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Mrs. George Croft Huddleston - Bluebell

M >> Mrs. George Croft Huddleston >> Bluebell




Bluebell recovered only to fall from one fainting fit into another. Her
strength had been exhausted by the walk, and she had none to bear up
against the shock that awaited her. The letter was from Miss Opie,
announcing Mrs. Leigh's sudden death, after a few hours' illness. Inside,
and unopened, was returned Bluebell's private enclosure revealing her
married name.

A year ago this child had been innocent of the existence of nerves, but,
from the trying scenes she had lately gone through, they were now so
shattered that she was unable to rally. The doctor kept her in bed at
first, recommended absolute quiet, and exhausted his formula with as
beneficial a result as could be expected considering it attacked the
secondary cause only, and was impotent to heal the suffering mind
reacting upon the body. Bluebell continued in a torpid condition,
scarcely giving any signs of life. One day, Mrs. Markham, who nursed her
with unremitting zeal, quickened, perhaps, by the interest of her
discovery, observed the patient's hand steal to her neck, and then she
glanced uneasily about, as if seeking for something.

They were alone, so Mrs. Markham whispered in a low, cautious tone, "I
have it quite safe, locked up in my desk. No one knows of it but myself."
An apprehensive look dilated the large, sad eyes, succeeded by an
expression of contented resignation. She did not perceptibly improve, her
mind was incessantly trying to realize what had happened, and was haunted
by a morbid conviction that the anxiety induced by her own strange
marriage might have precipitated the sad event, for Miss Opie's letter
did not soften the fact that Mrs. Leigh had fretted greatly about it.
Still she expressly said that she had succumbed to an epidemic that had
already gleaned many victims.

It was, after all, many days before Mrs. Markham remembered the seeds she
had been so anxious to obtain, but one favourable afternoon, she set
diligently to work to lay the foundation for summer flowers. Though the
"even tenour" of her life did not afford much scope for its indulgence,
this lady was not devoid of a certain spice of romance. She was also of
an independent character, and in the habit of judging for herself on most
matters, and had decided not to betray Bluebell's secret to her spouse.

"Men are prejudiced and unpracticable on some points," she soliloquized,
"and though I am quite satisfied that the poor girl is married, he may
choose to doubt it, or think we had better get out of her. Her illness
was entirely occasioned by the shock, so there really is no necessity to
explain my little accidental discovery."

But the plot was thickening, for that morning there arrived a letter from
Mrs. Leighton written in great perturbation, to the effect that she had
heard some very uncomfortable reports about Miss Leigh. Her information
was derived from the captain's wife at Liverpool, to whom she had written
on Bluebell's obtaining a situation, supposing that, as they had shown
her so much kindness, they would feel interested in the fact. But she had
received in return a most extraordinary letter from Mrs. Davidson,
stating that Miss Leigh had eloped from their house, leaving only a
letter containing an improbable story about going to be married, without
even mentioning to whom. Her husband, to be sure, had his suspicions as
to the lover, but the name had escaped her memory, and Captain Davidson
was at sea.

Now Mrs. Markham began to feel her innocent complicity becoming a little
embarrassing. It was rather awkward keeping a suspected person about the
children. Her husband would be in fits if he knew it, but, however
imprudent of Bluebell to elope, she still saw no reason to doubt the
marriage. Had she not the wedding-ring in proof of it?

So as she worked and planted, unavoidably decimating a worm here and
turning up an ants nest there, she conned it all over.

"The child must really tell me her secrets, or I can do nothing. I will
get her out for a drive; sitting alone in one room, as that demented old
Chivers prescribes, is the worst thing for a nervous complaint."

So the next fine morning she ordered the car, and, going to the
governess's room, asked her, in a matter-of-course manner, to put on
her hat and come out.

Bluebell had just received a visit from the local practitioner, who had
reiterated his assurances that "we wanted tone, and had better adhere to
the iron mixture; that we must not exert ourselves, and must be sure to
lie down a great deal," etc.; but she assented to Mrs. Markham's proposal
with the same indifference with which she had listened to Esculapius.

They drove on for some distance through a straggling village, with its
ivied church guarded by sentinel cypresses, children were playing about
with hands full of cowslips, and lilac bushes blossomed within cottage
palings. A little beyond they turned into Sir Thomas Farquhar's park,
where young rooks were cawing, unwitting of their predestined pastried
tomb. On entering a long, shady avenue, Mrs. Markham pulled the horse up
to a walk, and said quietly,--"When were you married, Miss Leigh?"

