Chapter Fifteen.
In the Village Church.
The shopping expedition was, by common consent, postponed until the middle of the following week, when Jack Melland would have taken his departure.
“Let us make hay while the sun shines. Three is an abominable number, especially when you happen to be the third,” said Mollie, sighing. “Mr Druce admires you very much, Ruth. I often see him staring at you when you are not looking; but when I appear upon the scene his eyelids droop, and he does not deign even to glance in my direction. He puzzles me a good deal, as a rule. I rather fancy myself as a judge of character, but I can’t decide whether he is really a model of virtue, or a villain in disguise.”
Ruth made a movement of impatience.
“How exaggerated you are, Mollie! Why must you rush off to extremes in that foolish fashion? Mr Druce is probably neither one nor the other, but just an ordinary combination of faults and virtues. He is kind and considerate to Uncle Bernard, and very chivalrous to us;—a hundred times more so than Jack Melland, who certainly does not err on the side of politeness. Personally, I don’t think any the less highly of people because they are little reserved and uncommunicative at first. It will be time enough to judge Mr Druce’s character when we have known him for weeks, instead of days.”
“Humph! I believe in first impressions,” insisted Mollie obstinately; “and so do you, really, or you would not bristle up when I dare to cast a doubt on his excellence. You are going to like him, Ruth, I can see that quite clearly, and he admires you; so, as I said before, I shall be the poor little pig who stays at home, while you two wander abroad together. It’s not exactly the programme which my fancy painted when we came down; but if I devote myself to Uncle Bernard, and cut you both out, I shall have the best of it, after all. Perhaps, too I may make friends with someone in the neighbourhood,—there is always the chance of that, and I do love meeting new people. I suppose callers will begin to arrive after we have made our first public appearance at church to-morrow. I am quite excited at the prospect of seeing all the people—aren’t you?”
“I am not going,” said Ruth.
And when Mollie exclaimed and cross-questioned, she flushed uncomfortably, but did not refuse to answer.
“I have made up my mind to go to early service, but not again at eleven o’clock. It’s not that I don’t want to go; it’s because I want to go so much—for the wrong reasons! Ever so many times during the last few days I have caught myself thinking about it, and imagining the scene—everybody staring at us, while we sit in the squire’s pew trying to look unconscious, but really enjoying it all the time, and building castles in the air about the future, when we may have a right to be there. We should be thinking most of all of ourselves, and that’s not a right spirit in which to go to church; so I’m not going. I’m disappointed, but I’ve made up my mind.”
Mollie leant her head on her hand and gazed thoughtfully before her. The sisters were seated in the great round window of their bedroom, from which such a glorious view of the surrounding country could be obtained; and as Mollie’s eyes wandered from the blue of the sky to the fresh green of the trees, and anon to the patches of golden daffodils among the grass, a wonderful sweetness softened her young face.
“But God understands!” she said gently. “He made girls, so He must know how they feel. This is a great occasion for us, and it is natural that we should be excited and a little bit self-engrossed. Mother would think it natural, and make excuses for us, even if we were carried away by our new importance; and God is kinder and more forgiving than mother. Perhaps, when one is quite old and staid, it is easy to sit through a service and never think of self; but it is difficult when one is young. I used to be miserable because every time I had a new hat or dress, or anything that was fresh, I couldn’t help remembering it and being pleased that I looked so nice, and hoping that other people liked it too but when I thought it over I came to the conclusion that it was only natural. Look at that lovely view!” She waved her hand expressively from right to left. “When God made the world so beautiful and so full of colour, He must mean us to love pretty things without being ashamed of it; so now I just thank Him for the new things in my prayers, and remember them as some of the things to be thankful for. I’m sure it’s the best way. It’s cowardice to stay at home because we are afraid of a temptation. Surely it would be far better to go, to thank God for giving us this good time, and to ask Him to send us nice friends, and, if it be His will, to let Uncle Bernard leave us the Court, so that we may help them all at home!”
