- -
- 100%
- +
"Gordon, please go at once," said his wife.
My hands were released, the blue eyes of Major Grayson looked full into mine. Certainly father's eyes were the most wonderful in all the world. They seemed to me to hold within their depths a mixture of every sort of emotion, of fun, of reluctant, half ashamed, half pleased, half boyish penitence, of sorrow, of a pathos which was always there and always half hidden, and also of a queer and indescribable nobility, which, notwithstanding the fact that I had not seen him for years, and notwithstanding the other fact that he had married a worldly woman when he might have made me so happy, seemed to have grown and strengthened on his face. He kissed one of his hands to me, raised Lady Helen's jewelled hand to his lips, bowed to her, smiled, and departed.
"He has charming manners," she said, and then she turned to me.
"Bring me food, child," she said; "I want you to wait on me to-day; I am tired; we had a very rough crossing. To-morrow I shall take you in hand, but you are tremendously improved already. Yes, your father has delightful manners – we shall win through yet; but it will be a battle."
"What do you mean by 'winning through'?" I asked.
"Nothing that you need interfere about," she answered, a little sharply; "only listen to me once for all. I am not Lady Helen Dalrymple for nothing, and when I stoop to conquer I do conquer. Now then, fetch me the cake basket; I am ravenously hungry and have a passion for chocolate."
I gave her what she required, and she ate without looking at me, her sharp eyes wandering round and round the room.
"Why, how hideous!" she suddenly exclaimed. "How more than wrong of Clarkson! I gave orders that the curtains in this room were to be rose-pink; those dull blue abominations must come down; we won't have them – they'd try anyone's complexion. Child, for goodness' sake don't stare! And yet, come and let me look at you. That blue dress suits you; but then you are young, and you have a complexion for blue."
She patted my hand for a minute, then she yawned profoundly.
"I am glad to be home," she said. "A honeymoon when you are no longer young is fatiguing, to say the least of it, and I am sick of hotel life. I have already sent out my 'At Home' invitations, and for the next few days the house will be crammed every afternoon. You will have to be present – why, of course, you will – don't knit your brows together like that. I mean to be a good stepmother to you, Heather. Ah, here comes Gordon. Gordon, you look very presentable now. Sit close to me on this sofa, and let Heather give you some tea. It's nice to have one's own girl to wait on one, isn't it?"
"Profoundly nice," said the Major; "exquisitely nice. To think that we have a child of our very own, Helen!"
"I don't think about it," replied Lady Helen. "It isn't my custom to wear myself out going into raptures, but, Gordon, I am very seriously displeased about those curtains."
"Curtains, dear – what ails them? I see nothing wrong in them."
"But I do. I told Clarkson's people rose-colour, soft rose-colour, and they sent blue – I will never get anything at Clarkson's again."
"They must be changed, sweetest one," replied my father.
I was giving him a cup of tea just then, and my hand shook. My stepmother noticed this; she said, in a sharp voice:
"Heather, get me a fan; that fire will spoil my complexion."
I fetched her one. She held it between herself and the fire.
"By the way, Gordon," she said suddenly, "we had better tell the child now."
"Oh, what?" I asked in some astonishment and also alarm.
"Really, Heather, you need not give way to such undue excitement. A year of my training will completely change you. I only wished to mention the fact that your name is no longer Grayson; in future you are Heather Dalrymple. Your father and I have agreed that you both take my name; that is a thing often done when there is a question of money. I hold the purse strings. I am a very generous person as regards money; Major, dear, you can testify to that."
"I can, Helen. There never was your like, you are wonderful."
"You therefore are little Heather Dalrymple in future," continued my stepmother, "and your father and I are Major and Lady Helen Dalrymple. It's done, child, it's settled; the lawyers have arranged it all. Grayson is a frightful name; you ought to be truly thankful that it is in my power to change it for you. You need not even wait for your marriage; the change takes place at once."
"But I prefer my own name," I answered. "I don't want to have your name. Father, please speak – father, I am not Heather Dalrymple!"
