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Mrs. Lancaster’s Rival

Chapter XXIX. A New Guardian

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Chapter XXIX. A New Guardian.

Mabel was almost afraid to be happy, though the peace and quiet and safety of that evening and the next day were something that her sad little life had never yet known. No morbid fancies could live in the same house with Mrs. Strange; they never did; and therefore she was not surprised to find that her young visitor could smile like other girls, talk intelligently, and enjoy all the pretty things about her, after she had been an hour or two in the house. Mabel’s only drawback was that Dick had not appeared. Every time the gate opened, and a step came up to the door or crossed the hall, she was seized with such a fit of anxious nervousness that she could hardly sit still in her chair. Sometimes it was half terror, for how little she knew of Dick! then, again, it was wild delightful romance—that it should be he, after all, who had taken care of her on the journey, and who had then appeared to her a perfect hero. Her companions saw very well what she was thinking of, but said nothing, leaving Dick to manage his affairs himself. Only both Mrs. Strange and Miss Northcote felt their hearts warm towards the poor child, who had suffered so much—how much, they little knew—and who looked at them with a dawn of happy confidence in her wistful eyes. Between tea and dinner—a bright lovely evening, not far from sunset—Anthony was going out into the village, and met Dick at the gate.

‘Is she come?’ said Dick eagerly.

‘Yes. Go in and see her,’ said Anthony.

‘I thought you could get her out of prison, if any- page 267 body could. But what’s the use of my going in?’ said Dick, dropping into despondency. ‘I suppose, of course, you haven’t found out anything about that other fellow?’

Anthony smiled.

‘Do you think I do things by halves?’ he said. ‘Go in, Dick. Say what you please to her. You will find her free.’

‘But what do you mean?’

‘I mean—that it was a mistake,’ said Anthony.

He hurried off, on his way to some of his poor people. Dick stared after him for a moment. Anthony was certainly mad to talk in such riddles as this. How could it be a mistake when Mabel had told him herself the night before last?

‘Well, I had better find out from herself,’ Dick decided; and having made up his mind to this wise course, he went to the door.

It so happened that Mrs. Strange had just left the drawing-room, and, looking out at one of the hall windows, had seen him and Anthony stopping at the gate. She immediately stepped back to the drawing-room door, and called Kate.

‘Go into the library, my dear,’ she said. ‘Here’s Dick, and you and I are better out of the way.’

Kate obeyed, and Mrs. Strange went forward to open the door for Dick. He looked very well, she thought; he was better dressed than usual, and looked smoother and more civilised; she thought him a remarkably good-looking man.

‘Here you are, Dick,’ she said. ‘We have been expecting you all day. Now you may go into the drawing-room, if you like. But one word, please. This is not a case of flirting. Because that poor child has suffered quite enough.’

She spoke very gravely. Dick coloured, and his face page 268 was full of feeling as he answered, ‘She shall always be happy now, Mrs. Strange, if it depends on me.’

Perhaps the old Carweston drawing-room had never looked more delightful than it did that evening; the western sun came shining in on all the curiosities, catching bright colours and bits of gilding, throwing lovely cross-lights on the stately old group of musical instruments, above which those two Italian pictures, the gems of the collection, were now in shadow. The old clock in the corner, lit up by its own ray of sunshine, said half-past five; the Dresden and Chelsea figures, with their heads on one side, looked placidly at Dick; but there was no sympathy between them and him. He looked at nothing but the girl in the window, who got up and came to meet him, rosy and smiling, a different creature from the sad little maiden he had comforted in the starlight, forty-eight hours before.

After the first few words, these two people sat down on the sofa, and talked about their past. Dick talked, at least; he asked Mabel a great many things, to which she gave shy little signs of assent. From this retrospect it appeared that they had always liked each other better than anybody else.

‘But I daresay you have heard lots of things against me. In fact I know you have,’ said Dick. ‘Didn’t you hear that I flirted with Flora Lancaster?’

