CHAPTER LVI. ALBAN SEES HIS WAY.
During the first days of Mirabel's sojourn at his hotel in London,events were in progress at Netherwoods, affecting the interests of theman who was the especial object of his distrust. Not long after MissLadd had returned to her school, she heard of an artist who was capableof filling the place to be vacated by Alban Morris. It was then thetwenty-third of the month. In four days more the new master would beready to enter on his duties; and Alban would be at liberty.
On the twenty-fourth, Alban received a telegram which startled him. Theperson sending the message was Mrs. Ellmother; and the words were: "Meetme at your railway station to-day, at two o'clock."
He found the old woman in the waiting-room; and he met with a roughreception.
"Minutes are precious, Mr. Morris," she said; "you are two minutes late.The next train to London stops here in half an hour--and I must go backby it."
"Good heavens, what brings you here? Is Emily--?"
"Emily is well enough in health--if that's what you mean? As to why Icome here, the reason is that it's a deal easier for me (worse luck!)to take this journey than to write a letter. One good turn deservesanother. I don't forget how kind you were to me, away there at theschool--and I can't, and won't, see what's going on at the cottage,behind your back, without letting you know of it. Oh, you needn'tbe alarmed about _her!_ I've made an excuse to get away for a fewhours--but I haven't left her by herself. Miss Wyvil has come to Londonagain; and Mr. Mirabel spends the best part of his time with her. Excuseme for a moment, will you? I'm so thirsty after the journey, I canhardly speak."
She presented herself at the counter in the waiting-room. "I'll troubleyou, young woman, for a glass of ale." She returned to Alban in a betterhumor. "It's not bad stuff, that! When I have said my say, I'll have adrop more--just to wash the taste of Mr. Mirabel out of my mouth. Waita bit; I have something to ask you. How much longer are you obliged tostop here, teaching the girls to draw?"
"I leave Netherwoods in three days more," Alban replied.
"That's all right! You may be in time to bring Miss Emily to her senses,yet."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean--if you don't stop it--she will marry the parson."
"I can't believe it, Mrs. Ellmother! I won't believe it!"
"Ah, it's a comfort to him, poor fellow, to say that! Look here, Mr.Morris; this is how it stands. You're in disgrace with Miss Emily--andhe profits by it. I was fool enough to take a liking to Mr. Mirabel whenI first opened the door to him; I know better now. He got on the blindside of me; and now he has got on the blind side of _her_. Shall I tellyou how? By doing what you would have done if you had had the chance.He's helping her--or pretending to help her, I don't know which--to findthe man who murdered poor Mr. Brown. After four years! And when all thepolice in England (with a reward to encourage them) did their best, andit came to nothing!"
"Never mind that!" Alban said impatiently. "I want to know how Mr.Mirabel is helping her?"
"That's more than I can tell you. You don't suppose they take me intotheir confidence? All I can do is to pick up a word, here and there,when fine weather tempts them out into the garden. She tells him tosuspect Mrs. Rook, and to make inquiries after Miss Jethro. And he hashis plans; and he writes them down, which is dead against his doinganything useful, in my opinion. I don't hold with your scribblers. Atthe same time I wouldn't count too positively, in your place, on hisbeing likely to fail. That little Mirabel--if it wasn't for his beard, Ishould believe he was a woman, and a sickly woman too; he fainted inour house the other day--that little Mirabel is in earnest. Rather thanleave Miss Emily from Saturday to Monday, he has got a parson out ofemployment to do his Sunday work for him. And, what's more, he haspersuaded her (for some reasons of his own) to leave London next week."
"Is she going back to Monksmoor?"
"Not she! Mr. Mirabel has got a sister, a widow lady; she's a cripple,or something of the sort. Her name is Mrs. Delvin. She lives far awayin the north country, by the sea; and Miss Emily is going to stay withher."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Sure? I've seen the letter."
"Do you mean the letter of invitation?"
"Yes--I do. Miss Emily herself showed it to me. I'm to go with her--'inattendance on my mistress,' as the lady puts it. This I will say forMrs. Delvin: her handwriting is a credit to the school that taught her;and the poor bedridden creature words her invitation so nicely, that Imyself couldn't have resisted it--and I'm a hard one, as you know. Youdon't seem to heed me, Mr. Morris."
"I beg your pardon, I was thinking."