"Oh, make no fuss about it, child," replied my father. "I have long ago come to the wise conclusion that nothing wears one out like making a fuss. Now, my dear, good, sweet, little Heather, I grieve to have to tell you that your disposition promises to land you in old age before your time. You fuss about everything. You fussed yourself almost into your grave when I was obliged to leave you with Penelope Despard, and yet how good poor old Pen was to you all the time! And then you were very impolite to your new mother when you heard that I was about to be married."
"Oh, I am willing to forget and forgive all that," said Lady Helen. "The child was young and taken by surprise. We enter to-day a new world. I do my best for her; she must do her best for me. If you are a good girl, Heather, you will see what a happy life you will have as my daughter."
"Please, please, father," I said, suddenly, "may I have Anastasia to be my maid? There is a girl upstairs who calls herself Morris, and she says she is my maid, but I really do want Anastasia back."
"Ask her ladyship, and do it in a pretty way," said my father, and he gave my hand a playful pinch.
"And this carpet," muttered Lady Helen. "I particularly said that the carpet was to be of a pale green, that sort of very soft green which sets off everything, and it is – goodness gracious! – it is a sort of pale blue, not even the tone of the curtains. How atrocious! Yes, Heather, yes – what is it?"
"I do want to ask you, please," I said, "if Anastasia may come back?"
"Anastasia?" said Lady Helen. "I have never heard of her. Who is she?"
"She used to be my nurse when I was in India, and she sailed with father and me in the good ship Pleiades. Oh, father! don't you remember the charm you gave me, and how we talked of gentle gales and prosperous winds? And, father, here's the charm, the dear old charm!"
"When you talk to me," said Lady Helen, "you will have the goodness to look at me. You want the woman – what did you say her name was?"
"Anastasia. It's quite a nice name," I answered. "I want her to be my maid instead of Morris."
"To be your maid?"
"Please, please, Lady Helen."
"Can she sew? Can she make blouses? Can she arrange hair fashionably? Can she put on your dress as it ought to be put on? I may as well say at once that I don't intend to take a pale, gawky girl about with me. You must look nice, as you can and will, if you have a proper maid, and I attend to your clothes. Can she alter your dresses when they get a little outré? In short, is the woman a lady's maid at all?"
"She used to be my nurse, and I love her," I answered stoutly.
"I cannot possibly have her back. Don't speak of it again. And now, Heather, I have something else to say. When you address me you are not to call me 'Lady Helen,' you are to say 'Mother.' The fact is, I can't stand sentimental nonsense. Your own mother has been in her grave for many years. If I am to act as a mother to you, I intend to have the title. Now say the word; say this – say, 'Please, mother, may I go upstairs to my private sitting-room, and may I leave you and father alone together?' Say the words, Heather."
I turned very cold, and I have no doubt my face was white.
"Yes, Heather, say the words," cried father.
His blue eyes were extremely bright, and there was a spot of vivid colour on both his cheeks. He looked at me with such a world of longing, such an expression of almost fear, that for his sake I gave in.
"I will do what you wish for my father's sake," I said, slowly. "I am not your child, and you are not my mother. My mother is in her grave, and when she lived her name was Grayson, not Dalrymple; but if it makes father happy for me to say 'mother,' I will say it."
"It makes me most oppressively happy, my little Heather," cried my father.
"Then I will do it for you, Daddy," I said.
Lady Helen frowned at me. I went slowly out of the room.
CHAPTER IX
It is doubtless the law of life to get, more or less quickly, according to one's nature, accustomed to everything. In about six weeks I, who had lived so quietly with Aunt Penelope, had settled down to my new existence. I was spoken of as Lady Helen's daughter, and invariably addressed as Miss Dalrymple. I was dressed according to Lady Helen's wishes, and I was taken here, there, and everywhere. What I did notice, however, was that although Lady Helen, my father, and I went to numerous concerts, and although Lady Helen had her box at the opera, and took a box frequently at the theatres, and although we often dined at the Savoy, and the Carlton, and the Ritz hotels, and on all these occasions my gallant-looking father accompanied us, yet when we went into so-called Society he was hardly ever present. I asked Lady Helen the reason one day. I said to her:
"It is so dull without father. Why doesn't he come with us?"
