Mr. Alexander Milliken arrived punctually upon the morrow.
He was a tall, gaunt, weak-kneed man, with a prominent nose and eyes that required the constant use of glasses. Harriet Brandt could not at first determine his relationship to the Baroness, who received him with one of the rough kisses she was wont to bestow on Bobby and herself.
He established himself in the Red House as if he had been a member of the family, and Harriet frequently surprised him engaged in confidential talk with their hostess, which was immediately stopped on her arrival. She perceived that Miss Wynward had an evident dislike for the new-comer, and never addressed him but in the most formal manner and when it was strictly necessary. The Baroness did not go so often to the manufactory after Mr. Milliken’s arrival, but often shut herself up with him in a room with locked doors, after which Mr. Milliken would be much occupied with secretarial work, writing letters with his short-sighted eyes held close to the paper. He was a source of much curiosity to Harriet Brandt, but he need not have been. He was only that very common and unclean animal—the jackal to Madame Gobelli’s lion.
He was poor and she was rich, so he did all the dirty work which she was unable, or afraid, to do for herself. Mr. Milliken called himself an author and an actor, but he was neither. On account of his accidental likeness to a popular actor, he had once been engaged to play the part of his double at a West-end theatre, but with the waning of the piece, Mr. Milliken’s fame evaporated, and he had never obtained an engagement since. His assumed authorship was built on the same scale. He had occasionally penned anonymous articles for newspapers, which had been inserted without pay, but no one in the literary or any other world knew him by name or by fame. Of late he had attached himself to Madame Gobelli, writing her letters for her (of doing which she was almost incapable), and occasionally dabbling in dirtier work, which she was too cunning to do for herself. Miss Wynward could have told tales of abusive epistles which had been sent through his hand to people, whom the Baroness considered had offended her—of anonymous letters also, which if traced would have landed them both in the County Court. But Mr. Milliken was out at elbows. He found it very convenient to hang about the Red House for weeks together, to the saving of his pocket—receiving douceurs sometimes in actual coin of the realm at the hands of his benefactress, and making himself useful to her in any way in return. Lately, notwithstanding her grand promises to Harriet Brandt of introductions to lords, and princes, the Baroness had thought it would be a very good thing for her favourite jackal if the young heiress took a fancy for him, and gave him full leave in consequence to go in and conquer if he could. She would praise his appearance and his qualities to the girl, before his very face—calling attention to the fact of what a clever creature he was, and what a fine figure he possessed, and how well he was connected, and advising her in her coarse fashion to cultivate his acquaintance better. She even descended to having visions in the broad daylight, and prophesying the future, for them both.
“’Arriet!” she would suddenly exclaim, “I see a man standing be’ind you!”
“O! gracious!” the girl would reply, jumping in her seat, “I wish you would not say such things, Madame!”
“Rubbish! Why shouldn’t I say ’em, if they’re there? Stop a bit! Let me see ’im plainly! ’E’s got dark ’air, slightly sprinkled with grey—a fine nose—deep-set eyes, with bushy eyebrows—no ’air on ’is face—a tall figure, and long ’ands and feet! ’E’s living in this world too! Do you know anybody that answers to the description?”
“No!” replied the girl, though she recognised it at once as being meant for Mr. Milliken.
“Well! if you don’t know ’im now, you will before long, but it’s my belief you’ve met. And mark my words! you and ’e will be closely connected in life! I shouldn’t wonder if ’e turns out to be your future ’usband!”
“O! nonsense!” exclaimed Harriet, trying to speak lightly, “I’m not going to marry anybody, thank you, Madame Gobelli, unless it’s one of the princes you promised to introduce me to.”
“O! princes are all rubbish!” replied the Baroness, forgetting her former assertions, “they’ve none of them got any money, and yours wouldn’t go far enough for ’em. They want a gal with something like five thousand a year at ’er back. I’d rather ’ave an Englishman any day, than a dirty little German prince!”
