Works of Ellen Wood, page 957
“How do I know it? — why, common sense tells me,” stormed the Major. “I have not heard a word about Level, except what Blanche says.”
“Is he in Holles Street?”
“Not now. He gave up the rooms a week ago, and went down to Marshdale, his place in Surrey. He is laid up there, having managed to jam his knee against a gatepost; his horse swerved in going through it. A man I met to day, a friend of Level’s, told me so. To go back to Blanche. She opened out an indignant tale to me, when I got home just now and found her there, of what she had heard in Holles Street. ‘Serve you right, my dear,’ I said to her: ‘a wife has no business to be looking at her husband through a telescope. If a man chose to fill his rooms with wild tigers, it would not be his wife’s province to complain, provided he kept her out of reach of their claws.’ ‘But what am I to do?’ cried Blanche. ‘You must return to France, or wherever else you came from,’ I answered. ‘That I never will: I shall go down to Marshdale, to Lord Level,’ asserted Blanche, looking as I had never seen her look before. ‘You can’t go there,’ I said: ‘you must not attempt it.’ ‘I tell you, papa, I will go,’ she cried, her eyes flashing. I never knew she had so much passion in her, Ravensworth: Level must have changed her nature. ‘I will have an explanation from Lord Level,’ she continued. ‘Rather than live on as I am living now, I will demand a separation.’ — Now, did you put that into her head?” broke off the Major, looking at Mr. Ravensworth.
“I do not think you know what you are saying, Major Carlen. Should I be likely to advise Lady Level to separate from her husband?”
“Someone has; such an idea would never enter Blanche’s head unless put there. ‘You must lend me the means to go down,’ she went on. ‘I am quite without money, through paying the bill at the hotel: Mr. Ravensworth had partly to supply my travelling expenses.’ ‘Then more fool Ravensworth for doing it,’ said I; and more fool you were,” repeated the Major.
“Anything more, Major?”
“The idea of my lending her money to take her down to Marshdale! And she’d be cunning to get money from me, just now, for I am out at all pockets. The last supplies I had came from Level; I wrote to him when he was abroad. By Jove! I would not cross him now for the universe.”
“The selfish old sinner!” thought Mr. Ravensworth — and nearly said so aloud.
“Let me finish; she’ll be here in a minute; she said she should come and apply to you. ‘Does your husband beat you, or ill-treat you?’ I asked her. ‘No,’ said she, shaking her head in a proud fury; ‘even I would not submit to that. Will you lend me some money, papa?’ she asked again. ‘No, I won’t,’ I said. ‘Then I’ll borrow it from Mr. Ravensworth,’ she cried, and ran upstairs to put her bonnet on. So then I thought it was time to come too, and explain. Mind you don’t supply her with any, Ravensworth.”
“What pretext can I have for refusing?”
“Pretext be shot!” irritably returned the Major. “Tell her you won’t, as I do. I forbid you to lend her any. There she is! What a passionate knock! Been blundering up wrong turnings, I dare say.”
Lady Level came in, looking tired, heated, frightened. Mr. Ravensworth took her hand.
“You have been walking here!” he said. “It is not right that Lady Level should be abroad in London streets at night, and alone.”
“What else am I to do without money?” she returned hysterically.
“I sent the servants and the luggage to an hotel this morning, and gave them the few shillings I had left.”
“Do sit down and calm yourself. All this is truly distressing.”
Calm herself! The emotion, so long pent up, broke forth into sobs. “Yes, it is distressing. I come to England and I find no home; I am driven about from pillar to post, insulted everywhere; I have to walk through the streets, like any poor, helpless girl. Is it right that it should be so?”
“You have brought it all upon yourself, my lady,” cried Major Carlen, coming forward from a dark corner.
She turned with a start. “So you are here, papa! Then I hope you have entered into sufficient explanation to spare it to me.”
“I have told Ravensworth of your fine exploit, in going to Lord Level’s rooms: and he agrees with me that no one except an inexperienced child would have done it.”
“The truth, if you please, Major Carlen,” struck in Mr. Ravensworth.
“And that what you heard or met with — though as to what it was I’m sure I’m all in a fog about — served you right for going,” continued the unabashed Major.
Lady Level threw back her head, the haughty crimson dyeing her cheeks. “I went there expecting to find my husband; was that an inexperienced or a childish action?”
“Yes, it was,” roared the Major, completely losing his temper, and showing his fierce teeth. “When men are away from their wives, they fall back into bachelor habits. If they please to turn their sanctums into smoking dens, or boxing dens, or what not, are you to come hunting them up, as I say, with a spyglass that magnifies at both ends?”
“Good men have no need to keep their wives away from them.”
The Major gave his nose a twist. “Good men? — bad men? — where’s the difference? The good have their wives under their thumb, and the bad haven’t, that’s all.”
“For shame, papa!”
“Tie Lord Level to your apron-string, and keep him there as long as you can,” fired the Major; “but don’t ferret him up when he is out for a holiday.”
“Did I want to ferret up Lord Level?” she retorted. “I went there because I thought it was his temporary home and would be mine. Why did he date his letters thence?”
“There it all lies,” cried the Major, changing his tone to one of wrath against the peer. “Better he had dated from the top of the Monument. It is surprising what mistakes men make sometimes. But how was he to think you would come over against his expressed will? You say he had bade you stop there until he could fetch you.”
Lady Level would not reply: the respect due to Major Carlen as her step-father was not in the ascendant just then. Turning to Mr. Ravensworth, she requested the loan of sufficient funds to take her down to Marshdale.
“I tell you, Blanche, you must not go there,” interrupted the Major. “Better not. Lord Level does not receive strangers at Marshdale.”
“Strangers!” emphatically repeated Lady Level.
“Or wives either. They are the same as strangers in a case such as this. I assure you Level told me, long before he married you, that Marshdale was a little secluded place, no establishment kept up in it, except an old servant or two; that he never received company down there, and should never take you to it. Remain at the hotel with your servants, if you will not come to my house, Blanche — there’s only a charwoman in it at present, as you know. Then write to Level and let him know that you are there.”
“Lady Level had better stay here tonight, at all events,” put in Arnold Ravensworth. “My wife is expecting her to do so.”
“Ay,” acquiesced the old Major: “and write to Marshdale tomorrow, Blanche.”
“I go down to Marshdale tomorrow,” she replied in tones of determination. “It is too late to go tonight. The old servants that wait upon Lord Level can wait upon me: and if there are none, I will wait upon him myself. Go there I will, and have an understanding. And, unless Lord Level can explain away the aspect that things have taken, I — I — I — —”
“Of all the imbeciles that ever gave utterance to folly, you are the worst,” was the Major’s complimentary retort, when she broke down. “Madam, do you know that you are a peeress of the realm?” he added pompously.
“I do not forget it.”
“And you would stand in your own light! You have carriages and finery; you are to be presented next season; you will then have a house in town: what does the earth contain more that you can want?”
“Happiness,” said Lady Level.
“Happiness!” repeated the Major, in genuine astonishment. “A pity but you had married a country curate and found it, then. Arnold Ravensworth, you must not lend Lady Level the money she desires; you shall not speed her on this insane journey.”
Mr. Ravensworth approached him, and spoke in low tones. “Do you know of any existing reason that may render it inexpedient for her to go there?”
“I know nothing about it,” replied the Major, too angry to lower his voice; “absolutely nothing. The Queen and all the princesses might pay it a visit, for aught I know of any reason to the contrary. But it is not Lady Level’s place to follow her husband about in this clandestine manner. If he wants her there, he will send for her, once he knows that she is in London. The place is not much more than a farm, I believe, and used to be a hunting-box in the late Lord Level’s time.”
“Papa, I hope you will forgive me for running counter to your advice — but I shall certainly go down into Surrey tomorrow.”
“I wash my hands of it altogether,” said the angry Major.
“And you must lend me the money, Arnold.”
“I will not refuse you,” was his answer: “and I cannot dictate to you; but I think it would be better for you to remain here, and let Lord Level know that you are coming.”
Lady Level shook her head. “Good advice, Arnold, no doubt, and I thank you; all the same, I shall go down as I have said.”
“You will be very much to blame, sir, if you help on this mad scheme by so much as a sixpence,” spoke the Major.
“Papa, listen to a word of common sense,” she interposed. “I could go to a dozen places tomorrow, and get any amount of money. I could go to Lord Level’s agents, and say I am Lady Level, and they would supply me. I could go to Mr. Brightman, and he would supply me — Charles Strange is in Paris again. I could go to other places. But I prefer to have it from Mr. Ravensworth, and save myself trouble and annoyance. It is not a pleasant thing for a peeress of the realm — as you just now put it — to go about borrowing a five-pound note,” she concluded with a faint smile.
“Very well, Blanche. If ill comes of this wild step of yours, remember you were warned against it. I can say no more.”
Gathering up his cloak as he spoke, Major Carlen threw it over his shoulders, and went forth, muttering, into the night.
Mr. Ravensworth called his wife, and she took Lady Level upstairs to a hastily-prepared chamber. Sitting down in a low chair, and throwing off her bonnet, Lady Level, worn out with all the excitement she had gone through, burst into a flood of hysterical tears.
“Tell me all about it,” said Mary Ravensworth soothingly, drawing the poor wearied head to rest on her shoulder.
“They meant to stop me from going down to my husband, and I will go,” sobbed Blanche half defiantly. “If he has met with an accident, and is ill, I ought to be there.”
“Of course you ought,” said Mary warmly. “But what is all the trouble about? — And what was it that you heard, and did not like, in Holles Street?”
“Oh, never mind that,” said Blanche, colouring furiously. “That is what I am going to ask my husband to explain.”
Upon Lady Level’s arrival in London that morning, she sent her servants and luggage to an hotel, and drove straight to Portland Place herself: where Mr. and Mrs. Ravensworth’s servants supplied her with breakfast. Afterwards, she went to Holles Street, arriving there about ten o’clock; walked into the passage, for the house door was open, was met by a young person in green, and inquired for Lord Level.
“Lord Level’s not here now, ma’am,” was the answer, as she showed Blanche into a parlour. “He has been gone about a week.”
“Gone about a week!” repeated Blanche, completely taken back; for she had pictured him as lying at the place disabled.
“About that time, ma’am. He and the lady left together.”
Blanche stared, and collected her scattered senses. “What lady?” she asked.
The young person in green considered. “Well, ma’am, I forget the name just now; those foreign names are hard to remember. His lordship called her Nina. A very handsome lady, she was — Italian, I think — with long gold earrings.”
Lady Level’s heart began to beat loudly. “May I ask if you are Mrs. Pratt?” she inquired, knowing that to be the name of the landlady.
“Dear me, no, ma’am; Mrs. Pratt’s my aunt; I’m up here on a visit to her from the country. She is gone out to do her marketings. Lord Level was going down to his seat in Surrey, we understood, when he left here.”
“Was the Italian lady going with him?”
The country girl — who was no doubt an inexperienced, simple country maiden, or she might not have talked so freely — shook her head. “We don’t know anything about that, ma’am: she might have been. She was related to my lord — his sister-in-law, I think he called her to Mrs. Pratt — or some relation of that sort.”
Blanche walked to the window and stood still for a moment, looking into the street, getting up her breath. “Did the lady stay with Lord Level all the time he was here?” she questioned, presently.
“Oh no, ma’am; she came only the day before he went away. Or, stay — the day but one before, I think it was. Yes; for I know they were out together nearly all the intervening day. Mrs. Pratt thought at his lordship’s solicitor’s. It was about six o’clock in the evening when she first arrived. My lord had spoken to Mrs. Pratt that day in his drawing-room, saying he was expecting a relative from Italy for a day or two, and could we let her have a bedroom, and any other accommodation she might need; and Mrs. Pratt said she would, for we were not full. A very nice lady she seemed to be, ma’am, and spoke English in a very pretty manner.”
Lady Level drew in her contemptuous lips. “Did Lord Level meet with any accident while he was here?”
“Accident, ma’am! Not that we heard of. He was quite well when he left.”
“Thank you,” said Blanche, turning away and drawing her mantle up with a shiver. “As Lord Level is not here, I will not intrude upon you further.”
Wishing the young person in green good-morning, she went away to Gloucester Place, feeling that she must scream or cry or fight the air. Blanche knew Major Carlen was about due in London, as his house was vacant again. Yes, the old charwoman said, the Major had got home the previous day, but he had just gone out. Would my lady (for she knew Blanche) like to walk in and wait until he returned?
My lady did so, and had to wait until evening. Then she partly explained to Major Carlen, and partly confused him; causing that gentleman to take up all kinds of free and easy ideas, as to the morals and manners of my Lord Level.
On the following morning Lady Level, pursuing her own sweet will, took train for Marshdale, leaving her servants behind her.
CHAPTER X.
THE HOUSE AT MARSHDALE.
It was a gloomy day, not far off the gloomy month of November, and it was growing towards mid-day, when a train on a small line, branching from the direct London line, drew up at the somewhat insignificant station of Upper Marshdale. A young and beautiful lady, without attendants, descended from a first-class carriage.
“Any luggage, ma’am?” inquired a porter, stepping up to her.
“A small black bag; nothing else.”
The bag was found in the van, and placed on the platform. A family, who also appeared to have arrived at their destination, closed round the van and were tumultuous over a missing trunk, and the lady drew back and accosted a stolid-looking lad, dressed in the railway uniform.
“How far is it to Marshdale?”
“Marshdale! Why, you be at Marshdale,” returned the boy, in sulky tones.
“I mean Marshdale House.”
“Marshdale House? — That be my Lord Level’s place,” said the boy, still more sulkily. “It be a matter of two mile.”
“Are there any carriages to be hired?”
“There’s one — a fly; he waits here when the train comes in.”
“Where is it to be found?”
“It stands in the road, yonder. But if ye wants the fly, it’s of no use wanting. It have been booked by them folks squabbling over their boxes: they writed here yesterday for it to be ready for ‘em.”
The more civil porter now came up, and the lady appealed to him. He confirmed the information that there was only this one conveyance to be had, and the family had secured it. Perhaps, he added, the lady might like to wait until they had done with it.
The lady shook her head impatiently, and decided to walk. “Can you come with me to carry my bag and to show me the way?” she asked of the surly boy.
The surly boy, willing or unwilling, had to acquiesce, and they set off to walk. Upon emerging from the station, he came to a standstill.
“Now, which way d’you mean to go?” began he, facing round upon his companion. “There’s the road way, and it’s plaguy long; two mile, good; and there’s the field way, and it’s a sight nearer.”
“Is it as good as the road?”
“It’s gooder — barring the bull. He runs at everybody. And he tosses ‘em, if he can catch ‘em.”
Not caring to encounter so objectionable an animal, the lady chose the road; and the boy strode on before her, bag in hand. It was downhill all the way. In due time they reached Marshdale House, which lay in a hollow. It was a low, straggling, irregular structure, built of dark red brick, with wings and gable ends, and must originally have looked more like a comfortable farm-house than a nobleman’s seat. But it had been added to at various periods, without any regard to outward appearance or internal regularity. It was exceedingly retired, and a very large garden surrounded the house, encompassed by high walls and dense trees.
The walls were separated by a pair of handsome iron gates, and a small doorway stood beside them. A short, straight avenue, overhung by trees, led to the front entrance of the house. The surly boy, turning himself and his bag round, pushed backwards against the small door, sent it flying, and branched off into a side-path.
“Is not that the front-door?” said the lady, trying to arrest him.
“‘Tain’t no manner of use going to it,” replied the imperturbable boy, marching on. “The old gentleman and lady gets out o’ the way, and the maids in the kitchen be deaf, I think. Last time I came up here with a parcel, I rung at it till I was tired, and nobody heard.”
