That Unfortunate Marriage Volume I Part 11

"Shall you see Aunt Pauline?"

"Certainly. I suppose Lord Castlecombe is not likely to be in town at this season?" went on Theodore, raising his tone a little so as to be heard by the others. Constance's playing had now come to an end, and there was a general lowering of voices, occasioned by the cessation of that pianoforte accompaniment.

"I don't know, I'm sure. I don't know where he lives," answered May innocently.

"Ahem! He is at this season, in all probability, at Combe Park, his place in Gloucesters.h.i.+re."

May had never heard of her great-uncle's place in Gloucesters.h.i.+re; but now, when Theodore said the words, her thought flashed through a chain of a.s.sociations to Mrs. Dobbs's mention of the Castlecombe Arms on the Gloucester Road, kept by "Old Rabbitt," and she blushed as though she had done something to be ashamed of.

"The last time I had the pleasure of seeing your father, he was talking to me about Combe Park," continued Theodore, with a complacent sense of superiority to the rest of the company in these manifestations of familiar intercourse with members of the Castlecombe family. Lord Castlecombe was a very important personage in those parts. As May did not speak, Theodore went on: "Grand old place, Combe Park, isn't it?"

"Is it?" returned May absently. She was looking with great interest at the portrait of a superb lace dress, surmounted by a distorted image of Mrs. Bransby's head and face, which were quite out of focus. But the lace flounces had "come out splendidly," as the photographer remarked.

And, if the truth must be told, May admired them greatly.

"Is it?" repeated Theodore, with a little smile. "But you have lived so long abroad, that you are quite a stranger to all these ancestral glories. I hope, however, that you have not the same preference for the Continent that your father has?"

"Oh, I'm sure I should always love England best. But I don't know the most beautiful parts of the Continent--Switzerland or Italy. We were always in Belgium, and Belgium isn't beautiful. At least I don't remember any beautiful country."

Thus May, with perfect simplicity, still turning over the photographs, and all unconscious that the Miss Pipers had simultaneously interrupted their own conversation, and were staring at her.

"No; Belgium is not beautiful--except architecturally," replied Theodore. "But there is very nice society in Brussels, and a pleasant Court, I believe. No doubt that's one reason why Captain Cheffington likes it."

"Is Brussels your home, then? Do you live there?" asked Miss Patty, leaning eagerly forward.

May looked up, and perceived all at once that every one was gazing at her. The Miss Pipers' sudden attention to what she was saying had attracted the attention of the others--as one may collect a crowd in the street by fixedly regarding the most familiar object. In her inexperience she feared she had committed some breach of the etiquette proper to be observed at a "grown-up dinner party." Perhaps she ought not to have devoted so much attention to the photographs! She closed the book hurriedly as she answered--

"No, _I_ don't live in Brussels, but papa does--at least, generally."

Mrs. Bransby rose from her chair, and came rather quickly across the room. "My dear," she said, "I want to present our old friend, Major Mitton, to you;" and taking May by the arm, she led her away towards the pianoforte.

Theodore observed this proceeding with a cool smile, and sense of inward triumph. Mrs. Bransby began to understand, then, what a very highly connected young lady this was, and was endeavouring, although a little late, to show her proper attention. Another time Mrs. Bransby would receive _his_ introduction and recommendation with more respect. In the same way, he felt gratification in the eager questions with which Miss Patty plied him. Miss Patty left the millionaire Mr. Bragg in the lurch, and began to catechize Theodore on the subject of the Cheffington family.

That fastidious young gentleman said within himself that the sn.o.bbery of these Oldchester people was really too absurd; and mentally resolved to cut a great many of them, as he gained a firmer footing in the best London circles. Nevertheless he did not check Miss Patty's inquiries. On the contrary, he condescendingly gave her a great deal of information about his friends the Dormer-Smiths, the late lamented Dowager, the present Viscount Castlecombe, his two sons, the Honourable George and the Honourable Lucius, as well as some details respecting the more distant branch of the Cheffington family, who had intermarried with the Scotch Clishmaclavers, and were thus, not remotely, connected with the great ducal house of M'Brose.

This was all very well; but Miss Patty was far more interested in getting some information about Captain Cheffington which would identify him with the hero of the Brussels story, than of following the genealogy of the n.o.ble head of the family into its remotest ramifications. And, notwithstanding that Theodore was much more reticent about the Captain, she did manage to find out that the latter had lived abroad for many years--chiefly in Belgium--and that his pecuniary circ.u.mstances were not flouris.h.i.+ng.

"I'm quite convinced it's the same man, Polly," she said afterwards to her sister. And, indeed, all the inquiries they made in Oldchester confirmed this idea. The Simpsons gave anything but a good character of May's absentee parent. And subsequent conversation with Major Mitton elicited the fact that Augustus Cheffington had been looked upon as a "black sheep" even by not very fastidious or strait-laced circles many years ago. The story of the Brussels scandal was not long in reaching the ears of every one in Oldchester who had any knowledge, even by hearsay, of the parties concerned.

Theodore Bransby, who left Oldchester on the Monday following the dinner-party, and spent the intervening Sunday at home, was one of the few in the above-named category who did not hear of it.

CHAPTER IX.

The correspondence between Mrs. Dobbs and Mrs. Dormer-Smith on the subject of May's removal to London was not voluminous. It consisted of three letters: number one, written by Mrs. Dobbs; number two, written by Mrs. Dormer-Smith; and number three, Mrs. Dobbs's reply to that. Mrs.

