Chapter Twenty One.
There was no hesitation on the part of Kate Wilton. The dread was gone, and she rapidly drew up the blind and opened the casement window.
“You?” she said quickly, as she held out her hands, which were caught at once and held.
“Yes; who should it be, my child? Were you afraid that insolent young scoundrel would dare to do such a thing?”
“At first,” she faltered, and then quickly, “I hardly knew what to think; I was afraid someone was going to break in. Oh, Mr Garstang, why have you come?”
He uttered a little laugh.
“For the same reason, I suppose, that would make a father who knew his child was in peril act in the same way.”
“It is very, very kind of you; but you will be heard, and it will only cause fresh trouble.”
“It can cause no greater than has come to us, my child. I was half-way to London, but I could not go on; so I got out at a station ten miles away, walked into the village close by, and found a fly and a man to drive me over. I wanted to know how you were getting on. Have you seen them again?”
“No. I came straight to my room, and have not left it since.”
“Good girl! That was very brave of you. Then you took my advice.”
“Of course.”
“And Master Claud?”
He felt her start and shudder.
“Don’t talk about him, please. But there, I am very grateful to you for being so kind and thoughtful, and for your brave defence.”
“Brave nonsense, my child!” he said bluntly. “I did as any man of right feeling would have done if he found a ruffian insulting a weak, helpless girl. Kate, my dear, my blood has been boiling ever since. I could not go back and leave you in this state; I was compelled to come and see you and have a little consultation about your future. I felt that I must do it before seeing James Wilton again. Not a very reputable way, this, of coming to a man’s house, even if he is a connection of mine; not respectful to you, either, my child, but I felt certain that if I came to the door and asked to see you I should have been refused entrance.”
“Yes, yes,” said Kate, sadly. “I should not have been told of your coming, or I would have insisted upon seeing you.”
“You would! Brave girl! I like to hear you speak out so firmly. Well, there was nothing for it but for me, middle-aged man as I am, to play the daring gallant at the lady’s window—lattice, I ought to say.”
“Please don’t talk like this, Mr Garstang,” said Kate. “It does not sound like you to be playful in your manner.”
“Thank you, my child, you are right; it does not I accept the reproof. Now, then, to be businesslike. You have been thinking deeply, of course, since you have been alone?”
“Yes, very, very seriously about my position. Mr Garstang, it is impossible for me to stay here.”
“Quite impossible. The conduct to you of your aunt and uncle makes them—no matter what promises they may give you—quite unworthy of your trust. Well?”
“I have pretty well decided that I shall go away to-morrow with Eliza, our old nurse and maid.”
“A most worthy woman, my dear. You could not do better; but—”
“But what?” said Kate, nervously.
“I do not wish to alarm you, but do you fully realise your position here?”
“Yes, and that is why I have decided to go.”
“Exactly; but you do not fully grasp my meaning. What about your uncle?”
“You mean that he will object?”
“Exactly.”
“But if I am firm, and insist, he will not dare to detain me,” said the girl warmly.
“You think so? Well, think again, my child. He is your guardian and trustee; he will absolutely refuse, and will take any steps which he considers right to prevent your leaving. I am afraid that by the power your poor father left in his hands he will consider himself justified in keeping you quite as a prisoner until you obey his wishes.”
“Mr Garstang, surely he dare not proceed to such extremities!”
“I am afraid that he has the power, and I grieve to say he is in such a position that he is likely to be reckless in his desire to gain his ends.”
Kate drew a deep breath, and gazed appealingly in the speaker’s face.
“As a solicitor and the husband of your aunt’s late sister, James Wilton naturally came to me for help in his money affairs, and I did the best I could for him. I found that he had been gambling foolishly on the Stock Exchange, instead of keeping to his farms, and was so involved that immediate payments had to be made to save him from absolute ruin.”
“But my father surely did not know of this?”
