Chapter Twenty Eight.
Sir Cheltnam Exposed.
“What will he do? what will he say?” panted Elisia, as she hurried across the hall to reach the stairs. Her customary calmness was gone, and one moment she was wild with excitement, the next her heart was sinking in despair.
“I’ll run back,” she thought, as she stopped short. “It was cowardly to go and leave him.”
She took a couple of steps back, for a great dread had assailed her; those two brothers were face to face! What might not happen! and she the cause. She was half way back to the library, when a hand was laid upon the door, and in her dread she stopped short, turned, and was making for the stairs, but, feeling that she would be in full view of whoever left the room, she ran swiftly over the marble floor to the large portière at the end of the hall, and entered the great conservatory which ran all along that side of the house, library and drawing room opening into it as well.
With her heart beating heavily, she had hardly found refuge among the broad leaves of the great exotics when she heard a quick step crossing the hall, and she shrank farther away.
“Neil,” she said to herself; “and he is coming to drag me back to face his brother.”
But even as she thought thus the sound ceased, and she knew that he had once more ascended the stairs. She stood there in the semi-darkness, hardly daring to breathe, till she felt that Neil must have reached his room; and then, with a feeling of utter desolation oppressing her,—a misery greater than she could bear,—she turned toward the hall, dimly conscious that someone was speaking in the drawing room, for the voice came through the open window at the far end of the conservatory.
But it was nothing to her; only someone to avoid. Neil had surprised her with his brother—that was all her brain would bear; and, trying to think what she should do next, she had nearly reached the hall when she stopped short, with her cheeks flushing, and a sensation of anger which mastered everything else rising in her breast.
There was no hesitation now in her movements. She walked sharply along the tiled floor, with the great-leaved plants brushing her arm, straight for the open doorway through which a subdued light showed the form of leaf and spray, and stepped at once into the dimly lighted drawing room, where a similar scene was being enacted to that in which she had so lately taken part.
Here seemed to her to be the reason why Isabel had not kept her appointment, for, as she entered, Sir Cheltnam was standing half way down the room, his back toward her, and holding Isabel’s hands tightly in his, as, half banteringly, he put aside as folly every appeal and protest uttered by the now frightened girl.
Isabel was striving vainly to release herself when she caught sight of the dark figure of the nurse, framed, as it were, in the conservatory doorway, and, uttering a cry of joy, she now wrenched her hands away from their visitor’s grasp, and before Burwood could check her she ran to Elisia’s side, clung to her, and panted excitedly:
“Nurse—nurse—don’t leave me—pray, pray stay here!”
“My poor child!” whispered Elisia, as she bent over the hysterical girl, and drew her tightly to her breast. “Hush! hush! for everyone’s sake try and master it. You are quite safe now.”
“Yes—yes; quite safe now,” sobbed Isabel. “Don’t—don’t leave me here.”
Sir Cheltnam, meanwhile, had stood in the middle of the room speechless with fury, for the interruption had been completely unforeseen. It was understood with Aunt Anne and Alison that he was to win from Isabel her consent to an early marriage that very night, and those who had promised their help had carefully arranged that the tête-à-tête should have no one to mar its course.
But the little bit of grit had, as is often the case, made its way into the mechanism, and the wheels had so suddenly come to a stoppage that the baronet was for the moment utterly confounded.
It was only a few minutes before that, in the dining room, Alison had for about the fifth time consulted his watch, and then said quickly:
“There, old chap, it’s all right now. She will be alone in the drawing room, so off with you, and say all you like.”
“You think the old man will not make any objection—on account of his illness, you know?”
“Not an objection. Never fear. There, quick; be off.”
“What a hurry you are in!”
“Well, you wished me to be,” said Alison sharply, and hardly able to keep from referring again to his watch.
“Humph! Yes,” said the baronet; and they parted, each to follow out his plans, which seemed too well made to fail.
“Take me to my room now,” whispered Isabel, as she clung tightly to her protectress, whose face was bent down so that her lips rested upon the girl’s wavy hair. “I will not stay here to be insulted,” she cried, as indignation was beginning fast to take the place of fear. “It is shameful. It is too cruel of Aunt Anne. She left me on purpose.”
“Hush! hush, my child! be calm,” whispered Elisia, in whom a strange sense of elation was growing fast, as she felt the ever tightening clutch of the agitated girl. “There is no need to let others know. You are quite safe now.”
“Yes, I know,” cried Isabel hysterically; “but where is Neil? where is my brother? He promised so faithfully to stay—to keep by me—to—oh, nurse, nurse,” she sobbed, as she gave way now to a fit of weeping that was almost childlike in its intensity, “pray, pray go with me to my room.”
“Directly, dear; but try and be calm first. Think of the servants. For your father’s sake.”
