Joan Vellacot. A novel

Front matter

JOAN VELLACOT. a NobtL EY ESME STUART, AUTHOR OF "Muriel's marriage," "a faire damzell," etc. " Never leave growing till the life to come.' IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. II. LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, 13urjlis))crs in ©rtinarg to Jtjer Jflajrstg tfjc ©men. 1888. (All rights reserved.) CONTENTS OF VOL. II. CHAPTER PAGE I. In Honour Bound ... ... ... 1 II. Husband and Wife ... ... 25 III. "La Joie fait Peur" ... 47 IV. In the Tuileries Gardens ... 61 V. Frances' Visitor ... ... ... 78 VI. Crushing Thought ... ... 92 VII. Mrs. Carey Vellacot ... ... 109 VIII. No Need to meet ... ... 130 IX. The Countess Melino at Home ... 143 X. Will he come back? ... ... 155 XI. A Duty Call ... ... 168 XII. The St. Germain Picnic ... ... 182 XIII. A Wife's Advice ... ... ... 196 XIV. So Few More Days ... ... 210 XV.

French Eaces ... ... ... 225 XVI. A Sick Man's Wanderings ... 242 XVII. A Visiting-card ... ... ... 259 XVIII. The Major's Kesolution ... ... 271 XIX. An Awkward Situation ... .. 286 XX. "Let Bygones ise Bygones" ...

Chapter I. In Honour Bound

" But the face thou show'st the world is not The face thou show'st to me ; And the look that I have looked in Is of none but me beheld. I know not ; but I know I am thine, and thou art mine." " Margaret ! " said Aunt Deb the next day, just as luncheon was over, and the two had risen from table, for Mr. Austin was not at home. " Margaret, there is that lover of yours coming up the drive, but he might have sent you a letter this morning. Well, things do change a good deal ; yet I had fancied love-making was always pretty much the same thing. However, I've lived to see I'm wrong." Margaret had turned pale ; she felt as shy vol. ii. to-day as she had done yesterday. Her father had been talking about the engagement all the morning, and had detailed to his sister how he meant to have things done.

" You know, Deb, I've only one child ; but she shall be married in a handsome way." " Whatever you do, George, you can't do away with the parson and the old-fashioned service, and most likely a clerk or two. I once knew one who was so anxious to give his help, that he said, ' I will,' instead of the bridegroom." Mr. Austin laughed, but would not move from his own point. " Meg will have to take the husband, but I'll take the ordering of the whole affair. Where's the ring, Margaret ? " Margaret looked down on her unringed linger, and said — " Oh, I don't know. Though, on the whole, I should prefer not to have an engagement ring, it is so common. I wish soldiers wore chain armour now ; I should like a link, and nothing else." Now, however, Margaret could not even indulge in queer suggestions.

She remained in the drawing-room till Major Duncan was announced, and, whilst she waited, an uncomfortable memory of the Vellacots in this very drawing-room came into her mind. She could not have told why ; but it was this thought that made her look doubly nervous when the door shut and Major Duncan advanced. His spirits rose at pnce. Surely this woman did not really love; she could not be so cold, if she were capable of it. " You were expecting me before now, I fear," began Major Duncan, taking Margaret's hand. He offered no kiss, but led her to a chair, and seated himself near to her ; "I was detained this morning — a soldier can't call his time his own." " I shall never hinder you from your duty, I hope," said Margaret, finding the courage to look up at him, and there her eyes remained, for she was fascinated by the handsome face and the somewhat care-worn look on the features.

" You are not ill, I hope," she added, quickly. " I slept badly ; that is all," he said, carelessly. " I think I was too much afraid of what I did and said yesterday. Will you let me tax your patience a few minutes now, and then we can put away the subject." No one could have guessed by his words that he had rehearsed this scene several times, and that everything which would make the future beautiful to him depended on the answer of that woman whom he had so hastily asked to become his wife. Margaret all the morning had been living in a region far removed from the ordinary feelings of a girl the first day after her engagement. She looked upon herself as dedicated to a life of wifely devotion ; she would make her husband's plans her own, and his plans were sure to be noble. If he must leave the army, he would perhaps live in or near Lowcaster.

She wanted to work for mill-girls and raise their standard, and her husband would take up any cause that did good to humanity. Perhaps, too, he would see that, as Margaret's money had been made from the labour of hundreds of the working people, it was but right to pay back in interest for them what they had procured by the sweat of their brows. This was a favourite idea with Margaret, very undeveloped, but still influencing her, and making her regard money in a very secondary manner. Then she had paused in this dream, and said to herself — " But I must be guided by his wishes entirely. Whatever they are, they will be worthy of him, and I must not imagine mine will be best." Then she had spent a long time on her knees, praying that she might do what was right by him, and so strong was she in her position, that Aunt Deb's remarks fell on very unheeding ears.

