CHAPTER XVIII.
Clare’s proceedings next day were the cause of absolute consternation to everybody concerned. In the morning she was very restless, roaming about from floor to floor—from the library to the dining room, and then to her bed-chamber, carrying with her something tied up in her handkerchief. “Can I carry it for you, Miss Arden?” her maid had asked, meeting her suddenly on the stair. “Carry it! what?” Clare had answered, sharply, dropping her hand, with the little bundle in it, among the folds of her dress. Had it been perceived how often she changed the place in which she had this parcel locked up the wonder of the household would have been still further roused. She had sat up half the night at least doing nothing, staring into the candle; and when finally she went up stairs, she had carried her mysterious bundle with her, placing it under her pillow. When she came down, weary and pale, in the morning, she had carried it to the library, and locked it into the bureau. Then, prompted by some sudden change of mind, she had transferred it from the bureau to a drawer in the writing table in the morning room, where she chiefly sat; then she carried it off to her wardrobe; and, finally, about noon, restored it to its original place in the bureau. She put it back into its own original drawer, which would scarcely contain it—locked the inner door, and hung the key round her neck on a ribbon; and then locking the outer part of the bureau, shut up the key of that in her desk. She was very pale, and yet now and then would grow hot and flushed without any reason. She employed herself all the morning in feverish movement from one place to another. At twelve she called her maid Barbara and told her to make ready to go out. “I am going up to the Three Beeches,” she said; “take something with you to eat, for it may be late before we get home again.” “Shall I take any luncheon for you, Miss Arden?” said the girl, “and shall I order the carriage?” “I don’t want anything to eat, and I prefer to walk,” Clare said abruptly; and, accordingly, at twelve o’clock of a blazing summer morning, she set out for a three miles’ walk, attended by her unwilling maid with a parcel of books. “If any one calls you can say I have gone out for the day,” she said to Wilkins, who was no less amazed. She had not gone a hundred yards from the house when Barbara interrupted her progress. “Please, Miss Arden, I see the Rector coming up the avenue.” “Never mind,” said Clare, with an impatient gesture, and hurried on.
The Rector had come up in a state of great trouble and excitement—first, to remonstrate with Clare for her injurious suspicions in regard to poor little Jeanie; secondly, to warn herself against Arthur Arden; and, thirdly, to ask her advice what he should say to Mrs. Murray on the subject, which was a part of the business which frightened him much. He was not an early man at any time, and Clare’s note had much discomposed him, and the parish business had taken him up for at least an hour. When he was turned back from the door of Arden his astonishment knew no bounds. “Gone out!” he said, “gone out for the day! What is the meaning of that, Wilkins? Has she gone to pay a visit! But I did not meet her in the avenue, and she has not passed through the village this morning, so far as I could hear.”
“No, sir; she has not gone upon a visit,” said Wilkins; “she’s about somewhere in the park, I do believe. Not as I knows that o’ my own knowledge,” he added, hurriedly. “Miss Clare may have gone—bless you, she might have gone anywhere—to Lady Augusta’s, maybe, only they’re all away, or to Miss Somers’s, or to the village. Miss Clare is the independentest young lady, as you know——”
“Yes, yes, she may be independent, but she does not rush out like this without any reason. Has she had any letters about Business—anything to call her abroad——”
“I don’t know, sir, no more than Adam,” said Wilkins, shaking his head; and then he sank into mystery. “If you’ll step in for a moment, sir, I’ll call Mrs. Fillpot. I think she’d like to say a word; and she has a kind of a notion she knows why.”
Mr. Fielding went into the hall, shaking his head, and then he passed into Clare’s morning room, where everything was painfully tidy, and there was no appearance of any occupation about. The Rector shook his head still as he peered into the corners with his short-sighted eyes. “She has taken it to heart; she has taken it to heart!” he said to himself, and shook his head more and more.
Then Mrs. Fillpot came in, with a white apron, the corner of which she held in one hand, ready for instant action. Wilkins lingered near the door, with the view of being one of the party, but the Rector promptly closed it upon him. “You have something to tell me from Miss Clare?” he said; for to be sure he was jealous of being thought to come and ask questions of the servants at the Hall.
“Nothing from Miss Clare, sir; worse luck,” said Mrs. Fillpot; “but I come to tell you what’s to do with her this morning. Mr. Arthur, sir, has been a-coming day after day. He’s been here, has Mr. Arthur, since last Monday, every afternoon of his life; and Miss Clare and he a-sitting in the library, as none of us likes to go in no more nor we can help, a-working with their papers. It’s hurt me to see it, Mr. Fielding, like as if she had been my own child. A young lady and no mother, and the Squire away as should take care of his sister. So I up and told her yesterday. It took a deal of screwing up to give me the courage; but bless you, sir, if a woman hasn’t that courage for one as she’s brought up—— So I up and told her. I said—‘It ain’t right, Miss, and it ain’t nice, nor what your poor dear mamma, if she’d have lived, would have approved.’ I said it plain out as I’m saying it to you, though I was all of a tremble. Bless you, thinking of it, I’m all of a tremble now.”
“And what did she say?” asked Mr. Fielding.