Other formats

    Adobe Portable Document Format file (facsimile images)   TEI XML file   ePub eBook file  

Connect

    mail icontwitter iconBlogspot iconrss icon

Mrs. Lancaster’s Rival

Chapter XXIII. An Old Letter

page break

Chapter XXIII. An Old Letter.

Mrs. Cardew had been anxious about her daughter for some time; in fact, ever since her tiring walk to Pensand Castle. Flora seemed to have lost all her good-tempered serenity; she was nervous, restless, and irritable; she walked about her room at night, instead of sleeping like other people. Mrs. Cardew lay awake and listened on the other side of the wall, for her faithful affection could not rest while Flora was disturbed. She hardly dared ask what was the matter, for this seemed to annoy Flora more than anything, and the consequence generally was that she rushed out of the house and did not come back for hours, then quite exhausted and with a racking headache.

One evening, after a walk, things were worse than ever. Flora sobbed half the night, and came down the next morning with her eyes red and heavy. She was so evidently wretched that the Captain noticed it, and began asking questions in his turn.

‘O, it is nothing,’ said Flora impatiently. ‘I have a cold, and it kept me awake all night. That’s all.’

‘Then take care of yourself to-day, and don’t go out,’ said her father.

But instead of following this advice, Flora made that expedition to the other side of the Penyr, which ended in Dick Northcote’s bringing her back to St. Denys in General Hawke’s boat.

After that evening Flora’s mood changed entirely, but not in a way to relieve her mother’s anxiety. She seemed to be in a state of dull stony indifference. She page 209 would sit staring out of the window till her eyes became gradually wet with tears. Then, when she could not see, she would hastily wipe them away and take up some old piece of work, and stitch mechanically for a few minutes; then drop it and stare out of the window again. In the morning and evening, when her father was at home, she made little efforts to talk and be like herself, which distressed and puzzled poor Mrs. Cardew more than anything. She did not say anything to the Captain about her anxiety, fearing that he would make a fuss and annoy Flora; but she was thoroughly miserable herself, mourning over her dear beautiful girl, who had always been so good.

Flora had something terrible on her mind; that was quite clear; and the worst of it was that she would not tell her mother.

Flora had not been out for several days, and had spent her time lying on the sofa, or occupied in the melancholy way I have described, when one afternoon Mrs. Cardew came suddenly into the room, and found her with her hat on, standing by the table. In front of her was a small open box, which appeared to be full of letters, tied up with ribbon in separate packets. Mrs. Cardew just saw this before Flora shut down the lid. Then she locked it, and began packing it up in sheets of brown paper, and tying string round it with trembling fingers. Mrs. Cardew came to help her.

‘No, mother, never mind,’ said Flora. ‘I can do it myself.’

‘But your hands are so shaky, dear. Old letters! What are you doing with them?’ said Mrs. Cardew, quite unable to restrain her curiosity.

‘Old letters, yes,’ said Flora. ‘I am going to get rid of them. The best way, isn’t it?’

‘I should have thought the fire was the best way,’ said her mother. ‘Where are they going? To the North?’ page 210 ‘North, south, east, west—I don’t know, I’m sure,’ said Flora. ‘For a sailor’s daughter I’m weak about the points of the compass.’

‘To the Lancasters, I meant,’ Mrs. Cardew ventured to suggest. ‘Have you heard from any of them? They can’t want a lot of old letters. Much better put them in the fire.’

‘Do you think so?’ said Flora.

She had tied her string securely; she took up the box and turned towards the door.

‘My dear, you are not going out?’ said Mrs. Cardew anxiously.

Flora looked round and gave her a strange little nod. Then, seeing the consternation in her mother’s face, she suddenly smiled, came back to her, and kissed her.

‘Never mind, mother,’ she said, with something like her old considerate gentleness. ‘I shall soon be back. Don’t trouble your mind about me, dear.’

‘Ah, you make me very unhappy, Flora,’ said Mrs. Cardew. ‘You have no confidence in those who deserve it most—your father and me. Do you suppose you can be miserable, and we not see it?’

