Two, by Tricks: A Novel

by Edmund Yates

'Most important. I am coming down by next train, and must see you, as I return to town to-night.'

May's heart sank within her with a sense of impending trouble as she read these words, and Eleanor, to whom she handed the message, turned pale as death.

[CHAPTER XVII.]

UFFINGTON'S ERRAND.

The message which the telegraph-boy brought to Woodburn had the effect of throwing a chill upon the spirits of the party, and caused more than ordinary consternation in the breasts of two of its members.

As soon as they reached the house Lady Forestfield retired to her room, not even asking Eleanor to bear her company, so deeply did she feel the necessity for silence and cogitation. Once there, she turned the key in the door to prevent any attempt at intrusion; for she knew Mrs. Chadwick to be one of those persons who are always most inclined to gossip at inconvenient seasons; and settling herself in her favourite chair in the oriel window, gave herself up to thinking of possibilities.

Taking the telegram from her pocket, she reperused it quietly. 'Most important,'--those were the first words. Sir Nugent Uffington, as she well knew, was anything but impulsive, and not in the least likely to use a term stronger than the occasion warranted; nor was it at all probable that, as he had arranged to visit Woodburn at the latter end of the week, and to spend some days there, he would come down, especially for a few hours, unless the business which brought him was of a pressing and particular nature. What could that business be? The first idea that occurred to Lady Forestfield's mind was that the influence, whatever it might have been, which had induced her husband to restore her to her former position, had waned; that the divorce action would be proceeded with, and she would again be driven forth an outcast on the world. The possibility, not the probability, of this being the explanation of the telegram was all that occurred to her; but she yet turned it over in her mind as though it were already an accomplished fact. It would be very terrible, she thought, to have again to face that wretched solitary life in the dull lodging, with all its sordid and mean surroundings; to have her miserable story again publicly commented on, and privately bandied from mouth to mouth, by those amongst whom her name was no more mentioned, and her very existence had long since been forgotten; it would be hard to give up that fresh love of life which, since her residence at Woodburn, had dawned upon her simultaneously with her appreciation of nature and the exquisite enjoyment of the country.

If this supposition were correct, she must have been at fault in the idea that the recent change in Lord Forestfield's conduct had been produced by Sir Nugent Uffington's agency, for she knew Uffington too well to suspect for a moment that anything which he had once taken in hand could be suffered to fail. What, then, could it be? For an instant a burning flush suffused May's neck as a thought, to which she had hitherto never dared to give attention, flashed across her mind. Could it be possible that this close and constant intimacy into which they had been thrown had led him to think of her with something warmer than those feelings of friendship which he had never indeed openly professed, but which by every action he had manifested towards her? She herself knew that for her own part--No, under other circumstances it might have been possible, but now it was hopeless; she had hitherto succeeded in prohibiting such a thought from entering her breast, and it should find a place there no more.

What could it be, then? Could it be the question of Eleanor's future that brought Sir Nugent thither in such haste? From the conversation which she had had with her friend, May was certain that Eleanor was deeply impressed with Uffington, and that though perhaps her rejection of Spiridion Pratt was not entirely influenced by that feeling, it was tolerably certain that, if Uffington had been the suitor, he would have received a very different reply. The spirit and eagerness with which Eleanor had combated the idea of his being too old to marry a young girl had given May a complete insight into her friend's feelings, and if Uffington's errand were to propose for Eleanor Irvine, its success was assured. May could not, however, think that this could be the case; Sir Nugent was to have come down in a few days, and would then have taken advantage of the opportunity to propose for the girl's hand if he had any such intention. It was entirely unlike him to make a special excursion for the purpose, which would necessarily lead to comment and question; moreover, it was to herself, Lady Forestfield, that the telegram was addressed, and the request that she should remain at home was made to her. May gave it up in despair; she was totally unable to divine the cause of Uffington's coming unless it related to private affairs of his own, and she could scarcely think that concerning them it could be necessary to consult her.

May was not the only one who was brooding over what the message might portend; Eleanor Irvine, so soon as she could rid herself of the fussy companionship of Mrs. Chadwick, devoted her energies to its solution. To her the fact that the writer attached importance to an interview with Lady Forestfield seemed of alarming significance. More than once during the last few months Eleanor's heart had been wrung with the idea that an attachment had innocently, and perhaps without their knowing it, sprung up between May Forestfield and Sir Nugent Uffington. It seemed to her impossible that two such persons could be thrown together without falling in love with each other, for May, in Eleanor's eyes, was the prettiest, the sweetest, the most lovable of women; while, as for Uffington, when her own heart told her that she loved him with all the admiration and affection of which her deep strong nature was capable, she, of course, thought that every other woman must be similarly fascinated. May had never given her the smallest hint to lead her to believe in the existence of such a state of things, and, indeed, during their last conversation when the merits of Uffington and the reasons for his having hitherto remained unmarried had been fully discussed, Eleanor had taken the opportunity of narrowly watching Lady Forestfield, and was at the time convinced that no feeling stronger than grateful friendship had dictated her panegyrics. Of Uffington, however, Eleanor had never been so sure. She had fancied once or twice that he seemed attached to herself, but in such matters had had little experience, and thought she might possibly have been deceived. It seemed almost absurd to think that a man of such taste and refinement could have been thrown so much as he had recently been into the society of a woman like May without bowing to the spell which her beauty and fascination never failed to exercise. And if such were the case, if Uffington's errand were to implore May to let the decree nisi be confirmed and to trust her future to him, Eleanor felt certain that May would not have the power to resist. What would then become of her?