On this occasion she frowned and looked anxious; then she said:
"Oh, we shall manage it, probably, by next year; we must not be too eager. People forget very quickly, and we must not expect too much this year, but next year doubtless things will be all right."
"But what can there be to forget?" I said.
"Nothing, nothing at all," she replied. "Don't be so inquisitive, child."
Meanwhile, I will own that I was having a good time – that is, if admiration, expressed and unexpressed, could give it to me. Lady Helen was proud of me when she saw people flocking round me and when she observed that the nicest men asked me to dance, and the ladies whose houses she was most anxious to get invited to sent me also invitations. She made a fuss over me, and petted me according to her lights. So I was happy in a kind of fashion, although, to tell the truth, there were times over and again when I felt very like a prisoner – a prisoner in a gilt cage.
One day something rather peculiar occurred. I did not think much of it at the time, although I was destined to give it several thoughts later on. Lady Helen received a letter amongst many others, which she opened shortly after breakfast. Father was in the room. He was leaning back in a big chair, and was reading The Times. I noticed that father always turned to the army news first in reading any paper; he was looking at the army news at that moment. He was intensely interested about everything to do with the army; and that I could scarcely wonder at, seeing that he himself was a Major in His Majesty's service.
Lady Helen opened her letter, turned a little white, and flung it across the table to father.
"There!" she said. "What are we to do now?"
Father took up the letter and read it slowly. His face did not look exactly white, but a very peculiar mottled sort of colour spread slowly over his cheeks, and his eyes became fierce and wild. As a rule, he was quick and eager in his movements, but now he rose up deliberately, stamped his foot, and crossing the room, put the letter into a small fire which was burning in the grate.
"Gordon, why have you done that?" said Lady Helen.
"Because your brother will not enter this house," was his reply.
"Ah, poor fellow!" she exclaimed. "And am I never to see him? I must see him – I will! Child, go out of the room."
"No, child, you are to stay here," said my father. He swept his arm round my waist, and drew me down to sit close to him. I could feel that he was trembling all over. Lady Helen got up.
"Heather, I wish you to leave the room."
"Darling father, come to me presently to my own room," I whispered. "Do, please – what – mother wishes – now."
I brought out the words with an effort.
"You are a plucky girl, my darling," he said, kissing me. "Well, then, go – I will come to you by and by."
I was glad to escape. I ran up to my room, and sank down into an easy-chair. Morris, who constantly walked out with me in the morning, came in to know if she was to do anything, but I sent her away. I took up a book, I tried to read, I put it down again; I could not fix my attention on anything. Oh, never, never before had I seen father's eyes blaze with such fire, and never before had I seen Lady Helen at once angry and cowed. What were they saying to each other now? Until that moment I had not guessed that Lady Helen had a brother. Who was he, and why could not he come? Why should father be so angry? Why should father have burnt his letter? Why did father tremble from head to foot, and try to keep me in the room? Ah! I heard his step on the stairs. I ran to my door and flung it open.
"Daddy, daddy, come in!" I said.
He strode towards me; in a minute he was in the room, and had clasped me to his heart.
"Upon my word, little woman," he said, "upon my word, I have gone through a pretty scene!"
"Sit down and rest, Daddy darling; don't talk for a minute or two. This is my room, and you are my visitor, and you shall do just as you like."
"Smoke a pipe, for instance?" he asked, giving me a quizzical glance.
"Indeed you may and shall," I said. I began to poke in his pocket for his pipe, and when I found it filled it for him and lit it, as I used to do when I was a small child; then I gave it to him to smoke.
"You are a dear little thing," he said. "You are the comfort of my life."
His pipe and the peace of my room seemed to soothe him wonderfully, but over and over I heard him mutter, "Upon my word!" and then I heard him say, "No, not quite that; I have done a good bit for her ladyship, but that scoundrel – she must know that he can never come here."
"Daddy, what is wrong?" I asked.
He took his pipe out of his mouth, gave a profound sigh, and looked me full in the face.
"There's nothing wrong at all," he said. "I was in a bit of a passion – not a temper – a passion– my passion was right and justifiable, but her ladyship's nearly all right now."
