“It’s a lie,” said Law, fiercely, “and she knows it. I never thought anything of her—never. It’s a lie, if she were to swear it! Polly! why, she’s thirty, she’s—— I give my word of honour, it’s a lie.”
“But, Law! oh, Law dear——”
“I know what you’re going to say. I’ll take care of myself; no fear of me getting entangled,” said Law briskly. Then he stopped, and, still favoured by the dark, took her hands in his. “Lottie, it’s my turn now. I know you won’t stand questioning, nor being talked to. But, look here—don’t shilly-shally if you can care for anybody, and he’ll marry you and give you a place of your own—You needn’t jump up as if I had shot you. If you talk about such things to me, I may surely talk to you. And mind what I say. I don’t expect you’ll be able to put up with your life here——”
“I hear them stirring downstairs,” said Lottie, drawing her hands out of his hold. “Don’t keep me, don’t hold me, Law. I cannot see her again to-night.”
“You won’t give me any answer,” said the lad regretfully. There was real feeling in his voice—“But, Lottie, mind what I say. I don’t believe you’ll be able to put up with it, and if there’s anyone you care for and he’ll marry you——”
Lottie freed herself from him violently, and fled. Even in the dark there were things that Law could not be permitted to say, or she to hear.
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE HEAVINGS OF THE EARTHQUAKE.
The next morning dawned very strangely on all the members of the little household. Lottie was down early, as she generally was; but the advantages of early rising were neutralised by the condition of the little maid, Mary, who was too much excited to do her work, and kept continually coming back to pour her doubts and her difficulties into Lottie’s ear. “I can’t get no rest till I’ve told mother,” Mary said. “If there’s anything wrong, mother won’t let me stay, not a day. And even if there’s nothing wrong, I don’t know as I’ll stay. I haven’t got no fault to find with you, Miss; nor the Captain, nor even Mr. Law: though he’s a dreadful bother with his boots cleaning; but to say as you’re beginning as you mean to end, and then to give all that trouble! every blessed thing, I had to drag it upstairs. Mr. Law was very kind; he took up the big box—I couldn’t ha’ done it; but up and down, up and down, all the little boxes and the bags, and the brown paper parcels—‘It saves trouble if you begins as you means to end,’ she says——”
“I don’t want to hear what Mrs. Despard says,” said Lottie. Mrs. Despard: it was her mother’s name. And though that mother had not been an ideal mother, or one of those who are worshipped in their children’s memories, it is wonderful, what a gush of tender recollections came into Lottie’s mind with the name. Poor mamma! she had been very kind in her way, always ready to indulge and to pardon, if indifferent to what happened in more important matters. She had never exacted anything, never worried her children about idleness or untidiness, or any of those minor sins which generally make a small girl’s life a burden to her. Lottie’s mind went back to her, lying on her sofa, languid, perhaps lazy—badly dressed; yet never anything but a lady, with a kind of graciousness in her faded smile, and grace in her faded gown. Not a woman to be held in adoration, and yet—the girl sighed, but set to work to make the little brown dining-room neat, to get the table set, making up for Mary’s distracted service by her own extra activity. For amid all the horrors of last night there was one which had cut Lottie very deeply, and that was the many references to the cold beef, and the bride’s dislike of “cold victuals.” It is inconceivable, among all the more important matters involved, how deeply wounded Lottie’s pride had been by this reproach. She resolved that no one should be able to speak so to-day; and she herself put on her hat and went out to the shop on the Abbey Hill almost as soon as it had opened, that this intolerable reproach should not be in the interloper’s power. She met more than one of the old Chevaliers as she came up, for most of them kept early hours and paced the terrace pavement in the morning as if it had been morning parade. They all looked at her curiously, and one or two stopped her to say “good morning.” “And a fine morning it is, and you look as fresh as a flower,” one of the old gentlemen said; and another laid his hand on her shoulder, patting her with a tender fatherly touch. “God bless you, my dear, the sight of you is a pleasure,” said this old man. How little she had thought or cared for them, and how kind they were in her trouble! She could see that everybody knew. Lottie did not know whether she did not half resent the universal knowledge. Most likely they had known it before she did. The whole town knew it, and everybody within the Precincts. Captain Despard had got married! Such a thing had not occurred before in the memory of man. Many people believed, indeed, that there was a law against it, and that Captain Despard was liable to be turned out of his appointment. Certainly it was unprecedented; for the old Chevaliers before they came to St. Michael’s had generally passed the age at which men marry. The whole scene seemed to have taken a different aspect to Lottie. Since her home had become impossible to her, it had become dear. For the first time she felt how good it was to look across upon the noble old buttresses of the Abbey, to inhabit that “retired leisure,” that venerable quietness. If only that woman were not there! But that woman was there, and everything was changed. Lottie had been rudely awakened, dragged, as it were, out of her dreams. She could not think as she usually did of the meetings that were sure to come somehow in the Abbey, or on the Slopes—or count how long it would be till the afternoon or evening, when she should see him. This, though it was her life, had been pushed out of the way. She thought of all last night’s remarks about the cold beef and the poor fare, and the changes that were going to be made. Would she think bacon good enough for breakfast?—would she be satisfied with the rolls, which Lottie herself felt to be a holiday indulgence? Pride, and nothing but pride, had thrown the girl into such excesses. She could not endure those criticisms again. Her brain was hot and hazy, without having any power of thought. The confusion of last night was still in her. Would it all turn out a dream? or would the door open by-and-by and show this unaccustomed figure? Lottie did not feel that she could be sure of anything. The first to come down was Law, who had been forced from his bed for once by sympathy. Law was very kind to Lottie. “I thought I wouldn’t leave you to face her by yourself,” he said; “they’re coming down directly.” Then Lottie knew that it was no dream.
The bride came down in a blue merino dress, as blue as the silk of last night. Polly was of opinion that she looked well in blue; and it was not one of the ethereal tints that are now used, but a good solid, full blue, quite uncompromising in point of colour. And the hair on her head was piled up as if it would reach the skies, or the ceiling at least. She came down arm-in-arm with her husband, the two smiling upon each other, while Law and Lottie stood one on each side of the table with no smiles, looking very serious. It was Mrs. Despard who did the most of the conversation; for the Captain was passive, feeling, it must be allowed, somewhat embarrassed by the presence of his children, who did not embarrass her at all. But she did not think the bacon very good. She thought it badly cooked. She thought the girl could not have been well trained to send it up like that. And she was not pleased either with the rolls; but announced her intention of changing the baker as well as the butcher. “We’ve always gone to Willoughby’s, as long as I can recollect, and I don’t fancy any bread but his.” Lottie did not say anything, she was nearly as silent as on the previous night; and Law, who was opposite, though he made faces at her now and then, and did his best to beguile his sister into a laugh, did not contribute much to the conversation. He got up as soon as he had swallowed his breakfast and got his books. “I’m off to old Ashford,” he said.