CHAPTER XIX.
CHATEAU DE THORENS AGAIN.
ighteen years have, of course, made a great many changes in Château de Thorens. The old baroness is long since at rest, she died a few years after her son Léon was drowned; and Père Yvon, though still alive, is very old and infirm, and lives in daily expectation that the summons will come for him to follow his late patroness to her last home. The baron is stouter than he was when he ran down the spiral staircase with his infant daughter in his arms that midsummer evening, whose work he would have given the rest of his life to undo, so bitterly had he repented of it. His hair, too, is turning white, though he is under five and forty still, and there is a settled melancholy look in his brown eyes, which not all the jokes of his three sons can ever wholly chase away. The young baroness is no longer known by that name since the old baroness died, yet she still looks very young to be the mother of those three great boys, the eldest of whom, a tall handsome youth of sixteen, named Léon, after his poor uncle, to whom he bears a striking resemblance, is now hanging over her and trying to persuade her to ride with him before dinner this September evening.
“Oh! Léon, I can’t! It is much too hot!”
“Nonsense, mother, it will do you good; you are getting much too stout,” said Léon, mischievously; for he knew his mother prided herself on her figure, which was slight and almost girlish.
“Léon, you dreadful boy! I am sure it is not true! I will ask your father; and I certainly won’t ride with you now, to punish you for your impertinence. Besides Rex de Courcy came back yesterday, and I am sure he will be here later to see me.”
“Ah! now we have got at the real reason. Of course, if Rex is coming I have not a chance,” said Léon, half in earnest, half in fun, for he was rather jealous of his mother’s friendship for Rex de Courcy.
“Don’t be silly, Léon; I have not seen Rex for two months, and I am longing to hear all about his visit to England. Besides, I never can forget what a comfort Rex was to me before any of you boys were born; he always seems to me almost like one of my own sons. Go and get your father to ride with you; it will do him good; and tell the other boys Père Yvon is expecting them in the study,” replied the baroness.
These three boys were the only children she had, and though she worshipped them, and had long since ceased to grieve for her little baby daughter, yet the baron, proud as he was of his sons, never forgot the little girl he had got rid of so much more thoroughly than he had ever intended to do. He never spoke of the child even to his wife, and all the boys knew of her was that they once had a little sister who was drowned with their Uncle Léon; and yet a day never passed on which the baron did not think of her, and in his secret heart he cherished a hope, vain and futile as he knew that hope to be, that, after all, perhaps she had not perished with Léon, and he might yet live to hold her in his arms. Perhaps if he had had another daughter to take the place of the lost one he might not have hankered after the sleeping baby he had so ruthlessly torn from its luxurious home to be cast upon the waves of a wicked world. But no other daughter had come, and, though her three fine boys satisfied the baroness’s heart, there always remained an empty place in her husband’s.
As the baroness had said, Reginald de Courcy had been a great comfort to her in those sad days when she believed her own baby to have perished with Léon. From the day when she went to stay at Parc de Courcy, while her husband and M. de Courcy were in England inquiring into the loss of the Hirondelle, until her own Léon was born, the baroness thought a day lost unless she had half an hour of the pretty little Rex’s society; and ever since, though he was too old to be a companion for her boys, Reginald had been a constant visitor at Château de Thorens, which he looked upon as a second home, and came and went as he pleased.
It was now two months since he went on a visit to Oafham Park, a visit spent, as we know, in winning Fairy’s heart; and the baroness, who had heard rumours of some love affair which had occupied Rex in England, was expecting him to call this evening, feeling sure he would make her his confidante. And in this she was not disappointed, for when Rex appeared, as he did a little later in the afternoon, she found he was quite as anxious to talk of his late experiences in England as she was to hear.
Like all lovers, Rex felt the next best thing to being with his beloved was to be with someone to whom he could openly discourse upon her perfections; moreover, he had great hopes of winning the baroness to take his part in the matter, in which case perhaps she might be prevailed upon to invite Fairy to come and stay at Château de Thorens, and he felt confident if his people could only see her apart from her foster family, they could not in reason object to her as a daughter-in-law.
