Dawn Page 11

  CHAPTER X

  The night of the dinner-party was a nearly sleepless one for Philip,although his father had so considerately regretted his weariedappearance, he could do nothing but walk, walk, walk, like someunquiet ghost, up and down his great, oak-panelled bedroom, till,about dawn, his legs gave way beneath him; and think, think, think,till his mind recoiled, confused and helpless, from the dead wall ofits objects. And, out of all this walking and thinking, there emerged,after an hour of stupor, that it would be a misnomer to call sleep,two fixed results. The first of these was that he hated his father asa lost soul must hate its torturing demon, blindly, madly, impotentlyhated him; and the second, that he could no longer delay taking hiswife into his confidence. Then he remembered the letter he hadreceived from her on the previous morning. He got it, and saw that itbore no address, merely stating that she would be in London by middayon the first of May, that was on the morrow. Till then it was clear hemust wait, and he was not sorry for the reprieve. His was not apleasant story for a husband to have to tell.

  Fortunately for Philip, there was an engagement of long standing forthis day, the thirtieth of April, to go, in conjunction with otherpersons, to effect a valuation of the fallows, &c., of a large tenantwho was going out at Michaelmas. This prevented any call being madeupon him to go and see Maria Lee, as, after the events of the previousevening, it might have been expected he would. He started early onthis business, and did not return till late, so he saw nothing of hisfather that day.

  On the morning of the first of May he breakfasted about half-pasteight, and then, without seeing his father, drove to Roxham to catch atrain that got him up to London about twenty minutes to twelve. As hesteamed slowly into Paddington Station, another train steamed out, andhad he been careful to examine the occupants of the first-classcarriages as they passed him in a slow procession, he might have seensomething that would have interested him; but he was, not unnaturally,too much occupied with his own thoughts to allow of the indulgence ofan idle curiosity. On the arrival of his train, he took a cab anddrove without delay to the house in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and askedfor Mrs. Roberts.

  "She isn't back yet, sir," was Mrs. Jacobs' reply. "I got this notefrom her this morning to say that she would be here by twelve, butit's twenty past now, so I suppose that she has missed the train orchanged her mind; but there will be another in at three, so perhapsyou had best wait for that, sir."

  Philip was put out by this contretemps, but at the same time he wasrelieved to find that he had a space to breathe in before theinevitable and dreadful moment of exposure and infamy, for he hadgrown afraid of his wife.

  Three o'clock came in due course, but no Hilda. Philip was seriouslydisturbed; but there was now no train by which she could arrive thatday, so he was forced to the conclusion that she had postponed herdeparture. There were now two things to be done, one to follow herdown to where she was staying--for he had ascertained her address fromMrs. Jacobs; the other, to return home and come back on the morrow.For reasons which appeared to him imperative, but which need not beentered into here, he decided on the latter course; so leaving a notefor his wife, he drove, in a very bad temper, back to Paddington intime to catch the five o'clock train to Roxham.

  Let us now return to the Abbey House, where, whilst Philip was coolinghis heels in Lincoln's Inn Fields, a rather curious scene was inprogress.

  At one o'clock, old Mr. Caresfoot, as was his rule, sat down to lunch,which, frugal as it was, so far as he was concerned, was yet servedwith some old-fashioned ceremony by a butler and a footman. Just asthe meal was coming to an end, a fly, with some luggage on it, droveup to the hall-door. The footman went to open it.

  "Simmons," said the squire, to the old butler, "look out and tell mewho that is."

  Simmons did as he was bid, and replied:

  "I don't rightly know, squire; but it's a lady, and she be wonderfultall."

  Just then the footman returned, and said that a lady, who would notgive her name, wished to speak to him in private.

  "Are you sure the lady did not mean Mr. Philip?"

  "No, sir; she asked for Mr. Philip first, and when I told her that hewas out, she asked for you, sir. I have shown her into the study."

  "Humph! at any rate, she has come off a journey, and must be hungry.Set another place and ask her in here."

  In another moment there was a rustle of a silk dress, and a lady,arrayed in a long cloak and with a thick veil on, was shown into theroom. Mr. Caresfoot, rising with that courteous air for which he wasremarkable, bowed and begged her to be seated, and then motioned tothe servants to leave the room.

  "Madam, I am told that you wish to speak to me; might I ask whom Ihave the honour of addressing?"

  She, with a rapid motion, removed her hat and veil, and exposed hersternly beautiful face to his inquiring gaze.

  "Do you not know me, Mr. Caresfoot?" she said, in her foreign accent.

  "Surely, yes, you are the young lady who lived with Maria, Miss vonHoltzhausen."

  "That _was_ my name; it is now Hilda Caresfoot. I am your son Philip'swife."

  As this astounding news broke upon his ears, her hearer's face becamea shifting study. Incredulity, wonder, fury, all swept across it, andthen in a single second it seemed to freeze. Next moment he spoke withoverpowering politeness.

  "So, madam; then I have to congratulate myself on the possession of avery lovely daughter-in-law."

  A silence ensued that they were both too moved to break; at last, theold man said, in an altered tone:

  "We have much to talk of, and you must be tired. Take off your cloak,and eat whilst I think."

  She obeyed him, and he saw that not only was she his son's wife, butthat she must before long present the world with an heir to the nameof Caresfoot. This made him think the more; but meanwhile he continuedto attend to her wants. She ate little, but calmly.

  "That woman has nerve," said he to himself.

  Then he rang the bell, and bade Simmons wait till he had written anote.

