Hadn't I better see her now?" I asked meekly.

"Not yet. Tell me—did that cad try you too far at Bamborough, and did you defy him?"

I nodded Yes.

"What did he do?"

"He didn't do anything. He wanted me to promise something."

"To marry him at once?" Sir Lionel was looking dangerous.

"No-o. It wasn't anything about me. I can't tell you, because it concerns someone else. Please don't ask me."

"I won't. If it concerns someone else, not yourself, I don't care. Yes, I do, though. Did it concern me? Can you answer me that?"

"I can answer so far, if you don't press me further. It did concern you. I would not sacrifice you to—but I don't want to go on, please!"

"You shan't. That's enough. You sacrificed yourself rather than sacrifice me. You—"

"I'd sinned enough against you."

"You gave me back my youth."

"I?"

"Don't you know I love you—worship you—adore you?"

Yes, he said that, mother. His lips said it, and his dear, dear eyes. I looked up to them, and mine overflowed, and he needed no other answer, for he took me in his arms. I didn't know people could be so happy. I could have died in that moment, only I would much, much rather live.

In a few minutes we told each other heaps of things about the way we felt, and the way we had felt, and compared notes; and it was heavenly. He'd bought back the darling ring in Chester, and now he put it on my finger again; and I'm sure, dearest, that you won't mind our being engaged?

He says he has adored me ever since the first day, and will to the last, then on into the next world, because there can't be a next world that won't be full of his love for me. And I adore him, ah, how I adore him—and you will come here to live with us in this beautiful old castle, where, like the Prince and Princess of the fairy stories, we will be happy ever after.

I have seen Ellaline, and she is well and hugged me a great deal. Her Honore is really very handsome; but I can't write about them now, though they have been so important in my life; and without them there would have been no life worth speaking of.

Emily and Lionel (I am to call him that now) will take me to you, and everything shall be arranged as you wish.

Dear little, wise mother, I wonder if you ever thought it might end like this? I didn't. But he is the most glorious man who ever happened. Only, he didn't happen. All the rest of the world—not counting you—happened. He just had to be.

Your loving, perfectly happy

Audrie.