The Pit Town Coronet Volume Ii Part 5

Between ourselves I should think it would be better for all parties, particularly for his poor ill-used wife, if your brother-in-law remained in America. Personally, I regret to say that I shall never be able to receive him again. I'm sorry to add that my husband does not look upon the matter in the same serious light, but he was always frivolous, even for a clergyman.

"I may tell you that you are both coming back none too soon, for the squire, always a weak-minded man, seems now to be quite under the thumb of Miss Hood. That lady does not hesitate now to give herself airs to which I, for one, will never tamely submit; and I hope your cousin will take steps on her arrival to at once a.s.sert her position.

"With love to Georgie and kind regards from the vicar,

"I am, dear Miss Warrender, "Affectionately yours, "CECILIA DODD."

The next morning the sisters were driven with Fanchette and the baby to the station of the Northern Railway, and they left for England by the tidal train.

CHAPTER IV.

THE RETURN OF THE WANDERER.

When Georgie was ushered into the state room at The Warren, though she was horribly tired, she protested, but all to no purpose.

"It's no use, my dear; the wheels of time never go backwards. You will never be Georgie Warrender again, for she has developed into a personage--Mrs. Haggard is a personage of consideration." So said Miss Hood as she welcomed Georgie to the quarters set apart for her, Fanchette and the boy.

Summer is always enjoyable in a country house, and probably it is only after an extended absence from England that one can thoroughly appreciate the delights of English country life. To both girls the change was pleasant, to Lucy especially; the Villa Lambert had been to her a very punishment, for there had been no one to talk to. But Lucy had found an ally, a mine of information, a fund of amus.e.m.e.nt, an appreciative audience all combined, in her cousin's French _bonne_.

Naturally the foreigner looked upon England as a veritable land of Egypt, a house of bondage; equally naturally, she determined to spoil the Egyptians whenever she should have the opportunity. In her mind, as is the case with all the working cla.s.ses in France, the English were objects of derision and ridicule, as well as hereditary enemies.

Fanchette felt very much like a wolf turned loose in a sheep-fold: the wolf cannot foregather with the sheep; and the animal's delight may be fancied when it discovers that one at least of the flock, under the snowiest and most innocent-looking of fleeces, is, like herself, a wolf after all. Is it to be wondered at, then, that Fanchette clung to Miss Warrender? The pair thoroughly understood each other. Every Frenchwoman at heart is an intriguer, here again was a similarity of tastes and pursuits.

No successor had as yet been appointed to Hephzibah Wallis. The little Lucius, like most infants of his tender age, pa.s.sed the greater portion of his day in sleep, and Fanchette being an active person, willingly devoted the large proportion of spare time on her hands to Reginald Haggard's wife.

It is hardly to be wondered at that old Squire Warrender, who idolized his daughter, should make a fool of himself over the little Lucius. He even brushed up his archaic French for the sake of inquiring directly after the child's health from Fanchette. But Fanchette was only Fanchette to the two girls and the squire; to the rest of the inhabitants of The Warren she soon became "Mamzell;" this brevet, or to be more correct, local rank, she first earned by her own personal heroism. Johnny Chubb, the oldest of The Warren coachman's boys, was detected by the _bonne_ in a series of hideous grimaces. She promptly seized Johnny by the ear. Johnny's ears were large, projecting, and of a healthy crimson. As she twisted his great red ear, the agonized cries of Johnny became heartrending. "Demand of me, then, pardon, little cancer,"

cried the indignant _bonne_ in her native idiom. "Say, I pray you to pardon me, Mademoiselle Fanchette."

But Johnny only screamed the louder, for Johnny did not understand French, and Johnny was in pain. Fanchette, being a determined Frenchwoman, went on with the twisting; like Sir Reginald Hugh de Bray she certainly would have twisted it on till she twisted it off; in vain did Johnny, in his ineffectual struggles, turn head over heels more than once; the relentless Frenchwoman never let go his soft and ruddy ear.

She continued her injunctions to the boy, addressing him in many of the choicest flowers of abuse with which her language abounds, that he should beg mademoiselle's pardon. He did so at last, for even the endurance of a British boy breaks down at the idea of losing an ear.

"I begs yer pardon, Mamzell," he said sulkily, as he clapped his hand to the injured member, to a.s.sure himself that it was still attached to his head.