“And you are really engaged, Rex?” asked the baroness, when Rex had paused to take breath in the midst of an eloquent panegyric on Fairy’s beauty and many virtues.
“Of course I am, and what is more I mean to marry her as soon as she is of age, in spite of all my people may say to the contrary, and at present I don’t see a chance of their giving their consent.”
“But why not? I thought your mother had always declared she would let you choose your wife in the English fashion; and surely she would rather you married an English girl and a Protestant, would she not?”
“Yes; but, ahem! you see there are some insuperable difficulties, which, at present, I don’t see any way to overcoming.”
“Why, isn’t your fiancée a lady?”
“A lady, baroness! why, she is an angel!” indignantly exclaimed Reginald.
“Oh! of course, we always are until we are wives; but who is she?” said the baroness, beginning to suspect there was a great deal more to be confessed yet.
“Well, you see, that is the very thing, I don’t know who she is; she does not know herself; in fact, nobody knows.”
“Nobody knows who she is! My dear Rex, this is very odd; pray explain yourself. Who is she?”
“She is the dearest, prettiest, sweetest, most elegant little creature you ever saw in your life. Her hair——” began Rex.
“Oh, but you have told me all about her hair and her wonderful eyes and her exquisite complexion before; I want to know her name, and where she lives, and what her father is, and all about her.”
“She has not a father; in fact, she has no relations. She was found by her foster father when she was a baby, and the people all believe the fairies brought her, and they call her the fairies’ child.”
“But, my dear Rex, there are no such things as fairies; surely you can’t believe what those ignorant English peasants say. Who is her foster father then?”
“Well, that is the unfortunate part; he is only a shepherd, and yet Fairy, that is her only name, is as perfect a lady as my mother or Lady Oafham.”
“Oh, but my dear Rex, it is impossible, brought up in a shepherd’s cottage!” said the baroness.
“Do you mean to say I don’t know a lady when I see one?” asked Rex, angrily.
“On the contrary, I don’t know a better judge, but in this case, Rex, don’t you think it is possible you are biassed by your feelings; don’t look so black at me; you know I always tell you exactly what I think, and if you begin to quarrel with me about this wonderful Fairy, I shan’t like her.”
“I am not going to quarrel, only I want you to believe me, though, of course, it must sound incredible. She has been educated like a lady with the rector’s daughters, she speaks French better than any English person, except my mother, I have ever met; she paints and sings charmingly, and the Leslies—Mr. Leslie is the rector and a friend of the Oafhams—are as fond of her as of their own children, and she often stays with them, and nearly always spends her mornings at the rectory, and the Leslies think there is no doubt she is a lady by birth, though they have never been able to trace her parentage. They know no more about her origin than I do, namely that she was found by the shepherd on his doorstep one summer evening.”
“And does your mother know all this?”
“No, my people know nothing at present unless the Oafhams have ferretted it out.”
“Then what made you tear yourself away? I thought you were to stay in England for some Protestant carnival in November?”
“So I was to have done, but Mr. Leslie persuaded me to go away because the shepherd would not allow me to see her any more unless I had my father’s consent to our engagement, and at present I know it would be worse than useless to ask for it. But the Leslies and I have made a little plan by which I hope to win it. If I tell you the plot you will promise not to breathe it to anyone, not even the baron; if it fails, I give you leave to tell him; and if it succeeds, of course everyone will know. Will you promise?”
The baroness nodded assent, and Rex continued—
“Well, you know, my father is going over to this carnival, which takes place at Lewes on the 5th of November. It is a grand sight, some people say, only second to the Carnival at Rome; some say it is better. The Leslies are going to invite Fairy to spend a week with them. They will bring her to the carnival and introduce father to her. He is sure to be charmed with her, and will go and call on the Leslies, where he will see she is like one of the family, and then I hope to win his consent to our marriage before he finds out her foster-parents, or perhaps in spite of it, for Fairy is sure to captivate him.
