A LITTLE COMMISSION
Lady Isabelle and Lieutenant Kingsland sat on the lawn before the old manor house in the soft glow of an English afternoon, contemplating the inevitable. In this case the inevitable was represented by the Dowager, who was enjoying a peaceful nap not fifty feet away. Only fifty feet of faultlessly-kept turf separated them from the vials of a mother's wrath; and in spite of their supreme happiness of the morning, they felt the presence of this gathering storm which must now be faced—as soon as the Marchioness awoke—for to wake her would put her in a bad temper, and her rage promised to be violent enough without any external irritants.
But it happened that while the Dowager slumbered, Miss Fitzgerald, slipping around the corner of the house, appeared in the background, and signalling to the Lieutenant to come to her, where they could talk without awakening the Marchioness, gave him his telegram. He read its contents once, twice, and a third time, word by word, gave a sigh of unutterable relief, and then laughed joyously.
"Good news, apparently," commented Miss Fitzgerald.
"The best," he replied. "A crusty old relative, who is no good to anybody, lies dying in the north of England, and for some unknown reason has made me his heir— I must leave at once to see him out of this world in proper style—but it means I'm a rich man."
"I'm ever so glad. Must you start to-day?"
"I shall go up to London this afternoon, and on to-morrow."
"You'll spend the night in town, then?"
"Yes. I must go to my bank and draw some funds for my journey."
"Then you can do me a favour."
"A thousand, if you want them, after what you've done for me."
"Will you oblige me by taking charge of several chests of Mr. Riddle's stereopticon views; they're heavy, but fragile and very valuable, and I've promised him I'd find some one to take them up to town for him, and put them in safe keeping. Where do you bank?"
"Bank of England, Victoria Street branch."
"Will you leave it in their charge subject to my order?"
"Certainly. How many cases?"
"Five, and they're rather heavy."
"All right. Have the chests put in the luggage cart, and I'll look out for them. Now I must tell my—why, it's Kent-Lauriston!" and to their mutual astonishment, they beheld that gentleman standing close beside them.
"Good afternoon," he said. "You didn't expect to see me? I wired Mrs. Roberts."
"I know my aunt will be delighted," said Miss Fitzgerald. "Won't you come into the house?" and she led the way, calling back to the Lieutenant: "I'll see they're ready. Thank you so much."
Once in the hall, she wasted no time over the unexpected, and to her unwelcome, guest, but, consigning him to the butler, sped away to give directions as to the disposition of the chests, and was soon scurrying across the park to join the patient Secretary, who had had ample opportunity to smoke his two cigars.
The Lieutenant had in the meantime shown his despatch to Lady Isabelle, whose face at once assumed an expression very much in contrast to that of her liege lord's; her brows contracted in a frown, and tears sprang to her eyes.
"Oh, Jack!" she cried. "You won't leave me now— I can't spare you. Your poor uncle Benjamin!"
"But you don't understand!" he cried. "You don't see what it means! The Steward writes that I'll inherit his property, and that I should come and protect my interests."
"But he's not dead yet—only very ill," she argued, seeing the possibilities ahead—yet hoping against hope to win her husband from his better judgment.
"It's the same thing—they wouldn't have telegraphed for me if it wasn't the end."
"But it's so far off—nearly to the Scottish border."
"That's all the more reason for hurrying. I must take the first train for London."
"And leave me!"
"My darling, you must be brave, you must be sensible. If I inherit my uncle's property, I shall be a rich man, and your mother's scruples will be removed. It's vital that I should lose no chances—it means everything to us."
"But is there any danger of your doing so—doesn't the telegram expressly state that he means to make you his heir?"
"Yes, yes, but there are other relatives as near as I. They'll all be there, and if they suspect I'm chosen, will try and get him, at the last, to turn against me."
"But why should you be chosen?"