But Harriet Brandt was not the sort of woman to be forced into an intimacy against her will. Born under an hereditary curse, as she undoubtedly had been, and gifted with the fatal propensity of injuring, rather than benefiting those whom she took a fancy for, she was an epicure in her taste for her fellow creatures, and would not have permitted Mr. Alexander Milliken to take a liberty with her, had he been the last man left upon the earth. She avoided his society as much as it was possible to do, without being rude to her hostess, but as the Baroness was continually calling her to her side, it was difficult to do so. Meanwhile the days went on very differently from what she had anticipated when coming to the Red House. Bobby was languid and indifferent to everything but hanging about the place where she might have located herself—sitting on the sofa beside her, with his heavy head on her shoulder, and his weak arm wound about her waist. Miss Wynward feared he must have contracted some species of malaria at the seaside, and Harriet could see for herself that the lad was much altered from the time when they first met—the Baroness alone, either from ignorance or obstinacy, declaring that nothing ailed him but laziness, and she would give him the stick if he didn’t exert himself more. Sometimes Harriet took him out with her—for a drive into the country, or to a concert or matinée in London, but what was that compared to the entertainment of Royalty and Aristocracy, which she had been promised. And she had not heard a word from Captain Pullen, though her first letter of appeal had been succeeded by two or three more. Such a rebuff would have driven another girl to despondency or tears, but that was not the effect it had on Harriet Brandt. If you throw a bone to a tigress and then try to take it away, she does not weep—she fights for her prey. Harriet Brandt, deprived of the flatteries and attentions of Captain Pullen, did not weep either, but set her pretty teeth together, and determined in her own mind that if she were to give him up she would know the reason why. She was reckless—she did not care what she did to obtain it, but she would learn the truth of his defalcation if she travelled down to Aldershot for the purpose. She was in this mood one day, when the maidservant who answered the door came to tell her that a lady was in the drawing-room, and desired to see her. The Baroness had gone out that afternoon and taken Mr. Milliken with her, so that Harriet was alone. She eagerly demanded the name of her visitor.
“The lady didn’t give me her name,” replied the servant, “but she asked if Miss Brandt was at home, plain enough!”
“Go back and say that I will be with her in a minute!” said Harriet.
She had decided in her own mind that the stranger must be Margaret Pullen, bringing her, doubtless, some news of her brother-in-law. She only stayed to smoothe her hair, which was rather disordered from Bobby laying his head on her shoulder, before, with a heightened colour, she entered the drawing-room. What was her surprise to encounter, instead of Mrs. Pullen, Miss Leyton—Miss Leyton, who had been so reserved and proud with her at Heyst, and who even though she had sought her out at the Red House, looked as reserved and proud as before. Harriet advanced with an extended hand, but Elinor Leyton did not appear to see the action, as she coldly bowed and sank into her chair again.
Harriet was rather taken aback, but managed to stammer out,
“I am very glad to see you, Miss Leyton! I thought you and Mrs. Pullen had forgotten all about me since leaving Heyst.”
“We had not forgotten, Miss Brandt,” replied Elinor, “but we had a great deal of trouble to encounter in the death of Mrs. Pullen’s baby, and that put everything else for a while out of our minds. But—but—lately, we have had reason to remember your existence more forcibly than before!”
She spoke slowly and with an evident effort. She was as agitated as it was in her nature to be the while, but she did not show it outwardly. Elinor Leyton had at all times the most perfect command over herself. She was dressed on the present occasion with the utmost neatness and propriety, though she had left her home labouring under a discovery which had pierced her to the very soul. She was a woman who would have died upon the scaffold, without evincing the least fear.
“Reason to remember my existence!” echoed Harriet, “I do not understand you.”
“I think you soon will!” said Elinor, as she took three letters from her hand-bag and laid them on the table, “I do not think you can fail to recognise that handwriting, Miss Brandt!”