"And won't you let her brother come to see her, Daddy?"
"Stop that, Heather; you are not to question me."
"Then he is not coming?" I said.
"That man shall never darken my doors."
"Daddy!"
"Miss Curiosity is not to know the reason," he said, smiling once more and pinching my cheek. "Now then, look here. Her ladyship is in a bit of a tiff – oh, not much; she'll be herself by this evening. You and she are going to a very big affair to-night, and what do you say to our enjoying a very big affair to-day? Richmond, eh? in her ladyship's motor, eh? and no questions asked, eh, eh?"
"Oh, father, how truly rapturous!"
"Well, then, we'll do it. Get Morris to make you look as smart as possible, and I will order the motor-car to come round. Now, then, off with you!"
I flew to get ready, and father and I had a very happy day together. As we were coming back in the motor-car, just in time for me to get dressed for that great function which he would not attend, I said to him:
"Daddy, I thought that when people were a long time in the army – "
"Eh, eh?" he said. "What about the army?"
"I thought that they got promotion – I mean you ought to be a full colonel, or even a general, by now."
"Little Heather, will you promise with all your heart and soul never to repeat something I am going to say to you?"
"Of course, I will promise you, my own daddy."
"Well, I am not in the army – I haven't been in the army for years."
"Daddy!"
"Now listen, and keep that knowledge deep down in your heart. But for that scoundrel who wanted to pay us a visit I'd have been a general in his Majesty's service now. No more words, Heather; no more words – keep it dark, dark in your heart. I am called Major by her ladyship as a matter of courtesy, but I was snuffed out some time ago, child; yes, snuffed out. Now then, here we are! We've had a good day – very jolly to be alone with my little Heather – life's not half bad when you consider that your own child need not understand every black and evil thing about you. But I am snuffed out for all that, little Heather mine."
CHAPTER X
About a month passed by, and the scene which I have alluded to seemed to have receded like distant smoke. Lady Helen and my father were the best of friends. I went to see Lady Carrington as often as I could, but for some reason Lady Helen Dalrymple and she were only the merest acquaintances, and I could see that Lady Helen was jealous when Lady Carrington invited me to her house. The days I spent with that good woman were the happiest of my life just then, but they were few and far between.
I saw very little of father. After our long delightful day at Richmond he seemed to pass more or less out of my life. He seemed to me to be an absolute and complete cipher, so much so that I could not bear to look at him. His hearty, happy, jolly, delightful manners were subdued, his eyes were more sunken than they used to be, and the colour in his cheeks had quite faded. I used to gaze at him with a pang at my heart, and wonder if he were really growing thin. He hardly ever said now, "Hallo, hallo! here we are!" or "Oh, I say, how jolly!" In fact, I never heard any of his old hearty exclamations; but what annoyed me most was that when Lady Helen was present he hardly took any notice of me.
Nevertheless, I had my good times, for by now I was tired of sitting up half the night and of going to endless dances and listening to innumerable empty compliments, and being smiled at by men whom I could not take the faintest interest in, and whose names I hardly remembered. But as the summer came on faster and faster, and the London season advanced to its height, I did enjoy my morning walks with Morris. Lady Helen had said something about my having a horse to ride, but up to the present I was not given one, and consequently I walked with Morris, and we invariably went into Hyde Park or Kensington Gardens.
I remember a day early in May, when I unexpectedly met Captain Carbury. I was sitting on a chair, with Morris next to me, when I saw him in the distance. He pushed rapidly through a crowd of people, and came up to my side. He took a chair close to mine.
"Can't you get your maid to walk about for a short time?" he said. "I have something of great importance I want to say to you."
I turned towards Morris.
"Morris, will you kindly go to the first entrance and buy me two shillingsworth of violets?" I said to the girl.
Morris rose at once to do what I asked.
"That's right," said Captain Carbury, when we were alone. "I have such a strange thing to tell you, Miss Grayson."
"That isn't my name now," I said.
"I beg your pardon," he replied, turning a little red, "Miss Dalrymple." Then he added: "I have been wanting to see you for weeks, but did not know how to manage it."