“Yes; I’m better now,” sighed Isabel with childlike simplicity, as she turned to dart a defiant look at Sir Cheltnam, who had been fuming with rage and surprise at the interruption, and who had made several attempts to gain a hearing, but had been till now completely ignored.
As he saw Isabel’s eyes directed toward him at last, he took a step or two forward.
“You foolish girl,” he said, with a forced laugh; “how can you be so absurd? Here,” he continued; “you are the nurse, I suppose—Mr Elthorne’s attendant?”
A thrill ran through Elisia’s frame, and she started slightly, but she did not change her position—keeping her lips pressed on the girl’s soft hair, as she held her tightly to her breast.
“Do you hear, woman?” cried Sir Cheltnam. “I am speaking to you. How dare you force your way into the drawing room like this?”
She made no answer, but drew a long, deep breath, while Isabel clung more tightly.
“Don’t—don’t take any notice,” she whispered. “How dare he! He has no right to speak to you. Don’t—don’t leave me.”
A gentle pressure of the arm about her made Isabel utter a sigh of relief.
“Isabel!” cried Sir Cheltnam. “How can you be so foolish, dear? Send this woman away. It is too absurd.”
“Come,” said Elisia in a low voice; and then, as if to herself, “I cannot speak to him. Come, my dear; I will take you to your room.”
“Ridiculous!” cried Sir Cheltnam angrily, for he caught her last words. “Isabel, my child, how can you be so silly? For Heaven’s sake, have some self-respect—some for me, your affianced husband.”
He spoke in a low, earnest tone, now, and tried to take one of her hands.
“Do you hear me?” he continued, with a touch of anger in his tones. “Can you not see that this woman is bound to go and repeat all she has seen? You are behaving like a little schoolgirl. This will be the talk of the servants’ hall. For your father’s sake, do try and be sensible. There, my good woman, you see that you are not wanted here; have the goodness to go.”
To his rage and astonishment, Elisia averted her face more from him, and, utterly ignoring his presence, led Isabel toward the door; but, before they could reach it, he interposed, and placed his back against the panel.
“Stop!” he cried angrily. “Isabel, my child, this wretched scene must come to an end. You are making us both too ridiculous. Leave this woman, and order her to go. Tell her it was all a wretched mistake, and that she had no business to intrude.”
“No, no,” said Isabel huskily. “It is not a mistake.” Then, in a whisper to Elisia, “Pray, pray don’t listen to what he says. Why is not Neil here?”
“Am I to ring for the servants, and have you turned out of the room?” cried Sir Cheltnam furiously. “Do you hear me? Miss Elthorne does not require your presence, and I order you to go.”
No answer, but the face kept resolutely averted.
“You are a stranger here, and I suppose Miss Elthorne’s cry startled you. I now tell you that your interference was uncalled for. I am Sir Cheltnam Burwood, and this lady is to be my wife.”
“No, no!” cried Isabel excitedly. “Never, never! This way, nurse. Come through the conservatory.” She was full of eagerness now, and seemed to have cast off her girlish timidity as she tried to drag her protectress toward the open door. But Sir Cheltnam was too quick for her.
“You foolish girl!” he cried, as he caught her by the wrist, and, by a quick, sharp movement, literally plucked her away from Elisia, and stood between them, pointing to the door.
“There has been enough of this,” he cried angrily. “Now, my good woman, go!”
Up to this moment Elisia had not looked him full in the face, but had kept her eyes bent down as at first, and turned away from where the shaded lamps shed their subdued light.
Sir Cheltnam had attributed this to fear, and, blaming himself for want of decision, he now stood in a commanding attitude, expecting that he would be obeyed; but to his astonishment, he saw the nurse slowly raise her head, draw herself up proudly, and step toward him. As her face came now into the light, and he met a pair of flashing, indignant eyes fixed on his, he started violently and loosed his grasp on Isabel’s wrists, leaving her free to take refuge once more half behind Elisia, as she clung to her arm. “You!” he said hoarsely, as he took a step back. “You order me to go, Cheltnam Burwood!” said Elisia sternly. “You, whose presence in this room is an outrage—an insult to an English lady.”
“You—here?” he faltered.
“Yes—I—here,” she said coldly, as she passed her arm round Isabel and drew her close—“here to protect this poor motherless girl from such a man as you. Mr Elthorne must have been ignorant of your true character when he admitted you to his house, doubly ignorant when he allowed you to address his child.”
There was a look of tenderness that was almost maternal in her eye as she looked down at Isabel, whose eyes sought hers wonderingly.
Sir Cheltnam made a desperate effort to recover himself, but it was so feeble that Elisia laughed contemptuously.
“Who is this woman, Isabel, that she dares—”
But he did not finish his sentence. The mocking laugh froze the words on his lips, and he gave an impatient stamp upon the floor as Elisia went on, with every word she uttered stinging him by its contemptuous tone.
