Bluebell Part 48

"I have come to you, my dear aunt, as the kindest-hearted person I know.

I am in an awful hole. But let me explain." And then he told how he had sold his troop to pay his debts, but had now, war being eminent, recalled his papers, and so owed all the over regulation money obtained in advance.

For once Du Meresq had a good case. Against her principles almost, Lady Susan listened, and, though pre-determined not to believe a thing he said, his words were making an impression.

"Of course I can get the money; but, going on active service, I should have to pay enormously for it. And, anyhow," he continued, "I thought I should like to say good-bye to you, whether you can let me have it or not."

Bertie's Irish blarney always peeped out in his dealings with women, and Lady Susan of late had been so unaccustomed to anything of the sort, that her heart began to warm to her scape-grace nephew. He was so distinguished-looking, too, with the beauty which comes of air and expression, and a certain winning manner, none of which were conspicuous attributes of the disciples of little Bethlehem. She made him stay to dinner, and Du Meresq, who thought things were looking up, gladly dismissed his Hansom, which had been imparting an unwonted appearance of dissipation to the locality for the last hour. He could make himself quite as agreeable to an old lady as a young one, and this one was a soldier's daughter, and Irish into the bargain. What wonder that her heart beat responsively and her blood fired at the idea of another of her race lending his life to his country! Bertie, to be sure, would have preferred not having to make capital of that, and objected strongly to being treated as a hero in advance. However, it was no use quarrelling with the means that had brought his aunt into so promising a frame of mind; and, before he left that evening, he had actually received the promise of a cheque to the amount of Mr. Green's claims in a few days.

Soon after this, he heard the welcome news that his regiment was ordered home immediately, evidently in consequence of the disturbances in the East. This caused Du Meresq great delight. His corps was, then, certain to be in it, and he would go into action with Lascelles and all his old friends, instead of exchanging into a strange regiment, as he had determined to do if his own were not for service.

With all this other thoughts were a.s.sociated. Somehow he had never looked upon his rupture with Cecil Rolleston as final, having pretty well fathomed the _motif_ of her renunciation of him, which he considered would bear explanation when occasion offered; but now, rather sadly reviewing the past, he said to himself that, after all, it was well for her they had not married.

I do not know that Cecil would have been of the same opinion. She had a brave spirit, that could bear up against known evils, but fretted and suffered in suspense. She was much altered since her illness. Once the most attentive and docile of daughters, she became irritable and uncertain in temper-_difficile_, as the French call it, or, according to a Scotch expression, "There was no doing with her" some days; and Mrs.

Rolleston, unhappy about both Cecil and Bertie, looked upon her husband's prejudice against the latter as the cause of all this unsatisfactory state of things.

As to Colonel Rolleston, he was in the condition of a man whose "foes are those of his own household." No one appreciated more the "pillow of a woman's mind"; but really now the pillow might have been stuffed with stones, so many corners and angularities had developed themselves in his feminalities.

The regiment had been ordered to Quebec almost immediately after Bluebell had gone to England; and, as Mrs. Rolleston there heard of Evelyn Leighton's death, the fate of their _protegee_ became naturally a subject of anxious speculation. Yet not a line had been received from her; and, after a time, the subject was avoided, for all felt that Bluebell had been ungrateful.

Then Mrs. Leighton wrote out the strange story of her elopement, and having since entered a family as governess in her maiden name. Mrs.

Rolleston was painfully shocked; for, coupling it with the girl's silence, she could not but imagine the worst, especially when, as they gazed at each other in mute dismay, she read in Cecil's face a suspicion that Bertie had had some hand in her disappearance, he had not written either; but, unless he were in correspondence with Bluebell, could not have been aware that she was in England. Of course, therefore, it was only the wildest conjecture. Yet how could Cecil believe that a girl who had once cared for Bertie should so utterly have forgotten him as to sacrifice herself to any one else within a few weeks? But a letter from Du Meresq himself did much to banish these gathering doubts and suspicions. It appeared quite open and above-board, and was written to Mrs. Rolleston on the eve of embarking with his regiment for the Crimea.

He mentioned one or two houses he had been staying in, related the successful visit to his aunt and wound up in a postcript with the words,--"Give my dearest love to Cecil, if she cares to have it."

Mrs. Rolleston silently put the letter into her hand, and left the room.