She broke off, looking round half timidly in Ruth’s face, for it was reversing the usual rôles to find herself laying down the law as to right and wrong to the serious-minded elder sister. Would Ruth be annoyed—shocked—disapproving? It appeared that she was not, for the troubled lines had gradually smoothed away from her forehead, and she cried heartily—
“Yes, you are right. I feel you are! Thank you for putting it so plainly, dear. I did want to go to church, and now my conscience will be clear, so I can go comfortably, feeling it is the right thing. But oh, Mollie, shall we all four be praying, one against the other, each one wanting to disappoint the others, and keep the Court for himself?”
“Jack Melland won’t, for one; and I won’t for another. I’m not sure that I want it and all the responsibility that goes in its train. I’d honestly rather it were yours, dear; then I could come and sponge upon you as often as I liked.”
“Sponge!” echoed Ruth reproachfully. “As if it would be any pleasure to me if you were not here! What would become of poor Berengaria without her Lucille? We are so grand in real life now that we forget the dear old game; but, when we are back in Attica, we shall be able to play it better than ever, now that we really know what it feels like to be rich and have everything one wants!”
Mollie did not answer, and both girls sat silently gazing before them, while their thoughts wandered northwards to a shabby, crowded house, and to a sloping-roofed attic under the leads, in which so many hours had been spent. Mollie smiled, remembering the little make-shifts and contrivances, seeing the humour of them, and feeling again the glow of triumph with which each difficulty had been surmounted.
Ruth shuddered with a mingling of fear and repulsion.
Oh, how bare it was—how poor, and small, and unlovely! the few small rooms, the shabby furniture, the little plot of grass in front of the door which did duty as a garden. Could it be possible that in a few short months she might have to return and take up life once more under the old conditions? The thought of Dr Maclure’s handsome house had been a distinct temptation to her when he had asked her to be his wife; then how much more the beautiful old Court?
“I would do anything to get it!” thought poor Ruth desperately. “Oh, if I could only find out what Uncle Bernard wants! It is terrible to be in the dark like this!”
The next day was Sunday, and the ordeal of church-going proved to be much less trying than had been expected, for the congregation was mainly composed of villagers, who looked too stolid and sleepy to trouble themselves about the appearance of strangers, even when seated in the squire’s pew. The pew, moreover, was situated in the front of the chancel, so that it was all the easier to pay whole-hearted attention to the service. Coming out through the churchyard, the girls were conscious of glances of interest directed towards themselves by various little parties who plainly composed the gentlefolk of the neighbourhood.
At the gate one or two carriages were waiting in readiness to convey their owners home, the best appointed of which was presently occupied by an old lady and gentleman, whom Ruth recognised from Mrs Thornton’s description as being the couple whom the renowned Lady Margot Blount was about to visit. She said as much to Mollie, when the carriage had passed by, and the four young people were strolling together in easy country fashion along the road.
“Did you notice, Mollie? Those must be Mr and Mrs Blount, who live at the Moat. I should know them anywhere from Mrs Thornton’s description. I wonder whether they will call, and if Lady Margot Blount will come with them? She was expected this week, I think.”
She was interrupted by a sharp exclamation, and turned with her two companions to stare in amazement into Victor Druce’s transformed face. For once amazement had broken down the veil which gave a tinge of mystery to his personality; his sallow cheeks showed a streak of colour, and his eyes were wide open and eager.
“Lady—Margot—Blount!” he repeated incredulously. “Here, in this village! You say she is expected to meet those people who have just driven past? Is it possible? Who told you about her?”
Ruth stared at him, amazed in her turn by his energy of manner.
“Mrs Thornton told us so, the night she dined at the Court. We asked her what girls were in the neighbourhood, and among the number she spoke of Lady Margot as a constant visitor to her uncle and aunt. Why are you so surprised? Do you know her in town? Is she a friend of yours?”
Victor hesitated, biting the ends of his moustache.
“I can hardly call her a friend. We are not in the same set; but I saw a good deal of her last autumn. Some people I know were getting up tableaux for a charity bazaar, and asked us both to take part. There were a good many rehearsals, so that we grew for the time pretty intimate; but she went off to Egypt for the winter, and I have heard nothing of her since the night of the performance.”