From that day Fanchette ceased to be "Frenchy" to Johnny, she became "Mamzell." At first, as a joke, the Warren servants gave her the t.i.tle derisively; from them it spread to the villagers, and gradually all King's Warren called her "Mamzell" in sober earnest.

The atmosphere of home, the healthy English air, and above all the quiet and regularity of the life at The Warren, combined with the hope of the approaching return of her husband, all had a beneficial effect on Georgie Haggard's physical health. Her lost colour gradually began to return, her step regained somewhat of its former elasticity, but she courted solitude, and seldom spoke. It was with difficulty she could be persuaded to go outside the grounds. Even the gossip of the vicar's wife, or the genial chat of the vicar himself, failed to interest her.

The change was apparent to everybody. But King's Warren opinion was generally formed by the active mind of Mrs. Dodd. Mrs. Dodd had decided that the poor thing was fretting for her husband; she considered that Mrs. Haggard deserved her sympathy, and so King's Warren looked on Mrs.

Haggard as a "poor thing," and duly sympathized. Old Warrender himself became gradually less anxious, and accepted the general verdict.

Weeks rolled into months. The sale of estates, even in Mexico, ends at last. Haggard, who had returned to the capital, found the weather getting unpleasantly hot; there was nothing further to detain him, and he vouchsafed to announce his return to the wife of his bosom. Strange to say, to the astonishment of all but Lucy, young Mrs. Haggard continued to "fret."

In that same rose garden, on the very bench on which she had sat awaiting Reginald's arrival on that momentous morning when she had consented to be his wife, Georgina now sat once more, but not alone. By her side was the _bonne_, and upon the _bonne's_ lap, wrapped in tranquil slumbers, lay the little Lucius. The young wife sat gazing at the infant, and as she sat she tried hard to come to a decision upon the course she should pursue. On the one side lay the path of duty. Should she make a clean breast of the matter? should she take her husband into her confidence? Should she ask him to give his name to the child of her cousin's shame? Or if she did so, could she for a moment suppose that he would for one instant listen to so monstrous a proposition? Of course there was her duty to be considered, her duty towards her husband, her duty towards her cousin; of what she owed herself she thought but little. But then she had sworn, and to some people, and Georgie was one of these, an oath remains ever binding. She felt herself securely caught, bound hand and foot in the net of intrigue, the meshes of which were so skilfully woven by her cousin's treacherous hands. Her mouth was sealed. Could she look forward with any pleasure to her husband's return? could it cause her aught but apprehension and a deadly fear that she, an innocent woman, was to pa.s.s the rest of her life in guarding a horrible secret, not her own, and in betraying her husband's confidence?

But she had given her word; keep it she must, at whatever cost.

How different had been her feelings on that well-remembered day, as she sat alone, in maiden meditation, and awaited her would-be lover's advent. Then there had been no anxiety in her antic.i.p.ations of their meeting. It was very different now. A dreadful terror filled her heart; the fear of nameless horrors caused her hands to become cold and clammy.

Should she appeal to his generosity? should she make an end of the whole ghastly story? If she could only nerve herself to do so, that was the one way out of the maze of doubt, the sole possible road to Georgie's future happiness. What right had Lucy to wreck her life? Hers was the sin; on her head let it be visited. But Georgie felt that she had gone too far already; the first step, that dangerous first step, in the path of deception had been unhappily taken. In her natural anxiety to shield her cousin she had yielded to her imperious demands. She had entered upon the lane of trickery, in which there is no turning back. She felt herself but a ship on a sea of troubles, whose helm was guided by that experienced sailor, her cousin Lucy.

The little Lucius, the helpless centre of all the dark intrigue, clad in his garments of needlework, slept the sleep of innocence upon Fanchette's lap. Most women having so much cause would have hated the child, but to hate was not in Georgie Haggard's affectionate nature.

The sleepy mid-day silence of the rose garden was broken by the sound of wheels, but no flush of pleasure reddened Georgie's cheek as she heard the bustle of her husband's arrival.

Just as once before big Reginald Haggard strode down the gravel walk, so once more Georgie now saw him advancing in the blaze of sunlight, but not alone. With him walked her father, with a cheerful face, while on his arm hung the light-hearted Lucy, all smiles and happy blushes, her ringing musical laugh joyously heralding his advent.