"But was there any difficulty?" I asked. "You know where my father and Lady Helen live. You could have called."
He coloured and looked down on the ground.
"We have met at last," he said, after a pause, "and now I have this to tell you."
"What?"
"You saw Dorothy Vinguard once, didn't you?"
"The girl you are engaged to? Of course."
"I am not engaged to her any longer; our engagement is broken off."
"Oh, I am sorry," I said, and I looked at him with a world of sympathy in my eyes.
"Dear little Miss Heather," he replied, "you needn't be sorry, for I assure you I am not."
"But why is it broken off?" I asked. "I thought when people were engaged that, if they were nice people, they considered it sacred, and – and kept engaged until they married."
"Oh, you dear little innocent!" he replied. "How little you know! Well, at any rate, I am not going to enlighten you with regard to the ways of this wicked world. The engagement is broken off, and I am glad of it. I didn't do it; she did. She has engaged herself now to another man, with five or six times my money. She is all right, and so am I."
Then I said slowly, "You puzzle me very much, Captain Carbury. I thought you were very, very fond of her."
He dug his stick into the gravel walk near; then he glanced round at me impatiently.
"You can put all that sort of thing into the past tense," he said. "Now tell me about yourself. How are you getting on?"
"I am not getting on," I answered.
"You surprise me! I hear quite the contrary I hear that dear little Miss Heather, who was so kind to me, and did me such immense honour as to put me into her gallery of heroes, is making quite a stir in society. When society begins to appreciate you, Miss Heather, you ought to consider yourself in luck. They say – and by 'they' I mean the people who live in this wicked world, the people who are 'in the know,' you understand – that if you are not engaged to be married before this time next year, you will be the height of the fashion."
I found myself colouring very deeply.
"I don't intend to be either engaged or married," I said; "and to make a stir in society is about the very last thing I should wish."
"I wonder what you would wish?" he asked, looking at me attentively.
I looked back at him. Then I said, in a low, quiet voice:
"I can't quite understand why it is, but I find it very easy to tell you things. Perhaps it is because you are in my gallery and I am in yours."
"Yes, of course, that is the reason," he replied, with one of his quick, beautiful smiles.
"I will tell you what I really want."
"Do, Miss Heather – I really can't call you Miss Dalrymple, so it must be Miss Heather."
"I don't mind," I answered.
"Well, now then, out with your greatest wish!"
"I should like," I said, speaking deliberately, "to leave London, and to go into the heart of the country, to find there a pretty cottage, with woodbine and monthly roses climbing about the walls, and dear little low-ceiled rooms, and little lattice windows, and no sign of any other house anywhere near at all. And I should like beyond words to take father and live with him, all by our two selves, in that cottage. I should not want fine dresses there, and society would matter less than nothing to me."
Captain Carbury looked somewhat surprised, then he said, quietly:
"About your father; well, of course, I – I can't speak about him, you know, but there's – there's Lady Helen. How would she enjoy your programme?"
"There would be no programme at all, no dream to be fulfilled, no happiness to be secured, if she went with us," I answered.
"Oh, I see," he answered; "poor little Miss Heather!" And he whistled softly under his breath.
I looked full at him.
"You don't like her either," I said, and it seemed to me that a new and very strong chord of sympathy sprang up between us as I uttered the words.
"No," he answered. "I won't say why – I won't give any reasons; she may mean all right, but she's a worldly woman, and I don't care a bit about worldly women. I am afraid you won't have your dream, Miss Heather, so I must tell you what is the next best thing for you to do."
"But there is no next best," I replied.
"Yes, there is. Now listen to me attentively. The very best thing, all circumstances considered, for you to do is to get engaged right away to the sort of fellow who understands you and whom you understand – the sort of man who would put you into his gallery, you know, and whom you would put into your gallery. Oh, yes, you comprehend what I mean. The best thing for you, Miss Heather, is to get engaged to that man, and when once you are engaged not on any account to break off your engagement, but to have it speedily followed by marriage. You'd be as happy as the day is long with the man who understands you, and whom you understood. And, for that matter, you could have your cottage in the country, only it would not be shared by your father but by – well, by the other man – the man who understands you so well, you know."