But the privacy of four walls was insufficient for Cecil while permitting herself the dear fascination of perusing Bertie's handwriting. She was missing for the next two hours, which Lela was able to account for, having observed her going downstairs dressed for walking.

She did not remember to return Du Meresq's letter, nor did Mrs. Rolleston ask for it. Very soon afterwards they also went to England, though the Colonel's regiment was not sent to the Crimea for some months later. It was quartered near London, and he took a house for his family in Kensington. And now a strange fancy possessed Cecil. It happened one day, when they were out driving, that a little boy drifting across the street with the suicidal _insouciance_ of his kind, got knocked down by their horses, and, of course, had to be driven straight to the hospital to have his injuries investigated. It was necessary to detain the child, and Cecil walked down most days to bring him toys and inquire into his progress. There she became acquainted with some members of a sisterhood, who were employed in nursing in the accident ward, and, after the boy had been dismissed, convalescent, and ready to be run over again, she still continued her visits.

What the attraction was, neither of her parents could conceive, for, although the sisterhood was of the High Church order, they observed no particular religious enthusiasm or ritualistic tendencies in their daughter. "Cecil's mystery" it was called in the family, for she never spoke of what she had been doing all day, though it was apparently satisfactory, as her spirits were far more even than they had been of late. It was generally supposed that a charitable fervour had seized her, and that she was visiting among the poor; indeed Mrs. Rolleston had little curiosity to spare at present. She was living in dread and daily expectation of Colonel Rolleston being sent to the East; and he was engaged, as a calm, brave man might, in arranging his affairs to provide for his family in any event.

The order came at last; it was almost a relief from the continual suspense, and there were a few days for preparation. On one of these last evenings some of the officers were dining at the Colonel's, and among them--which was unusual now--Fane, who, though believing that Cecil's love affair with Du Meresq must have been broken off, still honourably abstained from her society till she should, by some sign, absolve him from his promise. On this occasion though, to her dread, he appeared sentimentally inclined, and Cecil, to whom a Sir Lancelot even would have been intolerable had he attempted to take the place of the lover she had outwardly discarded and inwardly enshrined, took refuge with Jack Vavasour, who regarded the approaching campaign in about the same light as a steeple-chase--a delightful piece of excitement, with a spice of danger in it.

His cheerful chatter amused and relieved the tension of her mind.

"I shall be sure to come across Du Meresq," he observed, with simple directness. "I shall tell him I saw you the last thing. How glad he will be to hear of any one at home! Have you any message, Miss Rolleston?"

looking straight in her face, which was glowing as he spoke.

"Tell him," said Cecil, who liked Jack, and trusted him more than any one, "to be sure and write very often to his sister, who is dreadfully anxious, as, indeed, we _all_ are."

"Oh, yes, of course," cried Vavasour; "but is that all? Let me give him that glove," which Cecil had been absently pulling off and on.

"Certainly-not!" flaming up in a moment. "Give it to me back directly, Mr. Vavasour!"

Jack thought she was offended. "I didn't mean to be impertinent, Miss Rolleston. You know this is not like an ordinary occasion; and I am sure I didn't think there would be much in it."

"I know, I know. But don't invent anything from me to Bertie Du Meresq."

Then, with a softer manner, and most cordial squeeze of the hand as she saw the other men rising to go,--"Good-bye, and come back safe, you dear, true-hearted boy!"

Next day the mystery came out. She had been qualifying as a hospital nurse, with the view of joining Miss Nightingale's staff at Scutari.

Cecil had quite antic.i.p.ated the antagonism and ridicule with which this announcement would a.s.suredly be met. A craze to go out to the East possessed many romantic young ladies of the period, too adventurous to be satisfied with merely knitting socks and comforters for their frost-bitten heroes. Colonel Rolleston had frequently expressed a profound contempt for this mania, refusing to perceive any more exalted motive for it than a desire to follow their partners. So his horror may be imagined when his own daughter, whom he had always credited with a certain amount of sense, thus enrolled herself in the ranks of these fair enthusiasts.

Cecil allowed the first torrent of words to expend itself, but, in reply to the contemptuous query of "What earthly use could she be?" reiterated the fact of her having received a certificate of competency from the hospital, and adding, that as five of the sisterhood were shortly to be taken out to Scutari, it would be easy for her to accompany them as a volunteer. Then, evading further discussion by leaving the room, she calmly left the idea to work.