But Haggard seemed to have no eyes for any one but Georgie; his face wreathed in smiles, he hurriedly advanced to greet her, and then for an instant nature triumphed. Georgie burst into tears, and rushing into his arms, husband and wife were locked in a long embrace. But the momentary oblivion of her trouble ceased when Georgie left her husband's arms and caught her cousin's eye.

Lucy's finger was pressed to her lips. What the gesture meant young Mrs.

Haggard knew only too well.

"If you don't moderate your transports you will commit the unpardonable crime, Reginald, for you will wake the baby," said Lucy.

It was too late. The child, with a gentle sigh, opened his eyes and stared around him. But Haggard, absorbed in his first meeting with his wife, did not seem to observe him. Lucy s.n.a.t.c.hed up the little bundle of lace and embroideries, and exhibited him triumphantly.

"Have you no eyes, Reginald?" she cried. "Pray reserve some, at least, of your transports for the object of universal adoration."

As Haggard gazed on the pair he thought they made a pretty picture, with their background of foliage.

"So that's the little chap," he said carelessly.

"And is that all you have to say to him?" cried Lucy. "No wonder you make him cry, Reginald," for the child, at the sight of a stranger, had burst into a succession of st.u.r.dy yells, which, at all events, showed the strength of his lungs.

But even when a man is confronted for the first time with his firstborn, he probably does not manifest the amount of interest which is expected by the female mind. The little Lucius was speedily consigned to his nurse's arms; she disappeared with him down a shady walk, carefully protecting, as is the way with French nurses, the child's complexion and her own by means of a big sunshade.

"Come, uncle," said Lucy. "We have to prepare the roast veal to celebrate the prodigal's return. Besides, Georgie and Reginald must have hundreds of things to tell each other; _we_ shall only be treated to the second edition of a gentleman's travels in America. I suppose the first will be for private circulation only. I fear Georgie won't have much to say in return, for our dull life at the chateau will have little to interest a man." This was said trippingly upon the tongue, but it was said with intention, and the look which accompanied it caused poor Mrs.

Haggard to drop her eyes, while a slight flush suffused her cheeks.

"Two can't play gooseberry, you know, uncle; it is a _role_ that, like the daisy-picker's, cannot be divided."

Old Warrender rose with a smile, and Lucy dropped the pair a profound courtesy.

"Farewell, Strephon. Good-bye, Chloe. You would both make a pretty picture in sylvan costume, but in your nineteenth century clothes you look terribly prosaic."

"Lovers still though, I think, my dear; lovers still, please G.o.d,"

muttered the old man, as he gave his arm to Lucy.

The pair were left alone.

Were this history mere fable Reginald would at once have proceeded to possess himself of his pretty wife's unresisting hand; he would have pressed it to his lips with rapture. What he really did was to take his case from his pocket, provide himself with a large and uncommonly fullflavoured cigar, which he lighted with much care and deliberation.

"You must have found it beastly dull at that hole, Georgie," he remarked at length; "how on earth did you get through your time?"

Should she tell him? Could she tell him how she had got through that terrible time? Her honest nature urged her to it; but Georgie's love for Haggard, deep as it was, was not untinged with fear. Her gentler spirit was dominated by Lucy's strong will. Her intense respect for her promise, the promise s.n.a.t.c.hed from her in the moment of her excitement and tribulation, quelled the impulse.

"Of course it was dull without you, Reginald. But you, at all events, have enjoyed yourself. How brown you've got," she said, gazing up at him with her old look of girlish rapture.

The look did it. Woman's admiration was ever meat and drink to big Reginald Haggard, particularly the admiration of a pretty woman. Now Georgie was a very pretty woman. Accustomed as he was to open appreciation by the s.e.x, it never seemed to pall on him. Though most men expect it, or at least the semblance of it, as a sort of right from their wives, and consequently cease to value it, yet Haggard, not having seen Georgie for many months, was evidently pleased.

"Yes, we had plenty of sun out there," he said, as he pa.s.sed his hand meditatively over his shaven chin. "It was hot, beastly hot. But they weren't a bad lot out there, you know," and then he went off into a long description.