Chapter Twelve
As it was
The letter, which Amethyst had posted with so much distress of mind, had been answered by a little note from Major Fowler, offering to take charge of the amethysts, if they could be privately handed over to him at Loseby. He would make the opportunity, he said, if Miss Haredale would watch for indications of the right moment.
Amethyst approved of selling the amethysts, and, hateful as was the secrecy with regard to Lucian, she braced herself up to the effort, with a sense of martyrdom. Lady Haredale contrived to work on her feelings, and bewilder her mind, and would have influenced her still further, if she had understood better the views that would influence an innocent and high-minded girl. Lady Haredale, with all her experience, and all her fine ladyhood, had the delight of a school-girl in sentimental mysteries. As she believed all her relations with “Tony” to be quite innocent, not to say praiseworthy, she confided much of them to Amethyst, finding even her daughter a better confidant than no one. Otherwise, no doubt, the affair could have been managed in a simpler fashion.
Amethyst listened, and half believed that her mother had been Tony’s good angel, but that stupid conventionalities obliged all this caution. She was so much puzzled by Una, that her mother’s light treatment of the matter seemed to her possibly the best and wisest. It was easier to fall back on the idea that Una talked exaggerated nonsense, than to recognise that Lady Haredale did so.
She managed, when at Loseby, to follow Major Fowler’s lead with a skill and self-possession that surprised herself; and which made him smile, and think to himself that none of Lady Haredale’s daughters found a little plotting unnatural.
But, when she found herself alone with him in the turfed walk, she froze up into shy dignity.
“My mother desired me to say that you had shown her so much kindness, that she ventures to trouble you once more,” she said; so translating Lady Haredale’s message – “Tell dear old Tony that he is always my resource, and I know he’ll never fail me.”
Major Fowler looked at her curiously. He did not quite see why she was put forward for what Lady Haredale must have known would be a painful interview, unless her mother thought that her fresh beauty would make him waver in his purpose, and soften what he meant to say. He did not know how far she comprehended the errand on which she had been sent. But the easiest course was to take it for granted that she understood it all as well as Una would have done, and had been chosen as a messenger because her secrecy could be better depended upon.
“You see, my dear young lady,” said Major Fowler, twirling his moustaches, as he walked close beside her, “bachelor pleasures must come to an end. I am no end grateful to Lady Haredale for all she did for a poor lonely fellow, giving one the run of the house, and treating one like a – cousin. Any little service I could render, was quite part of the plan, as you may say. But now– it wouldn’t be possible.”
“My mother understood that you consented to – to manage about the jewels,” said Amethyst, abruptly.
“Your precious namesakes? Oh yes, I’ll manage that little piece of business. But I am afraid the other request in her letter is – well – a slight anachronism – if you understand?”
His tone jarred intensely on Amethyst, she could not tell whether it was purposely offensive or only jesting. But she felt that he meant to make her understand – something.
“I did not know that my mother had asked you to do anything else,” she said.
“No? – That she asked me once more to act as her banker? Under present circumstances I must regret to be unable to do so. Of course it’s been an honour and a pleasure; but you will, I am sure, convince her ladyship, that I must resign the situation, its pleasures and emoluments, and – its responsibilities.”
“But, if the amethysts are sold – perhaps she might be able to pay you the money back?” said Amethyst, with childish directness.
He looked at her scared face, he heard the distress in her tone, and answered with a different accent.
“Oh no, my dear Miss Haredale, no. – That is a closed score.”
“If I could pay the money, I would not close it,” suddenly exclaimed the girl, clenching her hands in their delicate gloves. “You – you bought the right to insult us – and – you have done harm for which no money can pay! My mother does believe in you,” she went on – “she thinks you are very good, and that you are fond of us and a real friend. She trusted you with my little sisters, and you made jokes with them, that you knew were not right; and now you break it all off, because you think Miss Verrequers will blame you, if she hears. If you love her, you would like to tell her the truth. My mother is not selfish, she was glad to hear you had good fortune, though she knew that she would miss you, though she is very sorry to part with you. You should not look like that, and speak in that voice, when you speak of her to me.”
“No, Miss Haredale, I should not,” said Major Fowler. “Nor should you have been sent on this errand. Unselfish! Good heavens! Give me the packet, and I will make all further communications direct to Lady Haredale. I assure you – ” and he looked full at the girl, and pulled his moustaches hard, while he continued – “The situation is a little unusual, but I have the very greatest respect for Lady Haredale, and all her family. It’s all perfectly square, I assure you. Don’t distress yourself.”
