Part 71 (1/2)
”My Father,--To-day, for the first time, I have heard my mother's story from herself. I have looked into her eyes; I know she speaks the truth.
You will not wonder then that I leave your house--that I go with her; there must be some one to try to console her for all she has suffered, and I am her daughter. I thank you for many years of kindness, and pray G.o.d to bless you.
Natalie.”
The next was easier to write.
”Dearest,--My mother and I leave England to-night. Do not ask why we go, or why I have not sent for you to come and say good-bye. We shall be away perhaps only a few days; in any case you must not go until we return. Do not forget that I must see you again.”
Natalie.”
She felt happier when she had written these two notes. She rose from the table and went over to her mother.
”Now, mother, tell me how much money you have,” she said, with a highly practical air. ”What, have I startled you, poor little mother? I believe your head is full of all kinds of strange forebodings; and yet they used to say that the Berezolyis were all of them very courageous.”
”Natalushka, you do not know what danger you are rus.h.i.+ng into,” the mother said, absently.
”I again ask you, mother, a simple question: how much money have you?”
”I? I have thirty pounds or thereabout, Natalie; that is my capital, as it were; but next month my cousins will send me--”
”Never mind about next month, mother dear. You must let me rob you of all your thirty pounds; and, just to make sure, I will go and borrow ten pounds more from Madame Potecki. Madame is not so very poor; she has savings; she would give me every farthing if I asked her. And do you think, little mother, if we come back successful--do you think there will be a great difficulty about paying back the loan to Madame Potecki?”
She was quite gay, to give her mother courage; and she refused to leave her alone, a prey to these gloomy forebodings. She carried her off with her in the cab to Curzon Street, and left her in the cab while she entered the house with Anneli. Anneli cried a little when she was receiving her mistress's last instructions.
”Am I never to see you again, Fraulein?” she sobbed. ”Are you never coming back to the house any more?”
”Of course you will see me again, you foolish girl, even if I do not come back here. Now you will be careful, Anneli, to have the wine a little warmed before dinner, and see that your master's slippers are in the study by the fire; and the coffee--you must make the coffee yourself, Anneli--”
”Oh yes, indeed, Fraulein, I will make the coffee,” said Anneli, with a fresh flowing of tears. ”But--but may not I go with you, Fraulein?--if you are not coming back here any more, why may I not go with you? I am not anxious for wages, Fraulein--I do not want any wages at all; but if you will take me with you--”
”Now, do not be foolish, Anneli. Have you not a whole house to look after? There, take these keys; you will have to show that you can be a good house-mistress, and sensible, and not childish.”
At the door she shook hands with the sobbing maid, and bade her a cheerful good-bye. Then she got into the cab and drove away to Madame Potecki's lodgings. Finally, by dexterous management, she succeeded in getting her mother and herself to Charing Cross Station in time to catch the afternoon express to Dover.
It is probable that, now the first excitement of setting out was over, and the two women-folk left to themselves in the solitude of a compartment, Natalie might have begun to reflect with some tremor of the heart on the very vagueness of the task she had undertaken. But she was not permitted to do so. The necessity of driving away her mother's forebodings prevented her indulging in any of her own. She was forced to be careless, cheerful, matter-of-fact.
”Natalushka,” the mother said, holding her daughter's hand, ”you have been brought up in ignorance. You know only the romantic, the beautiful side of what is going on; you do not know what these men are ready to do--what has been done--to secure the success of their schemes. And for you, a girl, to interfere, it is madness, Natalushka. They will laugh at you, perhaps; perhaps it may be worse; they may resent your interference, and ask who has betrayed their secrets.”
”Are they so very terrible, then?” said the girl, with a smile, ”when Lord Evelyn--ah, you do not know him yet, mother; but he is as gentle as a woman--when he is their friend; and when Mr. Brand is full of admiration for what they are doing; and when Calabressa--Now, mother, is Calabressa likely to harm any one? And it was Calabressa himself who said to me, 'Little daughter, if ever you are in great trouble, go to Naples. You will find friends there.' No, mother, it is no use your trying to frighten me. No; let us talk about something sensible; for example, which way is the wind?”
”How can I tell, Natalushka?”
The girl laughed--rather a forced laugh, perhaps; she could not altogether shake off the consciousness of the peril that surrounded her lover.
”Why, mother, you are a pretty courier! You are about to cross the Channel, and you do not know which way the wind is, or whether the sea is rough, or anything. Now I will tell you; it is I who am the courier.
The wind is northeast; the sea was quite smooth yesterday evening; I think we shall have a comfortable pa.s.sage. And do you know why I have brought you away by this train? Don't you know that I shall get you down to Dover in time to give you something nice for dinner; then, if the sea is quite smooth, we go on board before the people come; then we cross over to Calais and go to a hotel there; then you get a good, long, sound sleep, you little mother, and the next day--that is to-morrow--about noon, I think, we go easily on to Paris. What do you think of that, now?”
”Whatever you do will be right, Natalushka; you know I have never before had a daughter to look after me.”