“Mr Elthorne lies upstairs perfectly helpless, but at a word from me he has those who will obey his wishes, and Sir Cheltnam Burwood will be thrust from the door with the disgrace that is his due. Go, sir, before I am compelled to speak and tell Mr Elthorne the full story of your life—of your conduct toward the trusting girl who was to have been your wife. You have no doubt as to Mr Elthorne’s judgment, and what his decision will be.”
Burwood stood glaring at her, with teeth and hands clenched, as if utterly cowed by the eyes which gazed firmly into his. He tried to speak again and again, and his lips parted, but no words came. There were moments when the whole scene appeared to him like a nightmare which, after a time, he would shake off, for it was impossible, he told himself, that he could be awake, face to face with her. Her presence was a myth; she could not, he said to himself, be present there in Ralph Elthorne’s house, and in the guise of a hospital nurse. It was all a dream. In his excitement since dinner, as he sat with Alison, waiting for the time when he should find Isabel alone, he must have unknowingly drunk too much wine, and this was the result—this waking dream—this strange mental aberration which would soon pass away.
And as these thoughts crowded through his disordered brain, he threw back and shook his head, as if expecting that this act would clear away the mist which troubled him. But no: there she stood—that woman whom he had sworn to love—fixing his eyes, so that he could not tear them away; and, after vainly and silently fighting for the mastery, striving to beat down that firm, accusing gaze, he muttered an imprecation, turned hastily, and seized the handle of the door. But he snatched his hand away instantly and strove to make another effort as he swung sharply round.
“Isabel,” he cried, “I swear to you—pray listen to me—I vow and declare, dear—this woman—this—”
He faltered in his speech, his words trailed off, becoming more and more disconnected, and he stopped short, for the stern, fixed gaze never left him, the beautiful eyes literally mastered him, and after trying to coin some excuse, utter some words which should bring Isabel to his side, he ground his teeth savagely, turned, and literally rushed from the room.
For a time no sound was heard in the drawing room where Elisia stood, clasping Isabel more tightly than ever to her breast; and, as they listened, they heard the hurried steps of Sir Cheltnam crossing the hall, then the great door closed heavily, and the hurried steps were heard again upon the gravel of the drive, growing more and more faint, till finally they died away, and Isabel uttered a low, catching sigh of relief.
“Oh, nurse—Nurse Elisia!” cried the girl at last, as she looked wonderingly in the proud, stern face whose gaze was still directed at the closed door, “what can I do to thank you?”
“Thank me with your love.”
“Oh, I will, I will; but,” she continued timidly, as if hardly daring to ask—“but you knew him—you knew this man—before—you came here?”
“Yes, dear, when I was a girl like you, as trusting and as loving. Before I became old and hard and stern as I am now. I met him at a famous party; we were introduced, and, in my girlish folly, I thought him all that was chivalrous and noble. He told me he loved me as time went on, and I believed him. We became engaged. The time drew near when he was to have been my husband.”
“To have been your husband?” said Isabel, looking at the speaker wonderingly.
“Yes; to have been my husband, dear, and the wedding gifts came fast. Life seemed so joyous to me then; and in another week I should have been his wife, but I was stayed from that—in time.”
“From that? In time?”
“Yes. I say in my blindness I thought him everything that was noble and good, and when the truth was brought home to me I would not believe it then. I defended him against all who attacked him, for I said, ‘It is impossible—he loves me too well, and I love him. No man could be so base.’”
“And you found out—was it true—true?”
“You saw him leave us, my child. He wrecked my life. Would he have gone like that if my words had not been just?”
“Nurse Elisia!”
“No; don’t call me that again.”
“Not call you that? What does it all mean?”
“I cannot tell you now, dear. Think of me always as a very dear friend. I am worthy to be called so, and some day I will tell you all my past.”
“But—”
“No, no; not now. Let us go up to your room.”
“Yes, before Aunt comes. I cannot meet her now.”
“No; and to-morrow, if your father can bear it, go to him and tell him what took place to-night—all that I have said. He can easily find out the truth, and he will not allow Sir Cheltnam Burwood to speak to you again.”
“You think so?” cried the girl excitedly.
“I know it, dear. Your father has been hard and obstinate of will, but he loves his children as an English gentleman should; and, as a man of honour, when he knows all, he will never sanction that man’s presence here.”
“And—when I tell him, you will speak? It is so terrible. He will want to know all the past.”
“No: I cannot be Sir Cheltnam Burwood’s accuser, even now.”
“You will not speak?”
“My mission is at an end, dear. It is impossible for me to stay. I shall not be here.”
Isabel looked up wonderingly, and then raised her face to kiss Elisia’s lips as she slowly clasped her neck.
The next moment she was passionately clasped to the nurse’s heart.
“God bless you, darling! Good-bye!” was sobbed in Isabel’s ear, and the next minute she was alone.