That Unfortunate Marriage Volume Ii Part 20

She wore on her wrist a bracelet consisting of a broad gold band, in which was set the portrait of her youngest child. Now, little Enid had a special affection for Owen. She caressed him and tyrannized over him.

And whenever Bobby and Billy desired to coax Mr. Rivers into playing with them, they conspired to make Enid prefer the request, secretly agreeing that Mr. Rivers spoiled Enid, and would never resist her. In short, Mr. Rivers was Enid's sworn knight, and did her suit and service.

The sweet, baby face looked out of its gold frame, with large, grave eyes, and faintly smiling mouth, and soft yellow hair like the down on a nestling bird. Owen took Mrs. Bransby's hand, and bent over it until his lips touched little Enid's portrait. "Near or far," he said, "you and your children may always count on my faithful affection."

When he raised his head again, Theodore was standing in front of them.

He had come noiselessly along the gra.s.s, and halted a little behind his father's chair. Mrs. Bransby's head was turned in the opposite direction, and she did not see him immediately. But Owen saw him, and caught a singular expression on young Bransby's face which made his own blood run swiftly with a confused sense of furious anger. It was an expression of mingled surprise, suspicion, and an indescribable touch of exultation. But even as Owen fixed his eyes on him sternly, the look was gone; and Theodore's smooth face was as coolly supercilious as usual.

"Your father has been having a good sleep, Theodore," said his step-mother, when she saw him.

"So I see," he answered. And, again, something singular in his tone made Owen long to seize him and hurl him away out of Mrs. Bransby's presence.

"Mr. Rivers has been telling me his news," said Mrs. Bransby. "We ought to rejoice, I suppose. But I can't help feeling selfishly sorry."

"We must hope that our loss will be his gain," replied Theodore. He felt instinctively that Owen's eyes were still fastened on him. And Owen's eyes, like many light-blue eyes, had the power of expressing an intensity of fierceness when he was thoroughly incensed which few persons would have found it easy to support. But Theodore had averted his own gaze, and was looking down on his father with ostentatious solicitude.

The old man slightly moved his head, and Mrs. Bransby was by his side instantly. "Are you refreshed by your sleep, dear Martin?" she asked as he opened his eyes.

"Yes, Loui, yes. Oh, there's Rivers! How are you, Rivers?" He rose from his chair and shook hands with Owen, asking him to come to the house and have tea. Mrs. Bransby offered her husband her arm, but he took her hand and laid it tenderly upon his sleeve. "Not yet, Loui; not yet!" he said, smiling down upon her. "I needn't lean upon you yet." Then the two walked slowly side by side towards the house, leaving the young men to follow.

As they did so, crossing the wide lawn side by side, it suddenly occurred to Theodore, with a shock of surprise, that he and Owen had not exchanged any sort of greeting or salutation whatever.

CHAPTER XIII.

The Dormer-Smiths arrived in London early in November, and May joined them almost immediately. Her aunt was delighted to find May looking remarkably well.

"Some good has come of her vegetating in Oldchester," said Pauline to her husband. "Her complexion is radiant. Also I think her figure has improved. If she _would_ but consent to have her stays taken in!

Smithson could manage it half an inch at a time; and might easily get her waist down to eighteen inches. But there is that lamentable touch of self-indulgent apathy about May! However, she has really a great deal of charm; and, in spite of all the drawbacks connected with poor Augustus's unfortunate marriage, she _looks_ thoroughbred."

The two little boys, Harold and Wilfred, had returned from their sojourn in a farm-house so much strengthened that their father seriously talked of sending them into the country altogether for a couple of years. Even Mrs. Dormer-Smith, although unwilling to relinquish her character of chronic invalid, confessed that Carlsbad had done her good. In fact, the whole family returned to London in improved health and spirits. A great many "nice people" were to be in town for the winter; and the excuse of May's presence, and the a.s.sistance of May's allowance, would enable Pauline to enjoy society, and at the same time to satisfy that singular worldly conscience of hers with the sense of duty fulfilled.

There was a little disappointment at Mr. Bragg's absence from England.

But even here Mrs. Dormer-Smith had the not inconsiderable consolation of knowing that if he were far from May's attractions, he was also far from those of Constance Hadlow. And she more than ever rejoiced at that providential interposition in the interests of the Cheffington family which had kept Mr. Bragg away from Glengowrie. Another symptom which filled Aunt Pauline with complacent hopes, was May's newly developed interest in Mr. Bragg, and her eager willingness to talk about his Spanish tour. Pauline was inclined to attribute something of this improved state of mind to Mrs. Dobbs's influence; and confessed to herself that the old woman was doing all she could to compensate the House of Cheffington for the injury done to it by the disastrous _mesalliance_.

Mrs. Dormer-Smith's cheerfulness at this time would have been absolutely unclouded but for the dread hanging over her about her brother. She had given May to understand that the rumours spread by Valli and others were based on error. And she even conveyed the idea to her niece (although scrupulously abstaining from explicit falsehood) that Captain Cheffington himself had denied those rumours in private communications to her and Frederick. But the fact was that Augustus had remained inflexibly silent. The Dormer-Smiths knew nothing of him. And so completely had he dropped out of the society of all with whom they were likely to consort, that a doubt sometimes crossed Pauline's mind as to whether her brother were still living or not.