"Pure cussedness, I think, coupled with the fact that I've never troubled myself to be even civil to him. His other relatives have spent their time in fawning about him, and he has seen through it, and led them a lively dance in consequence. He lived in a beastly old hole of a place—dull as the water in his own moat. I was sent there as a boy, and when he tried to cane me for stealing his fruit, I pelted him with apples. Since I've been old enough to consult my own inclinations, I have entirely ignored him. I never supposed he'd leave me a penny, and I wouldn't have let him lead me a dog's life for it, if I had. Now that he has done so to spite the rest, I shall protect my own interests, never fear."
"But you'll tell mamma before you go?"
"Most certainly not," replied the Lieutenant, glad of any valid excuse for putting off what promised to be a rather trying interview. "I should have to go at once in any event, and I certainly couldn't leave you to face your mother's wrath alone; besides, now I come to think of it, your late father was one of uncle's pet detestations, politically, and if a rumour of my secret marriage were to reach him before the end, it would be all up with my prospects, and you can easily see what splendid capital it would be for his precious relatives."
"But mamma might be trusted?" queried Lady Isabelle, feeling that she was venturing on untenable ground.
"Those who don't know won't tell; besides, my position will be much stronger as the heir in possession than the heir prospective. Now I must be off to make my excuses to Mrs. Roberts, and to pack up my belongings, or some of them, for I don't expect to be gone more than two or three days at the most, and till then everything depends on keeping the secret."
"But, Mr. Stanley," she expostulated.
"Oh, pshaw! I forgot him."
"But we mustn't forget him. You know we promised him that we would tell at once."
"Circumstances alter cases. You must arrange it between you somehow. You can stave off the evil day with your mother. Say you need time to think it over."
"You don't know mamma as well as I do, Jack."
"Then refuse absolutely."
"She'd take me away at once, abroad perhaps. She's made up her mind to this match."
"You must hold it off and on, that is all there is about it. Let her think you are going to consent, but that you mustn't be hurried."
"But think of Mr. Stanley's position. How would you feel in his place?"
"Now, what's the use of arguing suppositious cases when I'm pressed for time? Stanley has accepted the position, and he must make the best of it."
"But if he's afraid Miss Fitzgerald may learn of his proposal to me, and misunderstand."
"Not much danger of that, as she saw you married this morning."
"But Mr. Stanley doesn't know that Miss Fitzgerald was present at our wedding. Now, if I could tell him so——"
"Um!" murmured the Lieutenant thoughtfully. "On the whole, I don't think I would. It wouldn't be quite fair to Belle."
"To Miss Fitzgerald?"
"To Miss Fitzgerald. At least you must gain her consent first."
"But why should she object?"
"Well, to speak quite frankly, her own position in the matter was open to question. You see, she had some difficulty in arranging the private marriage, and, out of friendship to me, she did and said certain things of which an over-conscientious person, like our friend the Secretary, might disapprove."
"Jack!" she cried, frightened. "Tell me the truth. Swear to me that our marriage was a true marriage—was legal."
"I swear it, my darling. Hadn't you the special licence to prove it? My remarks only referred to the means she used to induce the parson to keep his mouth shut. Not discreditable at all, you understand, and some day, when I'm at liberty to explain it, you'll see—but we owe it to her to keep quiet about the whole affair."
"I don't like it, dear—it doesn't sound honest."
"Well, I can't help it. It is all fair and square as far as you are concerned, and if you like you may tell Miss Fitzgerald all about Stanley's position, so that he can't injure himself in her eyes. But to him you must say nothing without her consent—absolutely nothing."
"But this does not settle the matter of the engagement."
"You must manage that as best you can. Stanley can't really be engaged to you, because you are a married woman; and Belle can't be jealous if she knows the truth."
"But poor Mr. Stanley—consider his feelings—how needlessly you are making him suffer. He'll think that Miss Fitzgerald will never forgive him."
"And a good thing, too, for he's treated her very badly; he deserves to be made uncomfortable."
"What has he done?"