He bent closely over her as he took the packet from her hand, and before she could answer, they both became aware of the presence of Sylvester Riddell, and Amethyst, confused and ashamed, feeling herself to blame for losing her temper and her dignity, hardly knowing whether he was very kind or very hateful, had to pull herself together and play her part. So well she did it, that Major Fowler muttered to himself as he turned away, “That’s a good girl – but she’d soon be a bad one, if she was left to her mother.” Amethyst herself was surprised to find that there was a kind of excitement in managing well, and, even when she was alone with Lucian, her feeling was rather that of pushing aside the hateful burden, than of wishing to confide it to him. She wanted to think of him, not of her life apart from him. Mutual confidence is a plant of slower growth than mutual love. Besides, though she could not have put it definitely to herself, she had an instinctive dread of his stern clear judgment, and would not have had him guess at Una’s folly for the world.
The real reason, therefore, why she was unwilling to be absorbed by her lover, was her desire to keep Una out of dangerous interviews; she was uneasy if both she and Major Fowler were out of sight. It was in search of her that she came into the conservatory, and almost immediately finding Miss Verrequers, and seeing Major Fowler come forward to join her, she never imagined that Una was far cleverer than herself at such a game, and had managed a moment’s fatal meeting and parting, so immediately after Amethyst had passed through the conservatory, that the two spectators, whose minds were full of the preconceived idea that Amethyst was there, and who were not accustomed to attribute so womanly an appearance to Una, never dreamed of the mistake they were making.
Conflicting feelings wound Amethyst up to a kind of defiance, and when she came home, she repeated to her mother almost word for word what “Tony” had said to her.
“Ah,” said Lady Haredale, “poor fellow! He was angry because I did not speak to him myself! But I think it’s right to be so prudent! And besides, if my lord heard about the debts just now, he would be so angry. He doesn’t mind getting into debt himself; but he does so dislike my borrowing money, even from an intimate friend.”
Amethyst could have said “I am glad to hear it.” She was more miserable than she knew, as she lay awake in the summer morning, thinking, not of her approaching wedding, but of the miserable complications in which she had been so suddenly involved.
Maidenly instinct, all the upright impulses of a good and truthful girl, revolted against the situation. Still, it was “mother,” and perhaps things might in this one instance be different from what they seemed.
She meant to behave as usual in the morning, but the radiant happiness that had of late been usual with her, could not be assumed at will.
She went out into the garden after breakfast to gather roses, and as she walked along the path under the cypress hedge, stopping here and there to pick and to admire, a step in the wood made her start and look up. It was not Lucian, but his mother.
She crossed the stile with the slow, but secure movements of a country lady, no longer slim and active, but to whom stiles have never ceased to be familiar, and approached Amethyst, who ran to meet her with a pretty look of welcome.
Mrs Leigh was a good woman. Deeply as she resented what she believed to be her son’s betrayal, to save the reputation, and, if possible, touch the conscience of this eighteen-year-old girl, to give her every chance of explaining herself, was her firm intention. She had come herself and alone to face a most painful interview, before saying one word to Lucian on the subject.
“Oh, Mrs Leigh,” said Amethyst, “you have just come in time to have some roses!”
“I think you must know why I have come, Amethyst,” said Mrs Leigh, who was too sincere a person, and in too nervous a mood, to fence.
There was guilt in a moment on Amethyst’s face, and guilt, though not her own, in her heart; for her thoughts flew to her mother’s secret, innocent as she felt herself to be.
“No,” she said, “but I am glad to see you.”
She tried to keep her secret, and when Amethyst was in any way playing a part, she played it with her mother’s soft tones and languid grace.
“Amethyst,” said Mrs Leigh, “there is no use in concealment. You shall tell me your own story; but I must ask you to explain your – interview with Major Fowler. Tell me the truth, my dear, I have come first to ask yourself. It is no hearsay, I saw your parting with him.”
“I dare say you did – what then?” said Amethyst. “So did Mr Riddell. There is nothing – what should there be to explain?”
“Yes, Amethyst, I know Mr Riddell saw you. But oh, my dear, what if my poor Lucian had seen you then?”
“What then?” said Amethyst. She was angry; but she was still more frightened and conscious of her secret. She fancied that Mrs Leigh had seen her give Major Fowler the packet.
“What then? Oh, Amethyst, tell the truth at least.”
“You had better ask my mother. There she is!” said Amethyst.