Meanwhile, every week May received a letter from Owen, forwarded by Mrs.

Dobbs. The latter had restricted the correspondence to one letter a week on each side. Owen wrote very joyously. His work was easy--too easy, he said; and he was constantly seeking opportunities to be useful to his employer. Mr. Bragg he p.r.o.nounced to be an excellent master: clearheaded in his commands, and reasonable in his exactions. He seemed to approve of his secretary so far; and although he was rather taciturn, and not p.r.o.ne to encourage sanguine expectations, yet Owen began to have good hope that Mr. Bragg would not turn him adrift when the three months'

engagement should be at an end.

May now became decidedly more popular in society than she had been during the height of the season. Happiness, like sunshine, beautifies common things; and the new brightness of her outlook on it was reflected by the world around her. That feeling which she had expressed in writing to her grandmother--the forlorn feeling of a child who, in the midst of some gay spectacle, wearily cries to go home--had disappeared. She knew that when the curtain should fall on the puppet-show in Vanity Fair, her own true love was waiting to welcome her.

Sometimes she speculated on how Aunt Pauline would take the revelation of her attachment to Owen Rivers. That she should have had any doubt on the subject proved her ignorance of Aunt Pauline's views. Mrs.

Dormer-Smith would not for the world have expressed to May any gross or sordid sentiments about marriage. She had not the slightest idea that she entertained any such herself! But, as she had long ago said, there are many things--never put into words--which "girls brought up in a certain _monde_ learn by instinct." Now in that kind of instinct May was greatly deficient.

May reflected that her aunt had spurned Theodore Bransby's proposal on the avowed ground of his being "n.o.body." And she understood--or thought she understood--that Aunt Pauline accorded a tangible existence only to such persons as could be proved by genealogical records to have had a certain number of great-grandfathers. Now, thus considered, Owen was very undeniably and solidly "somebody." He was poor, certainly; but how often had Aunt Pauline mingled her plaintive regrets with Mrs. Griffin's about the increasing worship of Mammon which vulgarized London society!

And although Aunt Pauline sometimes showed a deference for wealth which was rather puzzling in the face of these utterances, yet May observed that her personal liking and admiration were given on very different grounds. Witness her regard for Constance Hadlow!

Mrs. Dormer-Smith even kept up an intermittent correspondence with that young lady. Constance's letters were precisely of the kind which Mrs.

Dormer-Smith delighted in--budgets of social gossip selected with unerring tact. Constance had returned to Oldchester, but she did not spend many consecutive weeks in her parents' house, being invited to visit among "the _elite_ of the county aristocracy," as Mrs. Simpson phrased it. Miss Hadlow had, in fact, achieved what might be called, all things considered, a brilliant social position. Her visit to Glengowrie had been a great success. She had made a conquest of the d.u.c.h.ess; and also--though that was comparatively of small consequence--of the duke.

Mrs. Griffin was charmed that her _protegee_ had done her so much honour; and promised to take her into society the following season, if Canon and Mrs. Hadlow would give her leave to come to town. Indeed, Mrs.

Griffin began seriously to revolve in her mind whether she could not contrive to marry Charley Rivers's grand-daughter, and secure her a fine establishment. Mrs. Griffin was proud of her achievements in that line, which, though few, were brilliant. Like a certain famous Italian singing-master, who was wont in his old age to decline unpromising pupils on the ground that it was not worth his while to make _seconde donne_, Mrs. Griffin practised only the higher branches of matchmaking; and refused to fly her falcons at anything under twenty thousand a year--or a peerage.

What made Miss Hadlow's letters particularly interesting to Mrs.

Dormer-Smith at this time, was that the former was frequently staying in the neighbourhood of Combe Park, and occasionally met Lord Castlecombe and Lucius, whom she reported to be constantly ailing--as, indeed, he had been since before his brother's death. But his state did not seem to inspire any immediate apprehension. And Constance even said a word now and then about "creaking wheels," and intimated her belief that Mr.

Lucius Cheffington would probably outlive many more robust-looking persons.

But it was not only these polite chronicles which kept the Dormer-Smith household informed as to the doings of Oldchester people. Mrs. Dobbs, of course, wrote frequently to her grandchild. The saddest news which she had to give May was the continuous and rapid decline of Mr. Bransby's health. Theodore was still away from home, Mrs. Dobbs wrote, and she commented severely on his heartless neglect of his father. She had learned through Mrs. Simpson that old Martin Bransby showed great anxiety for his son's return; and it was reported that he had caused a letter to be written, telling Theodore that he desired to speak with him, and urging him to come home without delay.

In the first days of December the end came. Martin Bransby died--rather suddenly at the last--and his eldest son was not with him. On being telegraphed to he arrived in Oldchester with the utmost possible despatch--but too late to see his father alive.

"People are very sorry for the widow and her children," wrote Mrs.

