The Disentanglers Part 24

They were all glad that they went. Susan, the younger Miss Malory, enjoyed herself extremely. Matilda danced with the Vidame as often as her mother approved. The conduct of Mrs. Brown-Smith was correctness itself. She endeared herself to the girls: invited them to her place in Perthshire, and warmly congratulated Mrs. Malory on the event approaching in her family. The eye of maternal suspicion could detect nothing amiss.

Thanks mainly to Mrs. Brown-Smith, the girls found the season an earthly Paradise: and Mrs. Malory saw much more of the world than she had ever done before. But she remained vigilant, and on the alert. Before the end of July she had even conceived the idea of inviting Mrs. Brown-Smith, fatigued by her toils, to inhale the bracing air of Upwold in the moors.

But she first consulted Merton, who expressed his warm approval.

'It is dangerous, though she has been so kind,' sighed Mrs. Malory. 'I have observed nothing to justify the talk which I have heard, but I am in doubt.'

'Dangerous! it is safety,' said Merton.

'How?'

Merton braced himself for the most delicate and perilous part of his enterprise.

'The Vidame de la Lain will be staying with you?'

'Naturally,' said Mrs. Malory. 'And if there _is_ any truth in what was whispered--'

'He will be subject to temptation,' said Merton.

'Mrs. Brown-Smith is so pretty and so amusing, and dear Matilda; she takes after my dear husband's family, though the best of girls, Matilda has not that flashing manner.'

'But surely no such thing as temptation should exist for a man so fortunate as de la Lain! And if it did, would his conduct not confirm what you have heard, and open the eyes of Miss Malory?'

'It seems so odd to be discussing such things with--so young a man as you--not even a relation,' sighed Mrs. Malory.

'I can withdraw at once,' said Merton.

'Oh no, please don't speak of that! I am not really at all happy yet about my daughter's future.'

'Well, suppose the worst by way of argument; suppose that you saw, that Miss Malory saw--'

'Matilda has always refused to see or to listen, and has spoken of the reforming effects of a pure affection. She would be hard, indeed, to convince that anything was wrong, but, once certain--I know Matilda's character--she would never forgive the insult, never.'

'And you would rather that she suffered some present distress?'

'Than that she was tied for life to a man who could cause it? Certainly I would.'

'Then, Mrs. Malory, as it _is_ awkward to discuss these intimate matters with me, might I suggest that you should have an interview with Mrs.

Brown-Smith herself? I a.s.sure you that you can trust her, and I happen to know that her view of the man about whom we are talking is exactly your own. More I could say as to her reasons and motives, but we entirely decline to touch on the past or to offer any opinion about the characters of our patients--the persons about whose engagements we are consulted. He might have murdered his grandmother or robbed a church, but my lips would be sealed.'

'Do you not think that Mrs. Brown-Smith would be very much surprised if I consulted her?'

'I know that she takes a sincere interest in Miss Malory, and that her advice would be excellent--though perhaps rather startling,' said Merton.

'I dislike it very much. The world has altered terribly since I was Matilda's age,' said Mrs. Malory; 'but I should never forgive myself if I neglected any precaution, and I shall take your advice. I shall consult Mrs. Brown-Smith.'

Merton thus retreated from what even he regarded as a difficult and delicate affair. He fell back on his reserves; and Mrs. Brown-Smith later gave an account of what pa.s.sed between herself and the representative of an earlier age:

'She first, when she had invited me to her dreary place, explained that we ought not, she feared, to lead others into temptation. "If you think that man, de la Lain's temptation is to drag my father's name, and my husband's, in the dust," I answered, "let me tell you that _I_ have a temptation also."

'"Dear Mrs. Brown-Smith," she answered, "this is indeed honourable candour. Not for the world would I be the occasion--"

'I interrupted her, "_My_ temptation is to make him the laughing stock of his acquaintance, and, if he has the impudence to give me the opportunity, I _will_!" And then I told her, without names, of course, that story about this Vidame Potter and Violet Lebas.'

'I did _not_,' said Merton. 'But why Vidame Potter?'

'His father was a Mr. Potter; his grandfather married a Miss Lalain--I know all about it--and this creature has wormed out, or invented, some story of a Vidameship, or whatever it is, hereditary in the female line, and has taken the t.i.tle. And this is the man who has had the impertinence to talk about _me_, a Ker of Graden.'

'But did not the story you speak of make her see that she must break off her daughter's engagement?'

'No. She was very much distressed, but said that her daughter Matilda would never believe it.'

'And so you are to go to Upwold?'

'Yes, it is a mournful place; I never did anything so good-natured. And, with the widow's knowledge, I am to do as I please till the girl's eyes are opened. I think it will need that stratagem we spoke of to open them.'

'You are sure that you will be in no danger from evil tongues?'

