III
It was the late afternoon of the same day, and Mrs. Rigby was sitting as she had sat on her silver wedding day, close to the window of her sitting-room, her busy hands engaged now, as then, in mending house-linen. Now, as then also, she was expecting her brother and Matilda Wellow to dinner, for before Banfield left for London it had been arranged that he and his betrothed should spend that evening with the Rigbys.
Mrs. Rigby allowed the work she was holding to fall on her lap. She looked into her garden with a preoccupied air. The month which had elapsed since her silver wedding day had brought with it great changes in her life, and what she saw before her seemed, in a sense, symbolic of those changes, for in spite of her careful watering and constant attention, the flower-beds, and above all the beautiful herbaceous borders of which she was so proud, were beginning to look parched and withered.
To-night more than ever Mrs. Rigby realised that the marriage of David and Matilda would alter her own life, and that not for the better. Why, in old days David would of course have come in to see his sister on his way from the station, and that even in the now forgotten time when Rosaleen was mistress of the Brew House. To-day her brother had evidently gone straight to Matilda Wellow....
But Mrs. Rigby reminded herself that, taken as a whole, her garden was incomparably fresher and greener than were those of her neighbours on either side; and as to David and Tiddy, she now told herself, almost speaking the words aloud in her anxiety to make them true, that she was pleased—very pleased—with the way everything was going on.
Thus she was glad that the rather absurd secrecy, so insisted on by her brother, would come to an end to-morrow. Of course a few old friends had been told in confidence of the engagement—but considering that this was so, the secret had been very well kept. It was not as if David were a real widower; Mrs. Rigby could not help hoping that he would be spared some of the silly remarks, the foolish congratulations, which fall to the ordinary engaged man. It must be bad enough for him, so the sister told herself, to put up with Tiddy's sentimental raptures. Still, it was a comfort to know that Matilda Wellow was well aware that she was in luck's way! How Tiddy studied David in everything—any other man would have been spoilt!
For the first time, a smile, not a very kind smile, came over Mrs. Rigby's shrewd, rather hard face.
During the last month, Matilda had actually given up eating potatoes and butter, because some fool had told her that in that way she might hope to regain the youthful slenderness of her figure! As for David, his betrothed's little attentions evidently touched him, and no one could say that he was not an attentive lover. Think of the ring he had sent Tiddy, the ruby ring which had arrived yesterday morning, and which must have cost—so Matt, who was learned in such things, declared—not a penny less than £50!
The exact date of the wedding would probably be fixed to-night, for it had been arranged that the marriage was to follow very soon after the announcement of the engagement. There was no reason for delay. Mrs. Rigby had herself chosen the 3rd of August as the best date, and she had little doubt that she would be able to persuade Dave and Tiddy that no other day would suit them so well.
Suddenly her quick ears caught the sound of footsteps treading down the path to the left, a path hidden from the place where she was now sitting, and a slight frown came over her face. Mrs. Rigby liked her husband to come straight in to her from the office; but lately, he had taken to the tiresome habit of going out by the back way, into the garden, and then suddenly popping round on her.
She looked out expectantly, but the sound of footsteps died away. It must have been one of the maids going down to the extreme end of the garden in search of some kitchen stuff.
Mrs. Rigby again took up her work and began sewing diligently. Yes, the marriage should take place quite quietly on the 3rd of August. Everything was ready—in fact, there was nothing left to wait for. Even Tiddy's wedding gown and headgear had come home.
David had showed himself oddly interested in this wholly feminine question of his bride's attire.
He had actually been to the trouble of choosing the material of which Tiddy's wedding gown was to be made; a white and grey stripe, a thin, gauzy stuff not nearly substantial enough—or so Mrs. Rigby had thought—for the purpose to which it was destined. And then he had persuaded Matilda to go to a new dressmaker, a Frenchwoman who had been lady's maid to one of his grand county acquaintances, and who had just set up for herself in Market Dalling. More wonderful still, David had made a rough drawing from some old picture that had taken his fancy of the hat he desired Matilda to wear on her wedding day! It was a white hat trimmed with long grey feathers, quite unlike Tiddy's usual style....
