Bluebell Part 42

He shook his head.

"Oh, do, pray, or let me!"

"Now, my dear Bluebell, haven't we just agreed the fewer people who know it the better? You say you left a letter telling him you were to be married, and it is no further business of his. Besides, he is a suspicious old nuisance, and would very likely come boring down here; and then I should be sure to quarrel with him. Come along, put on your hat, and let us go out."

"I must re-write my letter," said she. It was much shorter than the other one, and a sober look had dawned on her fair face when it was finished.

More than once she resumed the subject, but never got any satisfaction from Dutton. "What did she want more? Could anything be jollier than the life they were leading, with no one to bother them? Every one was alone in the honeymoon; and, once their marriage was confessed, it would be the beginning of ceaseless annoyance, disagreeable advice from relations, shindies without end."

Harry was still in the seventh heaven--more ardent in love with his wife than ever; and this sweet little quiet home, with "the mystery and romance of it," he was unwilling to tear himself from. To Bluebell it bore a different aspect. Marriage had deprived her of all her friends, and raised a barrier between the present and the past. There had been no time to grow to Harry, and he demanded so much. She was never alone, never free from this all-pervading pa.s.sionate love that she felt quite powerless to equal. Sometimes Bluebell marvelled he did not perceive this, though nothing she dreaded more, for, since the discovery of how much he had risked for her, she was always blaming herself for not feeling the exclusive devotion that could alone recompense him.

To be suddenly deprived of all occupation, and sent to some unfamiliar place to be absolutely happy for a month, is an ordeal custom imposes on most newly-wedded pairs; but a runaway match has severer conditions still, since no letters of affectionate interest can be expected from friends, and the bride has not even a trousseau to fall back upon.

One morning after they had been married three weeks, a batch of letters was forwarded to Dutton by his agent, to whom he had only lately given his address. One was from Lord Bromley, and had lain there some time. On coming in from a walk that same afternoon, they found cards on the table.

"Just impertinent curiosity," growled Harry.

"Why?" cried Bluebell. "For my part, I think it is rather fun to have a visitor. Dear me, though, _I_ have no cards;"--and she coloured deeply as she remembered that her marriage was still unacknowledged, even on pasteboard.

"Bluebell," cried Harry, impulsively, "I'll go to-morrow and make it all right with my uncle at once."

"Oh, I _wish_ you would," with deep energy.

"And you don't mind being left?" he asked tenderly.

"Oh, anything to have the secret at an end!"

"Bluebell, for goodness' sake don't expect too much! What if my uncle disinherited me? It is not at all unlikely."

"Ah, Harry," said Bluebell, softly, "that comes of marrying me. Why did you not think of it first? I should be no worse off," continued she, musingly; "I could give music lessons. It's hard on you, of course; but, Harry, do, pray, whatever are the consequences, tell him."

"But you don't realize the consequences. I should be obliged to go to sea, leave you alone, and have scarcely any money to send you. But if he took it pleasantly, he could make it worth my while to leave the navy, which he has always wished me to do, or let us have sufficient coin for you to come to any port I am stationed at. As long as it was only myself, I didn't care so much; yet Bromley Towers _is_ worth saving, if possible." A pause. "But I can't think what you will do while I am away."

"Shall I cultivate our visitors, Mr. and Mrs. Stevens?"

"Not for the world; we must let them slide quietly, and then people will begin to understand we don't wish to be called on."

"I daresay you are right; this house must be an _oubliette_ till your awful uncle is confessed to." Bluebell spoke with some asperity; the concealment had become so unbearable. What would the Rollestons think if her mother imparted to them her improbable story of being married to a man who could not acknowledge her? And that dear old captain would most likely imagine the worst without her being able to undeceive him. But Harry was deep in _Bradshaw_, and un.o.bservant.

"I shall sleep in London, I think, and go down next morning. Let me see, I shan't be able to get away till after the new year. Lord Bromley has the usual family gathering on for Christmas."

"Won't the time of your return somewhat depend on the way your communication is received?" asked Bluebell, demurely.

"Well, rather," laughing. "It won't do to bring it in head and shoulders.

I must stay a little while first and watch my opportunity."

Bluebell walked with him to the station next day. It was freezing hard--a bright, bracing morning; and when he had taken his place, and the train had whistled off, she was shocked to find how her spirits rose. Of course, she told herself it was because there would soon be no occasion for concealment; but there was a sensation of present relief not quite to be accounted for by that.

Young people care quite as much as their elders for occasional solitude--more, perhaps, for they have generally brighter thoughts to fill it. Bluebell, from the reasons before mentioned, in her anxious compliance with his every whim, had become quite a slave to Harry, and a little breathing-time was far from unwelcome. After all, she had a good deal exaggerated his sacrifice, which was made entirely to please himself!

Leaving the road, Bluebell struck a path across some fields leading to the river, and amused herself throwing sticks for Archie to fetch off its half-frozen surface--a diversion which soon palled on the Skye, who was not fond of water; so Bluebell wandered on, soliloquizing, as usual. Suppose this uncle, who loomed in her imagination like some dread Genie in his disposition over their fate should receive the intelligence by cutting off the supplies and hurling maledictions at Harry's head, what on earth would they do? She had always been very fond of acting,--indeed, had been quite an authority in drawing-room theatricals and charades at "The Maples," and with her magnificent powerful voice, what a pity she could not go on the stage! She had read in novels of girls offering themselves to a manager and realizing fabulous sums, and eighteen pounds a year seemed to be her net value in the governess market. Then Harry might go to sea for a year or two,--they were both so young,--and by that time things might look brighter, or the Genie relent.

