Chapter Twenty Three.
A Confession.
“And so you are engaged too, Norah!”
Half an hour had passed since Rex had left Cloudsdale, and Lettice and Norah wore seated in the bedroom which they shared together, Norah still trembling and tearful, Lettice full of wide-eyed interest.
“And so you are engaged too!”
“No, not engaged. There is nothing definite, but I know that he cares for me, and I have promised to wait—”
“It’s the same thing, but—five years! It is a terribly long time! So much may happen before then. You may change your mind!”
“No! I can’t explain, but I simply could not think of anyone else while Rex was alive. It would be all the same if it were fifteen years. You need not pity me, Lettice. I shall keep house for father after you and Hilary are married, and I shall be quite happy. I don’t think anything could make me unhappy again, now that I know Rex cares for me, and that when he comes back—” Norah stopped short, and Lettice drew in her breath with a painful respiration.
“Oh, Norie, I envy you! I wish I felt like that. I could never, never marry Arthur if I had to go out to India, and leave you all behind. Even now— Norah! if I speak out to you, will you keep it to yourself? Will you promise faithfully not to repeat a word to father or Hilary, or anyone else? Will you? Answer, Norah, yes or no!”
“I—I—yes, I promise, Lettice, if you wish it, but wouldn’t it be better—”
“No! no! I can speak to no one else, and not even to you unless you promise not to repeat a single word. Sometimes I am so miserable! I never intended to marry Arthur—never for a moment; but he was very nice to me—and I know you will be shocked, Norah, but I wanted him to go on being attentive, and sometimes I did pretend I liked him a little bit, when he seemed discouraged, or as if he were beginning to care less than he used. Then that day on the river he asked me to marry him, and I said No! I was horrified at the idea, and I tried to refuse him, I really did, but he looked so miserable—I couldn’t bear to see him. I was quite happy for a little time after that, and when he was away I longed for him to come back; but since then father and Miss Carr have been so cross; there have been such worries with the house, and workmen, and dressmakers, that I have felt sometimes as if I would give the world to run away and hide, and never see any of them again!”
Norah sat motionless, gazing at her sister in horrified silence. Her heart beat in quick, painful throbs—even Rex himself was forgotten in the shock of hearing her worst fears confirmed in Lettice’s own words. Unhappy! within three weeks of her marriage, with presents arriving by every post, the wedding breakfast ordered, the guests bidden to the church! It was some time before she could command her voice sufficiently to speak.
“But—Lettice! If you were happy at first, perhaps you are only miserable now because you are tired and overdone. I think even if I were going to marry Rex, I should feel sad the last few weeks when I thought of leaving father and the old home, and all the rest of you. It seems only natural. It would be rather heartless if one felt differently.”
“Do you think so, Norah—do you?” queried Lettice eagerly. “Oh, I am so glad to hear you say that! I have said so to myself over and over again, but I thought I ought to be happy. I have been so wretched. That night when you thought I had toothache—”
“I know. But I was afraid it was that. But, Lettice, if you are not satisfied it is not too late even now. You could tell Mr Newcome.”
But Lettice gave a shriek of dismay. “Oh, never, never! I daren’t even think of it, Norah. The house is ready—all the furniture—my dresses—the wedding presents! I could never, never break it off. Poor Arthur would be broken-hearted, too, and his mother would be so angry; she would never let Madge speak to me again. Oh, no! I feel better already for talking to you. I get nervous, and imagine things that are not true. I shall be very happy—of course I shall be happy. Arthur is so kind—and the house is so pretty. Don’t look so miserable, Norah dear; indeed, indeed, I shall be all right.”
“I hope so; but, Lettice, do think well over it while there is time. It would be terrible to have to break off your engagement now; but, at the worst, all the gossip and upset would be over in two or three months, and if you married it would be for your whole life. Father would be angry, but I would help you. I would stay with you, Lettice, and help you every minute of the time.”
“I know you would, I know you would.” Lettice spoke in a quick, breathless whisper; her eyes were fixed as if she were a prisoner looking through the barred window and trying to summon up courage to escape—then a shudder shook the slight shoulders, and she jumped up, holding out her hands with a gesture of dismay.