Dobbs; "for it's beginning to be said now that they're left rather badly off, and that the bulk of everything will go to Theodore. I don't know any facts, one way or the other; but I do know that foolish folk cackle louder over a grave than almost anywhere else. So we may hope things are not so bad with that pretty, gentle woman as Oldchester gossip makes out."

One of May's first thoughts on reading this letter was, "How grieved Owen will be!" She grieved herself for the kindly old man who had always been good to her, and for the grief of those who loved him. And she incurred a mild rebuke from her aunt by appearing at a dinner party that evening with pale cheeks and red eyelids.

Contrary to Mrs. Dobbs's hope, it turned out that the gossip had for once been correct. Martin Bransby's affairs were left in a strange entanglement. There were many debts, and, as it seemed, very little money to meet them. People inquired how he had got rid of the handsome property left him by his father. He had not got rid of it in the ordinary sense of the words; but the bulk of it was as far beyond his control as though he had thrown it into the sea.

At the time of Martin Bransby's first marriage, old Rabbitt had made most stringent arrangements in his daughter's interest. Not only her own dowry (which was a handsome one), but nearly the whole of Martin's property was strictly settled on her and her children. Mr. Rabbitt was enabled to drive a hard bargain by his command of ready money. He advanced a large sum to his son-in-law for the purchase of Cadell's share in the firm. Mr. Cadell was old, and wished to retire; the opportunity was favourable, and promised brilliant results. Nor were these promises belied by experience. The old-established solicitor's business was a very flourishing and lucrative one. Martin Bransby was soon able to pay back the loan to his father-in-law with interest. Old Rabbitt observed that this was only taking from one hand to give to the other, for it would all come back to him and his in the end. As a matter of fact, old Rabbitt left every penny he had in the world to his daughter and her children after her; but the money was strictly tied up out of her husband's reach.

This seemed a trifling matter in those days to Martin Bransby. Whom should he desire to enrich but his own children? and things were going so well in the office that it seemed probable he might ama.s.s another fortune. But when, after his second marriage, a young family began to gather round him, he could not help regretting the terms of his original marriage settlement. As soon as Theodore came of age Mr. Bransby made an attempt to induce him to relinquish some part of the property in favour of his younger brothers and sisters; but the attempt failed, and was never repeated. Mr. Bransby was deeply wounded by Theodore's att.i.tude, and, on his side, Theodore considered his father's request unreasonable and unfair.

"If I might venture on a suggestion, I would advise your retrenching a little, sir," he had said with icy politeness; "in that way you would soon save enough to provide for Mrs. Bransby and her children in a style fully equal to what they have any right to expect from you."

The remembrance of that interview was a thorn in the flesh of Martin Bransby, and it left in Theodore's mind increased resentment against his father's second marriage.

But Theodore's advice, however unfilially proffered, was sound enough.

Retrenchment in the daily expenses of that easy-going and lavish household would have been judicious; but then to retrench would have been to deprive Louisa of the luxuries and elegancies which so became her, and which gave her so much pleasure. Instead of taking this disagreeable method, Mr. Bransby tried speculation. He made one or two lucky strokes, but at the first loss became panic-stricken, and threw good money after bad in a kind of desperation.

After his death something of all this leaked out in a confused way, to the public astonishment. "To think of Martin Bransby's money matters being in a bad way!" people said. "There must be more in this than meets the eye, for he was acknowledged to be a first-rate man of business."

In brief, as much amazement was expressed as though "men of business"

were commonly infallible, and the world had never heard of a man of business whose conduct was not ruled by self-restraining prudence. At the same time many persons declared they had long ago prophesied disaster, and had even warned Martin to put some check on his wife's extravagance. But such little inconsistencies as these are but pebbles in the stream of general gossip; diversifying it with an agreeable ripple, but never checking its flow.

May wrote an affectionate letter of condolence to Mrs. Bransby. She received no answer to it; and presently she learned that Mrs. Bransby and her children had left Oldchester, and gone to London. Constance Hadlow did not mention the family at all in writing to Mrs.

Dormer-Smith. They had fallen out of the sphere of her observation; and no one can be expected to turn away his telescope from contemplating the fixed stars in order to stare at common terrestrial phenomena--especially phenomena of a non-metallic and unproductive nature.

About Christmas time Theodore Bransby called unexpectedly at Mrs.

Dormer-Smith's house in London. He came early in the forenoon--so early, indeed, that Mrs. Dormer-Smith was not yet visible. On asking to see Miss Cheffington, he was shown into a room where May was sitting with the children. (Harold and Wilfred were now permitted to spend part of the morning with their cousin, at her particular request. And it was found that this arrangement answered the double purpose of delighting the boys, and leaving Cecile more leisure for needlework.)

May started and flushed on hearing Mr. Theodore Bransby's name announced. But the first glimpse of Theodore disarmed her wrath. He was paler than ever--or seemed to be so, in his deep mourning, and there was unmistakable sorrow in his face. May rose quickly, and gave him her hand in silence. There were tears in her eyes, and the unexpected sight of tears in his, made her forgive him for pressing her hand harder, and holding it longer than mere politeness warranted.

"I have been so sorry!" said May.

"Thank you," he answered. "You are always kind and good."