‘Yes; but it was not you. It was Randal.’

‘Randal behaved to her like the brute he is,’ said Dick. ‘But I, you know, I admired her very much. In fact—’

Dick paused; somehow farther confessions did not seem necessary just then.

‘I don’t wonder at that, for I admire her too,’ said Mabel. ‘She is one of the sweetest and kindest and prettiest people I ever knew.’

‘You generous darling!’ said Dick.

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Mabel hardly understood why she was generous, but neither she nor Dick cared to spend their time just then in talking any more about Flora. Every moment it was more possible, more delightful to talk to Dick, to tell him how unhappy she had been, how happy she was now. Dick seemed to be strength and affection combined; she had reached a safe haven at last, this tired little voyager. Dick quite realised his position, and thought that life could never have been worth living without Mabel to take care of.

‘Mabel, do you mind telling me,’ said Dick, after some time, ‘what you meant the other night when you said you were going to be married? Just now, when I asked you if it was all right, you said yes. How has it got right so soon?’

‘O, I don’t think I can tell you,’ said Mabel.

‘Very well; never mind, dear. Only I did rather want to know,’ said Dick gently. ‘I might meet him without knowing it, and say something fearfully wrong.’

‘Can’t you guess?’ said Mabel, in a very low voice.

‘Why, you said it was not Randal, and I don’t know who else has been at Pensand. Some friend of his? Somebody rather vile, or you wouldn’t have hated the notion so much.’

‘Vile! The very best person in the world!’

‘By Jove, I’m getting jealous. Nonsense—it can’t be! Was it Anthony Strange?’

Dick’s voice sank to an awestruck whisper. Mabel managed to convey to him, without speaking, that he was right, and for a moment or two he was silent, thinking it all over, and beginning to understand Anthony a little. Many men, certainly Randal Hawke, would have liked this Don Quixote none the better for putting them under such an obligation, would have very heartily called him a fool, and almost wished themselves clear of the whole affair. But Dick had a touch of unworldli- page 270 ness, and admired a hero when he saw him. He was half inclined to laugh, but he was deeply touched too.

‘That old fellow must be too good for this world,’ he said. ‘He’s a sort of hero. He would jump into the Mora for the benefit of Carweston. Of course he would, if he has done this for me.’

‘For me too,’ said Mabel.

‘Why on earth did he leave you so long at that place?’ demanded Dick.

‘Don’t ask me any more questions about it, please,’ said Mabel.

After all, Anthony was not the first interest to either of them just then; this was human nature, and not ingratitude or selfishness.

Mrs. Strange left them alone as long as she could, and only came into the drawing-room when it was time to dress for dinner.

‘Mrs. Strange, do you know that she belongs to me?’ said Dick, getting up and leading Mabel forward.

‘I suspected as much, Dick,’ said Mrs. Strange.

‘But have you considered, either of you, what will General Hawke say?’

She put her arm round Mabel and kissed her very kindly.

‘O, we shall manage him,’ said Dick. ‘We don’t live in the days of tyrants.’

After the ladies were gone, Dick waited in the drawing-room till he heard Anthony come in. Then he went out into the hall, feeling very awkward, and consequently rather cross. But Anthony looked at him with a bright smile.

‘Well? he said.

‘It’s all right,’ said Dick. ‘But I didn’t know before that I was to thank you.’

He wrung Anthony’s hand with the rough grasp of a colonist.

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‘Don’t mention that again,’ said Anthony. ‘It is better as it is. Only you must take care of her, or I shall regret it.’

There was not much need to tell Dick that. All Mabel’s friends were surprised to see how the next fortnight of freedom and happiness agreed with her. Dick’s devotion, Anthony’s tender friendship, Mrs. Strange’s cheerful kindness, all made up an atmosphere very fresh and delightful to live in. And Kate Northcote had as much to do with it as anybody. She took possession of Mabel at once, as Dick’s dearest treasure, and therefore hers.