“Not a word. He kept his own counsel, and of course until the will was read I had no idea of what arrangements your father had made; in fact, I was somewhat taken aback, for I thought it possible that he would have made me one of your trustees. But that by the way. I helped your uncle all I could as a monetary agent, and found clients who were willing to advance him money on his estate, which is now deeply mortgaged. These moneys are now wanted, for the interest has not been fully paid for years. In short, James Wilton is in a desperate condition, and my visits here have been to try and extricate him from his monetary tangle in which he finds himself. Now do you begin to grasp what his designs are?”
“Yes, I see,” said Kate, sadly; “it is to get some of the money which should be mine, to pay his debts.”
“Exactly, and the simplest way to do so is to marry you to Claud.”
“No: there is a simpler way, Mr Garstang. If my uncle had come to me and told me his position I should have felt that I could not have done a more kindly deed than to help my father’s brother by paying his debts.”
“Very kind and generous of you, my child; but he would not believe it possible, and I must say to you that, after what has passed, you would not be doing your duty to the dead by helping your uncle to this extent. Kate, my dear, since I have been talking to you it has occurred to me that there is but one way out of your difficulty.”
“Yes, what is it?” she cried eagerly.
“Of course, you cannot marry your cousin?”
“Mr Garstang!” she cried indignantly.
“It is impossible, of course; and if you stay here you will have to submit to endless persecution and annoyance, such as a highly strung, sensitive girl like you are will be unable to combat.”
“You do not know me yet, Mr Garstang.”
“Indeed? I think I do, as I have known you from a child. You are mentally strong, but you have been, and under these circumstances will be, further sapped by sickness, and it would need superhuman power to win in so cruel a fight. You must not risk it, Kate, my child. You must go.”
“Yes, I feel that I know I must go, but how can I? You, as a lawyer, should know.”
“A long and costly litigation, or an appeal to the Court of Chancery might save you, and a judge make an order traversing your father’s will, but I should shrink from such a course; I know too well the uncertainties of the law.”
“Then your idea for extricating me from my difficult position is of no value,” she said, despairingly.
“You have not heard it yet,” he said, “because I almost shrink from proposing such a thing to your father’s child.”
“Tell me what it is,” she said firmly.
“You desire me to?”
“Of course.”
“It is this—a simple and effective way of checkmating one who has proved himself unworthy. My idea was that you should transfer the guardianship to me.”
“Willingly, Mr Garstang; but can it be done?”
“It must and shall be done if you are willing, my child,” he said firmly, “but it would necessitate a very unusual, a bold and immediate step oh your part.”
“What is that, Mr Garstang?” she said quietly.
“You would have to place yourself under my guardianship at once.”
“At once?” she said, starting slightly.
“Yes. Think for yourself. It could not be done slowly and legally, for at the first suspicion that I was acting against him, James Wilton would place you immediately completely out of my reach, and take ample care that I had no further communication with you.”
“Yes,” she said quietly; “he would.”
“Yes,” he said, repeating her words, and speaking in a slow, passionless, judicial way; “if the thing were deferred, or if he were besieged, he would redouble his pressure. Kate, my dear, that was my idea; but it must sound almost as mad to you as it does to me. Yes, it is impossible; I ought not to have proposed such a thing, and yet I can not find it in my heart to give up any chance of rescuing you from your terrible position.”
He was silent, and she stood there gazing straight before her for a few moments before turning her eyes upon his.
“Tell me plainly what you mean, Mr Garstang.”
“Simply this: I did mean that you should take the opportunity of my being here and leave at once. I have the fly waiting, and I could take you to my town house and place you in the care of my housekeeper and her daughter. It would of course be checkmating your uncle, who could be brought to his knees; and then as the price of your pardon you could do something to help him out of his difficulties. Possibly a moderate payment to his creditors might free him on easy terms. But there, my child, the project is too wild and chimerical. It must almost sound to you like a romance.”
