East Lynne Part 91

An awkward pause. "I know!" cried Alice, throwing back her head resentfully. "He told me I might expect something of this--that you had fancied him in love with you, and were angry because he had chosen me."

Blanche turned upon her with streaming eyes; she could no longer control her emotion. "Alice, my sister, all the pride is gone out of me; all the reticence that woman loves to observe as to her wrongs and her inward feelings I have broken through for you this night. As sure as there is a heaven above us, I have told you the truth. Until you came I was engaged to Francis Levison."

An unnatural scene ensued. Blanche, provoked at Alice's rejection of her words, told all the ill she knew or heard of the man; she dwelt upon his conduct with regard to Lady Isabel Carlyle, his heartless after- treatment of that unhappy lady. Alice was pa.s.sionate and fiery. She professed not to believe a word of her sister's wrongs, and as to the other stories, they were no affairs of hers, she said: "what had she to do with his past life?"

But Alice Challoner did believe; her sister's earnestness and distress, as she told the tale, carried conviction with them. She did not very much care for Sir Francis; he was not entwined round her heart, as he was round Blanche's; but she was dazzled with the prospect of so good a settlement in life, and she would not give him up. If Blanche broke her heart--why, she must break it. But she need not have mixed taunts and jeers with her refusal to believe; she need not have triumphed openly over Blanche. Was it well done? Was it the work of an affectionate sister! As we sow, so shall we reap. She married Sir Francis Levison, leaving Blanche to her broken heart, or to any other calamity that might grow out of the injustice. And there sat Lady Levison now, her three years of marriage having served to turn her love for Sir Francis into contempt and hate.

A little boy, two years old, the only child of the marriage, was playing about the room. His mother took no notice of him; she was buried in all- absorbing thought--thought which caused her lips to contract, and her brow to scowl. Sir Francis entered, his att.i.tude lounging, his air listless. Lady Levison roused herself, but no pleasant manner of tone was hers, as she set herself to address him.

"I want some money," she said.

"So do I," he answered.

An impatient stamp of the foot and a haughty toss. "And I must have it.

I must. I told you yesterday that I must. Do you suppose I can go on, without a sixpence of ready money day after day?"

"Do you suppose it is of any use to put yourself in this fury?" retorted Sir Francis. "A dozen times a week do you bother me for money and a dozen times do I tell you I have got none. I have got none for myself.

You may as well ask that baby for money as ask me."

"I wish he had never been born!" pa.s.sionately uttered Lady Levison; "unless he had had a different father."

That the last sentence, and the bitter scorn of its tone, would have provoked a reprisal from Sir Francis, his flas.h.i.+ng countenance betrayed.

But at that moment a servant entered the room.

"I beg your pardon, sir. That man, Brown, forced his way into the hall, and--"

"I can't see him--I won't see him!" interrupted Sir Francis backing to the furthest corner of the room, in what looked very like abject terror, as if he had completely lost his presence of mind. Lady Levison's lips curled.

"We got rid of him, sir, after a dreadful deal of trouble, I was about to say, but while the door was open in the dispute, Mr. Meredith entered. He has gone into the library, sir, and vows he won't stir till he sees you, whether you are sick or well."

A moment's pause, a half-muttered oath, and the Sir Francis quitted the room. The servant retired, and Lady Levison caught up her child.

"Oh, Franky dear," she wailed forth, burying her face in his warm neck.

"I'd leave him for good and all, if I dared; but I fear he might keep you."

Now, the secret was, that for the last three days Sir Francis had been desperately ill, obliged to keep his bed, and could see n.o.body, his life depending upon quiet. Such was the report, or something equivalent to it, which had gone in to Lord Headthelot, or rather, to the official office, for that renowned chief was himself out of town; it had also been delivered to all callers at Sir Francis Levison's house; the royal truth being that Sir Francis was as well as you or I, but, from something that had transpired touching one of his numerous debts, did not dare to show himself. That morning the matter had been arranged-- patched up for a time.

"My stars, Levison!" began Mr. Meredith, who was a whipper-in of the ministry, "what a row there is about you! Why, you look as well as ever you were."

"A great deal better to-day," coughed Sir Francis.

"To think that you should have chosen the present moment for skulking!

Here have I been dancing attendance at your door, day after day, in a state of incipient fever, enough to put me into a real one, and could neither get admitted nor a letter taken up. I should have blown the house up to-day and got in amidst the flying debris. By the way, are you and my lady two just now?"

"Two?" growled Sir Francis.

"She was stepping into her carriage yesterday when they turned me from the door, and I made inquiry of her. Her ladys.h.i.+p's answer was, that she knew nothing either of Francis or his illness."

"Her ladys.h.i.+p is subject to flights of distemper," chafed Sir Francis.

"What desperate need have you of me, just now? Headthelot's away and there's nothing doing."

"Nothing doing up here; a deal too much doing somewhere else. Attley's seat's in the market."

"Well?"

"And you ought to have been down there about it three or four days ago.

Of course you must step into it."

"Of course I shan't," returned Sir Francis. "To represent West Lynne will not suit me."

"Not suit you? West Lynne! Why, of all places, it is most suitable. It's close to your own property."

"If you call ten miles close. I shall not put up for West Lynne, Meredith."

"Headthelot came up this morning," said Mr. Meredith.

The information somewhat aroused Sir Francis. "Headthelot? What brings him back?"

"You. I tell you, Levison, there's a hot row. Headthelot expected you would be at West Lynne days past, and he has come up in an awful rage.

Every additional vote we can count in the House is worth its weight in gold; and you, he says are allowing West Lynne to slip through your fingers! You must start for it at once Levison."

Sir Francis mused. Had the alternative been given him, he would have preferred to represent a certain warm place underground, rather than West Lynne. But, to quit Headthelot, and the snug post he antic.i.p.ated, would be ruin irretrievable; nothing short of outlawry, or the queen's prison. It was awfully necessary to get his threatened person into parliament, and he began to turn over in his mind whether he could bring himself to make further acquaintance with West Lynne. "The thing must have blown over for good by this time," was the result of his cogitations, unconsciously speaking aloud.

"I can understand your reluctance to appear at West Lynne," cried Mr.

Meredith; "the scene, unless I mistake, of that notorious affair of yours. But private feelings must give way to public interests, and the best thing you can do is to start. Headthelot is angry enough as it is.

He says, had you been down at first, as you ought to have been, you would have slipped in without opposition, but now there will be a contest."

Sir Francis looked up sharply. "A contest? Who is going to stand the funds?"

"Pshaw! As if we should let funds be any barrier! Have you heard who is in the field?"

"No," was the apathetic answer.

"Carlyle."

"Carlyle!" uttered Sir Francis, startled. "Oh, by George, though! I can't stand against him."

"Well, there's the alternative. If you can't, Thornton will."

"I should run no chance. West Lynne would not elect me in preference to him. I'm not sure, indeed, that West Lynne would have me in any case."

"Nonsense! You know our interest there. Government put in Attley, and it can put you in. Yes, or no, Levison?"

"Yes," answered Sir Francis.

An hour's time, and Sir Francis Levison went forth. On his way to be conveyed to West Lynne? Not yet. He turned his steps to Scotland Yard.

In considerably less than an hour the following telegram, marked "Secret," went down from the head office to the superintendent of police at West Lynne.

"Is Otway Bethel at West Lynne? If not; where is he? And when will he be returning to it?"