“But have thought a good deal all the same!” said Mollie shrewdly to herself, looking at the dark face, which looked so handsome in its unaccustomed animation.
If Victor Druce often looked like that, he would be a fascinating companion. To have the power so to influence him and excite his interest would be perilously attractive. A few hours before, Mollie had been almost prepared to declare that she distrusted and disliked this new acquaintance; now she was conscious of a distinct feeling of envy towards the unknown Margot.
“How interesting that you have met already! Mrs Thornton was so enthusiastic in her praise, that she roused our curiosity to fever-pitch. Do tell us what she is like! We are longing to know.”
But Victor did not appear inclined to be communicative. The heavy lids fell over his eyes, and he murmured a few non-committal sentences. It was difficult to describe a girl so as to give any real idea of her appearance. He was not skilled at word-painting. If Lady Margot was so soon expected, would it not be better to wait and judge for themselves? Mollie shrugged her shoulders impatiently, and forthwith began her catechism.
“Tailor short?”
“Er—medium; not small, not too tall.”
“The perfect mean? I understand! Dark or fair?”
“Dark eyes, chestnut hair.”
“Oh, that’s not right. She has no right to monopolise the beauties of both complexions. And chestnut hair, too, the prettiest shade of all! Is she a real, true beauty, or only just pretty, like ordinary folk?”
“That must be a matter of personal opinion, mustn’t it, Miss Mollie? Ideas vary so much on these subjects.”
“Checkmate!” sighed Mollie to herself. “He won’t say what he thinks, and I can’t be so rude as to ask directly, though it’s just what I’m dying to know.” Aloud, she said carelessly, “Oh, I’ve no doubt I shall think her lovely, and adore her as I do all lovely people; that is, if she doesn’t scare me too much. Is she formidable and grande dame, or lively and easy-going?”
“That again must surely depend upon circumstances,” replied Victor sententiously, whereat Mollie tossed her head, declaring that he was as aggravating as Uncle Bernard himself, and almost as enigmatical.
As for Ruth, she walked along with compressed lips and frowning brows. It was not possible for a girl to find herself thrown into close companionship with two young men, and not wonder in the recesses of her heart if perchance friendship might not eventually develop into something warmer. Ruth and Mollie had both thought and dreamed, and to each it had occurred that possibly some such ending of the great problem might have occurred to Mr Farrell himself. There was no barrier of near relationship to prevent two of the young people making a match, if they were so disposed; and while Uncle Bernard, so far, seemed to favour his elder niece, he had expressly stated that he would prefer a male heir. Ruth’s favour was not easily won, but as both young men appeared agreeable, gentlemanly, and good-looking, it had been a distinctly pleasant experience to look forward and wonder if he,—if I,—if perhaps some day, long ahead, when we know each other well... All girls have such dreams, and understand how their existence adds savour to a situation. It was not a little trying, then, when Jack Melland insisted on returning to town, and Victor Druce, in his turn, must needs betray an undoubted interest in another girl.
“Tiresome thing!” murmured Ruth to herself; referring, needless to say, not to Victor, but to the innocent Margot herself. “I knew I should dislike her from the moment when Mrs Thornton mentioned her name. Why couldn’t she be happy in town, with all her grand friends, instead of rushing down here to interfere with us the moment we arrive? She is sure to hear the reason why we are here—everyone knows it; and if she is mercenary she will like Victor better now that he has a chance of inheriting the Court, and, when he knows her connection with the neighbourhood, she will seem to him more desirable than ever. Uncle Bernard would be pleased, and think her a suitable mistress for the Court, and they will get everything, and we’ll get nothing, and go home as failures... Mother will be disappointed, and everything will be duller and pokier than ever...”
So on and so on, conjuring up one gloomy vision after another, as was her unhappy custom, until at length she saw herself stricken in years, broken in health, lonely and unloved, with nothing in prospect but a pauper’s grave. A strange ending, indeed, to that first public appearance from which so much had been expected!