by L. T. Meade
CHAPTER XVI
GIVE ME YOUR PROMISE
That afternoon I went out late to do some commissions for Jane. I wasglad to be out and to be moving, for Dr. Reade's words kept ringing inmy ears, and by degrees they were beginning to hurt. I did not wantthem to hurt badly until night, for nothing would induce me to breakdown. I had talked to mother more cheerfully than ever that afternoon,and made her laugh heartily, and put her into excellent spirits, and Ibought some lovely flowers for her while I was out, and a littlespecial dainty for her dinner. Oh, it would never do for mother toguess that I was unhappy, but I could not have kept up with thatgrowing pain at my heart if it were not for the thought of night andsolitude, the long blessed hours when I might give way, when I mightlet my grief, the first great grief of my life, overpower me.
I was returning home, when suddenly, just before I entered the Square,I came face to face with Mr. Randolph. He was hurrying as if to meetme. When he saw me he slackened his steps and walked by my side.
"This is very fortunate," he said. "I want to talk to you. Where canwe go?"
"But it is nearly dinner-time," I answered.
"That does not matter," he replied. "I have but a very few more daysin England. I have something I must say to you. Ah, here is the Squaregarden open; we will go in."
He seemed to take my assent for granted, and I did not at all mindaccompanying him. We went into the little garden in the middle of theSquare. In the midst of summer, or at most in early spring, it mightpossibly have been a pleasant place, but now few words could explainits dreariness. The damp leaves of late autumn were lying in soddenmasses on the paths. There was very little light too; once I slippedand almost fell. My companion put out his hand and caught mine. Hesteadied me and then dropped my hand. After a moment of silence hespoke.
"You asked me to-day not to go."
"For mother's sake," I replied.
"I want to tell you now that if I could stay I would; that it is verygreat pain to me to go away. I think it is due to you that I shouldgive you some slight explanation. I am leaving England thus suddenlybecause the friend who has helped Jane Mullins with a certain sum ofmoney, in order to enable her to start this boarding-house, hassuddenly heard that the capital, which he hoped was absolutelysecure, is in great danger of being lost. My friend has commissionedme to see this matter through, for if his worst surmises are fulfilledMiss Mullins, and you also, Miss Wickham, and of course your mother,may find yourselves in an uncomfortable position. You rememberdoubtless that Mr. Hardcastle would not let you the house if there hadnot been some capital at the back of your proposal. Miss Mullins, whohad long wished for such an opportunity, was delighted to find thatshe could join forces with you in the matter. Thus 17 Graham Squarewas started on its present lines. Now there is a possibility that thecapital which Jane Mullins was to have as her share in this businessmay not be forthcoming. It is in jeopardy, and I am going to Australiain order to put things straight; I have every hope that I shallsucceed. You may rest assured that I shall remain away for as short atime as possible. I know what grief you are in, but I hope to be backin England soon."
"Is that all you have to say to me?" I asked.
"Not quite all. I am most anxious that while I am away, although youare still kept in the dark, you should believe in me; I want you totrust me and also my friend. Believe that his intentions arehonourable, are kind, are just, and that we are acting as we are doingboth for your sake and for your mother's and for Miss Mullins'. I knowthat I ask quite a big thing, Miss Wickham; it is this--I ask you totrust me in the dark."
"It is a big thing and difficult," I replied.
"Your mother does."
"That is true, but mother would trust any one who had been as kind toher as you have been."
"Then will you trust me because your mother does? will you believethat when I come back I shall be in a position to set all her fearsand yours also absolutely at rest? I am certain of this, I go awaywith a hope which I dare not express more fully; I shall come backtrusting that that hope may be fulfilled in all its magnificence formyself. I cannot say more at present. I long to, but I dare not. Willyou trust me? will you try to understand? Why, what is the matter?"
He turned and looked at me abruptly. Quick sobs were coming from mylips. I suddenly and unexpectedly lost my self-control.
"I shall be all right in a minute," I said. "I have gone through muchto-day; it is--it is on account of mother. Don't--don't speak for amoment."
He did not, he stood near me. When I had recovered he said gently--
"Give me your promise. I wish I could say more, much, much more, butwill you trust me in the dark?"
"I will," I replied. "I am sorry you are going. Thank you for beingkind to mother; come back when you can."
"You may be certain on that point," he replied. "I leave England withextreme unwillingness. Thank you for what you have promised."
He held out his hand and I gave him mine. I felt my heart beat as myhand lay for a moment in his, his fingers closed firmly over it, thenhe slowly dropped it. We went back to the house.
