‘My dear Cecile, what I know of you is one thing, what you know of me is another. I have broken every law, especially of society; but to harm the innocent is what I have never done—at least,’ she added after a moment, ‘not in that way. And though I’d give my head for you, which is, of course, a figure of speech, I will not ruin Emily Plowden for you, and that’s flat, whatever you may say.’
‘Don’t interfere, Artémise,’ said Mrs. Swinford, with a sound of tears in her voice, ‘don’t, don’t interfere. Go away, and let things take their chance. No doubt she must have other evidence; I was a fool not to think of that. But don’t you, who are my nearest and dearest, go against me; don’t interfere. It is not, it has never been, a fit position for you, wherever you are; go to London, where I will find a home for you, Artémise.’
‘Do you think after standing out so long, I will consent to be dependent on you now—for a reason?’ Then she laughed, changing her tone. ‘If you can imagine a better place to hide myself in than the Girls’ National School at Watcham,’ she resumed, ‘you have very much the advantage of me.’
XXXI
It was not very often the Rector found time to visit his sister. They saw each other constantly at the Rectory, at church, in the village street, in all sorts of places, almost every day; but his visits were few, especially such a visit as the present. He paused at the further end of the garden and called over the hedge to Mab, to know if her mother was alone. ‘I have got some business to talk over,’ Mr. Plowden said. ‘Take the trouble, will you, Mab, to see that no one comes in to disturb us.’
Mab thought it curious that, thus for two days within a week, her mother should have private business with Uncle James; but she said nothing except a ready assent to what he asked of her. ‘I’ll come towards the gate,’ she said; ‘I’ve got some things to put in on that border, and if any one comes that I can’t send away, you will hear me talking with them, Uncle James.’ She walked through the garden with him, so to speak, she on one side of the hedge, he on the other. ‘Fancy who turned up yesterday,’ she said; ‘a cousin whom, of course, I never saw before—a Lord William like my father; but fortunately they called him Lord Will.’
‘Lord William!’ cried the Rector, ‘a Pakenham—a son of the Marquis! Did he come to see you, or—for—for anything special?’
‘I don’t know what he wanted,’ said Mab. ‘To see us, I suppose. The funny thing is, he is like me. From this you may imagine he is not a beautiful young man, Uncle James.’
‘I don’t know why I should imagine that; I like your looks very well, my dear.’
‘Thank you, Uncle James,’ said Mab, with a laugh. ‘He is staying at the Hall, and I think he said that he would come back this morning, so, of course, if he comes I cannot send him away.’