Part 52 (1/2)
”Did you think that I should have anything to say against your marriage, Milly?” said Lettice, mournfully.
”I--I thought you might. And Mr. Beadon asked me not to mention it.”
”Well!--and so you trusted him. And then, poor girl, your dream soon came to an end?”
”Not very soon. He kept his word----”
”What?”
”He married me, on the day when I left you. Not in a church, but somewhere--in Fulham, I think. It looked like a private house, but he said it was a registrar's. Oh, Miss Campion, are you ill?”
Lettice was holding her side. She had turned white, and her heart was throbbing painfully; but she soon overcame the feeling or at least concealed it.
”No. Go on--go on! He married you!”
”And we went on the Continent together. I was very happy for a time, so long as he seemed happy; but I could never shake off that uncomfortable fear in his presence. After a while we came back to London, and then I had to live alone, which of course I did not like. He had taken very nice rooms for me at Hampstead, where he used to come now and then; and he offered to bring some friends to visit me; but I did not want him to do that--I cared for n.o.body but him!”
”Poor Milly!” said Lettice, softly.
”I had been suspicious and uneasy for some time, especially when he told me I had better go to Birchmead and stay with my grandmother, as he was too busy to come and see me, and the rooms at Hampstead were expensive.
So I went to Birchmead and told them that Mr. Beadon was abroad. He was not--he was in London--and I went up to see him every now and then; but I wanted to put the best face on everything. It would have been too hard to tell my grandmother that I did not think he cared for me.”
She stopped and wiped the tears away from her eyes.
”There was worse than that,” she said. ”I began to believe that I was not his lawful wife, or he would not behave to me as he did. But I daren't ask, I was so afraid of him. And I felt as if I could not leave him, even if I was not his wife. That's where the badness of me came out, you see, Miss Lettice. I would have stayed with him to the end of my days, wife or no wife, if he had wanted me. But he tired of me very soon.”
”Did he tell you so, Milly?”
”He wrote to me to go back to the Hampstead rooms, miss. And I thought that everything was going to be right between us. I had something to tell him which I thought would please him; and I hoped--I hoped--even if things had not been quite right about the marriage--that he would put them straight before my baby came. For the child's sake I thought maybe he wouldn't give me up. I had been dreadfully afraid; but when he sent for me to London again, I thought that he loved me still, and that we were going to have a happy time together.
”So I went to Hampstead; but he was not there. He sent his clerk instead--the man you saw me walking with the other day. And he told me that Mr.----Beadon did not wish to see me again, that I had been deceived by the mock marriage, and that he sent me twenty pounds, and I might have more by writing to his clerk. Not to him! I was never to see him or speak to him again.”
”And what did you do then, Milly?”
”It was very hard for me. I fainted, and when I came to myself Mr.
Johnson was gone, and the money was stuffed into my pocket. Perhaps it was mean of me to keep it, but I hadn't the heart or the spirit to send it back. I did not know what I should do without it, for I hadn't a penny of my own. I stayed for a little time at the Hampstead lodgings, but the landlady got an idea of the true state of things and abused me shamefully one day for having come into her house; so I was forced to go. I don't know what I should have done if I hadn't met Mr. Johnson in the street. He was really kind, though he doesn't look as if he would be. He told me of nice cheap lodgings, and of some one who would look after me; and he offered me money, but I wouldn't take it.”
”How long did your money last?”
”It was all gone before baby came. I lived on the dresses and presents that Mr. Beadon had given me. I heard nothing from Birchmead--I did not know that my grandmother was dead, and I used to think sometimes that I would go to her; but I did not dare. I knew that it would break her heart to see me as I was.”
”Poor girl!” said Lettice again, below her breath.
”You must despise me!” cried Milly, bursting into tears. ”And you would despise me still more--if I told you--everything.”
”No, Milly, it is not for me to despise you. I am very, very sorry for you. You have suffered a great deal, for what was not all your fault.”
”Yes, I _have_ suffered, Miss Lettice--more than I can tell you. I had a terrible time when my baby was born. I had a fever too, and lost my hair; and when I recovered I had nothing left. I did not know what to do. I thought of throwing myself into the river; and I think I should have done it when I came to Birchmead and found that grandmother was dead, if it had not been for you. You found me in the garden that night, just as I had made up my mind. There's a place across the meadows where one could easily get into a deep pool under the river-bank, and never come out again. That was where I meant to go.”
”No wonder you have looked so ill and worn,” said Lettice, compa.s.sionately. ”What you must have endured before you brought yourself to that! Well, it is all over now, and you must live for the future. Put the past behind you; forget it--think of it only with sorrow for your mistakes, and a determination to use them so that your child shall be better guarded than you have been. You and your baby have your own lives to live--good and useful lives they may be yet. No one would blame you if they knew your story, and there is no reason why you should be afraid. I will always be your friend, Milly, if you will work and strive--it is the only way in which you can regain and keep your self-respect.”