“Oh no, no! Don’t talk of anything so dreadful. Arthur is coming on Saturday, and I shall be quite happy. I am dull because I have not seen him for so long, but you will see how bright I am when he is here! I was very weak and foolish to speak as I did, but I can trust you, Norah. You have promised not to tell.”
“Yes, I have promised.” Poor Norah was only too willing to be convinced, and surely what Lettice said was reasonable enough. She would wait, at any rate, until Saturday before making any further attempt to persuade her sister to a step which must bring so much suffering and humiliation in its train.
Two days later the bridegroom arrived. Lettice went to the station to meet him. A very handsome couple they looked as they drove up to the door, Mr Newcome immaculate as ever despite the long, dusty journey, and so large and impressive, that Norah was quite embarrassed by the suggestion that she should address him as “Arthur.” Lettice was all smiles and radiance, much delighted with a necklace of turquoise and diamonds which her lover had brought as his wedding present, and which she exhibited proudly to every member of the household.
Father, brothers and sisters were alike so relieved to see her happiness that they were prepared to welcome Arthur Newcome with open arms, and to acknowledge that their prejudices were unfounded. They listened with smiling faces to his tedious description of his journey north, of previous journeys, or journeys still to come; they tried to show an interest in the items of stale information which he offered in words of studied length and elegance, and with the air of imparting a startling novelty; but alas! it was all in vain. After three days’ experience, the unanimous verdict proclaimed that such a well-behaved and withal tiresome and prosy young gentleman had never before worn frock coats, or walked about country lanes in a tall hat and immaculate kid gloves.
“He must be different with Lettice. She could never endure it if he bored her as much as he does us,” reiterated Hilary firmly, upon which Raymond’s eyes twinkled with mischievous intentions.
“Well—do you know, I should like to feel certain about that!” he said, and forthwith strolled out into the garden through the open doorway.
Lettice and Arthur Newcome were pacing their favourite walk, the narrow shrubbery path which encircled the lawn, and at intervals of every three or four minutes the two figures came into sight as the path opened to drive and tennis ground. Master Raymond strolled across to the first of these openings, leant nonchalantly against a tree, and waited the approach of footsteps. They came—a strong, steady crunching of the gravel, a pattering of quick, uneven little steps, and the sound of a deep bass voice struck on the ear.
”...And further on, in the transept aisle, I came upon a particularly heavy and unattractive cenotaph to the memory of—”
Raymond gasped, and rolled his eyes; then, as the footsteps died away, he sped lightly across the lawn, and ensconced himself at the next point of vantage. The boom of Mr Newcome’s big voice came again to his ear. Poor little Lettice was evidently a good listener!
”...The epitaph is in the inflated style of the period—bombastic in character, and supposed to be written by—”
“Bombastic!” echoed Raymond in despair. “I know someone else to whom that epithet would apply uncommonly well. This is worse than I expected! I’ll give him one more chance, and then—” But at the third hearing Mr Newcome was discoursing on “allegorical figures and pseudo-classic statues,” whereupon Raymond dashed off into the house and horrified his sisters by an account of his experiences.
“What a shame to listen like that! Lettice would be furious if she knew.”
“It was for her own good. Poor little soul! I’m sorry for her. What on earth made him choose tombstones as a topic of conversation.”
“I know. He has been staying in Canterbury. Lettice told me that he had written to her about the Cathedral,” said Norah dolefully. “I wonder if I ought to go and join them! She asked me, and pinched my arm to make me say yes, but I thought Arthur looked as if he didn’t want me. Can’t we make an excuse and call her in? She looks so tired.”
“Well, they are the funniest pair of lovers I have ever seen!” said Raymond, nodding his head with a knowing look, as if he had had an extensive knowledge of engaged couples, whereas he had never been in the house with one before. And just at that moment in marched Lettice, her fair face disfigured by a weary, irritable expression.
“I think you are all very unkind! I asked you to come into the garden. It’s very mean to leave me all alone, when I have only a f–f–fortnight more at home!” The last word in a burst of tears, and she ran hurriedly upstairs to her own room.
What was to be the end of it all? Her sisters stared at each other with wide, frightened eyes, too miserable and uneasy to speak.