Perhaps this question had not been unexpected since the little episode of
the ring, for, with equal calmness, Bluebell replied,--"The last week in
November, at Liverpool."

Mrs. Markham felt a triumphant thrill. She would now hear the solution
of the mystery that had been exercising her imaginative powers for some
weeks. She poured forth question after question. Yet, at the end of
half-an-hour, not only had she failed to extort Dutton's name, but had
even entangled herself in a promise of inviolable silence as to the only
admitted fact.

She had insisted, threatened, got angry; Bluebell sorrowfully offered to
go, but remained firm.

"Well, keep your secret, then," cried Mrs. Markham, at last, abandoning
the contest; "but I shall find it out if I can. And I must take care that
Walter doesn't," thought she, with a mischievous chuckle, for that
gentleman, many years older than his wife, was a servile worshipper of
Mrs. Grundy, and his hair would have stood on end had he known that he
was harbouring a young lady with such suspicious antecedents. Besides her
personal liking for Bluebell, Mrs. Markham recollected that if dismissed
at this juncture she could scarcely recommend her to any other situation,
and then what would become of the poor thing? But what puzzled her most
was the total disappearance of the husband to whom she had been so very
lately married.

A clue to this, however, she believed herself to have obtained on
observing that Bluebell never failed to study the daily papers with
an avidity unusual at her age.

"He must be in the army and gone to the Crimea," thought she. "Poor
thing! how dreadful! Some day she will see him in the list of killed and
wounded."

Some little time after, Bluebell, who had in a great measure recovered
her strength, came to her room, and said, with frank, open eyes,--"May I
go to Barton and post a letter to my husband?"

A very warm assent drew forth the heartfelt exclamation,--"How I wish I
could tell you all, my dear Mrs. Markham."

Without that information, it was not so easy to answer Mrs. Leighton's
letter, which she did eventually in very guarded terms, stating that she
had proof of the marriage having taken place, but could say no more,
except that, "being much pleased with Miss Leigh, she intended to keep
her, especially as the children were very much under her own eye, and
seldom alone with their governess."

Mr. Markham was generally the first down, and was rather addicted to a
curious inspection of the post-mark on the family correspondence, neatly
placed by each recipient's plate.

His wife one morning found him standing over a large ship letter directed
to the governess, with somewhat the expression of distrustful pugnacity
with which a dog walks round a hedgehog.

"Is that for Miss Leigh?" said she, carelessly.

"Yes," with much solemnity. "Apparently she has a correspondent in the
Navy. It is not a sort of thing I like, and I must say I have often
thought Miss Leigh too young and flighty for me."

"Oh, I believe she is engaged, poor girl!" said Mrs. Markham, slipping
out a white one. "And she gets the children on beautifully. You thought
Emma already so improved in playing."

"Well if you know all about it, that's another thing. I trust she doesn't
put nonsense in the children's heads. Emma is getting very forward and
inquisitive."

His wife felt secretly excited, for she was sure this letter must be from
the errant husband, especially as the governess would not read it in
public, but pocketed it with a slight nervousness of manner.

Time passed on, and Mrs. Markham had discovered nothing.

Bluebell, in her diligent revision of the papers, found much of personal
interest. Colonel Rolleston's regiment had been ordered home to proceed
to the Crimea, and she well knew the anxiety his family must be enduring.

It seemed cold and ungrateful to be unable to write one word of sympathy
to Mrs. Rolleston, but any renewal of intercourse must lead to
explanations, and it was her cruel fate to be able to give none. One
other name, too, she saw in the public print that ought no longer to have
had the power to thrill her as it did. Well, it was not so long ago,
after all: but, however mentally disquieted we leave our heroine, as she
has now drifted, outwardly, into a peaceful haven, we must return to
others in the narrative who have more to do.




CHAPTER XXXVI.

IN DEATH THEY WERE NOT DIVIDED.

My love he stood at my right hand,
His eyes were grave and sweet;
Methought he said, "In this far land,
Oh, is it thus we meet!
Ah, maid most dear, I am not here,
I have no place--no part
No dwelling more by sea or shore,
But only in thine heart!"
--Jean Ingelow.


