CHAPTER X.—LIGHT AND SHADOW.
As soon as she found that Madge was calm and ready to proceed with the duties of the day, Aunt Hessy bustled out to look after the maidens in the dairy and the kitchen. The other affairs of the house were attended to by Madge assisted by Jenny Wodrow, an active girl, who had wisely given up straw-plaiting at Luton for domestic service at Willowmere.
When clearing the breakfast-table, Madge found Miss Hadleigh’s letter, which she had forgotten in the new interests and speculations excited by her aunt’s communication.
Miss Hadleigh was one of those young ladies who fancy that in personal intercourse with others dignity is best represented by the assumption of a languid air of indifference to everything, whilst they compensate themselves for this effort by ‘gushing’ over pages of note-paper. Of course she began with ‘My dearest Madge:’ everybody was her ‘dearest;’ and how she found a superlative sufficient to mark the degree of her regard for her betrothed is a problem in the gymnastics of language.
‘You know all about dearest Phil going to leave us in about a fortnight or three weeks, and goodness only knows when he may come home again. Well, we are going to have a little dinner-party all to his honour and glory, as you would see by the card I have addressed to your uncle. Mind, it is a little and very select party. There will be nobody present except the most intimate and most esteemed friends of the Family.’ (Family written with a very large capital F.)
‘Now the party cannot be complete without you and your dear uncle and aunt; and I write this special supplement to the card to implore you to keep yourselves free for Tuesday the 28th, and to tell you that we will take no excuse from any of you. Carrie and Bertha want to have some friends in after dinner, so that they might get up a dance. Of course, in my position I do not care for these things now; but to please the girls, it might be arranged. Would you like it?—because, if you did, that would settle the matter at once. We have not told Phil yet, because he always makes fun of everything we do to try and amuse him. Papa has been consulted, and as usual leaves it all to us.—Please do write soon, darling, and believe me ever yours most affectionately,
Beatrice Hadleigh.’
‘P.S.—If you don’t mind, dear, I wish you would tell me what colour you are to wear, so that I might have something to harmonise with it. We might have a symphony all to ourselves, as the æsthetes call it.’
From this it appeared that Philip’s sisters were not aware of their father’s desire to keep him at home. There would be no difficulty in replying to Miss Hadleigh—even to the extent of revealing the colour of her dress—when Uncle Dick had consented to go.
When the immediate household cares were despatched, Madge sat down at her desk to write to Mr Hadleigh. She was quite clear about what she had to say; but she paused, seeking the gentlest way of saying it.
‘Dear Mr Hadleigh,’ she began at last, ‘Your letter puts a great temptation in my way; and I should be glad to avoid doing anything to displease you. But your son has given me a reason for his going, which leaves him no alternative but to go, and me no alternative but to pray that he may return safely and well.’
When she had signed and sealed up this brief epistle, a mountain seemed to roll off her shoulders; her head became clear again: she knew that what Philip and her mother would have wished had been done. A special messenger was sent off with it to Ringsford; for although the distance between the two places was only about three miles, the letter would not have been delivered until next day, had it gone by the ordinary post.
Mr Hadleigh read these few lines without any sign of disappointment. He read them more than once, and found in them something so quietly decisive, that he would have considered it an easier task to conquer Philip in his most obstinate mood, than to move this girl one hair’s-breadth from her resolve.
He refolded the paper carefully and placed it in his pocket. Then he rang the bell.
‘Bid Toomey be ready to drive me over to catch the ten o’clock train,’ he said quietly to the servant who answered his summons.
‘A pity, a pity,’ he repeated to himself. ‘Fools both—they will not accept happiness when it is offered them. A pity, a pity.... They will have their way.’
The carriage conveyed him to Dunthorpe Station in good time for the train; and the train being a ‘fast,’ landed him at Liverpool Street Station before eleven o’clock.
He walked slowly along Broad Street, a singular contrast to the hurry and bustle of the other passengers. He was not going in the direction of his own offices; and he did not look as if he were going on any particular business anywhere. He had the air of a man who was taking an enforced constitutional, and who by mistake had wandered into the city instead of into the park.
He turned into Cornhill, and then into Golden Alley, which must have obtained its name when gold was only known in quartz; for it was a dull, gloomy-looking place, with dust-stained windows and metal plates up the sides of the doorways, so begrimed that it required an effort of the sight to decipher the names on them. But it was quiet and eminently respectable. Standing in Golden Alley, one had the sense of being in the midst of steady-going, long-established firms, who had no need of outward show to attract customers.
Mr Hadleigh halted for a moment at one of the doors, and looked at a leaden-like plate, bearing the simple inscription, Gribble & Co. He ascended one flight of stairs, and entered an office in which two clerks were busy at their desks, whilst a youth at another desk near the door was addressing envelopes with the eager rapidity of one who is paid so much per thousand.
No one paid any attention to the opening of the door.
‘Is Mr Wrentham in?’ inquired Mr Hadleigh.
At the sound of his voice, one of the clerks advanced obsequiously.
‘Yes, sir. He is engaged at present; but I will send in your name.’
He knew who the visitor was; and after rapidly writing the name on a slip of paper, took it into an inner room. Mr Hadleigh glanced over some bills which were lying on the counter announcing the dates of sailing of a number of A1 clippers and first-class screw-steamers to all parts of the world.
The clerk reappeared, and with a polite, ‘Will you walk in, sir?’ held the door of the inner room open till Mr Hadleigh passed in, and then closed it.
Mr Wrentham rose from his table, holding out his hand. ‘Glad to see you here, Mr Hadleigh—very glad. I hope it is business that brings you?’
‘Yes—important business,’ was the answer.