A Search For A Secret: A Novel. Vol. 2

by G. A. Henty

  CHAPTER VII.

  THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE.

  We reached home after the expedition a little before seven o'clock, andthen sat down to a regular breakfast, under the influence of which ourspirits rose somewhat, and we recovered a little from ourdisappointment. Polly and I agreed that it was settled that we were notto be heiresses, and that it was no use our repining. We talked a gooddeal of Sophy, and we agreed that the loss was a matter of far moreserious importance to her than it was to us. We feared she had aterrible life before her, and we wondered what she and her husband woulddo.

  For some time while we were talking, Mr. Petersfield ate his breakfastin silence, and was evidently not attending to what we were saying, butwas lost in his own contemplations.

  "What are you thinking of?" papa asked him, at last.

  "I am thinking, doctor--that is, I am wondering how Herbert Harmer cameto know of that secret hiding-place. Of course his sisters may have toldhim of it, but I should doubt if they did. I am wondering if he found itdescribed in any old family documents, and if so, where they are now.There are no longer any papers in my possession, as at Miss Harmer'srequest I gave them all up a week after the funeral to their newsolicitor."

  "I should think," I said, "that Mr. Harmer was shown this secrethiding-place at the time when he first knew of the chamber itself; thatis, when he went into it as a boy with his father."

  "No doubt," papa said,--"no doubt he was. Don't say any more about it,Petersfield; let us make up our minds to the inevitable. We have doneour best, and now let us give it up. There is not, I believe, theslightest chance in the world of our ever hearing any more about it, andit is far better to give it up, than to go on hoping against hope, andkeeping ourselves in a fever about what will never take place. Let usgive the matter up altogether, and turn over a fresh page of our lives.We are no worse off than other people. Let us look forward as if it hadnever been, and give up the past altogether."

  And so it was settled, and the will henceforth ceased to be a subject ofconversation among us.

  After breakfast, Mr. Petersfield took his leave and returned to London;and when papa had gone out on his round of visits, and sister Polly hadsat down for her usual hour's practice on the piano, I went up into myown room, shut and locked the door, and prepared for the task I hadbefore me. For it was clear to me that I must now face my position. Icould no longer play at ships with myself. I knew that my last hope hadfled. The last anchor, to which I had so fondly trusted, was gone now,and my bark of happiness was destined to certain and irretrievablewreck. I knew that my engagement with Percy must come to an end, andthat this letter which I must write would be the means of making it doso.

  How long I sat there on that dreary March morning I do not know, withthe paper lying open and untouched before me, its black edge a fittingsymbol of the dead hopes, whose tale I had to write upon it. Not that Ithink I looked at that; my eyes were fixed blankly on the wall beforeme; but not one word did I write, although all the time my hand held thepen ready to set down what my heart and brain should dictate. Butnothing came; my heart seemed cold and dead, as if it could feel nomotion, while my brain was in a strange whirl of thought, and yet nothought framed itself into any tangible shape. I hardly know whatcurrent they took, the past or the future; I cannot recall one singlethought; indeed, I question if one stood out prominently enough amongthe others to have been seized, even at the time.

  How long I sat there I do not know. But at last I was recalled to myselfby a loud, continued knocking at my door. I think I heard it some timebefore I answered; it did not seem to me to be connected at all with me,but to be some noise a long way off. Even when I was sure that it was atmy door, and that it was a loud, urgent knocking it was some little timebefore I could rouse myself sufficiently to answer. At last I said,"What is it?" But the knocking was so loud that my voice was not heard,and I now distinguished Polly's voice calling to me. I tried to rise,but I found that my limbs were stiff and numbed. However, with a greateffort, for I was really frightened at the noise, I got up, and withgreat difficulty moved to the door and opened it. I was about to repeatmy question, "What is it?" when Polly burst in, pale andterror-stricken, the tears rolling fast down her cheeks. She fell uponmy neck, and sobbed out, "Oh, Agnes, Agnes, how you have frightened me!"

  "Frightened you!" I said. "How? What is the matter?"

  "What have you been doing? and why did you not answer my knocking?"

  "I answered directly I heard it."

  "Then what have you been doing, Agnes? I have been knocking for tenminutes. How pale you are, and your hands are as cold as ice, and so isyour face; you are nearly frozen. There don't say anything now, but comedown to the dining-room."