She and Archie had a good time that bright winter day, and tired themselves out completely. He could pa.s.s from the immediate enjoyment of a meal to a snooze on the rug before the fire; but after Bluebell had had some tea, there remained many hours at her disposal before bed-time. She would have liked to have written a long letter to her mother; but if it must be worded so guardedly, where was the good? So she flew to her unfailing friend, the piano, and interpreted Schumann and Beethoven to a late hour, while the carpenter and his wife, listening in the kitchen, "wished that the lady would play something with a bit of tune in it, and not be always practising them exercises."

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

BROMLEY TOWERS.

Had yon ever a cousin, Tom'

And did that cousin happen to sing'

Sisters we have by the dozen, But a cousin's a different thing --Hon. Mrs. Norton.

Harry had stayed the night in London, and rather wished, for the present, it might be inferred that he had been there all the time. It was some distance from Bromley Towers, and quite dusk as he drove through the park. Snow was on the ground, and still falling slowly, the two roaring fires in the hall, as the doors were thrown open, flung a red light on the holly berries and gigantic bunch of mistletoe suspended from the chandelier, and flickered on dark oil paintings let into the panels. The footmen were unfamiliar, but the old butler beamed on the young heir he had known from a boy.

Harry shook him heartily by the hand, and asked a dozen questions in a breath. There was a sprinkling of visitors already in the house, so, shirking the reception rooms, he made straight for a private pa.s.sage, where in a certain study, he knew he should find his uncle.

Lord Bromley seldom had his large house empty and there were ample means of entertainment for guests, but, like a good general, he had a secure retreat from the perils of boredom in a sacred suite of rooms, to which no one but his nephew had access. To Harry himself this particular study was invested with a certain amount of solemnity, he had been summoned there on so many notable occasions,--once to be sentenced to a thrashing from a malevolent tutor who had reported him, afterwards, before going to school, to receive good advice, not unsweetened by a tip. Cheques had been dealt out there, and his uncle's views for his future guidance inculcated on him. Dutton entered now with somewhat of the feelings of a truant schoolboy, for had he not been on sh.o.r.e a month without coming near the place or even writing?

He murmured something about London and business, which the old peer received with the merest elevation of the eyebrows, and was evidently not going to be unpleasant about it. He knew his nephew was just off a voyage and in possession of a handsome cheque, and was not ill pleased that he should have had his fling, and have done with it before coming down.

Besides, if some plans of his succeeded, he would soon have to _range_ himself.

Finding it was all right, and Lord Bromley disposed to be sociable, Harry made himself as entertaining as possible, and was communicative enough about everything but the proceedings of the last few weeks.

"I think you know most of the people in the house," said his uncle, as Dutton was retiring to dress, "except, perhaps, one or two men. Lady Calvert has brought her daughter here. She was not out, you know, when you last went to sea."

"I remember her, though; projecting teeth and--"

"She will probably drop into all that Durnford property now Lionel is dead."

When he came down to dinner, Lord Bromley introduced him very particularly to the few strangers present, who all thought how fond his uncle seemed of him, and that he would surely be the heir.

Dutton, like most careless dressing men, looked best in the regulation simplicity of evening clothes, in which the despotism of fashion curbs all vagaries of fancy. More than one feminine critic smiled involuntary approval of the handsome young sailor, whose easy, slightly unconventional manner, though singular, was not unattractive.

He had been told off to take Lady Geraldine Vane in to dinner, and went to renew acquaintance with her at once. She was dressed in a cloud of blue tulle, and wore a heavy white wreath on her hair, which was very light. Complexion she had none. She was pale without being fair. Her features were irregular, lips thin, with projecting teeth, and eyebrows scarcely apparent at all. Yet these defects were partly redeemed by one sole attraction, a pair of large, light eyes, with a great deal of heart in them. They could glisten with affection and brighten with interest, and were the faithful mirrors of a modest, sensitive, and naturally amiable disposition. But Harry thought her, dress and all, the most colourless object, and longed to offer even a damask rose to break the cold, sickly effect.

There was another young lady present, of a very different type to Lady Geraldine,--not exactly pretty, but evidently aiming at being _chic_. Her dress was of the latest fashion, and in a slightly audacious style, likewise the arrangement of her hair. She had a pretty, neat figure, and a way of seeing everything through half-shut eyes. This was Harry's cousin Kate.

Perhaps it would be too much to say he was very fond of this young damsel; but, at any rate, he was delighted to find her there. "She is such a jolly girl in a house!" he said to himself.

Kate, then a finished coquette of ten, used to try her hand at flirting with the big schoolboy; and when she had him in a state of helpless adoration, and all his pocket-money was gone in presents to her, would turn him off in favour of his particular friend, who was spending the holidays at Bromley Towers. The two boys blacked each other's eyes in consequence; but the capricious fair only remarked that "they had made such frights of themselves, the sooner they went back to school the better."

As they grew up the intimacy continued. Kate would make use of him as an escort, and allow him to kiss her as a cousin. She also confided to him her love affairs, which at first made him very angry, but afterwards he sometimes suspected their veracity.