Her manner was haughty, but it was as a sort of refuge from fear. She was still so young, and so accustomed to give an account of her conduct, that it did not occur to her to resent the inquiries. How she could elude them was her first thought!
“My dear Mrs Leigh,” said Lady Haredale, all smiles and pleasant greeting, “you are an early visitor. This lovely weather makes an early bird even of a Londoner like me. And here is a telegram from my lord, to say he is coming home unexpectedly to-day. I don’t think I’ve a dinner fit for him! Lucian is not particular just at present, our scrambling meals suit him.”
“Lady Haredale,” said Mrs Leigh, unable to be otherwise than formal, “I have come on most painful business. I had hoped to hear the truth from Amethyst, but perhaps, as she suggests, it is right for me to speak to you.”
She had been sitting in one of the deep recesses of the hedge, and now resumed her seat, as Lady Haredale placed herself beside her, while Amethyst stood, erect and silent, fronting them both.
Lady Haredale looked at her keenly, even while she spoke in a sympathetic voice to Mrs Leigh.
“There is something the matter?”
“I must speak plainly,” said Mrs Leigh. “Amethyst’s behaviour altogether puzzled me yesterday. I saw her hold a secret interview with your newly-engaged friend, Major Fowler. I saw them part with – a kiss given and taken.”
Lady Haredale gave a little start.
“Oh,” she said, “oh, my dear Mrs Leigh, that was not quite right of him. He should remember Amethyst’s position now. But they are all little girls to him, mere babies still. But it was indiscreet.”
“Mother!” cried Amethyst, with passion such as Mrs Leigh’s words had failed to rouse, “he never kissed me! He does not think me a little girl! It is a mistake. You did not see right,” she added, turning to Mrs Leigh and speaking with childish directness. “He did stand very near me, but, indeed, he did not kiss me!”
“I was in the conservatory, Amethyst,” said Mrs Leigh, coldly.
“But I never was in the conservatory with Major Fowler,” said Amethyst. “It was not there – ”
She paused, and Mrs Leigh replied —
“Where did you go when you went through the conservatory by yourself – why were you there alone?”
“I – I was looking for my sisters,” said Amethyst, with some hesitation; but Lady Haredale rose from her seat, and struck in, with an indescribable air of having the best of the situation —
“I cannot have my daughter questioned in this way, Mrs Leigh. My girls are perfectly trustworthy. It is quite impossible that anything can have passed between Amethyst and Major Fowler of the slightest consequence. He was otherwise engaged. I hope Lucian is not jealous of a few casual words. If she met him, it was quite accidentally. Was he ever away from Miss Verrequers, Amethyst, for a moment?”
Amethyst looked at her mother, with horror in her eyes.
“He did not kiss me,” she said, but in a tone that sounded forced and doubtful.
“I have gained nothing,” said Mrs Leigh, turning back towards the stile. “I came here for the best, it has been all in vain.”
“I too think,” said Lady Haredale, drawing Amethyst towards her, “that enough has been said for the present. But of course, Mrs Leigh, the subject cannot drop here.”
“No,” said Mrs Leigh, “that will be impossible.” She turned away without further parting, and slowly walked down the path, and crossed the stile. Now she had to tell Lucian.
Chapter Thirteen
Is it True?
As Mrs Leigh moved out of hearing, Lady Haredale turned quickly to her daughter.
“Well, did he kiss you?” she said, eagerly.
Amethyst stared at her for a moment.
“No,” she said, with neither outcry nor protest. It was worse to know her mother, than to be suspected herself. Her soul was hurt by the knowledge.
“Well, so much the better. Now you must tell me exactly what did happen – what makes that woman think so?”
“I told you, mother, I met him in that turfed walk, and he said what I told you. I gave him the packet. Mr Riddell did see us, but I don’t think Mrs Leigh did. That was all.”
“But what did she mean about the conservatory?”
“I did go through the conservatory, and through the ante-room into the drawing-room, and no one was there but Major Fowler, and Miss Verrequers came in, in a minute or two. It is all a mistake. But oh, mother, can’t I tell her that I had a message from you?”
“No, Amethyst,” said Lady Haredale, without any of her usual softness. “If you do, we shall all be ruined. They’ll break off your engagement to a certainty. They’re just the people who never – never would understand about poor Tony. And – and you know, my dear, I’m always honest. I ought to have paid those losses, and it’s a story to gain in the telling. If Miss Verrequers heard some things, there’d be such an explosion. Besides, your father would be furious. Remember, I’ve trusted you with your poor mother’s honour. We must make a story up. They must not know about Tony.”
