Read Ebook: Married or single? Vol. 3 (of 3) by Croker B M Bithia Mary

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XL. A FORLORN HOPE 178

MARRIED OR SINGLE?

"MR. WYNNE!"

A few days before their departure for the sunny south, Miss West, her father, and several visitors were sitting in the drawing-room, the tall shaded lamps were lit, the fragrant five-o'clock cup was being dispensed by Madeline; who was not, as Lady Rachel remarked, in her usual good spirits. Lady Rachel had thrown off her furs, she had secured a comfortable seat in a becoming light, and was flirting audaciously with a congenial spirit. Mrs. Leach was of course present, and an elderly colonel, Mrs. Veryphast , her sister, and a couple of Guardsmen--quite a gathering. Mrs. Veryphast was laughing uproariously, Mrs. Leach was solemnly comparing notes respecting dressmakers with Mrs. Veryphast's sister. The colonel, Mr. West, and Lord Tony, were discussing the share list. The Guardsmen were devoting themselves to the fair tea-maker, when the anteroom door was flung open with a flourish, and a footman announced "Mr. Wynne!"

This name was merely that of an ordinary visitor--one of the multitude who flocked to offer incense to his daughter, a partner and a slave, in fact, in the ears of every one save two--Lord Tony's, and Mrs. Wynne's. The latter felt as if she had been turned to stone. Had Laurence come to make a scene? to claim her? She breathed hard, living a whole year of anxiety in a few seconds of time. The hand that held the sugar-tongs actually became rigid through fear. She glanced at her father. He, poor innocent individual, was totally unconscious of the crisis, and little supposed that the good-looking young fellow now shaking hands with Madeline was actually his son-in-law!

"Oh, how do you do?" faltered Miss West, and raising a swift, appealing, half-terrified look to the stranger. "Papa, let me introduce Mr. Wynne."

Mr. Wynne bowed, uttered a few commonplaces to the invalid, and stood talking to him for some time.

Meanwhile, Mr. West noticed with satisfaction the air of refinement and of blue blood in the visitor's appearance and carriage. Wynne was a good name.

No one guessed at the situation, except Lord Tony. His breath was taken away, he looked, he gaped, he repeated the same thing four times over to Mrs. Veryphast--who began to think that this jovial little nobleman was a fool. To see Miss West thus calmly present her husband to her father, as he afterwards expressed it, "completely floored him." And the old chap, innocent as an infant, and Wynne as cool as a cucumber, as self-possessed as it was possible to be!

"I'm afraid I'm not a very amusing person," he replied, accepting her beringed fingers, and standing before her.

"You can be, if you like; but perhaps you now reserve all your witty sayings for your stories. Are you writing anything at present?"

"No, not at present," rather stiffly.

"I did not know you knew the Wests. Maddie, dear," raising her voice, "you never told me that you and Mr. Wynne were acquaintances."

Madeline affected not to hear, and stooped to pick up the tea-cosy, and hide a face which had grown haggard; whilst Mr. West, who had gathered that Wynne was a rising man, and that his books were getting talked about, invited him to come and sit near him, and tell him if there was anything going on--anything in the evening papers?

"You see, I'm still a bit of an invalid," indicating a walking-stick; "shaky on my pins, and not allowed to go to my club. I've had a very sharp attack, and I'm only waiting till the weather is a little milder to start for the south of France." He had taken quite a fancy to this Wynne .

Madeline looked on as she handed her husband a cup of tea, by her parent's orders, and was spellbound with amazement and trepidation to see Laurence and her father, seated side by side, amiably talking politics, both being, as it providentially happened, of the same party. This was to her almost as startling a spectacle as if an actual miracle had been performed in the drawing-room before her eyes.

MARRIED OR SINGLE?

Mr. West and his new acquaintance had apparently an inexhaustible capital of conversation, and still kept up the ball, as other people departed one after the other. Madeline knew that Laurence was resolved to sit them all out, for, as he laid his cup and saucer beside her, he said, in a whisper only audible to her, "I'm going to wait, I must have a word with you alone."

"Oh, that was written more than a fortnight ago; he is much better--but weather bound--on account of the snow in the south.

"Well, yes; and your letter was overlooked, and not forwarded. I've been away on circuit."

"I believe you don't care whether I never write to you or not; nor to hear what I'm doing?"

"Oh, but, you know, I am always well posted in the society papers."

"Society papers!"

She glanced at Laurence. Yes, his linen was frayed, there was a hole in one of his gloves, and in her heart there flared up a passionate hatred of genteel poverty; it was not life, it was a mere dragged-out existence, from Sunday to Sunday--from a sirloin of beef to a fore-quarter of mutton. Ugh! And, on the other hand, the trip on the Princesse de Lynxky's yacht, the already made up party for the carnival, the dresses that she had ordered for both; the costumes that were to dazzle Nice; the sketch for her carriage at the battle of flowers. At last she said--

There was an appreciable pause, and then he said, in a tone of angry astonishment, "Are you in earnest, Madeline?"

"In earnest? Of course I am!"