Suddenly looking up, Mrs. Rigby felt a thrill of something like superstitious fear, for there, making her way round the corner from the summer-house, came, walking very slowly, a woman at once like and unlike Matilda Wellow, clad in a silvery-looking gown and wearing a white hat trimmed with long grey feathers.
As the figure advanced down the path, it took unmistakable shape and substance; here, without a doubt, was Matilda wearing what were to be her wedding garments, and, as Mrs. Rigby suddenly became aware, a Matilda quite unlike her usual homely self!
Who would have thought that simply leaving off potatoes and butter for a month would have made such a change! Or was that change due to the art of the French dressmaker? The silvery-flounced skirt fell in graceful, billowy folds to the ground, for Miss Wellow was not even holding up her gown, as a more sensible woman would have done. The muslin kerchief edged with real lace, outlined the wearer's still pretty shoulders, and the hat—well, the hat was certainly becoming, especially now that Tiddy's cheeks were flushed—as well they might be, considering what a fool the woman was making of herself!
Mrs. Rigby felt rather cross at having been so startled; she got up, and walked out to meet her guest, determined not to be drawn into any praise of the becoming hat and gown.
"I hope David won't keep us waiting long," she said tartly. "I suppose he thought that he must put on his dress suit," and her expression showed clearly that in the matter of overdressing there was not much to choose between her brother and the woman who was to become his wife.
"David will not be here to-night, Kate. He came, but he has gone away again—back to London."
Miss Wellow spoke in a low, collected voice, and certain little irritating mannerisms with which she usually punctuated her words were absent. Perhaps it was the quiet, expressionless way in which she made her surprising statement that caused Mrs. Rigby, as she afterwards averred to her husband, at once to feel that something was wrong.
"Gone back to London?" the sister repeated. "Why, whatever has he done that for? What business took him back to London, to-day?" and she looked searchingly at the other's flushed face.
"Kate," said Miss Wellow, again speaking in the soft, emotionless voice which was so unlike her own, "I have got to tell you something which I fear will upset you—and make you very angry with poor David. Kate—he has gone back to Rosaleen."
Mrs. Rigby withdrew her eyes quickly from Matilda Wellow's face. She did not then realise that the words which had just been spoken would for ever spoil to her this fragrant, familiar corner of her garden. All she felt now was a fierce, instinctive wish to get under shelter,—to hear whatever shameful thing had to be heard within four walls,—and so she put out her right hand and pushed her visitor before her into the sitting-room.
Then, keeping her back to the window, she forced Miss Wellow to turn round.
"Now tell me the truth," she commanded, "and Tiddy—above all, don't let yourself be upset, and don't get hysterical! I know what it is—you and David have had some silly quarrel. I saw from the first that you were making yourself too cheap! He can't go back to Rosaleen; he divorced her—and she's with another man. Besides, David is my brother! He wouldn't dare do such a wicked thing! You have no right, Tiddy, to accuse him of such shameful behaviour!" She spoke with quick, savage decision.
But Miss Wellow faced her with a strange, untoward courage—"I won't have you speak so of him—of David, I mean!" she exclaimed passionately, "you're his sister and ought to take his part!"
Then her voice broke, and with a touch of her old feebleness she added, "If you had heard him telling me about it, even you, Kate, who are so hard, would maybe have understood and felt sorry for him. I felt very sorry for him——"
"You!"—said Mrs. Rigby, with what appeared to the other withering contempt, "you!——"
"He put it very beautifully," continued Miss Wellow; her voice was now almost inaudible, but Mrs. Rigby caught the word and repeated it with terrible irony:
"Beautifully!" she said,—"beautifully!"
Matilda shrank back as though she feared the other was about to strike her, but Mrs. Rigby did not see the gesture.
"And did he tell you when he proposes to bring——" she made a scarcely perceptible pause and then shot out the words—"his bride home. If it's to-morrow, I'll make Matt take me away to-night!"
"He's not going to bring her home," said Matilda, quietly. "He's never coming back himself; they are going right away—out of England."
"A good thing too!" said Mrs. Rigby.
"He says that will be more respectful to me; he has considered my feelings, Kate—he has indeed."