Kate was a tower of strength to those she loved, unselfish, and generous, and truly sympathising. Without the soft ways of Mrs. Lancaster, there was a safety in being with Kate, a dependence on her, a trust in the thoroughbred instincts she acted on so well, this truest lady that Mabel had ever known, which was a wonderful support to the girl in her new happy life. She and Dick told their aunt everything, and through her a whisper of Anthony’s self-sacrifice reached Mrs. Strange. She said little, and looked grave for a day or two, but there was a touch of extra tenderness in her manner to her son.

In those days Mabel learned to know every corner of Carweston and its woody lanes, where the ferns were yellow now, and the red blackberry briars with their large fruit were hanging in festoons. Dick and she wandered down towards the river, sat on stiles, and came home very often with purple fingers; it was so pleasant to be two children in those still lovely autumn days and these Carweston blackberries were the finest in the country. Sometimes they would wander across an upland field with their faces to the sunset, when the distant hills glowed like the gate of heaven in the deep splendid autumn colours, and every leaf and page 272 blade of grass was glorified. And Mabel would lift smiling eyes to Dick, as if there was no pain or trouble in the whole world now, and ask him if sunsets in New Zealand were as beautiful as these. For they often talked about Dick’s country over the sea.

When Mabel had been at Carweston about a fortnight, without any molestation from Randal, who only called one day when she was far away with Dick and his aunt in the fields, Miss Northcote found that she must go back to St. Denys. She had many duties there, and they could not do without her any longer, being most of them living duties in the shape of old and sick and poor people. So a charming plan was made for that day. Her carriage was to come and fetch her and Dick in the morning. Mabel was to go with them, and to spend the day at St. Denys, Mrs. Strange promising to drive over towards evening and fetch her back.

Mabel had never been in Miss Northcote’s house before, and everything in it was a subject of delightful interest to her. Some old books of Dick’s, and even toys, that his aunt had routed out from their hiding-place, were looked at and touched as precious relics by the happy girl to whom he belonged now. In fact, Mabel was by this time ridiculously in love with Dick, and everything belonging to him. All the enthusiasm in her nature, of which there was a good deal, had found its object at last. Life, before Dick came into it, seemed to have been a dark groping in the wilderness; and there had been a bright thread of happiness running even through this painful summer; for after all she had seen Dick sometimes, and had always known in her heart that there was nobody like him. Miss Northcote had to go out in the afternoon, and these two went with her. It was quite necessary that Mabel should know her way about St. Denys; so they wandered up and down the stony streets and lanes, with the glorious old page 273 view spread out before their eyes, standing in the low stone doorways of dark little shops, climbing the steps in the lower part of the town, where Mabel wanted a good deal of help. It was the one thing Miss Northcote was sorry for, in her own bright activity, that Mabel should be so helpless; still, with Dick by her side, this did not seem to matter so much. They went down on the quay, where the dark-eyed children crowded and stared at them, and the steamers and boats passed swiftly up and down the broad Mora; where ivy and flowers hung from the roofs of the rugged old houses, and the fishwomen sat in their coarse blue gowns washing fish. Then they climbed slowly up the lane till they came to the house where old Fenner lived. Here Miss Northcote turned in for a few minutes, and Dick and Mabel walked on together up the hill. They came to the corner where three roads met—their own, the lane down to the combe, and the road over the railway-bridge, that led up towards Captain Cardew’s house.

‘May we go down that lovely lane?’ said Mabel.

‘Not now, dear; you have had enough walking.

Some other day,’ said Dick. ‘That’s the way down to the combe.’