  I had some difficulty in getting downstairs; I had sat so longmotionless in the cold, that I was, as Polly said, nearly frozen, and itrequired all the assistance she could give me, before I was able to getdown at all. Once in the dining-room, Polly wheeled the sofa up in frontof the fire, and then ran off and got some boiling water from thekitchen, and made me a glass of hot port wine and water, which sheinsisted on my drinking scalding hot,--all the time scolding and pettingme; then when I began to get warm again, she told me that when she haddone practising, not finding me anywhere, she asked the housemaid if shehad seen me, and the girl told her that I had gone into my room morethan an hour before, and that she had not seen me since. Polly went backto the dining-room, but finding that time went on, and I did not comedown, she came up to my room to scold me for staying up in the cold solong, and to suggest that if I had not finished writing, I should gointo papa's consulting-room, where I should be quite secure frominterruption. She had knocked, but receiving no answer, had at firstgone away again, thinking that perhaps I had lain down, and gone tosleep, having had such a short night; but after she had gone down stairsagain, she came to the conclusion that I should not have done thatwithout telling her of my intention; so she had come up to my dooragain, and finding that her first gentle knocking had produced noeffect, she had continued, getting louder and louder, and becoming moreand more terrified, until at last, just as I had opened the door, shehad worked herself into such an agony of terror, that she was on thepoint of running down into the kitchen to send out for some one to comein to force the door.

  I told Polly that I was very sorry that I had frightened her so much,but that I really did not know what had come over me; that I had satthere thinking, and that I supposed I had got regularly numbed, and hadnot noticed her knocking until I got up and opened the door. When I wasthoroughly warmed again, I proposed going into the library to write myletters, but Polly would not let me, as she said that I had had morethan enough excitement for one day. So I yielded to her entreaties, notsorry indeed to put off the painful task, if only for one day.

  On the following morning, however, I went into papa's study to write myletters, and got through them more easily than I had expected. Pollycame in from time to time to see that I was not agitating myself toomuch, only staying just for a minute or two to kiss me, and say somelittle word of consolation and love. My first letter was to Percy. Itold him what had happened, and that all hope which I might previouslyhave entertained of finding the will, was now entirely extinguished. Itold him that I knew he loved me for my own sake; and no unworthy doubtthat this would make any difference in him had ever entered my mind; butI frankly said that I feared Lady Desborough would no longer give herapproval and consent, and that I foresaw painful times in store for us,for it was of course out of the question that we could marry in the faceof her determined opposition. Putting aside pecuniary considerations,which even lovers could not entirely ignore, I could not consent tomarry into a family where my presence would be the cause of dissensionand division between mother and son. I said this was my fixeddetermination, and begged him to acquiesce in it, and not pain me bysolicitations--to which I could not yield--to do otherwise than what Ifelt to be right, in the event of his mother's insisting on his breakingoff his engagement with me.

&n
bsp; My letter to Percy finished, I had the other and more difficult onebefore me, and I was some considerable time before I could make up mymind respecting it. In the first place, should it be to Lady Desboroughor Ada? and then, how should I put it? Of course I must say that allhope of finding the will was gone; but should I add that in consequenceI considered my engagement with Percy to be at an end, or should I leaveher to do so? At one time I resolved upon the former, and wrote thebeginnings of two or three letters to that effect. But then I said tomyself, why should I do this? Why should I assume that she would stopthe allowance of 300l. a year, which Percy has, when he thinks that withthat and the staff pay he expects to get in India, there is no reasonwhy we could not manage very well? I accordingly came to the conclusionto write to Ada. I told her all that we had done, and that the will wasnow unquestionably lost for ever; I said that this was of course agrievous disappointment to me, and then after a little chit-chat uponordinary matters, I wound up by asking her to show to Lady Desboroughthe part relating to the loss of the will.

  Although I wrote these letters at the same time, I did not send off theone to Ada until the following day. I delayed it in this way in orderthat Lady Desborough might get a letter from Percy within a few hours ofreceiving mine; so that she might not answer me until she had heardPercy's arguments and entreaties that she would not withdraw herapproval of the engagement.

  The second letter sent off, I had nothing to do but to wait patiently,but oh, how anxiously, for the result.

  Percy's letter came by return of post; it was just what I knew it wouldbe, a repetition of the one he had written when the will was first foundmissing,--full of passionate protestations of love, and assurances thatmy fortune had only value in his eyes on my account, and that thereforeto him its loss could make no difference. He said that it was quiteimpossible that his mother could withdraw her consent, previously sowarmly given, merely from a matter of money; and he affirmed thatindeed, at the age he was, he did not consider that under anycircumstances she had any right to dictate his choice to him. He told methat he was that day writing to her, to inform her that of course whathad happened had not made the slightest change in his intentions, andthat he felt assured she would be entirely of his opinion. The next daypassed without any letter from Lady Desborough; the next and the next--aweek passed. How my heart ached. I knew what the delay meant, and couldguess at the angry correspondence which must be passing between motherand son. I knew what the result must be, and yet I hoped against hopeuntil the eighth day, when the long-expected letter arrived; it was asfollows:--