It was not certainly innate love of the occupation that had made Cecil so diligent an attendant of the accident ward. At first she shuddered and faltered at the simplest operation in which her a.s.sistance was called for, but it was essential to test her own nerve before dressing gun-shot wounds, besides which, a certificate from the hospital would much facilitate her chance of being taken out to Scutari. And, moreover, she was desperately unhappy, and rushed into anything to escape from herself.

I don't know how it was that Cecil prevailed in the end. A year ago, if she had proposed such a thing, Colonel Rolleston would have a considered her a fit subject for a _maison de sante_, but he had been thinking for some time that his daughter was "odd." She was evidently turning out one of those unmanageable beings, an eccentric woman. Of age, and with an independent income, if baulked in this, she might only do something else equally perverse, and, though a most extraordinary fancy for a girl so brought up, he would not oppose it further.

And then Cecil, when she had got her wish, with a strange inconsistency seemed almost inclined to give it up again. But the Colonel, being in ignorance of her vacillating purpose, took her pa.s.sage in the same ship as the other nurses.

Work enough was there for every one when that vessel reached its destination. The battle of the Alma had just been fought, and the wounded were being brought in daily to Scutari.

In the mean time, Colonel Rolleston had sailed with his regiment, and Mrs. Rolleston fell into such a state of nervous depression, that Cecil saw it would be cruel to abandon her--another opportunity for going out would soon occur, and defering her journey till then, she remained at home to fulfil the more obvious duty of supporting the sinking spirits of her step-mother.

And so pa.s.sed many weary weeks. The battle of the Alma had been won, and none of their belongings had appeared in the long list of killed and wounded. Mrs. Rolleston, becoming more accustomed to suspense, bore up with greater fort.i.tude. Letters from the seat of war were, of course, waited for with fearful anxiety, and on the few and far between occasions when these arrived, they were all comparatively happy.

One evening Cecil was sitting alone in her own room, and, being very tired after a long day at the hospital, dropped asleep in her chair. She awoke with a feeling of deadly chilliness. The moon was shining into the room, and the figure of Bertie Du Meresq, keen clearly by its rays, was standing quietly gazing at her.

"Bertie!" shrieked Cecil "Oh, when did you come?"--and she tried to rush forward to greet him, but her limbs seemed paralyzed, and he did not move either, though a sad, sweet smile seemed to pa.s.s over his face. _Was_ it himself, or only a quivering moonbeam? for when she was able to move there was nothing else to be seen.

A ghost itself could not have been whiter than Cecil, as she fled to the drawing room, and almost inarticulately described what she had beheld.

The very horror it inspired made Mrs. Rolleston repel the ghastly idea almost angrily.

"Good heavens, Cecil, why do you frighten me so! You had fallen asleep, and were dreaming. You say yourself," and she shuddered, "_it_ was gone when you awoke."

"You know," said the girl, not apparently attending, "I have never seen Bertie in uniform, but this is what he wore," (describing the dress of the ---- Hussars), "and his tunic was torn."

"That is too absurd, Cecil. All Hussar uniforms are more or less alike, and you must have seen many. It _is_ this dreadful idea of going to Scutari that has filled your mind with horrors, and hospital work here has been too much for you, and told on your nerves."

But Cecil sat unheeding, as if turned to stone, with such a grey look of despair on her face, that Mrs. Rolleston longed to rouse her in any way.

"Forgive me, Cecil," she cried; "you _do_ care for poor Bertie, I see."

She looked up with a vague, uncomprehending glance.

"Who was so brilliant--who so brave--with that sympathetic voice, and warm, endearing manner? He was wicked, I dare say!--he was not cold enough for a saint."

Mrs. Rolleston listened painfully.

"How every one adored him!" pursued Cecil. "I don't mean women--of course _they_ did: but all his friends would have done anything for him. I have seen his letters; and who could touch him in countenance, manner, grace?

And such a poetic, original mind! But he cared for me _most_,--he must, don't you think?" (looking up with dry, tearless eyes), "or he would not have come to me to-night."

"Then _why_, oh, why, Cecil, did you give him up?"

Her brow contracted for an instant. "I could not bear my sun to shine on any one else," she cried, pa.s.sionately "I grudged every glance of his eye, every tone of his voice given to another."

"Then, Bluebell _was_ the cause--" began Mrs. Rolleston.