“Make up a story! But what can I tell them?” exclaimed Amethyst with incautious vehemence.
“The truth!” – and Lucian, who had sprung over the stile and flashed along the path, in a moment had seized her hands; his clear unfaltering eyes were looking into hers, his young strong voice, troubled, angered, and yet loving, sounded in her ears.
“What does my mother mean, Amethyst? what is all this?”
“I did not – oh, I did not!” gasped Amethyst, like a falsely accused child. “Oh, Lucian, don’t you believe what I say?”
“Yes, yes, of course I believe it. But what do you say? What can my mother possibly be thinking of?” cried Lucian, still hasty and unrealising.
“Really, Lucian,” said Lady Haredale, “I cannot tell; Mrs Leigh is under some extraordinary mistake. Amethyst has nothing to tell you, and I really hardly know if I can allow the subject to be dropped here. I believe that Amethyst took a turn with Major Fowler – dear old Tony – who has been like an uncle among the children, and Mrs Leigh has made some extraordinary mistake.”
“What is it, Amethyst? You tell me what it is,” said Lucian, who hated Lady Haredale, and never believed a word that fell from her lips.
But his hastiness, which looked like anger and suspicion, though it was in truth passionate trouble, almost took from her breath and speech. Her face whitened, her figure swayed.
“I – I only took a turn with him,” she stammered, with her eyes on her mother, “a turn in the turfed walk.”
“But afterwards – ” said Lucian. “No, I’ll not ask you in any one’s presence. Come with me, and tell me the meaning of it all.”
“There’s nothing else to tell you,” said Amethyst, suddenly feeling that she would never dare to be alone with Lucian again.
“I don’t think I ought to leave you with the poor child, while you are so unreasonable,” said Lady Haredale.
“I do not choose to ask her such a question even before you,” said Lucian, with dignity.
“Why, what a mountain out of a mole-hill you are making, you dear foolish boy,” exclaimed Lady Haredale. “It is quite true that Major Fowler and Amethyst took a turn together, and met Mr Sylvester Riddell. She gave him a little present the children have clubbed together to buy for him out of their own money, as a congratulation on his engagement. What was it, Amethyst? – a purse, I think? Then it appears that Mrs Leigh saw her with him, – where was it, Amethyst? – in the conservatory?”
“No, mother, she did not,” said Amethyst, who had drawn away from Lucian, and stood upright.
“Oh, my dear child, she couldn’t quite invent it, I think she must have seen you. And if he had kissed you – I shall always maintain that he did no harm. Dear old Tony! – And an engaged man! But if you say that Mrs Leigh was mistaken, of course Lucian is bound to believe you.”
Amethyst did not speak.
“Could it have been some one else – Miss Verrequers herself, or one of the little girls? Shall I call them?”
“Certainly not, Lady Haredale,” said Lucian; “I want no witnesses. Amethyst will explain to me.”
“Well,” said Lady Haredale, still lightly, “I will leave her to do so. She can only tell you what I have told you now. But, Lucian, take care, – I cannot have her word doubted.”
As Lady Haredale walked away, uttering the last words with a charming air of motherly dignity, Lucian turned round and gazed into Amethyst’s face.
“What did my mother see?” he said, “what makes her think this? She always speaks the truth.”
“She did not see me,” said Amethyst, “with Major Fowler in the ante-room.”
“Then is what Lady Haredale says true?” Amethyst did not speak.
“There is some mystery. There is something not square somewhere. What is your mother making you do? You were not like yourself yesterday; you had been crying when that scoundrel’s engagement was announced? What does it mean?”
As she was still speechless, he went on, his boyish roughness of manner ill matching the agony in his pale stern face.
“I hate mysteries. It is your duty to tell me the truth. Soon you can have no secrets from me.”
“I cannot explain what Mrs Leigh saw,” said Amethyst, but she sank slowly down on the bench as she spoke, for her limbs failed her. Then suddenly she sprang up, and threw herself into his arms, with one outburst of all her forces against the fate that was closing in upon her.
“Oh, Lucian, trust me, trust me; I swear to you you may.”
As Lucian strained her in his arms, he felt all his convictions reeling and yielding; but the answer was as inevitable to his nature, as the appeal to hers.
“Oh, my darling – my love, I do trust you. But you ought to tell.”
What Amethyst might have done in another moment, convinced as she was that she ought not to tell, is doubtful, but, before she could speak. Lady Haredale returned, and with her Tory and Kattern.