"Has he? Why——" she suddenly held up a warning finger, for there was a sound of footsteps in the passage; the sound stopped outside the door, and both women instinctively held their breath, united by a common fear of servants' gossip.
There was a long pause, and then the handle of the door was slowly turned, and Mr. Rigby came into the room, his ruddy colour gone, or rather lying in curious streaks across his face, a nervous smile hovering over his lips.
He shut the door behind him and looked, with a world of interrogation and anxiety in his eyes, at his wife.
"You needn't smile," she said sharply; "this is no smiling matter!"
His eyes fell; instinctively he turned to the other, the weaker vessel. But the reproof which Mrs. Rigby had just addressed to her husband penetrated Miss Wellow's brain.
"I'm afraid I do look rather silly!" she said nervously, "wearing this dress, I mean. But, you see, knowing that now I shall never wear it, I thought I would put it on to-night."
The odd collocation of her words passed unnoticed; indeed, Mr. Rigby, even had he wished to answer her, was not given time to do so, for his wife had turned on him and was avenging in his person the heaped-up wrongs of her sex.
"It's all your fault, Matt! You were always against David going to London from the first, and you ought to have prevented his doing so! But no—you stood aside and did nothing! I suppose you guessed he might meet that—that——" her lips snapped together she would not soil them by uttering the word which to her mind alone described Rosaleen.
As her husband did not answer, suspicion grew into certainty.
"Did you know that she was there? Did you think he would see her?" she demanded.
Mr. Rigby looked mildly at his Kate. "I didn't know anything, but I did just think it possible," he said.
But his triumph, if triumph it was, was short-lived.
"Why didn't you tell me then? A decent woman would never have thought of such a thing, but men have such disgusting minds!" cried his wife sharply. She added suspiciously, "But how did you learn what's happened? Did David write to you?"
"He came into the office on his way back to the station," said Mr. Rigby, briefly. "And, Kate—I've promised to see to things for him. Rosy will join them"—he gave a little cough—"the day after to-morrow, and they will all sail for South Africa as soon as matters can be settled up. It's better so, my dear."
Suddenly Miss Wellow bent down. Her hand fumbled blindly among the soft, voluminous flounces of her skirt.
"I've got something here," she said in a muffled voice, "that I want you to give Rosy, Matt. But though I know it's there, I can't find the pocket; you know I had one put in because David once said that he didn't like a woman without a pocket in her dress. I've found it—here it is!"—she took a step forward, and standing close to her old friend, thrust into his unresisting hand a small hard substance. He looked down and saw it was the ruby ring. "You can give this to the child," she said breathlessly, "I don't want to see her again—with love from Auntie Tiddy."
But this was more than Mrs. Rigby could stand.
"Well, it's a good thing," she exclaimed to her husband, "that Tiddy takes it like that! No man would ever have dared to treat me so! But as long as she doesn't care—still, she needn't take David's part against his own sister, who has the right——"
But what right David's sister had was never explained, for Miss Wellow suddenly swayed forward; she would have fallen to the ground had not Mr. Rigby caught her.
"Why, she's fainted!" he said pitifully; "she does care—more than you think, Kate. But she will come round soon—too soon," he muttered to himself.
It was the same night, or rather the next morning, for the dawn was beginning to make its grey way into the bed-chamber of Mr. and Mrs. Rigby; it threw into dim relief the large, almost square four-poster, under the chintz-covered canopy of which the husband and wife lay, rigid as if carved in stone.
"Kate," said Matt, "are you awake?"
He could just see her head lying on the other pillow beside him. Her still abundant hair was loosened and gave her a look of youth. Tears had made a furrow down her cheeks.
"Yes," said Mrs. Rigby, "I am awake, Matt. What is it you want?"
"I'm afraid, my dear, that you are very much upset." There were understanding, sympathy, ay, and tenderness expressed in the way Mr. Rigby uttered the homely word.
His wife, for the first time in their twenty-five years of married life, felt a responsive thrill. For the first time she was unfaithful to Nat Bower.
"It's of you I'm thinking," she whispered. "I've been trying all night to forget David,—my poor little David,—but it's terrible to me to think that you, Matt, married into a family that could be guilty of such shameful behaviour!"