‘Well, then,’ said Flora, ‘if you do see it, mother, help me to get over it by letting me alone and saying nothing. And for goodness’ sake keep my father quiet, for he would drive me mad.’

‘I know that, dear,’ said Mrs. Cardew, sighing. ‘But if you want that box to go to the station, Sarah can run down with it this minute. Don’t go out yourself, Flora, to please me.’

‘I must please myself for this once, mother dear,’ said Flora.

She kissed her again, and went, carrying the box in her hand. Mrs. Cardew hoped it was not heavy. She looked out of the front window, and saw Flora go through the garden-gate, and turn up the hill to the page 211 right, instead of down to the left towards the station. Here was another mystery; but poor Mrs. Cardew was getting used to them.

Flora was out an hour or more. She came in without the box, and, though very tired, seemed more cheerful all the evening. But the next day she looked more miserable than ever. She did not come down to breakfast, and Mrs. Cardew was obliged to confess, in answer to the Captain’s inquiries, that she thought her very ill.

‘Well,’ said Mrs. Cardew, with tears in her eyes, ‘it’s no wonder if she is ill. Sleepless nights by the dozen, and something that keeps her low and wretched all day long. Nobody could stand that for ever, and poor Flora’s breaking down.’

‘But what is it?’ shouted the Captain, bringing down his fist on the table.

‘Don’t ask me, for I don’t know. And don’t make all that noise. I can’t do anything for my poor child but nurse her to the best of my power, and it will be strange if some day she doesn’t tell her old mother everything, just for the sake of peace.’

Captain Cardew went off to Morebay as usual, and the little house was very quiet all that day. Flora came down-stairs; but she seemed weary and stupefied; she would neither speak nor eat, and lay half dozing on the drawing-room sofa.

Mrs. Cardew had lighted the fire there, as it was a cold showery day, and all through the long afternoon she stole in at intervals to look at Flora. There she lay just the same, scarcely moving or opening her eyes as her mother bent over her, looking thin and fair and delicate, and above all things tired, with lines and hues of weariness about her brow and eyes that looked as if they could hardly be done away in this world.

But the last time, to Mrs. Cardew’s great relief, she was sleeping soundly; it was a pleasure to hear her page 212 regular breathing, and a softened look, almost a smile, had stolen over the poor face. The thick blinds were down, and the room was in twilight, lit up by the varying flicker of the fire. Flora lay with her head turned away from the light; a shawl was thrown over her, and the fringe of it trailed on the carpet; one of her hands was half hanging down too, with the palm upwards, and the fingers slightly curved. On the floor, partly under the fringe, lay an open letter, which might have dropped from her hand. This caught Mrs. Cardew’s eye just as she turned away, with an easier heart, from watching Flora’s sleeping face. She stooped instinctively and picked up the letter.

Mrs. Lancaster had led a very independent life since she came back to her parents; her friends and her correspondence were all her own, and the old people were quite aware that she would not like any curious questioning about them. Their admiration and respect for Flora, and their faith in the strength of her character, had kept them quite contented under these circumstances. Flora took possession of her own letters every day, and showed them to nobody. She also had a habit of posting her own. Captain and Mrs. Cardew did not get many letters, or take much interest in the post at all, and Flora was as free in these ways as if she had lived alone. Her father’s outburst about Dick Northcote had been quite a solitary event.

Mrs. Cardew was aware, however, when she picked up that letter, that Flora had had many in the same handwriting, small and neat and manly. The edges of this were a little worn, as if with constant reading. Mrs. Cardew, holding it open in her hand, could not help seeing the beginning. The fire just then leaped up too, and lighted the words strangely and suddenly. The letter was dated from London, more than two years before, and began, ‘My own dearest Flora.’

page 213

Mrs. Cardew turned white, and laid her hand on her heart, as if to keep it quiet, for she felt a conviction, really like lightning in its sudden awfulness, that now she was going to know all. The worn letter, Flora’s companion—so old, but still kept with her in her trouble—this must have something to do with the trouble itself. If Mrs. Cardew stopped to think at all, she thought that Flora’s mother had a right to know what had brought her child into this state, and she read on without any doubt or hesitation.