“Oh, Lucian,” said Tory, in her high drawling voice, “my lady says you think that Amethyst has secrets with Tony. So she has; she gave him a present from us. We bought him a purse with our own money. It was all quite correct, I assure you.”
“Is that true?” said Lucian, abruptly. Amethyst had started up, and he saw the startled horror in her eyes. – “Madam,” he said to Lady Haredale, while his young eyes flashed fire, “that is the story which was to be made up. I will leave you to improve upon it,” and he lifted his hat, and dashed away almost more rapidly than he had come.
Amethyst stood for a moment motionless; then she turned to her mother, and caught both her hands.
“Mother,” she cried, “your are ruining my life. I will never, never marry Lucian, while I am pledged to deceive him. – Never, not if he would marry me!”
Lady Haredale’s shallow sentimental nature fairly quailed before the passion in the girl’s eyes and voice, but she held to her point.
“Oh, nonsense, my dear, you are far too scrupulous. It’s not your secret; we must make it right somehow. Why, there were thousands of things I had to keep secret when I was married!”
“Yes, mother, I dare say there were,” said Amethyst, dropping her hands, and walking away across the grass.
Lucian’s angry eyes had pierced her heart, but the unveiling of her sweet mother’s real nature seemed to have laid it waste. Half an hour later, as she sat in her room, crushed and stupefied, not one dear thought able to lift itself up under the frightful weight, hot, eager hands caught hers, and Una’s voice sobbed out —
“Oh, Amethyst, my darling Amethyst, I’ve ruined you; it’s all my fault, I did it! Tory says so, and it’s true, but if I don’t deny it and deny it, it will ruin him; Miss Verrequers will give him up. Oh, I can’t spoil his prospects. Oh, what shall I do?” Amethyst started up. There stood Una, with a very white face and black-ringed eyes, looking, in her ordinary striped frock and long hanging hair, as unlike her sister as could well be.
“You!” exclaimed Amethyst. “What do you mean? What can you mean, Una?”
“I mean, he kissed me. It was good-bye for ever and ever – and ever – there in the ante-room; Mrs Leigh must have seen me. Tory guessed directly, and of course she’ll tell. But, if I won’t own to it, they can’t bring it home to him. But you – oh, my darling! Oh, what shall I do?”
That the children should be mixed up in the miserable story seemed the last drop in Amethyst’s cup. But the sense that, helpless as she was, she was less helpless than Una, did rouse her to some power of consideration.
“I don’t think they could mistake you for me,” she said vaguely.
“I was all white, and my frock was long. Some one did think I was Miss Haredale. Amethyst, I think I could do it this way. If they think he had an affair with you, that would be worse still for him. We’ll go all three of us to Mrs Leigh, and say, we’re very sorry there’s been a mistake, but Major Fowler always played with us, as my lady said, and that he just gave me a kiss for fun, to tease me, as I was dressed like a grown-up girl. She’ll think we’re forward little minxes, but she’ll never think more of a child like me. I can do the child well enough, if I like,” concluded Una with melancholy shrewdness.
“I wouldn’t have you do such a thing for the world!” exclaimed Amethyst, horrified. “Besides, Mrs Leigh wouldn’t believe you; and that is not all.”
“Oh no, I know there’s some awful scrape of my lady’s. But won’t she believe about the purse either?” said Una, to whom the scheme of exciting magnanimous confession had a certain miserable attraction.
“Una!” said Amethyst, “I’d rather never see Lucian again, than have you and Tory tell lies for my sake. Oh, it is all horrible – better a thousand times lose him, than know I was deceiving him!”
“Is that true?” said Una, in a tone of intense surprise, and, as she spoke, an awful wave of self-knowledge flooded Amethyst’s mind; and the nature within her, akin to the mother whom she had found out, akin to the very girl whose proposal was so shocking to her, rose up in all its strength of self-pleasing passion. Was it true? She, felt as if her own soul, and the soul of her young sister, – nay, Lucian’s soul too, might depend on her answer.
“Oh, God help me! God help me!” she cried. “It shall be true! I’ll join in no cheating – nor let you do things worse than you understand, for my sake. But oh, it’s a dreadful world! Oh, mother, mother!” and floods of tears and choking sobs overwhelmed her.
Una twined her arms round her, kissing her, and calling her by every tender name. For a moment Amethyst held back, half shrinking from her, half feeling how unfit it was for such a child to witness her despair. But she was little more than a child herself, in extreme need of love and sympathy. She put up her cheek to Una’s, and the two poor girls, victims of the sins and follies of others, clung to each other for the comfort there was no one else on earth to give them.