Part 49 (1/2)
”I would, no doubt, only--I am not going.”
”Not going!” Thunderstruck, Trix repeats the words.
”No; it has been decided that I remain here. You won't miss me, Trix--you will have Captain Hammond.”
”Captain Hammond may go hang himself. I want _you_, and you I mean to have. Let's sit down and reason this thing out. Now what new crotchet has got into your head? May I ask what your ladys.h.i.+p-elect means to do?”
”To remain quietly here until--until--you know.”
”Oh, I know!” with indescribable scorn; ”until you are raised to the sublime dignity of a baronet's wife. And you mean to mope away your existence down here for the next two months listening to love-making you don't care _that_ about. Oh, no need to fire up; I know how much you care about it. And I say you shan't. Why, you are fading away to a shadow now under it. You shall come up to London with us and recuperate. Charley shall take you everywhere.”
She saw her wince--yes, that was where the vital place lay. Miss Stuart ran on:
”The idea of living under the same roof for two mortal months with the young man you are going to marry! You're a great stickler for etiquette--I hope you don't call _that_ etiquette? n.o.body ever heard of such a thing. I'm not sure but that it would be immoral. Of course, there's Lady Helena to play propriety, and there's the improvements at Catheron Royals to amuse you, and there's Sir Victor's endless 'lovering' to edify you, but still I say you shall come. You started with us, and you shall stay with us--you belong to us, not to him, until the nuptial knot is tied. I wouldn't give a fig for London without you. I should die of the dismals in a week.”
”What, Trix--with Captain Hammond?”
”Bother Captain Hammond! I want you. O Edie, do come!”
”I can't, Trix.” She turned away with an impatient sigh. ”I have promised. Sir Victor wishes it, Lady Helena wishes it. It is impossible.”
”And Edith Darrell wishes it. Oh, say it out, Edith,” Trix retorted bitterly. ”Your faults are many, but fear of the truth used not to be among them. You have promised. Is it that they are afraid to trust you out of their sight?”
”Let me alone, Trix. I am tired and sick--I can't bear it.”
She laid her face down upon her arm--tired, as she said--sick, soul and body. Every fibre of her heart was longing to go with them--to be with him while she might, treason or no to Sir Victor; but it could not be.
Trix stood and looked at her, pale with anger.
”I will let you alone, Miss Darrell. More--I will let you alone for the remainder of your life. All the past has been bad enough. Your deceit to me, your heartlessness to Charley--this is the last drop in the cup. You throw us over when we have served your turn for newer, grander friends--it is only the way of the world, and what one might expect from Miss Edith Darrell. But I didn't expect it--I didn't think ingrat.i.tude was one among your failings. I was a fool!” cried Trix, with a burst. ”I always was a fool and always will be. But I'll be fooled by you no longer. Stay here, Miss Darrell, and when we say good-by day after to-morrow, it shall be good-by forever.”
And then Miss Stuart, very red in the face, very flas.h.i.+ng in the eyes, bounced out of the room, and Edith was left alone.
Only another friend lost forever. Well, she had Sir Victor Catheron left--he must suffice for all now.
All that day and most of the next she kept her room. It was no falsehood to say she was ill--she was. She lay upon her bed, her dark eyes open, her hands clasped over her head, looking blankly before her.
To-morrow they must part, and after to-morrow--but her mind gave it up; she could not look beyond.
She came downstairs when to-morrow came to say farewell. The white wrapper she wore was not whiter than her face. Mr. Stuart shook hands in a nervous, hurried sort of way that had grown habitual to him of late. Mrs. Stuart kissed her fondly, Miss Stuart just touched her lips formally to her cheek, and Mr. Charles Stuart held her cold fingers for two seconds in his warm clasp, looked, with his own easy, pleasant smile, straight into her eyes, and said good-by precisely as he said it to Lady Helena. Then it was all over; they were gone; the wheels that bore them away crashed over the gravel: Edith Darrell felt as though they were cras.h.i.+ng over her heart.
That night the Stuarts were established in elegant apartments at Langham's Hotel.
But alas for the frailty of human hopes! ”The splendid time” Trixy so confidently looked forward to never came. The very morning after their arrival came one of the boys in uniform with another sinister orange envelope for the head of the family. The head of the family chanced to be alone in his dressing-room. He took it with trembling hand and bloodshot eyes, and tore it open. A moment after there was a horrible cry like nothing human, then a heavy fall. Mrs. Stuart rushed in with a scream, and found her husband lying on the floor, the message in his hand, in a fit.
Captain Hammond had made an appointment with Charley to dine at St.
James Street that evening. Calling upon old friends kept the gallant captain of Scotch Grays occupied all day; and as the shades of evening began to gather over the West End, he stood impatiently awaiting his arrival. Mr. Stuart was ten minutes late, and if there was one thing in this mortal life that upset the young warrior's equanimity, it was being kept ten minutes waiting for his dinner. Five minutes more!
Confound the fellow--would he never come? As the impatient adjuration pa.s.sed the captain's lips, Charley came in. He was rather pale. Except for that, there was no change in him. Death itself could hardly have wrought much change in Charley. He had not come to apologize; he had not come to dine. He had come to tell the captain some very bad news.
There had been terrible commercial disasters of late in New York; they had involved his father. His father had embarked almost every dollar of his fortune in some bubble speculations that had gone up like a rocket and come down like a stick. He had been losing immensely for the past month. This morning he had received a cable message, telling him the crash had come. He was irretrievably, past all hope of redemption, ruined.
All this Charley told in his quietest voice, looking out through the great bay window at the bustle and whirl of fas.h.i.+onable London life, at the hour of seven in the evening. Captain Hammond, smoking a cigar, listened in gloomy silence, feeling particularly uncomfortable, and not knowing in the least what to say. He took out his cheroot and spoke at last.