“I don’t think anyone could resist her. Even her foster-father was obliged to consent to this plan when she asked him, though he wanted to put a stop to our engagement at once and get me packed off here for good. I must say the man behaved uncommonly well, though, about it, and acted with the feelings of a gentleman, though he is only a peasant. He said he knew it would be exceedingly disagreeable to me to have to discuss the subject of my marriage with a poor man like him, so he went to Mr. Leslie and put the matter in his hands, asking him to speak to me, and so the very day after I was engaged to Fairy I had a letter from Leslie, asking me to call on him the next morning. I went, little dreaming what he wanted to see me about, and there I was closeted with him the whole morning, and a nice state of mind I was in when I heard I was never to see my Fairy again unless my father consented to our marriage. However, Leslie I soon found, though at first he was on stilts, was on my side, and we arranged the little conspiracy I have just told you, for he thinks with me if my father can only see her apart from her foster-parents, he will be so favourably impressed with her that he will eventually give his consent. But Leslie would only promise to help me on condition I left England at once; he would not even agree to my seeing Fairy again, though he promised to go and tell her at once what we had planned, and he consented to my writing to her once a week.
“I went back to Oafham, intending to return home at the end of the week without seeing Fairy again, though I did not know how to keep away from her. But, to my joy, Mr. Leslie walked over the next morning, and told me I might go that afternoon and say good-bye, for Fairy had spent the whole of the previous day in crying and saying, ‘I want my Rex,’ ‘I will have my Rex,’ ‘I don’t care what John says, I will have my Rex;’ so when the shepherd came home that evening he went to Leslie at once, before he had his supper, and said he could not bear to see his little sunbeam in tears, and I might go and bid her good-bye. So I went, and found her as bright as ever, and Mrs. Shelley laughing at her and saying she wished everyone’s sorrows were as shortlived as Fairy’s, who cried for her lover for a whole day, as if she were crying for a doll, like the child she was; and then the shepherd, who had always spoilt her, sent for me, and gave his wife a good scolding for letting me go to the house in the first instance. But I shall tire you out with my tales of Fairy. I could talk of her all day long and all night, too,” said Rex.
“Well, you must stop and dine with us. Arnaud will be glad to see you again. You won’t tell him about it, I suppose?”
“No, certainly not. Please don’t tell him a word, will you? My mother would not like it if she knew I had told you; but, you see, it would never do for me to tell my people under present circumstances.”
The baroness promised not to mention it to her husband, little thinking that the Fairy in question was no other than her long-lost and now forgotten daughter. It never for one moment occurred to her that such a thing could be possible, for she had never doubted that the child had perished in the Hirondelle with Léon. Nor was she at all aware that her husband doubted this, and cherished a secret hope that one day he might find his long-lost treasure. Perhaps had she known this she might have begged Rex’s permission to mention this mysterious love of his to Arnaud; and one thing is certain, had she done so the baron would not have rested until he had been to Lewes and made every inquiry, and in all probability he would have discovered the truth.
On such trifles as we count them does the whole course of our lives turn. One word from the baroness to her husband, and that word might—and in all probability would—have led to the recovery of their child; but that word was not spoken, and Fairy remained at the shepherd’s.
Very slowly indeed did those two months of September and October pass for Rex, and as the baroness was his only confidante, it was natural that he should spend a great deal of his time at Château de Thorens; and when the baron and his sons were present, since he could not talk of Fairy, he was never tired of talking of the Lewes carnival, to which he looked forward with such impatience. Indeed, he so fired the imagination of the baron with his description of the wonderful doings which were to take place, that there was at one time some talk of the baron going over with M. de Courcy and Rex; but Père Yvon put his foot on this arrangement, by objecting to Arnaud’s being present at a demonstration against Roman Catholics; and as Rex could not deny that he believed part of the proceedings consisted in mobbing the Roman Catholics of the town, and in travestying some of their sacred rites, the baron abandoned his scheme, for he was a devout Romanist, and submitted to Père Yvon’s authority in all spiritual matters.
At last the first of November dawned, and that day Rex and his father crossed the Channel, hoping to reach Oafham in due time for the wild revels of the fifth.
(To be continued.)