She looked at him; he had grown visibly paler, and there was a strange expression in his eyes that she did not remember to have ever seen before. Then, speaking in a low repressed voice--

"In that case I must ask you now to make your choice, once for all, between your two characters. You must for the future always be known as Miss West, or Mrs. Wynne. We will not have this double-dealing any longer. Now, which will you be, married or single?" keeping his eyes steadily fixed on her with a look of quiet determination. "If you wish, we can bury the past."

No reply. Madeline's mind was a battle-field of doubt, fear, amazement, anger, and self-will.

"Speak, Madeline!" he reiterated impatiently. "Married or single?"

"I see," he interrupted quickly, "you would rather be Miss West. The child, I know, is a flimsy excuse, and of no importance; but please to give me a direct answer. I must have it from your own lips."

"Answer me, Madeline," whispered Laurence in a hurried undertone, holding her hand like a vice. This action was not seen by Mr. West, who had his back to them, and was occupied with the poker. "Married or single? Now is the time--I shall tell him."

"So be it," was the low rejoinder.

And Mr. West, as he vigorously poked the fire, and furiously pressed the bell, had no more idea than poker or button of the important tie that had just been severed.

Mr. Wynne, looking rather white and stern, came over, and again took his leave and, without any farewell to Madeline, who was still standing in the background in the dusk, he opened the door and departed.

"No, papa," she answered, in a rather shaky tone, "he has not; that is just the last thing he would do. You won't see him again, that's one comfort!" she added, with a final blaze of temper.

"Comfort, comfort? Not a bit of it. I'd like to see more of him; and when we come back, remind me to ask him to dinner--he belongs to the Foolscap Club--don't forget. What's his name--Wills--Witts?"

"Wynne."

"We were quarrelling, papa, that's all. Our first and last quarrel," attempting to laugh it off, with a laugh that was almost hysterical. "There's the first gong!"

"So it is; and I'm quite peckish. Look sharp and dress!" setting an example on the spot by hurrying out of the room, stick in hand, which stick went tapping all the way down the corridor, till the sound was lost in the distance.

Still, Madeline did not stir. She took a step and looked at the picture. Strange omen! It represented a farewell--a man and a girl. The man was a soldier, one of Bonaparte's heroes, and his face was turned away--the girl was weeping. Then she walked over to the fire, and stood looking into it with her hands tightly clasped, her heart beating rather quickly--the after-effects of her late exciting interview. Her mind was tossed about among conflicting emotions--indignation with Laurence, relief, regret, all stirring like a swarm of bees suddenly disturbed. "What had possessed her to marry Laurence Wynne?" she asked herself, now looking back on their marriage from the lofty eminence of a spoiled, adulated, and wealthy beauty. A certain bitter grudge against him and their days of poverty, and the hateful existence into which he would drag her back, animated her feelings as she stood before the fire alone.

They had never, she and Laurence, had a rift upon the tuneful lute; and now a little plain speaking and a few angry words had parted them for life, as he had said. So be it.

"So be it," she echoed aloud, and pulling a chain from the inside of her dress, she unfastened it, slipped off her wedding ring, and dropped it into the fire, which her father had poked up to some purpose--little dreaming for what an occasion it would serve.

Then Madeline went at last, and scrambled into her tea-gown with haste, and was just down, luckily for herself, in the nick of time.

A FALSE ALARM.

Mr. West had enjoyed his dinner; his appetite was excellent--on a par with his daughter's spirits. He asked no more troublesome questions, and departed to bed at an early hour. Mrs. Leach, too, had retired , to enjoy a French novel and cocaine, leaving Madeline to sing and make merry alone! After a while she went over and sat on the fender-stool, and had a long conversation with herself, and tried to persuade her conscience that she had done right. She offered it a sop in assuring herself that the next morning she would go down to the Holt farm and see Harry, and have a comfortable talk with his nurse. Her father would not be out of bed till twelve o'clock. Mrs. Leach, too, rarely appeared before lunch. The coast would be clear. She carried out this resolution to the letter, starting from Waterloo by an early train, arriving a little after ten at the farm in the station fly, greatly to Mrs. Holt's amazement.

She asked many questions, and was warmly assured that "though little Harry was not to say a big, strong boy, like Tom the ploughman's child, of the same age, yet that nothing ailed him but his teeth, and that his eye teeth were through, and that she need not give herself no uneasiness. Mr. Wynne was full of fancies. He was down twice last week, and had been alarming her for nothing."

"Mr. Wynne--Mr. Wynne," said Madeline, becoming agitated and feeling a certain tightness in her throat; but knowing that the fact she was about to disclose must come out sooner or later, and that the first blow was half the battle; "Mr. Wynne and I have had a serious disagreement. We have agreed to differ--and to part," looking steadily out of the window, whilst her face took a delicate shade of red.

"Laws! gracious mercy!" ejaculated her listener, nearly dropping Master Wynne. "You don't say so! Goodness gracious! you don't mean it, ma'am; you are joking."

"No, indeed"--very decidedly--"I am not, Mrs. Holt; and you need not call me ma'am any more, for though I am married, I am going back to be Miss West--always. Please never call me Mrs. Wynne again."

"Divorce? No. Nothing of the kind; but Mr. Wynne and I have agreed to be--be strangers, and to forget that we have ever been married; and as I am only known to most people as Miss West, it will be quite easy."

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