It would have been only the right thing, according to St. Denys custom, for him to take Mabel into the combe; but somehow it seemed to him that ‘the place was curst.’ He vividly remembered that evening when he stood at this very corner, and, in a miserable state of mind, watched those two people slowly coming up, stopping under those trees in the shadow, moving on in the starlight. And then that Sunday afternoon, when there was such a yellow misty glamour over everything, when Flora looked like a water-nymph as he sat beside her in the combe and listened to that story which brought him so fortunately to his senses. Poor Flora! he thought Fate had been very hard on her. He stood page 274 still there a few minutes, half by instinct, to let Mabel rest after walking up the hill, half because these recollections were almost too strong for him; and he could not tell Mabel about them, though she would have taken them like an angel, he knew.

‘O Dick!’ she said, her fingers suddenly tightening on his arm, ‘there’s somebody coming up the lane. Do you see ! It is Mrs. Lancaster.’

‘What an extraordinary thing!’ said Dick. ‘Let us go and meet her.’

Flora came up, walking slowly and wearily; the steep pull from the combe seemed to have been almost too much for her. They met her under the trees, where the grass bank was in shadow, and twisted fantastic roots had broken out and wreathed themselves upon it. Flora took Mabel’s hand, and looked from her to Dick, with a smile which was almost sad.

‘You two?’ she said.

‘Yes, we two,’ said Dick. ‘Didn’t you mean it, when you sent me up to ask after General Hawke?’

‘What do you mean? I forget,’ said Flora. ‘But I am so glad—dear Miss Ashley,’ as Mabel readily returned her kiss. ‘Has he consented?’

‘Don’t remind us of our one trouble,’ said Dick.

‘We have not asked him yet; but he will, because he must. Mabel is staying at Carweston now.’

‘Yes; I heard that from somebody,’ said Flora.

‘You are quite happy, then?’ to Mabel.

‘O yes,’ said Mabel earnestly.

‘You shouldn’t ask her such leading questions,’ said Dick. ‘She must say so, poor girl, though I’m afraid she has had time to repent three times over.’

Mabel looked at him and smiled; Flora nodded slightly, smiling too; and then they all walked up the hill together to her gate. She did not try to detain them, or ask them to come in, but wished them good-bye page 275 affectionately, and went with a slow tired step into the house.

‘Poor Flora! What an awful breakdown it is!’ said Dick, as he and Mabel turned back to meet Kate. ‘She’s much better than she was, though, poor dear. That day I took you up to the Castle in Fenner’s cart, I pulled her round in the boat afterwards, you know. Randal had been breaking off with her that very day on the sands, and the one thing she wanted was to drown herself. She would, too, if I had not talked her out of it.’

Mabel was horrified. ‘She was so very fond of him, then?’ she said.

‘Fond! I should think so,’ said Dick. ‘Wonderful and unaccountable, considering what he is. I’m not sure now that she realises what a happy escape it was for her.’

‘I wonder if she will ever marry now,’ said Mabel.

‘Not likely; she has had enough of that sort of thing. A disappointment in marriage, and another out of it, would disenchant most people.’

At last the happy day was over, Mrs. Strange had fetched her charge, and Mabel, leaving her dearest friends behind, was carried back to Carweston. She did not, however, descend into low spirits, but chattered away to Mrs. Strange with the greatest cheerfulness about Dick’s plans and ideas for the future. She was now aware that it was very nice to have seventy thousand pounds; for though this fact had not in any way influenced Dick, it gave a pleasantly decided character to all their plans. In a reasonable way they could do what they chose, and Mabel had already made up her mind that this should be what Dick chose; she did not feel that she had any talent for organising life, and at present only cared for the new sensation of being happy. Mrs. Strange thought some of her ideas romantic, and lectured her on them; but Mabel always took refuge in page 276 Dick’s opinion, till Mrs. Strange shook her head, and said,

‘Engaged people generally lose their senses for the time. You will know better one of these days, my dear.’

They were just driving through the village of Carweston.

‘Shall I?’ said Mabel, smiling; but then suddenly all the light-hearted enjoyment fled from her face, and the old pained look came back to it. She caught Mrs. Strange’s hand, and squeezed it hard. ‘O, do you see?’ she said. ‘The Pensand carriage!’