‘My own dearest Flora,—When we parted last night at your gate after those hours of intense happiness in the Combe, I felt, as I feel now, that I should not know how to live till I saw you again. But this misery is nothing to what I suffered for so long before, till I was able to tell you what you were to me, and to have the joy of hearing that my love was returned. I scarcely feel myself worthy of such a treasure, or of your noble confidence, in consenting to keep our engagement secret for the present. I trust the need for secrecy will only last a very short time, perhaps a few weeks, till I feel myself in a position to speak to my father. You know how careful one must be with old people and their prejudices, though I have no fear of the future, for my father need only be acquainted with you to have all his prejudices done away with. Write to me constantly, my own. Among these crowds I can see no face but yours. I am very lonely, and the days will seem like years till I am with you again. I need not tell you to have perfect trust in me, my sweetest Flora. Everything shall soon be as clear as daylight, and as you tell me it is in my power to make you happy, your life shall be happier than the wildest dream. Forget everything that is sorrowful, and above all things have faith and confidence in your devoted lover, Randal Hawke.

page 214

Mrs. Cardew read this letter twice through before she understood it in the least, and stared at the signature for full two minutes afterwards. Then with a deep sigh she murmured, ‘O Lord, have mercy upon us!’ and sat down in a low chair by the fire, being quite unable to stand. She sat there for some time, and read the letter once again. The clock ticked on the mantelpiece; Flora slept on, breathing softly and evenly; light showers pattered against the south windows. At last the Captain’s firm active step came up the garden-walk, he opened and shut the house-door, and after taking off his hat and wet coat put his head into the drawing-room.

‘Is she asleep?’ asked the Captain, in a loud whisper. ‘Hallo, are you ill too? You’re as white as a ghost.’

‘O John!’ said Mrs. Cardew tremulously, ‘I’ve found out something—something so dreadful! Come here.’

‘What’s the matter now?’ said the Captain. ‘You women are always in some fuss or other;’ but he walked up to the fire, and Mrs. Cardew put the letter into his hand.

‘Read that,’ she said. ‘It is right you should know. O my poor child! What am I to do?’

She took hold of one of the Captain’s rough hands, and bowed her forehead on it as he stood beside her.

‘What! is it about Flora?’ said the Captain. ‘Who is it from? Randal Hawke! What on earth—’

‘Hush, hush! read it,’ said Mrs. Cardew.

The Captain’s eyes were slower than hers, and he was a long time getting through the letter. At first he made an amazed exclamation or two, then finished it in silence.

‘What nasty confounded underhand business is this?’ he asked sternly, throwing back the letter into his wife’s lap. ‘Flora engaged to that young Hawke, and telling us nothing about it all this time! I don’t like it, however rich he may be. Such a sneaking affair can’t turn page 215 out well. But you need not break your heart over it, old woman. Flora’s beyond my understanding. She treated Dick Northcote shamefully.’

‘O, I have no thoughts to spare for any Dicks,’ said Mrs. Cardew impatiently. ‘You don’t see, Captain; you don’t understand.’

‘I’ll be hanged if I do!’ said the Captain, staring at her.

‘Look at Flora’s state. Think of the gossip we have heard about young Hawke and that Miss Ashley, the heiress, the General’s ward. Now do you see? He has jilted Flora—half killed her, I think. Everything is clear now. O, I understand it all.’

The Captain looked at her hard for a moment. Then he looked at Flora as she lay on the sofa, sleeping the deep sleep of exhaustion. Then he set his teeth, stamped his foot on the floor, and brought out one or two tremendous words.

‘O, don’t! Be still, Captain; you’ll wake her!’ exclaimed Mrs. Cardew; but the mischief was done already.

Flora sat up on the sofa, pushing back her hair with both her thin hands, and stared wildly at her father and mother, as they stood there, the letter lying on the hearthrug between them.

‘My darling, my own sweet child!’ said Mrs. Cardew, going to her.

‘What is that letter, mother?’ said Flora, pointing to it.

Mrs. Cardew gave a sort of gasp. Captain Cardew picked up the letter, and held it out by one corner; they both stood still, and looked at Flora.