  "My dear Miss Ashleigh,

  "You may imagine how extremely sorry we all were to hear that the will under which you ought to come into possession of the fortune to which I always understood that you were entitled, is missing, and I fear from what you say in your letter to Ada irretrievably lost. This is a terrible event for you, and the more so, since it of course alters your position with respect to my son Percy. You will I am sure be sorry to hear that it has caused a very serious misunderstanding between him and me. I gather from what he has let drop, that you yourself quite see that it is out of the question that your engagement with him can continue, and I know that you will regret with me that he should not like ourselves submit to what is inevitable. Knowing your good sense, I felt sure that you would, as a matter of course, view the matter in the same light that I do, and it gives me pleasure to know that I had so correctly judged your character. I am sure, my dear Miss Ashleigh, that you would be grieved that any serious estrangement should take place between Percy and myself; but I am sorry to say his obstinate and violent conduct at present renders this not only probable, but imminent. I rely upon your aid to assist me in bringing him to the same way of thinking as ourselves. Percy will, I am sure, listen to your arguments with more politeness and deference than he pays to mine. His allowance, as you are aware, depends entirely upon me, and it is quite impossible, as he surely must see, that he can support a wife, even in India, on a bare lieutenant's pay. I rely upon your good sense to convince him of this, and you will be doing a great service to us all by your assistance in this matter. I need not say, in conclusion, how much all this sad affair, and my son's headstrong folly, have shaken and disturbed me, and how much I regret that circumstances should have occurred to prevent an alliance on which I had set my heart. And now, with my sincere condolence,

  "Believe me, my dear Miss Ashleigh,

  "Yours very faithfully,

  "EVELINE DESBOROUGH."

  I really could hardly help smiling, pained and heartsick as I felt, atthe quiet way in which Lady Desborough arranged the affair, and claimedme as an ally against Percy. When I had finished the letter, I gave itto Polly--who was watching my face most anxiously--to read, and I dothink that if Lady Desborough had been there my sister Polly would havebeen very near committing a breach of the peace. She did not saymuch--only the one word "infamous," as she threw the letter on to thetable, and then sat down by the fire, biting her lips with anger, withher large eyes ablaze, and her fingers and feet twitching and quiveringwith suppressed rage.

  A letter arrived by the same post from Ada, which I will also copy fromthe original, which has been so long laying in my desk:--

  "My darling Agnes,

  "This is a terrible affair, and I am quite ill with it all. My eyes are red and swollen, and, altogether, I was never so wretched in my life. I should have written to you at once to tell you how sorry I was about it, and that I love you more dearly than ever, but mamma positively ordered me not to do so at first, so that I was obliged to wait; but as I know that she has written to you to-day, I must do the same. We have had such dreadful scenes here, Agnes, you can hardly imagine. On the same morning your letter arrived, one came from Percy. It did not come till the eleven o'clock post, and I had sent your letter up to mamma in her room before that. Mamma wrote to Percy the same day; what she said I do not know; but two days afterwards Percy himself arrived, and for the last three days there have been the most dreadful scenes here. That is, the scenes have been all on Percy's side. He is half out of his mind, while mamma is very cold, and----Well, you can guess what she could be if she pleased. To-day she has not been out of her room, and has sent word to Percy that as long as he remains in the house she shall not leave it. So things are at a dead-lock. What is to be done I have no idea. Of course I agree with Percy, and think mamma very wrong. But what can I do? My head is aching so, I can hardly write; and indeed, Agnes, I think I am as wretched as you can be. I do not see what is to come of it. Mamma and Percy are equally obstinate, and which will give way I know not. Mamma holds the purse-strings, and therefore she has a great advantage over him. I am afraid it will be a permanent quarrel, which will be dreadful. My darling Agnes, what can I say or do? I believe Percy will go down to see you, although I have begged him not to do so for your sake; but he only asked me if I was going to turn against him, too; so, of course, I could do nothing but cry. How will it end? Oh, Agnes, who would have thought it would ever come to this? I will write again in a day or two. Goodbye, my own Agnes.

  "Your most affectionate

  "ADA."