Harriet stooped down and read the address upon the envelopes. They were her own letters to Captain Pullen.
“How did you get these?” she demanded angrily, as she seized them in her hand. “Is thieving one of your proclivities, Miss Leyton?”
“No, Miss Brandt, thieving, as you elegantly put it, is not one of my proclivities! But Captain Pullen has been staying in the house of my father, Lord Walthamstowe, at Richmond, and left those letters behind him—thrown in the empty grate just as they are, a proof of how much he valued them! One of the housemaids, whilst setting his room in order after his departure, found them and brought them to me. So I determined that I would return them to your hands myself!”
“And have you read them?” demanded Harriet.
“I have read them! I considered it my duty!”
“Your duty!” replied the other, scornfully, “what duty is there in a mean, dishonourable action like that? What right had you to interfere with things that don’t belong to you? These letters concern myself and Captain Pullen alone!”
“I deny that, Miss Brandt! They concern me quite as much, if not more—Captain Pullen is my affianced husband! We are to be married in the spring!”
“I don’t believe it!” cried Harriet, starting to her feet. “A woman who would read letters not addressed to her, would say anything! You are not engaged to be married to Captain Pullen!”
“Indeed! And on what grounds do you refuse to believe my statement?”
“Because he made love to me all the time he was in Heyst! Because he used to kiss me and tell me again and again that I was the only woman who had ever touched his heart! Because he had arranged to follow the Baroness’s party to Brussels, only to be near me, and he would have done so, had you not prevented him!”
Her great eyes were blazing with indignation and mortified vanity—her slender hands were clenched—she looked as if she were about to spring upon her rival and tear her to pieces—whilst Miss Leyton sat there, calm and collected—and smiled at her ravings.
“You are quite mistaken,” she said after a pause, “I have never mentioned your name to Captain Pullen—I had no idea, until those letters fell into my hands, that he had so far forgotten what he owes to me, as to address you in any terms but those of mere acquaintanceship. But now that I do know, it must of course be put a stop to at once and for ever! It was to tell you so, that I came here this afternoon.”
“Put a stop to! Do you imagine that I am going to give up Captain Pullen at your request? You are vastly mistaken!”
“But you must—you shall!” exclaimed Elinor, getting (for her) quite excited. “He is engaged to marry me, and I will not allow him to keep up any communication with you! My decision is final, and you will be good enough to respect it!”
“Your decision is final!” cried Harriet in mocking tones. “Oh! indeed, is it? And what about Ralph’s decision? Does that count for nothing? What if Ralph refuses to give me up?”
Elinor rose to her feet, trembling with indignation at the other’s boldness.
“You shall not call him ‘Ralph’,” she exclaimed. “How dare you speak of a man who is nothing to you, in such familiar terms?”
“But is he nothing to me?” retorted Harriet, “and am I nothing to him? We must have that question answered first. Ralph told me to call him by his name, and he calls me Hally. How can you prevent our doing so? He loves me—he has told me so—and I shall write to him as often as I choose—yes! and I will take him from you, if I choose, and keep him into the bargain! What do you say to that?”
“I say that you are a bold, brazen girl, not fit for me to associate with, and that I refuse to be contaminated by your presence any longer! Let me go!”
She made an effort to gain the door, as she spoke, but Harriet barred her exit.
“No, no, Miss Leyton,” she said, “you don’t come here to insult me, and then leave before you have heard all I have to say to you! In the first place your assurance to-day is the first I ever heard of your being engaged to marry Captain Pullen. He didn’t take the trouble to make it public. He never mentioned you except to say what a cold, reserved, unpleasant nature you had, and how impossible it would be for a man with any human feeling to get on with you! That is what he thought! And he said it too, when he had his arm round my waist, and his face close to mine. And now he has come to England, I suppose he is afraid to carry on with me any more, for fear that you should hear of it! But I don’t mean to let him off so easily, I can tell you! He shall answer those letters, which you say he threw away in the grate, but which you are just as likely to have pilfered from his desk, before he is many days older!”
