Jacynth hesitated, “I do not know,” he said slowly, “whether she could travel so far. She has been ill—and——”
“And, perhaps—she may not care to come, eh?” said the shrewd old doctor. “You must excuse me if she is a friend of yours, but the fact is, everything I have heard of Lady Francis Onslow leads me to conclude that she will not put herself much out of her way for her husband’s sake.”
“You do not know her,” said Jacynth warmly; then, controlling with some difficulty a feeling of offense, he added, “I believe that she is very much attached to Lord Francis, and would come at once if she thought that he was ill.”
“Then telegraph,” said the doctor. “Anything rather than let him travel in his present state of nerves and heart. It might be the death of him.” And with a brusque nod he took himself off, leaving Jacynth more than ever perplexed by the duty that devolved on him.
What could he say to Fenella that would neither frighten nor repel? If he told her that Ronny was ill, she would be frantic with alarm. If he said that Lord Francis needed her, she might shrink away with wounded pride. He thought of the way in which she had spoken to him of her husband, and decided that he could not hope to conjure by his name. As he had said to the doctor, she would come if he told her that Lord Francis were ill; but if he summoned her on that account, how explain her appearance to Onslow himself? Every way seemed to be surrounded by difficulties. At last, in desperation, he wrote and dispatched the following telegram:
Ronny knocked up by traveling; Lord Francis also unwell; can you come to us in order to save delay?
“The mother’s heart in her,” said Jacynth to himself, “will supply all that is ambiguous in this message, and we shall have her with us to-morrow.”
He felt so much more at ease when the message was sent off, that he turned into the smoking room to glance at the papers and smoke a cigar before going back to Onslow. Ronny was under the care of a nurse, and Onslow was probably resting; he had no special responsibility with respect to either of them at present, and he was glad to feel himself free.
The papers already contained long accounts of the fire, of the swamping of the boats, and of the rescue of the four survivors found clinging to the wreck. A list of the drowned passengers and crew was appended, and here Jacynth caught sight of the name of Mme. de Vigny. “So she went back to her old title, did she?” he mused. “Well, one obstacle to Fenella’s happiness has been removed now that that woman is dead. Let us hope that she is dead indeed. It would be no kindness to her or to others to hope for her safety.”
His eye had fallen on a short paragraph, which at first he had overlooked. Here it was stated that three or four of the crew had managed, by clinging to floating spars or other pieces of wreckage, to come safe to land, and that it was possible that more lives had been preserved in this way, than could at present be ascertained. There was no mention, however, of any woman among the survivors: and, uncharitable as the wish might sound, it must be confessed that Jacynth heartily desired to be assured that Lucille de Vigny would trouble no man’s peace again.