As she sat down by Major Duncan, and kept her eyes on his face, she had but one wish, and this was that she could throw off some of her shyness, and tell him all that was in her heart. Grirls of her age would have laughed at Margaret's old-fashioned feelings, and likened her to the ladies of past times, who put Mr. before their husbands' names, and were of that submissive type, quite out of date now and also out of the ken of ordinary comprehension. At his question Margaret almost laughed. " It is not taxing my patience at all. I have been wanting you to come so much. I have so many things to ask you." Hector Duncan was a little troubled by her words. She was evidently quite satisfied — no shadow of a trouble clouded her broad brow. He began to fear her unconscious openness, and, this feeling being new, he could not deal with it satisfactorily.

" I want to say several very important things. Yesterday, I must own I was very hasty, Margaret. I asked you if you could love me, and I did not take into consideration enough that we knew very little of each other, that I certainly could not be acquainted with your tastes, and that I had no right to fancy you could be happy with me. I am a good deal older than you are ; perhaps there is too much difference between us. I am, I hope, thinking of your interests, your — your happiness." Margaret's eyes filled with grateful tears. If anything could have made her admire Hector Duncan more, it was this delicate thoughtfulness for her. Yesterday he had accepted her love, but to-day he feared for her happiness. She rose suddenly from her chair, and knelt by his side, with that look in her eyes which had a pathetic appeal as well as a determined force in it.

" Thank you, thank you, Hector " — she said the name very shyly— "for thinking of this. There are so few men who would have under stood the feeling. It is curious that that was my fear yesterday. When you were gone I fancied I ought not to have said 'Yes;' I fancied that all a life's devotion would not be enough to show you what I want to be ; but now I know it will be right, you will understand if I fail. Please, never imagine that I repent now of my ' Yes.' You will help me with my plans, if you leave the army ; but even that you must not do for my sake. My father would not really hold out, and, though he fancies I should be happier in a home of my own, indeed I should be happy anywhere. It seems so wonderful j^ou should care for me, because, after all, there are so many girls of — well, good family, who would make you a better wife ; but, indeed I can- — I will learn.

You must never mind telling me all you want me to do. I have always been making plans, and yet I never seemed to have any one I could turn to for real help." There was a step heard on the gravel, and Margaret hastily rose up, for she saw her father, and she knew that he might come in. In a moment, Major Duncan had risen too. He felt that, without many words of his own, Margaret had decided the question. The man who had held the reputation of being the most honourable officer of the regiment, who had the Victoria Cross for a deed of unusual bravery, certainly that was not the man to face the ruin of all he publicly held sacred. He had openly asked Margaret's hand, openly and freely he had been accepted ; but, happily, he had not made any offer to Joan, he had not said a word that could make him lose his reputation, and now he was bound — yes, bound — to keep his word and to fulfil his engagement.

There was no way nut of it. But that pause, during which he simply grasped Margaret's hand and said nothing, was a pause which made a terrible impression upon him. That silence was more painful than any scene of battle he had gone through. Margaret released herself as the door opened. " Holloa ! " said Mr. Austin, jovially, " I'm disturbing the lovers, eh ? Ah, well, there's plenty of time for that. How do you do, major ? Very glad to see you. I wanted a word with you presently, or, by the way, come to dinner to-night. Take pot-luck ; make your self at 'ome. But I don't expect you'll be a man wishing for a long courtship. I don't hold with lovers' quarrels. I've taught Meg to say ' Yes,' when she means ' Yes,' and ' No,' when she means ' No.' Eh, Meg ? " " You never did like people who don't know their own minds, certainly," said Margaret ; " but you had not often to complain of me."

" Well, no, I can't say I had. Have you been exchanging rings ? I notice, in these days, ladies like to do as their betters do — give and take. Ha, ha ! " Mr. Austin laughed heartily, and Major Duncan, wincing at these outspoken speeches, felt bound to answer. " If Margaret will give me a ring that fits her, I will take it as a pattern. Have you any stone you prefer ? " "I am very fond of opals," said Margaret ; " but I would rather you chose." " Then I think I will go now, and return for dinner, Mr. Austin," said Hector, turning to the manufacturer. " Just as you like. I don't care about men who dawdle away all their day. By the way, Meg, I met Sir Henry in Lowcaster this morn ing, and he was surprised when I told him my bit of news — sent some kind message to you ; I forget what, though.

Sir Henry is a man after my own heart, major ; straightforward, and very civil, too — not stuck up, like his daughters. I'll tell you what, Margaret, if you are going to forsake your father, I think I'll keep true to the mill. I've tried idleness, Major Duncan, and I don't altogether approve of it. There's plenty of work in me still. It will be all the better for both of you, if I don't sell my share. I always said Margaret should not be stinted — she's my only one." The major had taken Margaret's ring, and was walking away, accompanied by his future father-in-law ; but his mind was still too much disturbed for connected thought. " I hope Margaret will always have all she may fancy," he said, mechanically. " That's my business," said Mr. Austin, some what pompously, for, after all, this major had very little besides his rank, his Victoria Cross, and his good birth — useful things in their way ; but not exchangeable for luxuries, as was coin of the realm.