"Never mind. It's not a story for polite society. But he'll deserve all he gets, take my word for it. Now run along to the library and see if you can find our place in that old black letter book of the 'Lives of the Saints.' It'll be positively necessary for me to look up a reference or two before starting, to fortify myself for my journey;" and so saying he entered the house, feeling that in giving Belle the whip hand over the Secretary, he had more than compensated her for all she had done for him. But Lieutenant Kingsland was destined to find out that a whip—especially one with so long a lash—is apt to be a dangerous instrument in unqualified hands, and may even include the giver in its whistling sting.
Something over an hour later, the Lieutenant having been duly fortified, and dispatched on his journey, Lady Isabelle found herself closeted with her mother in the midst of a most trying scene. The Dowager had placed before her the manifest advantages of a union with the young diplomat, and her daughter, incautiously following her husband's short-sighted advice, had not only seemed to acquiesce in favour of the suit, but had even overdone the part, in the hopes of thereby inducing such amiability in her mother, as would lead her to be lenient concerning the final decision. The result of this was that Lady Isabelle had not, figuratively speaking, left herself a leg to stand on, and having admitted all her mother's arguments with a complaisance which could only argue their ultimate acceptance, came to a standstill the moment a definite answer was demanded. She agreed to all her mother said, but could not of herself say yes—or no.
Lady Port Arthur could only attribute her daughter's hesitation to one of two reasons, either maidenly modesty which prevented her acceding to her requests—"A most becoming motive, my dear"—the Dowager assured her—"and one that does you infinite credit, but which, in this instance, must give way to my superior wisdom, or else——." Here the Marchioness expressed herself with a heat and bitterness which it would be hardly fair to put on record for cool and sober reading; referring to an "inherited obstinacy," which she assured her daughter had come direct from the late Lord Port Arthur, and had led to a certain amount of friction in her marital life, and concluding by remarking that—"this (obstinacy) I have determined to nip in the bud, and crush out with a stern hand."
She therefore requested an immediate answer. Lady Isabelle, not being of a strong nature, nor daring to brave her mother's wrath by a direct refusal, and feeling the impossibility of assent, replied that she had nothing further to say. This equivocal position proved to be most disastrous—for it left her mother free to lay down the law, which she proceeded to do.
"If," she said, "your refusal to answer is due to a foolish access of modesty, I shall reply in the affirmative for you, and Mr. Stanley will see the propriety of your attitude, and will, I am sure, excuse its apparent childishness. If, on the other hand, your motive is due to obstinacy, I consider myself privileged to interfere in order to save you from the results of your own foolishness, and I shall still accept for you. Should you so far forget yourself as to oppose my wishes, I shall feel that seclusion and rigorous measures will be necessary—we will leave to-morrow for a six months' course of mud baths in Northern Bavaria, which will be highly beneficial to me, and will give you ample time for reflection on the sins of undutifulness and obstinate pride."
The Dowager paused to watch the effect of her threat. It was all she could have desired.
Lady Isabelle knew Snollenbad by reputation; knew that it was a stuffy, dull, German, provincial town; loathed mud baths; longed for the gaieties of the world as a girl longs who has only had one season; and, worst of all, realised that the settlement of estates and the limitations of leave would make it a six months' exile from her husband. She hesitated, and the Dowager, relying on the proverb, felt that she had won.
"Give me half an hour to consider," she asked.
"There is nothing to consider," replied her mother. "You know what my course of action will be; the future will depend on yours; but you had better retire to your room and think matters over;" and she dismissed her with a gesture.
In spite of her words, however, the Dowager did not feel perfectly secure, and determined to clinch matters in a manner which, had her daughter suspected it, would have moved even that vacillating nature to rebellion. As it was, Lady Isabelle contemplated a confession to Stanley on his return from the drive, in direct disobedience to her husband's commands; which, at the eleventh hour, would have sealed her mother's lips by apprising her of the truth. But fate ordained otherwise, and the Secretary and Miss Fitzgerald were disgracefully late; giving them barely time to rush to their rooms, hurry into evening clothes, and appear in the drawing-room, flushed and breathless as the butler announced dinner.