  "Send James to Roxham at once with this. Take this lady's things offthe fly, and put them in the red bedroom. By the way, I am at home tonobody except Mr. Bellamy;" and then, turning to Hilda, "Now, if youwill come into my study, we will continue our chat," and he offeredher his arm. "Here we are secure from interruption," he said, with aghost of a smile. "Take this chair. Now, forgive my impertinence, butI must ask you if I am to understand that you are my son's _legal_wife?"

  She flushed a little as she answered:

  "Sir, I am. I have been careful to bring the proof; here it is;" andshe took from a little hand-bag a certified copy of the register ofher marriage, and gave it to him. He examined it carefully through hisgold eye-glass, and handed it back.

  "Perfectly in order. Hum! some eight months since, I see. May I askwhy I am now for the first time favoured with a sight of thisinteresting document--in short, why you come down, like an angel fromthe clouds, and reveal yourself at the present moment?"

  "I have come," she answered, "because of these." And she handed himtwo letters. "I have come to ascertain if they are true; if my husbandis a doubly perjured or a basely slandered man."

  He read the two anonymous letters. With the contents of the first weare acquainted; the second merely told of the public announcement ofPhilip's engagement.

  "Speak," she said, with desperate energy, the calm of her facebreaking up like ice before a rush of waters. "You must knoweverything; tell me my fate!"

  "Girl, these villanous letters are in every particular true. You havemarried in my son the biggest scoundrel in the county. I can only saythat I grieve for you."

  She listened in silence; then rising from her chair, said, with agesture infinitely tragic in its simplicity:

  "Then it is finished; before God and man I renounce him. Listen," shewent on, turning to her father-in-law, "I loved your son, he won myheart; but, though he said he loved me, I suspected him of playingfast and loose with me, on the one hand, an
d with my friend, MariaLee, on the other. So I determined to go away, and told him so. Thenit was that he offered to marry me at once, if I would change mypurpose. I loved him, and I consented--yes, because I loved him so, Iconsented to even more. I agreed to keep the marriage secret from you.You see what it has led to. I, a Von Holtzhausen, and the last of myname, stand here a byword and a scorn; my story will be found amusingat every dinner-table in the country-side, and my shame will evencling to my unborn child. This is the return he has made me for mysacrifice of self-respect, and for consenting to marry him at all; tooutrage my love and make me a public mockery."

  "We have been accustomed," broke in the old squire, his pride somewhatnettled, "to consider our own a good family to marry into. You do notseem to share that view."

  "Good; yes, there is plenty of your money for those who care for it;but, sir, as I told your son, it is not a _family_. He did me nohonour in marrying me, though I was nothing but a German companion,with no dower but her beauty. I,"--and here she flung her head backwith an air of ineffable pride--"did him the honour. My ancestors,sir, were princes, when his were plough-boys."

  "Well, well," answered the old man, testily, "ten generations ofcountry gentry, and the Lord only knows how many more of stout yeomenbefore them, is a good enough descent for us; but I like your pride,and I am glad that you spring from an ancient race. You have beenshamefully treated, Hilda--is not your name Hilda?--but there areothers, more free from blame than you are, who have been treatedworse."

  "Ah, Maria! then she knows nothing?"

  "Yes, there is Maria and myself. But never mind that. Philip will, Isuppose, be back in a few hours--oh, yes! he will be back," and hiseyes glinted unpleasantly, "and what shall you do then? what course doyou intend to take?"

  "I intend to claim my rights, to force him to acknowledge me herewhere he suffered his engagement to another woman to be proclaimed,and then I intend to leave him. He has killed my respect; I will notlive with him again. I can earn my living in Germany. I have done withhim; but, sir, do not you be hard upon him. It is a matter between meand him. Let him not suffer on my account."

  "My dear, pray confine yourself to your own affairs, and leave me tosettle mine. There shall be no harshness; nobody shall suffer morethan they deserve. There, don't break down, go and rest, for there arepainful scenes before you."

  He rang the bell, and sent for the housekeeper. She came presently, apleasant-looking woman of about thirty years of age, with a comelyface and honest eyes.

  "This lady, Pigott," said the old squire, addressing her, "is Mrs.Philip Caresfoot, and you will be so kind as to treat her with allrespect. Don't open your eyes, but attend to me. For the present, youhad best put her in the red room, and attend to her yourself. Do youunderstand?"

  "Oh, yes, sir! I understand," Pigott replied, curtseying. "Will you bepleased to come along with me, ma'am?"

  Hilda rose and took Pigott's arm. Excitement and fatigue had worn herout. Before she went, however, she turned, and with tears in her eyesthanked the old man for his kindness to a friendless woman.

  The hard eyes grew kindly as he stooped and kissed the broad, whitebrow, and said in his stately way--

  "My dear, as yet I have shown you nothing but the courtesy due to alady. Should I live, I hope to bestow on you the affection I owe to amuch-wronged daughter. Good-by."

  And thus they parted, little knowing where they should meet again.

  "A woman I respect--well, English or German, the blood will tell"--hesaid as soon as the door had closed. "Poor thing--poor Maria too. Thescoundrel!--ah! there it is again;" and he pressed his hand to hisheart. "This business has upset me, and no wonder."

  The pang passed, and sitting down he wrote a letter that evidentlyembarrassed him considerably, and addressed it to Miss Lee. This heput in the post-box, and then, going to a secretaire, he unlocked it,and taking out a document he began to puzzle over it attentively.

  Presently Simmons announced that Mr. Bellamy was waiting.

  "Show him in at once," said the old man briskly.