Mrs. Dorriman Volume Iii Part 27

Grace felt an acute and miserable pang of self-reproach; she was afraid now that her husband might find out, and she knew that the loss of his esteem would be terrible to her. He and Margaret thought so much alike; what could she do?

His appointment was worth a few hundreds a year, and the six hundred a year she had was counted in arranging their expenses.

Whenever the future was talked of, this miserable idea haunted her. When Paul advised her to get something, whenever money was in question, there was this one constant weight upon her mind, and the strange thing to herself was, that now she began to see a little as he did, and she could not now understand how she had reconciled herself to accepting it, how she could have claimed her right to this money so complacently.

Paul had proposed to her, thinking her penniless, and the small fortune had been a joyful surprise. How she wished now that she had never had anything to do with it!

But she could not see her way out of it. She knew that, if she spoke to Margaret, Margaret would do without things and help her, but for that very reason she could not speak to her.

Paul saw that his wife was not quite so bright as usual, but he thought she was tired, and was full of affectionate solicitude. Every attention he paid her, every kind word he uttered, gave her an additional pang.

They slept two nights on the journey, as Grace had always to be careful, and within an hour of London Mr. Stevens got into the carriage.

Grace saw him enter with some misgiving. The horrible thought occurred to her that perhaps he might refer in some way to investments or something that might lead her husband to make inquiry. She could only answer by speaking the truth. To her immense relief Paul said, "As you have some one to talk to now I will go and smoke," and so saying he left her with Mr. Stevens.

Grace felt now or never was her opportunity. Before Mr. Stevens could look round she poured out her trouble with a rapidity and vehemence that astonished him. When he, at length understood, he entered very fully into it all.

"Your husband is quite right; I should have the same feeling about it,"

he said.

"That makes it worse for me," said Grace, colouring, "but perhaps you have never had my temptation; you were never dependent upon others--very nearly penniless."

"Penniless, yes! Dependent, no!" he answered, "since I could work for my living."

"Mr. Sandford ruled my fate and Margaret's," answered Grace, "and that was never thought of; but I wish--oh! how I wish--I knew what to do.

Would he help me?"

"Mr. Sandford is the one person who could help you," said Mr. Stevens; "a frank appeal to him might be productive of much good, and my advice to you is not to hide your trouble from your husband; let him know it; the fewer secrets between married people the less likely they are ever to disagree."

"I will tell him some day," answered Grace, "but I have behaved very badly to Mr. Sandford--he has no reason to love me."

"He is a man who has much to contend against, but he is a generous man.

He never grudges money, and he can but say he can do nothing. I hope you left all well at Inchbrae," he said, with a resolute turning away from the subject.

"'_All_' consisting of Mrs. Dorriman and my sister," laughed Grace, rallying the moment her trouble was put out of sight.

"Ah! I am going there next week to meet Mr. Sandford; there is still something to be arranged between us."

"Then," asked Grace, "could you not say something for me? Could you not speak to Mr. Sandford for me?"

"I could, certainly, but Mr. Sandford dislikes me, and after all, to speak plain English, Mrs. Lyons, what can he do? There is only one way in which he can help you. If he chooses to pay you your income out of his own pocket, or to pay fifteen thousand pounds to your account. When you talk of help--which is an exceedingly vague word--you should put it in its practical form."

"Then everything is at an end," exclaimed Grace, and she leaned back upon the cushions in despair.

"I do not quite agree with you," he answered, "only I wished you to see the practical side of the question; there is no use in my going to a man like Mr. Sandford and when he puts the question, '_What does she expect me to do?_' have nothing to reply on your account."

"I cannot ask him to give me fifteen thousand pounds, it is impossible!"

said Grace flushing at the curt tone used by Mr. Stevens.

"You need ask him for nothing; but help in this case means money--as it generally does; leave the sum to him, but you must understand when you use the world 'help' what it does mean. I merely wanted to prepare you for that."

"Thank you," said Grace, whose hopes were now sunk very low indeed.

She sat silent for a few moments, and then, looking up, said, "Supposing you spoke to Mrs. Dorriman, she can say many things to her brother no one else can, and she always understands."

"Yes," said Mr. Stevens in an odd tone, "I agree with you, she does understand most things."

"When do you go there?"

"On Thursday, I hope; and now, Mrs. Lyons, before we part let me know how am I to communicate with you."

"Can you write to me?"

"That is not quite impossible; but if your husband is to know nothing about this it seems to me that my writing to you upon business matters--now he is supposed to know all about your business--may lead to complications."

"You do not understand, Mr. Stevens, he--my husband--never asks any questions. I merely told him I had succeeded to fifteen thousand pounds; he was very much surprised and pleased, I suppose, but there the matter dropped. Mr. Sandford arranged all about the money matters for me, and the money was settled upon me and then upon my husband."

"That complicates matters of course; you have no power to give up money settled upon him; I see no way out of it."

"Do speak to Mrs. Dorriman," pleaded Grace, "she has a great opinion of you, and, if you put the matter before her, something might be done."

"I still advise you to tell your husband," said Mr. Stevens; "remember every day's delay makes confession more difficult afterwards. Then again, does not Lady Lyons know about it?"

"I do not think she does," but as she spoke Grace felt very uncomfortable. She once again entreated Mr. Stevens to speak to Mrs.

Dorriman, and as Paul got into the carriage again she could only trust that her persuasion had been successful.

No one, however, can imagine how this dread of discovery weighed upon her. Each time Paul returned, when he had been out alone, her expression, when he appeared, was anxiety--did he know? had anything been said to make him suspicious?

"I am beginning to be afraid you are tired of me," he said one day; "when I come home now you never look the least pleased to see me."

"I am glad, dear; please do not take fancies into your head."

"Well, I wish you showed it a little more; I am longing to get you away--you are much less energetic than you were a little while ago. The way you stick to my mother is very unlike you. I am awfully fond of her, and all that, but I like having you a bit by myself, and her too for that matter."

Grace turned red and white by turns. She knew that she was suffering from irritability produced by anxiety. She was essentially one who could stand neither fatigue of body nor anxiety of mind.

"What can you have to say to your mother that I may not hear?" she asked, with a certain sharpness of tone that surprised him. He looked at her attentively, and that seemed to displease her still more. To his unbounded astonishment she burst out crying, and cried with a sort of miserable, helpless vehemence, that was infinitely distressing to him.

"My darling! can you not tell me what is wrong?" he said, "for there _is_ something wrong, you are not yourself. Who can you turn to if you have any worry or distress so well as to your husband? Have you no confidence in me?"

"Don't," she sobbed, "you only make me worse!"

He was deeply wounded, not so much by her words as by the way she shrank from him.

Lady Lyons made her voice heard in the pa.s.sage, asking if her son was in, and Grace s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand from Paul, and rushed out of the room by one door as her mother-in-law came in at the other.

Paul was an affectionate son, but at that particular moment he would have preferred to have had time to discover what was the matter with his wife, and he was so absorbed that his mother told him a fact very interesting to her, and which she considered should have been equally interesting to him, without his taking it in.