‘You have read that letter?’ she said. ‘How could you! It was mine!’

Neither of them answered her at once, but after a minute the Captain said, in his gruff voice, which trembled page 216 a little, ‘Shall I put it in the fire? The best place for it.’

‘No; give it to me,’ said Flora.

She lay back on the cushion, with her two hands folded over it. Her eyes were unnaturally large in the twilight; and her father and mother stood watching her in a fascinated way, for tragedy was not a well-known element in their family history.

‘You know all about it, you two, if you have read this,’ she said calmly, in a low voice. ‘So I am punished for keeping it. I suppose it was wrong.’

‘Punished, dear!’ murmured her mother.

‘Yes. I was to send back all his letters. You saw them, mother. But I kept this one, because it was the first, and I did not like him to see how much it had been read. Well, it was of a piece with the rest of my folly. Are you angry with me for keeping the secret?’

‘Angry, my poor Flora! My heart’s breaking for you,’ said Mrs. Cardew, kneeling down beside her.

‘And you, father?’ said Flora.

‘I am angry,’ said the Captain slowly; ‘much more angry than I ever was in my life before. Not with you; with that scoundrel Hawke. But we’ll give him a lesson. We’ll bring an action for breach of promise.’

The colour came into Flora’s pale face, overspreading it slowly.

‘No, father,’ she said. ‘If you do that, I’ll make an end of it all by drowning myself in the Mora. So you know what to expect. Don’t be vexed with me. I really could not stand that; it would kill me.’

‘Look here, Flora,’ said the Captain earnestly; ‘I won’t say another word about that. But is that fellow who has done you all this harm to go scot-free, and marry any one he likes, without interference from heaven or earth? It’s a sinful thing, and I won’t consent to it. Now, my dear, if it won’t distress you, just tell your page 217 mother and me the facts of the case. You have no friends like us, remember.’

The Captain took a chair by the sofa, and sat there like an old doctor listening to a fanciful patient. Mrs. Cardew knelt on the other side, and wiped away her tears now and then, as Flora quite calmly and tearlessly told her story. The Captain ground his teeth now and then, but with wonderful self-control showed no other signs of rage.

‘The girl is too good for him,’ said Flora, after she had finished, and had paused for a minute or two.

‘There is not a girl in England bad enough for him, said the Captain. ‘And he’s to be left, is he, to marry this nice girl, with the character he chooses to give himself? You say Dick Northcote knows? Is he going to stand by and suffer that? If he is, I’m not, as sure as my name’s Jack Cardew.’

‘O Captain, don’t be violent,’ sighed his wife.

‘I’m not violent,’ said the Captain very truly. ‘Don’t you be soft and silly. You see, Flora, I’m the most reasonable man on earth; but what I say now, I mean. If that girl marries Randal Hawke, she shall do it with her eyes open. She and his father shall know this history of his engagement to you, and after that they may settle their affairs their own way. I shall speak to him first, and I shall make him confess it to them in my presence, and then I hope I may never set eyes on any of the lot again.’

Flora lay and looked at him with her sad eyes.

‘I cannot have the thing made public, father. You see that. We should have to leave St. Denys.’

‘Yes, my dear,’ said the Captain, with extraordinary gentleness. ‘But you must see yourself the justice of what I say. A man ought not to play such a trick as this without being punished for it. I shall make short work of it. I shall go to Pensand to-morrow.’

page 218

‘You will? Then do keep your word, and do it quietly, and don’t for goodness’ sake let any of the servants be in the way,’ said Flora. ‘I can’t bear it. It seems so odious of me.’

‘It is not you at all. It is I that choose to do it. And I shall be doing right,’ said Captain Cardew. ‘Take care of that letter. The fellow doesn’t know you have got it, probably, and he may deny the fact altogether.’

Flora did not answer. A minute or two afterwards the Captain left the room, and his wife followed him. Flora got up from her sofa, walked feebly across the room, dropped her long-treasured letter into the fire, and saw it burn to ashes.

This was how Captain Cardew came to appear before Randal and Mabel in the park at Morebay.