  At twelve o'clock that day there was a knock at the door, and PercyDesborough was ushered in. I was prepared for his coming, and thereforereceived him with tolerable composure; and although I dreaded thepainful scene I knew I should have to go through, I was yet glad that hehad come, for I felt that it was better that all this should come to anend. Percy was looking very pale and worn, and as he came up to me, muchas I had schooled myself, I could hardly keep my tears down. He came up,took me in his arms, and kissed me. I suffered him to do so. I knew thatit was nearly the last kiss that I should ever have from him. Polly,after the first salutation, wo
uld have left the room, but I said,--

  "Stop here, please, Polly. She knows all about it, Percy; and it isbetter for us both that she should be here. I have heard this morningfrom Lady Desborough, and also from Ada, so I know what you have comedown for."

  "I have come down, Agnes," Percy said, solemnly, "to renew and confirmmy engagement to you. I have come down, that you may hear me swearbefore God that I will never marry any other woman but you."

  "And I, Percy, will marry no other man; but you, even you, I will nevermarry without your mother's consent. I will never divide mother and son.Besides which, without her consent, it would be impossible."

  "Impossible just at present, Agnes, I admit. My mother has refused toallow me one farthing if I marry you, and I know I cannot ask you to goout to India as a lieutenant's wife, on a lieutenant's pay; but in ashort time I am sure to get a staff appointment; and although it willnot be such a home as I had hoped to offer you, it will be at least ahome in which we could have every necessary comfort; and I know you toowell, not to feel sure that you would be content with it."

  "Percy," I said, "why do you tempt me? You know well how gladly I wouldgo with you anywhere, that comfort or discomfort would make littledifference to me if they were shared by you. But you know LadyDesborough, and you know well that she will not only refuse to assistyou now, but that she will utterly disown and cast you off if you act indefiance of her will. You are choosing between wife and mother; if youtake the one, you lose the other. Has she not told you, Percy, that ifyou marry me, you are no longer son of hers?"

  Percy hesitated. "She has," he said, "she has; but, Agnes, although inany just exercise of her authority, I, as a son, would yield to her; yetat my age, I have a perfect right, in a matter of this sort, to choosefor myself; besides, she has already given her entire approval, and itis not because circumstances have changed that she has any right towithdraw that consent. It was you she approved of, and you areunaltered."

  "She is acting, as she believes, for your good, Percy. You think hermistaken and cruel, but she will never change, and I will never marryyou without her consent. See, Percy, I have no false pride. I would havecome to you, had there been nothing to prevent it, as a penniless wife,although I had hoped it would have been otherwise; but no true womanwill drag her husband down; no true woman will marry a man when, insteadof bringing him a fortune, she brings him ruin. You are nowcomparatively well off; some day you will be much better; and I will notbe the means of your losing this--losing not only this, but yourmother."

  "But my happiness, Agnes!--what is money to happiness?" Percy exclaimed,impetuously.

  "Nothing, Percy,--I know and feel that; but I also feel that my decisionis right, and not wrong. I know that I could not decide otherwise, andthat whatever unhappiness it may cause us both, yet that, without yourmother's consent, I can never be yours."

  "You will make me wish my mother dead, Agnes," Percy said, passionately.

  "No, no, Percy, do not say that; I know I am doing right. Do not make itharder for me than I can bear."

  Percy strode up and down the room. Once or twice he stopped before me,as if he would speak, but he did not. I was crying freely now, and Icould not look up at him.

  "Can you not say something for me?" he said to Polly, at last.

  Polly got up when he spoke to her--before that she had been sitting onthe sofa by me, holding one of my hands in hers--now she went up to him.She put one of her hands on his shoulder, took one of his hands in herother, and looked up into his face.

  "Percy, she is right--you know in your own heart she is so. Have pityupon her; she will not do it--she cannot. I love her better than myself,but I could not advise her to do, even for her happiness, what shebelieves is not right;--she cannot come between you and your mother.Wait, Percy, and be patient--time works wonders. You may be sure shewill be yours in heart to the end of her life. Have pity on her, Percy,and go."

  "Oh, Polly, have pity on me, too," Percy said, and his lips quiverednow; and although he kept the features of his face still rigid and undercontrol, the tears were starting from his eyes. "What shall I do!"

  "Go, Percy," I said, getting up. "Go. Let us help each other;" and Itook his hands now, and looked up into his face. "Go. I do not say,forget me; I do not say, goodbye for ever; I only say, go, now. I cannotdo what you ask me; let us wait--let us wait and hope."

  "Agnes," Percy said, solemnly, "I go now; I leave you for a time, butour engagement is not over, and again hear me swear never to marry anywoman but you."

  "And I no other man, Percy; and now kiss me and go."

  For a little while Percy held me strained to his heart, his tears raineddown upon my face, his lips pressed mine again and again, then one long,long kiss--I felt it was the last; then he gave me to Polly, who wasstanding near. I heard the door close behind him, and for a long time Iheard no other sound. I had fainted.