“You cannot make him answer them,” said Elinor, proudly, “whatever you may affirm!”
“Not on paper perhaps, but by word of mouth! I will take them back to him at Aldershot, and see whether he can deny what I have told when he is face to face with me!”
“Surely!—surely!—you would never proceed to so unmaidenly an extremity,” exclaimed Elinor, losing sight for a moment of her indignation in her horror at the idea. “You must not think of such a thing! You would create a scandal in the Camp! You would be despised for it ever after!”
“I can take care of myself!” replied Harriet, boldly, “you need not fear for me! And if even you do get your own way about this matter, you will have the satisfaction all your married life of knowing that your husband was a coward and a traitor to you, even during your engagement, and that you will never be able to trust him further than you can see him, to the end! If you can care for such a husband, take him, for I’m sure I wouldn’t. But he shall answer to me for all that!”
“Oh! Miss Brandt, let me go, pray let me go!” said Elinor in a tone of such unmistakeable pain, that the other involuntarily drew back, and let her push her way past her to the door.
As Miss Leyton disappeared, Harriet Brandt commenced to pace up and down the length of the drawing-room. It was not the swaying walk of disappointment and despair; it was determined and masterful, born of anger and a longing for revenge. All the Creole in her, came to the surface—like her cruel mother, she would have given over Ralph Pullen to the vivisecting laboratory, if she could. Her dark eyes rolled in her passion; her slight hands were clenched upon each other; and her crimson lips quivered with the inability to express all she felt. Bobby, glancing in upon her from the French windows which opened on the garden, crept to her side and tried to capture her clenched hands, and to keep her restless body still. But she threw him off, almost brutally. At that moment she was brutal.
“Leave me alone,” she exclaimed impatiently, “don’t touch me! Go away!”
“O! Hally,” the boy replied, sympathetically, “what is the matter? Has anyone offended you? Let me know! Let me try to comfort you! Or tell me what I shall do to help you.”
“Do!” cried the girl, contemptuously, “what could you do?—a baby tied to your mother’s apron-string! Leave me to myself, I say! I don’t want you, or anyone! I want to be alone! Boys are of no use! It requires a man to revenge a woman’s wrong!”
The lad, after one long look of bitter disappointment, walked quietly away from the spot, and hid his grief in some sequestered part of the garden. Hally despised him—she, who had kissed him and let him lay his head upon her shoulder and tell her all his little troubles—said he was of no use, when she stood in need of help and comfort! When, if she only knew it, he was ready to stand up in her defence against twenty men, if need be, and felt strong enough to defeat them all! But she had called him a baby, tied to his mother’s apron-strings. The iron entered into his very soul.
Meanwhile, Elinor Leyton, having blindly found her way out of the Red House, hailed a passing hansom, and gave the driver directions to take her to a certain number in Harley Street, where Margaret Pullen was staying with her godfather, Doctor Phillips. She knew no one else to whom she could go in this great trouble, which made her feel as if her life had suddenly been cut in two. Yet she made no outward moan. Most young women having kept a bold front, as she had done, towards the enemy, would have broken down, as soon as they found themselves alone. But Elinor Leyton was not in the habit of breaking down. As soon as she had started for her destination, she leaned her head upon the back of the cab, closed her eyes and set her teeth fast together. Her face grew deadly pale, and an observer would have noted the trembling of her lips, and the ball which rose and fell in her throat. But she uttered no sound, not even a sigh—her misery was too deep for words.
Since she had returned to London, Margaret Pullen had stayed with Doctor Phillips, for he had insisted that it should be so. The telegram which had conveyed to Colonel Pullen the news of his little daughter’s death, had been answered by one to say that he had applied for immediate leave, and should join his wife as soon as he received it. And Margaret was now expecting his arrival, every day—almost every hour. She looked very sad in her deep mourning dress, as she came forward to greet Elinor, but as soon as she caught sight of her visitor’s face, she forgot her own trouble in her womanly sympathy for her friend.