Bertie Du Meresq, after lingering a while in London, without any tidings
of Cecil, began to weary of inaction, and turn his thoughts again to
Australia. But just then warlike rumours were becoming rife, and forced
his mind into another channel. Good heavens! with such a prospect,
possibility even, how could he let his papers be sent in? There was just
time to recall them. He rushed to the Horse Guards, despatched a letter
to his Colonel, and his retirement, not having yet been gazetted, was
cancelled.

But how appease the injured Green, who had advanced the over regulation
money for the troop? That must be returned, however expensive it might be
to raise the necessary sum. One possible resource remained. He possessed
a maiden aunt--of means, whose patience and purse he had completely
exhausted some years ago; added to which she had become "serious," and
a gentleman of the Stiggens order now diverted her spare cash into the
coffers of little Bethlehem.

Du Meresq was aware that he had been predestined to doom by the Rev. Mr.
Jackson, and that his aunt had been assured she could not touch pitch
without being defiled. "Nevertheless," he thought, "I must try and carry
her by a _coup de main_, if I have to pitch her clerical friend out of
the window first."

Lady Susan had abandoned the more fashionable precincts of London to be
nearer her chapel and districts, and the Hansom cabman who drove Bertie
to Hammersmith had quartered nearly every yard of it before their
combined intelligence hit off a square stone house on a bit of a common.

Lady Susan was within, and Du Meresq followed the depressed-looking
footman upstairs with as much ease as if he had not been particularly
forbidden the house five years ago. He embraced his aunt affectionately
before she had collected herself sufficiently to prevent him, and bowed
with the utmost grace to a rather vulgar-looking, self-sufficient lady to
whom he was presented. This person, however, he contrived to sit out in
spite of her curiosity.

"And now, Bertie," said Lady Susan, austerely, "what is it you want? I
know from past experience it is not I alone you come to see. I warn you
though your hopes are vain. I have, happily, now a more edifying way of
spending my poor income than in aiding you in your godless courses."

"I have come to you, my dear aunt, as the kindest-hearted person I know.
I am in an awful hole. But let me explain." And then he told how he had
sold his troop to pay his debts, but had now, war being eminent, recalled
his papers, and so owed all the over regulation money obtained in
advance.

For once Du Meresq had a good case. Against her principles almost, Lady
Susan listened, and, though pre-determined not to believe a thing he
said, his words were making an impression.

"Of course I can get the money; but, going on active service, I should
have to pay enormously for it. And, anyhow," he continued, "I thought I
should like to say good-bye to you, whether you can let me have it or
not."

Bertie's Irish blarney always peeped out in his dealings with women,
and Lady Susan of late had been so unaccustomed to anything of the sort,
that her heart began to warm to her scape-grace nephew. He was so
distinguished-looking, too, with the beauty which comes of air and
expression, and a certain winning manner, none of which were conspicuous
attributes of the disciples of little Bethlehem. She made him stay to
dinner, and Du Meresq, who thought things were looking up, gladly
dismissed his Hansom, which had been imparting an unwonted appearance of
dissipation to the locality for the last hour. He could make himself
quite as agreeable to an old lady as a young one, and this one was a
soldier's daughter, and Irish into the bargain. What wonder that her
heart beat responsively and her blood fired at the idea of another of her
race lending his life to his country! Bertie, to be sure, would have
preferred not having to make capital of that, and objected strongly to
being treated as a hero in advance. However, it was no use quarrelling
with the means that had brought his aunt into so promising a frame of
mind; and, before he left that evening, he had actually received the
promise of a cheque to the amount of Mr. Green's claims in a few days.

Soon after this, he heard the welcome news that his regiment was ordered
home immediately, evidently in consequence of the disturbances in the
East. This caused Du Meresq great delight. His corps was, then, certain
to be in it, and he would go into action with Lascelles and all his old
friends, instead of exchanging into a strange regiment, as he had
determined to do if his own were not for service.

With all this other thoughts were associated. Somehow he had never looked
upon his rupture with Cecil Rolleston as final, having pretty well
fathomed the _motif_ of her renunciation of him, which he considered
would bear explanation when occasion offered; but now, rather sadly
reviewing the past, he said to himself that, after all, it was well for
her they had not married.