She stood there gazing full in his eyes as he ceased speaking; and at the end of a minute he said gently, “There, I must not keep you talking here in the cold night air. Your chest is still delicate; but strange as the visit may seem, I am after all glad I have come, if only to give you a little comfort—to show you that you are not quite alone in the world. There, say good-night, and, of course, you will not mention my visit to anyone. I must go now and catch the night mail at the station. To-morrow I will see a very learned old barrister friend, and lay the matter before him so as to get his advice. He may show me some way out of the difficulty. Keep a good heart. I must show you that you have one who will act as an uncle should. But listen to me,” he said, as he took her cold hand in his, “you must brace yourself up for the encounters to come. Even if I find that I can assist you, the law moves slowly, and it may be months before you can come out of prison. So no flinching; let James Wilton and that scoundrel Claud know that they have a firm, mentally strong woman to deal with; and now God bless you, my child! Good-night!”
He let her hand fall, and lowered himself a round of the ladder; but she stood as if carved in marble in the bright moonlight, without uttering a word.
“Say good-night, my dear; and come, be firm.”
She made no reply.
“You are not hurt by my proposal?” he said quietly.
“No,” she said at last, “I was trying to weigh it. I must have time.”
“Yes, you must have time. Think it over, my child; it may strike you differently to-morrow, or you may see it in a more impossible light. So may I. You know my address: Bedford Row will find me. I am well known in London. Write to me if you require help, and at any cost I will come and see you, even if I bring police to force my way. Now, good-night, my dear. Heigho! Why did not I have a daughter such as you?”
“Let me think,” said Kate gravely.
“No; this is no time for thinking, my child. Once more, good-night.”
“No,” said Kate firmly. “I will trust you, Mr Garstang. You must not leave me to be kept a prisoner here.”
“Possibly they would not dare; and I must warn you that you are taking a very unusual step.”
“Not in trusting you, sir,” she said firmly. “Treat me as you have treated the daughter who might have been born to you, and save me at once from the position I am in. Wait while I go and waken Eliza. She must be with us.”
“Your maid?” he said.
“Yes, I can not leave her here.”
“They will not keep her a prisoner,” he said quietly, “and she can join us afterwards. No, my child, if you go with me now it must be alone and at once. I will not put any pressure on you. Come or stay. You still have me to work for you as far as in me lies. Which shall it be? Your hat and cloak, or good-night?”
“Don’t leave me, Mr Garstang. I am weak and hysterical still. I feel now, after the chance of freedom you have shown me, that I dare not face to-morrow alone.”
“Then you will come?” he said, in the same low passionless way.
“I will.”
Five minutes after, John Garstang was helping her carefully to descend the ladder, guarding her every footstep so that she could not fall; and as they reached the ground, he quietly offered her his arm.
“What a beautifully calm and peaceful night!” he said gravely. “Do you feel the cold?”
“No; my cheeks are burning,” she answered.
“Ah! yes, a little excitement; but don’t be alarmed. The fly is waiting about half a mile away. A sharp walk will bring back the correct circulation. Almost a shame, though, my child, to take you from the clear pure air of the country to my gloomy house in Great Ormond Street. Not very far from your old home.”
“Don’t talk to me, please, Mr Garstang,” she said painfully.
“I most, my dear; and about everything that will take your attention from the step you are taking. Are your shoes pretty stout? I must not have you suffering from wet feet. By the way, my dear, you were nineteen on your last birthday. You look much older. I thought so yesterday. Dear, dear, ii my poor wife had lived, how she would have blessed me for bringing her a daughter to our quiet home! How you would have liked her, my dear! A sweet, good, clever woman—so different to Maria Wilton. Well, well, a good woman, too, in spite of her weakness for her boy.”
He chatted on, with Kate walking by him in silence, till the fly was reached, with the horse munching the grass at the road side, and the driver asleep on the box, but ready to start into wakefulness at a word.
An hour later, Kate sat back in the corner of a first-class carriage, when her strength gave way, and she burst into a hysterical fit of sobbing. But she heard Garstang’s words:
“I am glad to see that, my child. Cry on; it will relieve your overburdened heart. You will be better then. You have done right; never fear. To-morrow you can rest in peace.”