“My dear Elinor!” she exclaimed, “what has brought you to town? You have bad news for me—I can read it in your eyes. Nothing wrong with Ralph, I hope!”
She kissed the girl affectionately, and held her hand, but Elinor did not answer. She turned her white face towards her friend, and bit her lips hard, but the words would not come.
“You are suffering, my poor dear,” went on Margaret, tenderly, as she made her sit down, and removed her hat and cloak. “Can’t you trust me with your trouble? Haven’t I had enough of my own? Ah! cry, that’s better. God sends us tears, in order that our hearts may not break! And now, what is it? Is anyone ill at home?”
Elinor shook her head. The tears were rolling slowly one by one, down her marble cheeks, but she jerked them away as they came, as though it were a shame to weep.
After a long pause, she swallowed something in her throat and commenced in a husky voice:
“It concerns Ralph, Margaret! He has been untrue to me! All is over between us!”
“Oh! surely not!” said Margaret, “have you had a full explanation with him? Who told you he had been untrue? Has Ralph asked for a release from his engagement?”
“No! but he shall have it!”
She then went on to tell the story of the finding of Harriet Brandt’s letters in Captain Pullen’s grate—and of the interview she had had with the girl that afternoon.
“She did not attempt to deny it,” continued Elinor. “On the contrary she declared that he had made love to her all the time he was at Heyst—that he had said she was the only woman who had ever touched his heart, and that no man with human feelings could be happy with such a cold, reserved nature as mine! And if you could see her letters to him, Margaret—I wish I had not given them to her, but she snatched them from my hand—they were too dreadful! I never read such letters from a woman to a man. I did not know they could be written.”
“But, Elinor, it strikes me that all this time, you have only heard one side of the question. What does it signify what Miss Brandt may say? The only thing of importance to you is, what Ralph will say.”
“But there were her letters—they told their own story! They were full of nothing but ‘dearests’ and ‘darlings,’ and reminders of how he had embraced her in one place, and what he had said to her in another—such letters as I could not write to a man, if it were to save my life!”
“I can quite understand that! Miss Brandt and you possess two totally different natures. And cannot you understand that a girl like that, half educated, wholly ignorant of the usages of society, with a passionate undeveloped nature and a bold spirit, might write as you have described her doing, against the wishes of the recipient of her letters? You say that Ralph threw her epistles in the grate just as they were. Does that look as if he valued them, or felt himself to be guilty concerning their reception?”
“But, Margaret, you know he did make himself conspicuous with the Gobellis and Miss Brandt at Heyst! I think everyone noticed their intimacy!”
“I noticed it also, and I was very sorry for it, but, Elinor, my dear, it was partly your own fault! You were so much opposed to the idea of your engagement to Ralph being made public, that I feared it might lead to some contretemps. And then,” she continued gently, “don’t be offended if I say that your reserve with him, and your objection to anything like love-making on his part is in itself calculated to drive a young man to society he cares less for!”
“But—but—still—I love him!” said poor Elinor, with a tremendous effort.
“I know you do,” replied Margaret, kissing her again, “and better and more faithfully, perhaps, than half the women who show their love so openly—yet, men are but men, Elinor, and as a rule they do not believe in the affection which is never expressed by caresses and fond words.”
“Well! whether I have been right or wrong, it is over now,” said Miss Leyton, “and Ralph can go to Miss Brandt or anyone else he chooses for amusement. I shall never stand in his way, but I cannot brook an affront, so I shall write and release him from his promise to me at once!”
“No, no, Elinor, you must not do anything so rash! I beg—I implore you, to do nothing, until Ralph has had an opportunity of denying the charges brought against him by this girl. They may be utterly untrue! She may be simply persecuting him. Depend upon it, you have only to ask him for an explanation of those letters, and everything will be satisfactorily cleared up.”
