At Toorak she found things in a most discouraging and deplorable condition—as they never would have been, she told herself, had she remained in town.
Mrs. Hardy, who met her in the hall, and took her to her own room for elaborate explanations, was herself a most puzzling and unsatisfactory feature in the case, for she made it evident to her daughter's keen perception that something more had happened than was accounted for in her rather disconnected narrative, and that she did not intend to disclose what it was.
There was a touch of nervous recklessness and defiance in the way she spoke of Rachel's illness—as if the poor child had crowned a systematic series of misdemeanours by falling ill on purpose—and of her hearty regret that she had ever had anything to do with such a perverse and ungrateful girl, which conveyed to Mrs. Reade the impression that her cousin had in some way been persecuted, or had at any rate, been subjected to more heroic treatment than her own judgment and advice had sanctioned.
Under such circumstances it was, perhaps, natural that her mother should be somewhat reserved, since to be fully confidential would be to confess that she had made mistakes; but this sudden reversal of old habits, occurring at this important crisis in the family fortunes, was a serious aggravation of the already sufficient difficulties that the little woman had to deal with.
What complicated her task still further was the discovery that Mr. Kingston was again a frequent visitor at the house, and a strong suspicion that he was cognisant of those unauthorised measures—whatever they were—which she was not to hear of. The only thing she could hope for was that Rachel would make a clean breast of all her secrets.
"And if she trusts me, I will stand her friend against them all," declared the baffled conspirator to herself, as she sat and listened to her mother's tangled story.
It appeared that Rachel's first signs of illness had become apparent very soon after the Reades had left town. She began to fade in colour and to fail in appetite, and grew nervous, flighty, and restless; and, upon investigation, it was discovered that she had lost the habit of sleeping as a healthy girl should sleep at night.
The family doctor was called in, who, amongst other remedies prescribed a return to horse exercise, which, since the breaking-off of her engagement, had been abandoned; and Mr. Kingston thereupon begged so earnestly that she would ride Black Agnes again, that she reluctantly consented to do so to please him.
Mr. Kingston behaved most delicately, it was explained, and did not force himself upon her in her rides. She always went out with William. "Always," however, turned out to be only twice, and on both occasions the carriage had accompanied her with Mr. Kingston in it.
Just before Christmas she refused to ride any more, and she behaved in the most rude and ill-bred manner to Mr. Kingston. On Christmas Day she was very aggravating—in what way did not appear—and Mrs. Hardy had to "speak" to her; and the result was that she flew into a violent passion, and then had a fit of hysterics, and then fainted dead away, and did not come round for nearly five minutes.