Dobbs always went straight to the point, both with tongue and pen; and Mrs. Dormer-Smith, although by no means so forcibly direct in her dealings, had a dislike to letter-writing, which caused her to put her meaning tolerably clearly on this occasion, so as to avoid the necessity of writing again.

Mrs. Dobbs had proposed that May should become an inmate of her aunt's house in London--at all events for a time--in consideration of an annual sum to be paid for her board and dress. The said sum was to be guaranteed by Mrs. Dobbs, and was so ample as to make Pauline say plaintively to her husband, "Just fancy, Frederick, how deplorably imprudent Augustus has been in offending and neglecting this old woman as he has done! You see she has plenty of money. I had no idea what her means were; but it is clear that, for a person in her rank of life, she may be called rich. And Augustus might have obtained solid pecuniary a.s.sistance from her, I've no doubt, if he had played his cards with ordinary prudence. But there never was any one so reckless of his own interests as Augustus--beginning with that unfortunate marriage."

Whereunto Mr. Frederick Dormer-Smith thus made reply, "I don't know what you may call 'solid pecuniary a.s.sistance,' but it seems to me pretty solid to keep Augustus's daughter, and clothe her, and pay for her schooling, for four years and upwards. As to Augustus's disregard of his own interests, it does not at any rate lie in the direction of refraining from borrowing money, or remembering to pay it back; that much I can vouch for."

Pauline put a corner of her handkerchief to her eyes. "Oh, Frederick,"

she said, "it pains me to hear you speak so harshly. Remember, Augustus is my only brother."

"Mercifully! By George, if there was another of 'em I don't know what _would_ become of us."

Mrs. Dormer-Smith declined to consider this hypothesis, but contented herself with saying that she should like to do something for poor Augustus's girl, and asking her husband if he didn't think they could manage to receive her. Mr. Dormer-Smith thought they could on the terms proposed, which, he frankly said, were handsome. And Pauline added softly--

"Yes; and it is satisfactory that she offers to keep the arrangement strictly secret. It would scarcely do to let it be known that Mrs. Dobbs pays for May. It would be _inconvenable_. People would ask all sorts of questions. It would put the girl herself in an awkward position.

'Grandmother!' people would say. 'What grandmother?' and the whole story of that wretched marriage would be raked up again. But, on the conditions proposed, I do think, Frederick, it could do no harm to receive May. I am glad you consent. It will be a comfort to me to feel that I am doing something for poor Augustus's girl, and acting as mamma would have wished."

So a favourable reply was dispatched to Mrs. Dobbs's application. Mrs.

Dormer-Smith suggested that May should come to town a little before the beginning of the season, so as to give time for preparing her wardrobe--a task to which her aunt looked forward with _dilettante_ relish. And in answer to that, Mrs. Dobbs wrote the third and last letter of the series, a.s.senting to the date proposed for May's arrival, and entering into a few minor details.

She had also, meanwhile, received a letter from Captain Cheffington, elicited, after a long delay, by three successive urgent appeals for an immediate answer. It was a scrawl in a hasty, sprawling hand, and ran thus:

"Brussels, Nov. 1, 18--.

"DEAR MRS. DOBBS,

"I think it would be very desirable for Miranda to be presented by her aunt, if she is to be presented at all, and to be brought out properly. I have no doubt that my sister will introduce her in the best possible way. Since you seem to press for my consent, you have it herewith, although I hardly feel that I can have much voice in the matter, being separated, as I have been for years, from my country, my family, and my only surviving child. I am a mere exile. It is not a brilliant existence for a man born and brought up as I have been.

However, I must make the best of it.

"Yours always,

"A. C."

This was sufficient for Mrs. Dobbs. She had made a point of obtaining Augustus's authority for his daughter's removal to town; not because she relied on his judgment, but because she knew him well enough to fear some trick, or sudden turn of feigned indignation, if, from any motive of his own, he thought fit to disapprove the step. As to the tone of his reply, that neither troubled nor surprised her. But Mr. Weatherhead was moved to great wrath by it. Mrs. Dobbs had tossed the note to him one day, saying--

"There; there's my son-in-law's consent to May's going to town, in black and white. That's a doc.u.ment."

Mr. Weatherhead eagerly pounced on it. "What a disgusting production!"

he exclaimed, looking up over the rim of the double eyegla.s.s which he had set astride his nose to read the note.

"Is it?" returned Mrs. Dobbs carelessly.

"Is it? Why, Sarah, you surprise me, taking it in that cool way. It is the most thankless, unfeeling, selfish production I ever read in my life."

"Oh, is that all? Well, but that's just Augustus Cheffington. We know what _he_ is at this time of day, Jo Weatherhead. It 'ud be a deal stranger if he wrote thankfully, and feelingly, and unselfishly."

But Mr. Weatherhead refused to dismiss the matter thus easily. He belonged to that numerous category of persons who, having established and proclaimed a conviction, appear to be immensely astonished at each confirmation of it. He had years ago p.r.o.nounced Augustus Cheffington to be a heartless scoundrel. Nevertheless he was shocked and amazed whenever Augustus Cheffington did anything to corroborate that opinion.

The letter from Mrs. Dormer-Smith was not shown to him. Mrs. Dobbs meant to keep the amount she was to pay for May a secret even from her faithful and trusted friend Jo. He might guess what he pleased, but she would not tell him. The means, too, by which she meant to raise the money would not, she knew, meet with his approval. And, since she had resolved to use those means, she thought it best to avoid vain discussion beforehand, and therefore said nothing about them.

Accident, however, revealed a part of the secret in this way: