Uncle Max Chapter 41

'AT FIVE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING'

I passed a wakeful and anxious night, pondering over this strange recital that seemed to me to corroborate Max's account. I had no doubt in my own mind as to the treachery that had alienated these two hearts. I knew too well the subtle power of the smooth false tongue that had done this mischief; but the motive for all this evil-doing baffled me. 'What is her reason for trying to separate them?' I asked myself, but always fruitlessly. 'Why does she dislike this poor girl, who has never harmed her? Why does she render her life miserable? It is she who has sown discord between Mr. Hamilton and myself. Ah, I know that well, but I am powerless to free either him or myself at present. Still, one can detect a motive for that. She has always disliked me, and she is jealous of her position. If Mr. Hamilton married she could not remain in his house; no wife could brook such interference. She knows this, and it is her interest to prevent him from marrying. All this is clear enough; but in the case of poor Gladys?' But here again was the old tangle and perplexity.

I was not surprised that Gladys slept little that night: no doubt agitating thoughts kept her restless. Towards morning she grew quieter, and sank into a heavy sleep that I knew would last for two or three hours. I had counted on this, and had laid my plan accordingly.

I must see Uncle Max at once, and she must not know that I had seen him. In her weak state any suspense must be avoided. The few words that I might permit myself to say to him must be spoken without her knowledge.

I knew that in the summer Max was a very early riser. He would often be at work in his garden by six, and now and then he would start for a long country walk,—'just to see Dame Earth put the finishing-touches to her toilet,' he would say. But five had not struck when I slipped into Chatty's room half dressed. The girl looked at me with round sleepy eyes as I called her in a low voice.

'Chatty, it is very early, not quite five, but I want you to get up and dress yourself as quietly as you can and come into the turret-room. I am going out, and I do not want to wake anybody, and you understand the fastenings of the front door. I am afraid I should only bungle at them.'

'You are going out, ma'am!' in an astonished voice. Chatty was thoroughly awake now.

'Yes, I am sorry to disturb you, but I do not want Miss Gladys to miss me. I shall not be long, but it is some business that I must do.' And then I crept back to the turret-room.

Leah slept in a little room at the end of the passage, and I was very unwilling that any unusual sound should reach her ears. Chatty seemed to share this feeling, for when she joined me presently she was carrying her shoes in her hands. 'I can't help making a noise,' she said apologetically; 'and so I crept down the passage in my stockings. If you are ready, ma'am, I will come and let you out.'

I stood by, rather nervously, as Chatty manipulated the intricate fastenings. I asked her to replace them as soon as I had gone, and to come down in about half an hour and open the door leading to the garden. 'I will return that way, and they will only think I have taken an early stroll,' I observed. I was rather sorry to resort to this small subterfuge before Chatty, but the girl had implicit trust in me, and evidently thought no harm; she only smiled and nodded; and as I lingered for a moment on the gravel path I heard the bolt shoot into its place.

It was only half-past five, and I walked on leisurely. I had not been farther than the garden for three weeks, and the sudden sense of freedom and space was exhilarating.

It was a lovely morning. A dewy freshness seemed on everything; the birds were singing deliciously; the red curtains were drawn across the windows of the Man and Plough; a few white geese waddled slowly across the green; some brown speckled hens were feeding under the horse-trough; a goat browsing by the roadside looked up, quite startled, as I passed him, and butted slowly at me in a reflective manner. There was a scent of sweet-brier, of tall perfumy lilies and spicy carnations from the gardens. I looked at the windows of the houses I passed, but the blinds were drawn, and the bees and the flowers were the only waking things there. The village seemed asleep, until I turned the corner, and there, coming out of the vicarage gate, was Uncle Max himself. He was walking along slowly, with his old felt hat in his hand, reading his little Greek Testament as he walked, and the morning sun shining on his uncovered head and his brown beard.

He did not see me until I was close to him, and then he started, and an expression of fear crossed his face.

'Ursula, my dear, were you coming to the vicarage? Nothing is wrong, I hope?' looking at me anxiously.

'Wrong! what should be wrong on such a morning?' I returned playfully. 'Is it not delicious? The air is like champagne; only champagne never had the scent of those flowers in it. The world is just a big dewy bouquet. It is good only to be alive on such a morning.'

Max put his Greek Testament in his pocket and regarded me dubiously.

'Were you not coming to meet me, then? It is not a quarter to six yet. Rather early for an aimless stroll, is it not, my dear?'

'Oh yes, I was coming to meet you,' I returned carelessly. 'I thought you would be at work in the garden. Max, you are eying me suspiciously: you think I have something important to tell you. Now you must not be disappointed; I have very little to say, and I cannot answer questions; but there is one thing, I have found out all you wish to know about Captain Hamilton.'

It was sad to see the quick change in his face,—the sudden cloud that crossed it at the mention of the man whom he regarded as his rival. He did not speak; not a question came from his lips; but he listened as though my next word might be the death-warrant to his hopes.

'Max, do not look like that: there is no cause for fear. It is a great secret, and you must never speak of it, even to me,—but Lady Betty is engaged to her cousin Claude.'

For a moment he stared at me incredulously. 'Impossible! you must have been deceived,' I heard him mutter.

'On the contrary, I leave other people to be duped,' was my somewhat cool answer. 'You need not doubt my news: Gladys is my informant: only, as I have just told you, it is a great secret. Mr. Hamilton is not to know yet, and Gladys writes most of the letters. Poor little Lady Betty is in constant terror that she will be found out, and they are waiting until Captain Hamilton has promotion and comes home in November.'

He had not lost one word that I said: as he stood there, bareheaded, in the morning sunshine that was tingeing his beard with gold, I heard his low, fervent 'Thank God! then it was not that;' but when he turned to me his face was radiant, his eyes bright and vivid; there was renewed hope and energy in his aspect.

'Ursula, you have come like the dove with the olive-branch. Is this really true? It was good of you to come and tell me this.'

'I do not see the goodness, Max.'

'Well, perhaps not; but you have made me your debtor. I like to owe this to you,—my first gleam of hope. Now, you must tell me one thing. Does Miss Darrell know of this engagement?'

'She does.'

'Stop a moment: I feel myself getting confused here. I am to ask no questions: you can tell me nothing more. But I must make this clear to myself: How long has she known, Ursula? a day? a week?'

'Suppose you substitute the word months,' I observed scornfully. 'I know no dates, but Miss Darrell has most certainly been acquainted with her cousin's engagement for months.'

'Oh, this is worse than I thought,' he returned, in a troubled tone. 'This is almost too terrible to believe. She has known all I suffered on that man's account, and yet she never undeceived me. Can women be so cruel? Why did she not come to me and say frankly, "I have made a mistake; I have unintentionally misled you: it is Lady Betty, not Gladys, who is in love with her cousin"? Good heavens! to leave me in this ignorance, and never to say the word that would put me out of my misery!'

I was silent, though silence was a torture to me. Even, now the extent of Miss Darrell's duplicity had not clearly dawned on him. He complained that she had left him to suffer through ignorance of the truth; but the idea had not yet entered his mind that possibly she had deceived him from the first. 'Oh, the stupidity and slowness of these honourable men where a woman is concerned!' I groaned to myself; but my promise to Gladys kept me silent.

'It was too bad of her, was it not?' he said, appealing to me for sympathy; but I turned a deaf ear to this.

'Max, confess that you were wrong not to have taken my advice and gone down to Bournemouth: you might have spared yourself months of suspense.'

'Do you mean—' And then he reddened and stroked his beard nervously; but I finished his sentence for him: he should not escape what I had to say to him.

'It is so much easier to come to an understanding face to face; but you would not take my advice, and the opportunity is gone. Gladys is in the turret-room: you could not gain admittance to her without difficulty: what you have to say must be said by letter; but you might trust that letter to me, Max.'

He understood me in a moment. I could see the quick look of joy in his eyes. I had not betrayed Gladys, I had adhered strictly to my word that I would only speak of Lady Betty's engagement; and with his usual delicacy Max had put no awkward questions to me: he had respected my scruples, and kept his burning curiosity to himself. But he would not have been a man if he had not read some deeper meaning under my silence: he told me afterwards that the happy look in my eyes told him the truth.

So he merely said very quietly, 'You were right, and I was wrong, Ursula: I own my fault. But I will write now: I owe Miss Hamilton some explanation. When the letter is ready, how am I to put it into your hands?'

'Oh,' I answered in a matter-of-fact way, as though we were speaking of some ordinary note, and it was not an offer of marriage from a penitent lover, 'when you have finished talking to Miss Darrell,—you will enjoy her conversation, I am sure, Max; it will be both pleasant and profitable,—you might mention casually that there was something you wanted to say to your niece Ursula, and would she kindly ask that young person to step down to you for a minute? and then, you see, that little bit of business will be done.'

'Yes, I see; but—' but here Max hesitated—'but the answer, Ursula?'

'Oh, the answer!' in an off-hand manner; 'you must not be looking for that yet. My patient must not be hurried or flurried: you must give her plenty of time. In a day or two—well, perhaps, I might find an early stroll conducive to my health; these mornings are so beautiful; and—Nonsense, Max! I would do more than this for you'; for quiet, undemonstrative Max had actually taken my hand and lifted it to his lips in token of his gratitude.

After this we walked back in the direction of Gladwyn, and nothing more was said about the letter. We listened to the rooks cawing from the elms, and we stood and watched a lark rising from the long meadow before Maplehurst and singing as though its little throat would burst with its concentrated ecstasy of song; and when I asked Max if he did not think the world more beautiful than usual that morning, he smiled, and suddenly quoted Tennyson's lines, in a voice musical with happiness:

'All the land in flowery squares,
Beneath a broad and equal-flowing wind,
Smelt of the coming summer, as one large cloud
Drew downward; but all else of heaven was pure
Up to the sun, and May from verge to verge,
And May with me from heel to heel.'

'Yes, but, Max, it is July now. The air is too mellow for spring. Your quotation is not quite apt.'

'Oh, you are realistic; but it fits well enough. Do you not remember how the poem goes on?

'The garden stretches southward. In the midst
A cedar spread its dark-green layers of shrub.
The garden-glasses shone, and momently
The twinkling laurel scattered silver lights.'

I always think of Gladwyn when I read that description.'

I laughed mischievously: 'I am sorry to leave you just as you are in a poetical vein; but I must positively go in. Good-bye, Max,' I felt I had lingered a little too long when I saw the blinds raised in Mr. Hamilton's study. But apparently the room was empty. I sauntered past it leisurely, and walked down the asphalt path. On my return I picked one or two roses, wet with dew. As I raised my head from gathering them I saw Leah standing at the side door watching me.

'Oh, it was you,' she grumbled. 'I thought one of those girls had left the door unlocked. A pretty piece of carelessness that would have been to reach the master's ears! You are out early, ma'am.'

I was somewhat surprised at these remarks, for Leah had made a point of always passing me in sullen silence since I had refused her admittance into the sick-room. Her manner was hardly civil now, but I thought it best to answer her pleasantly.

'Yes, Leah, I have taken my stroll early. It was very warm last night, and I did not sleep well. There is nothing so refreshing as a morning walk after a bad night. I am going to take these roses to Miss Gladys.' But she tossed her head and muttered something about people being mighty pleasant all of a sudden. And, seeing her in this mood, I walked away. She was a bad-tempered, coarse-natured woman, and I could not understand why Mr. Hamilton seemed so blind to her defects. 'I suppose he never sees her; that is one reason,' I thought, as I carried up my roses.

Gladys was still asleep. I had finished my breakfast, and had helped Chatty arrange the turret-room for the day, when I heard the long-drawn sigh that often preluded Gladys's waking. I hastened to her side, and found her leaning on her elbow looking at my roses.

'They used to grow in the vicarage garden,' she said wistfully. 'Dark crimson ones like these. I have been dreaming.' And then she stopped and flung herself back wearily on her pillow. 'Why must one ever wake from such dreams?' she finished, with the old hopeless ring in her voice.

'What was the dream, dear?' I asked, smoothing her hair caressingly. It was fine, soft hair, like an infant's, and its pale gold tint, without much colour or gloss, always reminded me of baby hair. I have heard people find fault with it. But when it was unbound and streaming in wavy masses over her shoulders it was singularly beautiful. She used to laugh sometimes at my admiration of her straw-coloured tresses, or lint-white locks, as she called them. But indeed there was no tint that quite described the colour of Gladys's hair.

'Oh, I was walking in some fool's paradise or other. There were roses in it like these. Well, another blue day is dawning, Ursula, and has to be lived through somehow. Will you help me to get up now?' But, though she tried after this to talk as usual, I could see the old restlessness was on her. A sort of feverish reaction had set in. She could settle to nothing, take pleasure in nothing; and I was not surprised that Mr. Hamilton grumbled a little when he paid his morning visit.

'How is this? You are not quite so comfortable to-day, Gladys,' he asked, in a dissatisfied tone. 'Is your head aching again?'

She reluctantly pleaded guilty to the headache. Not that it was much, she assured him; but I interrupted her.

'The fact is, she sat up too late last night, and I let her talk too much and over-exert herself.' For I saw he was determined to come to the bottom of this.

'I think the nurse was to blame there,' he returned, darting a quick, uneasy look at me. I knew what he was thinking: Miss Darrell's speech, that Miss Garston always excited Gladys, must have come into his mind.

'If the nurse deserves blame she will take it meekly,' I replied. 'I know I was wrong to let her talk so much. I must enforce extra quiet to-day.' And then he said no more. I do not think he found it easy to give me the scolding that I deserved. And, after all, I had owned my fault.

I had just gone out in the passage an hour later, to carry away a bowl of carnations that Gladys found too strong in the room, when I heard Uncle Max's voice in the hall. The front door was open, and he had entered without ringing. I was glad of this. The door of the turret-room was closed, and Gladys would not hear his voice. I should manage to slip down without her noticing the fact.

So I busied myself in Lady Betty's room until I heard the drawing-room door open and close again, and I knew Miss Darrell was coming in search of me. I went out to meet her, with Gladys's empty luncheon-tray in my hands. I thought she looked rather cross and put out, as though her interview with Uncle Max had disappointed her.

'Mr. Cunliffe is in the drawing-room, and he would like to speak to you for a moment.' she said, in a voice that showed me how unwilling she was to bring me the message. 'I told him that you never cared to be disturbed in the morning, as you were so busy; but he was peremptory.'

'I am never too busy to see Uncle Max: he knows that,' I returned quickly. 'Will you kindly allow me a few moments alone with him?' for she was actually preparing to follow me, but after this request she retired sulkily into her own room.

I found Max standing in the middle of the room, looking anxiously towards the door: the moment it closed behind me he put a thick white envelope in my hand.

'There it is, Ursula,' he said nervously: 'will you give it to her as soon as possible? I have been literally on thorns the last quarter of an hour. Miss Darrell would not take any of my hints that I wished to see you: so I was obliged at last to say that I could not wait another moment, and that I must ask her to fetch you at once.'

'Poor Max! I can imagine your feelings; but I have it safe here,' tapping my apron pocket. 'But you must not go just yet.' And I beckoned him across the room to the window that overlooked a stiff prickly shrub.

He looked at me in some surprise. 'We are alone, Ursula.'

'Yes, I know: but the walls have ears in this house: one is never safe near the conservatory: there are too many doors. Tell me, Max, how have you got on with Miss Darrell this morning?'

'I was praying hard for patience all the time,' he replied, half laughing. 'It was maddening to see her sitting there so cool and crisp in her yellow tea-gown—well, what garment was it?' as I uttered a dissenting ejaculation: 'something flimsy and aesthetic. I thought her smooth sentences would never stop.'

'Did she notice any change in your manner to her?'

'I am afraid so, for I saw her look at me quite uneasily more than once. I could not conceal that I was terribly bored. I have no wish to be discourteous to a lady, especially to one of my own church workers; but after what has passed I find it very difficult to forgive her.'

This was strong language on Max's part. I could see that as a woman he could hardly tolerate her, but he could not bring himself to condemn her even to me. He hardly knew yet what he had to forgive: neither he nor Gladys had any real idea of the treachery that had separated them.

Max would not stay many minutes, he was so afraid of Miss Darrell coming into the room again. I did rather an imprudent thing after that. Max was going to the Maberleys', for the colonel was seriously ill, so I begged him to go the garden way, and I kept him for a moment under the window of the turret-room.

I saw him glance up eagerly, almost hungrily, but the blinds were partially down, and there was only a white curtain flapping in the summer breeze.

But an unerring instinct told me that the sound of Max's voice would be a strong cordial to the invalid, it was so long since she had heard or seen him. As we sauntered under the oak-trees I knew Gladys would be watching us.

On my return to the room I found her sitting bolt upright in her arm-chair, grasping the arms; there were two spots of colour on her cheeks; she looked nervous and excited.

'I saw you walking with him, Ursula; he looked up, but I am glad he could not see me. Did—did he send me any message?' in a faltering voice.

'Yes, he sent you this.' And I placed the thick packet on her lap. 'Miss Hamilton,'—yes, it was her own name: he had written it. I saw her look at it, first incredulously, then with dawning hope in her eyes; but before her trembling hands could break the old-fashioned seal with which he had sealed it I had noiselessly left the room.