"Thinking of what--if I may make so bold?"
"Of going back to London with you, instead of waiting till the newmaster comes to take my place."
"Don't do that, sir! You would do harm instead of good, if you showedyourself at the cottage now. Besides, it would not be fair to Miss Ladd,to leave her before the other man takes your girls off your hands. Trustme to look after your interests; and don't go near Miss Emily--don'teven write to her--unless you have got something to say about themurder, which she will be eager to hear. Make some discovery in thatdirection, Mr. Morris, while the parson is only trying to do it orpretending to do it--and I'll answer for the result. Look at the clock!In ten minutes more the train will be here. My memory isn't as good asit was; but I do think I have told you all I had to tell."
"You are the best of good friends!" Alban said warmly.
"Never mind about that, sir. If you want to do a friendly thing inreturn, tell me if you know what has become of Miss de Sor."
"She has returned to Netherwoods."
"Aha! Miss Ladd is as good as her word. Would you mind writing to tellme of it, if Miss de Sor leaves the school again? Good Lord! thereshe is on the platform with bag and baggage. Don't let her see me,Mr. Morris! If she comes in here, I shall set the marks of my tenfinger-nails on that false face of hers, as sure as I am a Christianwoman."
Alban placed himself at the door, so as to hide Mrs. Ellmother. Thereindeed was Francine, accompanied by one of the teachers at the school.She took a seat on the bench outside the booking-office, in a state ofsullen indifference--absorbed in herself--noticing nothing. Urged byungovernable curiosity, Mrs. Ellmother stole on tiptoe to Alban's sideto look at her. To a person acquainted with the circumstances therecould be no possible doubt of what had happened. Francine had failed toexcuse herself, and had been dismissed from Miss Ladd's house.
"I would have traveled to the world's end," Mrs. Ellmother said, "to see_that!_"
She returned to her place in the waiting-room, perfectly satisfied.
The teacher noticed Alban, on leaving the booking-office after takingthe tickets. "I shall be glad," she said, looking toward Francine, "whenI have resigned the charge of that young lady to the person who is toreceive her in London."
"Is she to be sent back to her parents?" Alban asked.
"We don't know yet. Miss Ladd will write to St. Domingo by the nextmail. In the meantime, her father's agent in London--the same personwho pays her allowance--takes care of her until he hears from the WestIndies."
"Does she consent to this?"
"She doesn't seem to care what becomes of her. Miss Ladd has given herevery opportunity of explaining and excusing herself, and hasproduced no impression. You can see the state she is in. Our goodmistress--always hopeful even in the worst cases, as you know--thinksshe is feeling ashamed of herself, and is too proud and self-willed toown it. My own idea is, that some secret disappointment is weighing onher mind. Perhaps I am wrong."
No. Miss Ladd was wrong; and the teacher was right.
The passion of revenge, being essentially selfish in its nature, isof all passions the narrowest in its range of view. In gratifying herjealous hatred of Emily, Francine had correctly foreseen consequences,as they might affect the other object of her enmity--Alban Morris. Butshe had failed to perceive the imminent danger of another result,which in a calmer frame of mind might not have escaped disco
very. Intriumphing over Emily and Alban, she had been the indirect means ofinflicting on herself the bitterest of all disappointments--she hadbrought Emily and Mirabel together. The first forewarning of thiscatastrophe had reached her, on hearing that Mirabel would not returnto Monksmoor. Her worst fears had been thereafter confirmed by a letterfrom Cecilia, which had followed her to Netherwoods. From that moment,she, who had made others wretched, paid the penalty in suffering as keenas any that she had inflicted. Completely prostrated; powerless, throughignorance of his address in London, to make a last appeal to Mirabel;she was literally, as had just been said, careless what became of her.When the train approached, she sprang to her feet--advanced to the edgeof the platform--and suddenly drew back, shuddering. The teacher lookedin terror at Alban. Had the desperate girl meditated throwing herselfunder the wheels of the engine? The thought had been in both theirminds; but neither of them acknowledged it. Francine stepped quietlyinto the carriage, when the train drew up, and laid her head back in acorner, and closed her eyes. Mrs. Ellmother took her place in anothercompartment, and beckoned to Alban to speak to her at the window.
"Where can I see you, when you go to London?" she asked.
"At Doctor Allday's house."
"On what day?"
"On Tuesday next."
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