“You have more belief in him than I have, Margaret. Miss Brandt has great confidence in her cause. She told me that she had not only taken him from me, but she meant to keep him, and expressed her intention of going down to Aldershot and confronting Ralph with the letters she had written him!”
At this intelligence, Margaret grew alarmed for her friend’s peace of mind.
“No! no! that must never be,” she exclaimed, “that girl must not be permitted to make a scandal in the Camp, and get your name perhaps mixed up with it! It must be prevented.”
“I fancy you will find that a difficult task,” said Elinor; “she seems the most determined young woman I have ever come across. She became so vehement at last, that she frightened me, and I was only too glad to get out of the house.”
“Elinor,” said Mrs. Pullen suddenly, “will you leave this matter in my hands to settle in my own way?”
“What do you intend to do? See Miss Brandt yourself? I advise you not! She will only insult you, as she did me.”
“No! I shall not see her myself, I promise you that, but I will send a proper ambassador to interview Miss Brandt and the Baroness. This sort of thing must not be allowed to go on, and unless Ralph comes forward to second the girl’s assertions (which I am sure he will never do), she and her friend Madame Gobelli must be made to understand that if they don’t behave themselves, the law will be called into requisition to enforce obedience. I should not be at all surprised if the Baroness were not at the bottom of all this.”
“At anyrate, it has ruined my life!” said Elinor, mournfully.
“Nonsense! my dear girl, no such thing! It is only an unpleasant episode which will soon be forgotten. But let it make you a little more careful for the future, Elinor. Ralph is a very conceited man. He has been spoilt by the women all his life, ‘pour l’amour de ses beaux yeux.’ He has been used to flattery and attention, and when he doesn’t get it he misses it, and goes where it is to be found. It is rather a contemptible weakness, but he shares it in common with most of his sex, and you have promised, remember, to take him for better or worse!”
“Not yet, thank goodness!” retorted Elinor, with something of her usual spirit. “He and father got talking together about the marriage, the other day, when he was down at Richmond, and fixed it, I believe, for the spring, but they will have to unfix it again now, if I am not mistaken.”
“No such thing,” replied Margaret, “and now you have consented—have you not?—to leave the settlement of this other affair in my hands.”
“If you wish it, Margaret! But, remember, no compromise! If Ralph has really promised this girl what she says, let him keep his promises, for I will have none of him. And now I must go home or they will wonder what has become of me!”
Margaret was not sorry to see her depart, for she was most anxious to summon Anthony Pennell, her husband’s cousin, to her aid, and ask his advice as to what was best to be done in the circumstances.
She had great faith in Anthony Pennell, not only in his genius, which was an accepted thing, but in his good sense, which is not usually found associated with the higher quality. He was a man of about thirty, with a grand intellect—a sound understanding—a liberal mind, and a sympathetic disposition. He had been originally intended for the Bar, but having “taken silk,” and made a most promising debut, he had suddenly blossomed into an author, and his first novel had taken London by storm.
He had accomplished the rare feat of being lifted up at once on the waves of public opinion and carried over the heads of all his fellows.
Since his first success, he had continued writing—had given up the law in consequence—and was now making a large and steady income.
But Anthony Pennell’s great charm lay in his unassuming manner and modest judgment of his own work. His triumphs were much more astonishing to him than to his friends. In person, he was less handsome than his cousin Ralph Pullen, but much more manly looking, having been a distinguished athlete in his College days, and still finding his best recreation on the cricket field and the golf ground. He was very fair, with a white skin, embrowned here and there by sun and outdoor exercise—short, curly hair—a fine figure, standing six foot high, and the bluest of blue eyes. He was smoking in his own chambers late that afternoon, when he received a telegram from Margaret Pullen, “Can you come over this evening?” and as soon as he had changed his lounging coat, he obeyed her summons.