I do not know that Cecil would have been of the same opinion. She had a
brave spirit, that could bear up against known evils, but fretted and
suffered in suspense. She was much altered since her illness. Once the
most attentive and docile of daughters, she became irritable and
uncertain in temper-_difficile_, as the French call it, or, according to
a Scotch expression, "There was no doing with her" some days; and Mrs.
Rolleston, unhappy about both Cecil and Bertie, looked upon her husband's
prejudice against the latter as the cause of all this unsatisfactory
state of things.

As to Colonel Rolleston, he was in the condition of a man whose "foes are
those of his own household." No one appreciated more the "pillow of a
woman's mind"; but really now the pillow might have been stuffed with
stones, so many corners and angularities had developed themselves in his
feminalities.

The regiment had been ordered to Quebec almost immediately after Bluebell
had gone to England; and, as Mrs. Rolleston there heard of Evelyn
Leighton's death, the fate of their _protegee_ became naturally a subject
of anxious speculation. Yet not a line had been received from her; and,
after a time, the subject was avoided, for all felt that Bluebell had
been ungrateful.

Then Mrs. Leighton wrote out the strange story of her elopement, and
having since entered a family as governess in her maiden name. Mrs.
Rolleston was painfully shocked; for, coupling it with the girl's
silence, she could not but imagine the worst, especially when, as they
gazed at each other in mute dismay, she read in Cecil's face a suspicion
that Bertie had had some hand in her disappearance, he had not written
either; but, unless he were in correspondence with Bluebell, could not
have been aware that she was in England. Of course, therefore, it was
only the wildest conjecture. Yet how could Cecil believe that a girl who
had once cared for Bertie should so utterly have forgotten him as to
sacrifice herself to any one else within a few weeks? But a letter from
Du Meresq himself did much to banish these gathering doubts and
suspicions. It appeared quite open and above-board, and was written to
Mrs. Rolleston on the eve of embarking with his regiment for the Crimea.
He mentioned one or two houses he had been staying in, related the
successful visit to his aunt and wound up in a postcript with the
words,--"Give my dearest love to Cecil, if she cares to have it."

Mrs. Rolleston silently put the letter into her hand, and left the room.
But the privacy of four walls was insufficient for Cecil while permitting
herself the dear fascination of perusing Bertie's handwriting. She was
missing for the next two hours, which Lela was able to account for,
having observed her going downstairs dressed for walking.

She did not remember to return Du Meresq's letter, nor did Mrs. Rolleston
ask for it. Very soon afterwards they also went to England, though the
Colonel's regiment was not sent to the Crimea for some months later. It
was quartered near London, and he took a house for his family in
Kensington. And now a strange fancy possessed Cecil. It happened one day,
when they were out driving, that a little boy drifting across the street
with the suicidal _insouciance_ of his kind, got knocked down by their
horses, and, of course, had to be driven straight to the hospital to have
his injuries investigated. It was necessary to detain the child, and
Cecil walked down most days to bring him toys and inquire into his
progress. There she became acquainted with some members of a sisterhood,
who were employed in nursing in the accident ward, and, after the boy
had been dismissed, convalescent, and ready to be run over again, she
still continued her visits.

What the attraction was, neither of her parents could conceive, for,
although the sisterhood was of the High Church order, they observed no
particular religious enthusiasm or ritualistic tendencies in their
daughter. "Cecil's mystery" it was called in the family, for she never
spoke of what she had been doing all day, though it was apparently
satisfactory, as her spirits were far more even than they had been of
late. It was generally supposed that a charitable fervour had seized her,
and that she was visiting among the poor; indeed Mrs. Rolleston had
little curiosity to spare at present. She was living in dread and daily
expectation of Colonel Rolleston being sent to the East; and he was
engaged, as a calm, brave man might, in arranging his affairs to provide
for his family in any event.

The order came at last; it was almost a relief from the continual
suspense, and there were a few days for preparation. On one of these last
evenings some of the officers were dining at the Colonel's, and among
them--which was unusual now--Fane, who, though believing that Cecil's
love affair with Du Meresq must have been broken off, still honourably
abstained from her society till she should, by some sign, absolve him
from his promise. On this occasion though, to her dread, he appeared
sentimentally inclined, and Cecil, to whom a Sir Lancelot even would have
been intolerable had he attempted to take the place of the lover she had
outwardly discarded and inwardly enshrined, took refuge with Jack
Vavasour, who regarded the approaching campaign in about the same light
as a steeple-chase--a delightful piece of excitement, with a spice of
danger in it.