'They say, What say they? Let them say,' answered Mrs. Brown-Smith, quoting the motto of the Keiths.

The end of July found Mrs. Brown-Smith at Upwold, where it is to be hoped that the bracing qualities of the atmosphere made up for the want of congenial society. Susan Malory had been discreetly sent away on a visit. None of the men of the family had arrived. There was a party of local neighbours, who did not feel the want of anything to do, but lived in dread of flushing the Vidame and Matilda out of a window seat whenever they entered a room.

As for the Vidame, being dest.i.tute of all other entertainment, he made love in a devoted manner.

But at dinner, after Mrs. Brown-Smith's arrival, though he sat next Matilda, Mrs. Malory saw that his eyes were mainly bent on the lady opposite. The ping-pong of conversation, even, was played between him and Mrs. Brown-Smith across the table: the county neighbours were quite lost in their endeavours to follow the flight of the ball. Though the drawing-room window, after dinner, was open on the fragrant lawn, though Matilda sat close by it, in her wonted place, the Vidame was hanging over the chair of the visitor, and later, played billiards with her, a game at which Matilda did not excel. At family prayers next morning (the service was conducted by Mrs. Malory) the Vidame appeared with a white rosebud in his b.u.t.tonhole, Mrs. Brown-Smith wearing its twin sister. He took her to the stream in the park where she fished, Matilda following in a drooping manner. The Vidame was much occupied in extracting the flies from the hair of Mrs. Brown-Smith, in which they were frequently entangled. After luncheon he drove with the two ladies and Mrs. Malory to the country town, the usual resource of ladies in the country, and though he sat next Matilda, Mrs. Brown-Smith was beaming opposite, and the pair did most of the talking. While Mrs. Malory and her daughter shopped, it was the Vidame who took Mrs. Brown-Smith to inspect the ruins of the Abbey. The county neighbours had left in the morning, a new set arrived, and while Matilda had to entertain them, it was Mrs Brown-Smith whom the Vidame entertained.

This kind of thing went on; when Matilda was visiting her cottagers it was the Vidame and Mrs. Brown-Smith whom visitors flushed in window seats. They wondered that Mrs. Malory had asked so dangerous a woman to the house: they marvelled that she seemed quite radiant and devoted to her lively visitor. There was a school feast: it was the Vidame who arranged hurdle-races for children of both s.e.xes (so improper!), and who started the compet.i.tors.

Meanwhile Mrs. Malory, so unusually genial in public, held frequent conventicles with Matilda in private. But Matilda declined to be jealous; they were only old friends, she said, these flagitious two; Dear Anne (that was the Vidame's Christian name) was all that she could wish.

'You know the place is _so_ dull, mother,' the brave girl said. 'Even grandmamma, who was a saint, says so in her _Domestic Outpourings_'

(religious memoirs privately printed in 1838). 'We cannot amuse Mrs.

Brown-Smith, and it is so kind and chivalrous of Anne.'

'To neglect you?'

'No, to do duty for Tom and d.i.c.k,' who were her brothers, and who would not greatly have entertained the fair visitor had they been present.

Matilda was the kind of woman whom we all adore as represented in the characters of Fielding's Amelia and Sophia. Such she was, so gracious and yielding, in her overt demeanour, but, alas, poor Matilda's pillow was often wet with her tears. She was loyal; she would not believe evil: she crushed her natural jealousy 'as a vice of blood, upon the threshold of the mind.'

Mrs. Brown-Smith was nearly as unhappy as the girl. The more she hated the Vidame--and she detested him more deeply every day--the more her heart bled for Matilda. Mrs. Brown-Smith also had her secret conferences with Mrs. Malory.

'Nothing will shake her belief in that man,' said Mrs. Malory.

'Your daughter is the best girl I ever met,' said Mrs. Brown-Smith. 'The best tempered, the least suspicious, the most loyal. And I am doing my worst to make her hate me. Oh, I can't go on!' Here Mrs. Brown-Smith very greatly surprised her hostess by bursting into tears.

'You must not desert us now,' said the elder lady. 'The better you think of poor Matilda--and she _is_ a good girl--the more you ought to help her.'

It was the 8th of August, no other visitors were at the house, a shooting party was expected to arrive on the 11th. Mrs. Brown-Smith dried her tears. 'It must be done,' she said, 'though it makes me sick to think of it.'

Next day she met the Vidame in the park, and afterwards held a long conversation with Mrs. Malory. As for the Vidame, he was in feverish high spirits, he devoted himself to Matilda, in fact Mrs. Brown-Smith had insisted on such dissimulation, as absolutely necessary at this juncture of affairs. So Matilda bloomed again, like a rose that had been 'washed, just washed, in a shower.' The Vidame went about humming the airs of the country which he had honoured by adopting it as the cradle of his ancestry.