The Case of Richard Meynell Part 35

"What a shame--what an outrage--that any of us here should know a word about it!" cried Rose, her small foot beating on the floor, the hot colour in her cheek. "How shall we ever be able to face her to-night?"

Flaxman started.

"Miss Puttenham is coming to-night?"

"Certainly. She comes with Mary--who was to pick her up--after dinner."

Flaxman patrolled the room a little, in meditation. Finally he stopped before his wife.

"You must realize, darling, that we may be all walking on the edge of a volcano to-night."

"If only Henry Barron were!--and I might be behind to give the last little _chiquenade_!" cried Rose.

Flaxman devoutly echoed the wish.

"But the point is--are there any more of these letters out? If so, we may hear of others to-night. Then--what to do? Do I make straight for Meynell?"

They pondered it.

"Impossible to leave Meynell in ignorance," said Flaxman--"if the thing spreads Meynell of course would be perfectly justified--in his ward's interests--in denying the whole matter absolutely, true or no. But can he?--with Barron in reserve--using the Sabin woman's tale for his own purposes?"

Catharine's face, a little sternly set, showed the obscure conflict behind.

"He cannot say what is false," she said stiffly. "But he can refuse to answer."

Flaxman looked at her with an expression as confident as her own.

"To protect a woman, my dear Catharine--a man may say anything in the world--almost."

Catharine made no reply, but her quiet face showed she did not agree with him.

"That child Hester!" Rose emerged suddenly from a mental voyage of recollection and conjecture. "Now one understands why Lady Fox-Wilton--stupid woman!--has never seemed to care a rap for her. It must indeed be annoying to have to mother a child so much handsomer than your own."

"I think I am very sorry for Sir Ralph Fox-Wilton," said Catharine, after a moment.

Rose a.s.sented.

"Yes!--just an ordinary dull, pig-headed country gentleman confronted with a situation that only occurs in plays to which you don't demean yourself by going!--and obliged to tell and act a string of lies, when lies happen to be just one of the vices you're not inclined to! And then afterward you find yourself let in for living years and years with a bad conscience--hating the cuckoo-child, too, more and more as it grows up.

Yes!--I am quite sorry for Sir Ralph!"

"By the way!"--Flaxman looked up--"Do you know I am sure that I saw Miss Fox-Wilton--with Philip Meryon--in Hewlett's spinney this morning. I came back from Markborough by a path I had never discovered before--and there, sure enough, they were. They heard me on the path, I think, and vanished most effectively. The wood is very thick. But I am sure it was they--though they were some distance from me."

Rose exclaimed.

"Naughty, _naughty_ child: She has been absolutely forbidden to see him, the whole Fox-Wilton family have made themselves into gaolers and spies--and she just outwits them all! Poor Alice Puttenham hovers about her--trying to distract and amuse her--and has no more influence than a fly. And as for the Rector, it would be absurd, if it weren't enraging!

Look at all there is on his shoulders just now--the way people appeal to him from all over England to come and speak--or consult--or organize--(I don't want to be controversial, Catharine, darling!--but there it is).

And he can't make up his mind to leave Upcote for twenty-four hours till this girl is safely off the scene! He means to take her to Paris himself on Monday. I only hope he has found a proper sort of Gorgon to leave her with!"

Flaxman could not but reflect that the whole relation of Meynell to his ward might well give openings to such a scoundrel like the writer of the anonymous letters, who was certainly acquainted with local affairs. But he did not express this feeling aloud. Meanwhile Catharine, who showed an interest in Hester which surprised both him and Rose, began to question him on the subject of Philip Meryon. Meryon's mother, it seemed, had been an intimate friend of one of Flaxman's sisters, Lady Helen Varley, and Flaxman was well acquainted with the young man's most unsatisfactory record. He drew a picture of the gradual degeneracy of the handsome lad who had been the hope and delight of his warm-hearted, excitable mother; of her deepening disappointment and premature death.

"Helen kept up with him for a time, for his mother's sake, but unluckily he has put himself beyond the pale now, one way and another. It is too disastrous about this pretty child! What on earth does she see in him?"

"Simply a means of escaping from her home," said Rose--"the situation working out! But who knows whether he hasn't got a wife already? n.o.body should trust this young man farther than they can see him."

"It musn't--it can't be allowed!" said Catharine, with energy. And, as she spoke, she seemed to feel again the soft bloom of Hester's young cheek against her own, just as when she had drawn the girl to her, in that instinctive caress. The deep maternity in Catharine had never yet found scope enough in the love of one child.

Then, with a still keener sense of the various difficulties rising along Meynell's path, Flaxman and Rose returned to the anxious discussion of Barron's move and how to meet it. Catharine listened, saying little; and it was presently settled that Flaxman should himself call on Dawes, the colliery manager, that afternoon, and should write strongly to Barron, putting on paper the overwhelming arguments, both practical and ethical, in favour of silence--always supposing there were no further developments.

"Tell me"--said Rose presently, when Flaxman had left the sisters alone--"Mary of course knows nothing of that letter?"

Catharine flushed.

"How could she?" She looked almost haughtily at her sister.

Rose murmured an excuse. "Would it be possible to keep all knowledge from Mary that there _was_ a scandal--of some sort--in circulation, if the thing developed?"

Catharine, holding her head high, thought it would not only be possible, but imperative.

Rose glanced at her uncertainly. Catharine was the only person of whom she had ever been afraid. But at last she took the plunge.

"Catharine!--don't be angry with me--but I think Mary is interested in Richard Meynell."

"Why should I be angry?" said Catharine. She had coloured a little, but she was perfectly composed. With her gray hair, and her plain widow's dress, she threw her sister's charming mondanity into bright relief. But beauty--loftily understood--lay with Catharine.

"It _is_ ill luck--his opinions!" cried Rose, laying her hand upon her sister's.

"Opinions are not 'luck,'" said Catharine, with a rather cold smile.

"You mean we are responsible for them? Perhaps we are, if we are responsible for anything--which I sometimes doubt. But you like him--personally?" The tone was almost pleading.

"I think he is a good man."

"And if--if--they do fall in love--what are we all to do?"

Rose looked half whimsically--half entreatingly at her sister.

"Wait till the case arises," said Catharine, rather sharply. "And please don't interfere. You are too fond of match-making, Rose!"

"I am--I just ache to be at it, all the time. But I wouldn't do anything that would be a grief to you."

Catharine was silent a moment. Then she said in a tone that went to the listener's heart:

"Whatever happened--will be G.o.d's will."

She sat motionless, her eyes drooped, her features a little drawn and pale; her thoughts--Rose knew it--in the past.

Flaxman came back from his interview with Dawes, reporting that nothing could have been in better taste or feeling than Dawes's view of the matter. As far as the Rector was concerned--and he had told Mr. Barron so--the story was ridiculous, the mere blunder of a crazy woman; and, for the rest, what had they to do in Upcote with ferreting into other people's private affairs? He had locked up the letter in case it might some time be necessary to hand it to the police, and didn't intend himself to say a word to anybody. If the thing went any further, why of course the Rector must be informed. Otherwise silence was best. He had given a piece of his mind to Mr. Barron and "didn't want to be mixed up in any such business." "As far as I'm concerned, Mr. Flaxman, I'm fighting for the Church and her Creeds--I'm not out for backbiting!"