A few days afterwards Mr. Randolph went away. He went quite quietly,without making the slightest commotion. He just entered thedrawing-room quickly one morning after breakfast, and shook hands withmother and shook hands with me, and said that he would be back againbefore either of us had missed him, and then went downstairs, and Iwatched behind the curtain as his luggage was put on the roof of thecab. I watched him get in. Jane Mullins was standing near. He shookhands with her. He did not once glance up at our windows, the cabrolled out of the Square and was lost to view. Then I turned round.There were tears in mother's eyes.
"He is the nicest fellow I have ever met," she said, "I am so verysorry that he has gone."
"Well, Mummy darling," I answered, "you are more my care than evernow."
"Oh, I am not thinking of myself," said mother. She looked up at merather uneasily. It seemed to me as if her eyes wanted to read methrough, and I felt that I did not want her to read me through; I didnot want any one to read what my feelings were that day.
Jane Mullins came bustling up.
"It is a lovely morning, and your mother must have a drive," she said."I have ordered a carriage. It will be round in half-an-hour. You andshe are to drive in the Park and be back in time for lunch, and seehere, Mrs. Wickham, I want you to taste this. I have made it from areceipt in the new invalid cookery book. I think you will say that younever tasted such soup before."
"Oh, you quite spoil me, Jane," said mother, but she took the soupwhich Jane had prepared so delicately for her, and I ran off, glad tobe by myself for a few moments.
At dinner that day Mrs. Fanning and Mrs. Armstrong sat side by side.Mrs. Fanning had taken a great fancy to Mrs. Armstrong, and theyusually during the meal sat with their heads bent towards one another,talking eagerly, and often glancing in the direction of Albert Fanningand Miss Armstrong and me. Mrs. Fanning had an emphatic way of bobbingher head whenever she looked at me, and after giving me a steadyglance, her eyes involuntarily rolled round in the direction of Mr.Fanning.
I was so well aware of these glances that I now never pretended to seethem, but not one of them really escaped my notice. After dinner thatevening the good lady came up to my side.
"Well, my dear, well," she said, "and how are you bearing up?"
"Bearing up?" I answered, "I don't quite understand."
Now of course no one in the boarding-house was supposed to knowanything whatever with regard to mother's health. The consultation ofthe doctors had been so contrived that the principal boarders had beenout when it took place, therefore I knew that Mrs. Fanning was notalluding to the doctors. She sat down near me.
"Ah," she said, "I thought, and I told my dear son Albert, that a manof that sort would not stay very long. You are bearing up, for you area plucky sort of girl, but you must be feeling it a good bit. I amsorry for you, you have been a silly girl, casting your eyes at placestoo high for you, and never seeing
those good things which are laid soto speak at your very feet. You are like all the rest of the world,but if you think that my Albert will put up with other people'sleavings, you are finely mistaken."
"Really, Mrs. Fanning," I answered, "I am completely at a loss to knowwhat you are talking about."
Here I heard Mrs. Armstrong's hearty and coarse laugh in my ear.
"Ha! ha!" said Mrs. Armstrong, "so she says she doesn't know. Well nowthen, we won't allude any further to the subject. Of course it ain'tlikely that she would give herself away. Few young ladies of the MissWestenra Wickham type do. Whatever else they don't hold with, theyhold on to their sinful pride, they quite forget that they are wormsof the dust, that their fall will come, and when it comes it's bitter,that's what I say; that's what I have said to Marion, when Marion hasbeen a little put out, poor dear, with the marked and silly attentionsof one who never meant anything at all. It was only before dinner Isaid to Marion, 'You wouldn't like to be in Miss Wickham's shoesto-night, would you, Marion? You wouldn't like to be wearing thewillow, would you, my girl?' And she said no, she wouldn't, but thenshe added, 'With my soul full of Art, mother, I always can have myresources,' and that is where Marion believes, that if she were sounlucky as to be crossed in love, she would have the advantage of you,Miss Wickham, for you have plainly said that you have no soul forh'Art."
"All that talk of Art makes me downright sick," here interrupted Mrs.Fanning. "That's where I admire you, Miss Wickham. You are very niceto look at, and you have no nonsense about you, and it's my beliefthat you never cared twopence about that high-falutin' young man, andthat now he has gone, you'll just know where your bread is buttered.Sit along side of me, dear, and we will have a little discourse aboutAlbert, it's some time since we had a good round talk about my dearand godly son."