His cheerful chatter amused and relieved the tension of her mind.

"I shall be sure to come across Du Meresq," he observed, with simple
directness. "I shall tell him I saw you the last thing. How glad he will
be to hear of any one at home! Have you any message, Miss Rolleston?"
looking straight in her face, which was glowing as he spoke.

"Tell him," said Cecil, who liked Jack, and trusted him more than any
one, "to be sure and write very often to his sister, who is dreadfully
anxious, as, indeed, we _all_ are."

"Oh, yes, of course," cried Vavasour; "but is that all? Let me give him
that glove," which Cecil had been absently pulling off and on.

"Certainly-not!" flaming up in a moment. "Give it to me back directly,
Mr. Vavasour!"

Jack thought she was offended. "I didn't mean to be impertinent, Miss
Rolleston. You know this is not like an ordinary occasion; and I am sure
I didn't think there would be much in it."

"I know, I know. But don't invent anything from me to Bertie Du Meresq."
Then, with a softer manner, and most cordial squeeze of the hand as she
saw the other men rising to go,--"Good-bye, and come back safe, you dear,
true-hearted boy!"

Next day the mystery came out. She had been qualifying as a hospital
nurse, with the view of joining Miss Nightingale's staff at Scutari.

Cecil had quite anticipated the antagonism and ridicule with which this
announcement would assuredly be met. A craze to go out to the East
possessed many romantic young ladies of the period, too adventurous
to be satisfied with merely knitting socks and comforters for their
frost-bitten heroes. Colonel Rolleston had frequently expressed a
profound contempt for this mania, refusing to perceive any more exalted
motive for it than a desire to follow their partners. So his horror may
be imagined when his own daughter, whom he had always credited with a
certain amount of sense, thus enrolled herself in the ranks of these fair
enthusiasts.

Cecil allowed the first torrent of words to expend itself, but, in reply
to the contemptuous query of "What earthly use could she be?" reiterated
the fact of her having received a certificate of competency from the
hospital, and adding, that as five of the sisterhood were shortly to be
taken out to Scutari, it would be easy for her to accompany them as a
volunteer. Then, evading further discussion by leaving the room, she
calmly left the idea to work.

It was not certainly innate love of the occupation that had made Cecil so
diligent an attendant of the accident ward. At first she shuddered and
faltered at the simplest operation in which her assistance was called
for, but it was essential to test her own nerve before dressing gun-shot
wounds, besides which, a certificate from the hospital would much
facilitate her chance of being taken out to Scutari. And, moreover, she
was desperately unhappy, and rushed into anything to escape from herself.

I don't know how it was that Cecil prevailed in the end. A year ago, if
she had proposed such a thing, Colonel Rolleston would have a considered
her a fit subject for a _maison de sante_, but he had been thinking for
some time that his daughter was "odd." She was evidently turning out one
of those unmanageable beings, an eccentric woman. Of age, and with an
independent income, if baulked in this, she might only do something else
equally perverse, and, though a most extraordinary fancy for a girl so
brought up, he would not oppose it further.

And then Cecil, when she had got her wish, with a strange inconsistency
seemed almost inclined to give it up again. But the Colonel, being in
ignorance of her vacillating purpose, took her passage in the same ship
as the other nurses.

Work enough was there for every one when that vessel reached its
destination. The battle of the Alma had just been fought, and the wounded
were being brought in daily to Scutari.

In the mean time, Colonel Rolleston had sailed with his regiment, and
Mrs. Rolleston fell into such a state of nervous depression, that Cecil
saw it would be cruel to abandon her--another opportunity for going out
would soon occur, and defering her journey till then, she remained at
home to fulfil the more obvious duty of supporting the sinking spirits
of her step-mother.

And so passed many weary weeks. The battle of the Alma had been won, and
none of their belongings had appeared in the long list of killed and
wounded. Mrs. Rolleston, becoming more accustomed to suspense, bore up
with greater fortitude. Letters from the seat of war were, of course,
waited for with fearful anxiety, and on the few and far between occasions
when these arrived, they were all comparatively happy.

One evening Cecil was sitting alone in her own room, and, being very
tired after a long day at the hospital, dropped asleep in her chair. She
awoke with a feeling of deadly chilliness. The moon was shining into the
room, and the figure of Bertie Du Meresq, keen clearly by its rays, was
standing quietly gazing at her.

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