" I didn't fancy she'd settle her mind so easily, you know ; but I'm not the father who fancies he can choose for girls. It's a pity she doesn't care more for fine things, as it gives me the trouble of thinking of them for her. Odd for a girl, isn't it ? But we men are hard to please. If our women-folk are ex travagant, we make no end of a fuss, and if they're like my Meg, we don't like it either. Anyhow, she's a good girl, and clever, too, they tell me. She's a good artist, and makes pretty things ; but she wants to see the world a bit. You'll travel, of course, major, when you go for your honeymoon." " Of course ; perhaps you will consult Margaret about the time, and — and " " She'll fall in. Let me see ; it's the end of May now. Say the beginning of June, major — or July, I don't care. Give me time to look round."

" I wish to study your convenience and hers." " Well, the first week in July, say. I'm a business man, and do things in a business fashion. Those crafty lawyers take time with all their fine writing ; but I've got a man who is sharp, and gets on with his work." " You told Sir Henry, I think," said the major, passing his hand across his forehead, and knowing that by this evening Joan would hear. Good heavens ! he must write to her and tell her all. What would she think of him ? Had ever a man been unwillingly put in this position before ? It was enough to make one believe that the devil did meddle in the affairs of human beings. " Yes, I told him. I knew he was a friend of yours, and that I should be doing the right thing." " Yes, certainly. Well, then, good-bye till this evening — seven o'clock."

Aunt Deb came up the garden steps as Hector disappeared through the door. She saw her brother's face beaming. " All settled, Deb. I like the major ; he's a man of few words, and business-like. The first week in July — and you must help me about the arrangements. Meg's quite satisfied — looks as if she wasn't walking on earth." " She'll come down very soon, then. Re member, George, I think you are wrong to press things on so quickly. Meg may change her mind." " Change her mind ! Stuff and nonsense ! Meg's my daughter, and not likely to change her mind. Besides, I've made inquiries about this major, and I can hear nothing but good of him. In India, you know, Deb, men some times forget they're Englishmen, and are given to low things ; but not a word is ever spoken against this man. Don't you think that's in his favour ?

It's something for a man to have no fear of his past history. There are not many at 'ome that could stand that test." Mr. Austin had really done all he could towards finding out Hector Duncan's character, and all was satisfactory. " Besides," he con tinued, " he's a friend of young Peel's, who, they say, is awfully cut up about the old gentle man's death. Now, Peel's friends can't be very wild fellows. A man's friends are a test." " It all sounds well, George ; but that man isn't enough in love with Margaret, and the silly girl doesn't know it." " Come now, Deb, you should know better. You married for love, and I don't see that you did over-well." Aunt Deb winced. Her brother had no fine feelings, and brought out the truth in all its baldness. " Yes ; but the principle is right. Meg has a warm heart, and, though she's a little queer in her ideas now, she'll soon become a woman, with feelings like other women.

She'll find it but dull work worshipping a major, who only wants a wife. His eyes never light up ; and, as to kissing, I don't believe he kisses Margaret at all." Mr. Austin laughed cheerily. " Women don't understand sound business. This fellow has acted quite openly and fairly, so don't put nonsense into Meg's mind. I'll be back to dinner, and then you'll see that the two understand each other perfectly." Whether he were discussed favourably or not never entered into Hector's mind. He had a letter to write which must be delivered this afternoon. So, hastily riding into Lowcaster, he went to the club, and, finding no one in the sitting-room, he took a pen, and wrote to Joan. He explained everything that had taken place — explained how his love for her had led him into this difficulty, and how he was now in honour bound to Margaret.

Then he drew a picture of what life might have been with her, if only things had been otherwise, and, with a few tender words of farewell, he closed this chapter of his life. Many a man would not have done this ; he would have tried and hoped till the end — but Hector could not. He faced necessity, and chose the path of what he considered his duty. He knew he could never hold up his head again if he were branded as a man who had broken his word. Then he rode off, for the last time, to Laxton Hall, de termined, if possible, to give this letter into Joan's own hand, or to make sure she got it at once. Then, thinking most of her, he enclosed a little formal note, announcing his engagement to Miss Austin. This could be shown to Miss Vellacot, and would prevent Joan's being ques tioned. What he had gone through had made on Hector Duncan a deeper impression than any event in his previous life.

The struggle against his inclination and for his supposed duty had deteriorated what was good in him — it hardened him, and made him angry against the very words, duty and honour, at the same time that he was sacrificing everything to them. He felt angry with Margaret, and began to despise what was good in her. He raged against her foolish ideas of devotion, because it was a devotion he did not require ; though, at the same time, he would not go to her, and honestly tell her how he had sinned against her, and beg to be released. He even abused her father, who had behaved in a straightforward manner, merely insisting on tying up his daughter's fortune. As he rode quickly along the road, heedless of the carriages he passed, and not noticing the beauties of the new oak foliage and the tender green of the hedges, Major Duncan was a man to be pitied, and yet who could not have asked for pity from any human being.

When he reached the gates of Hawley Grange, he remem bered Peel, and thought with bitterness that, after all, the case of the latter was not so despe rate as his own. Joan Vellacot would still be free to go back to him, and many a woman had done the same ; but nothing that could turn up would be able now to save him. With his own hand he had tied the knot, and no power but his own could untie it, and that power he would not use. He felt half inclined to go first and tell Peel ; but refrained, so eager was he that no one should tell Joan the news but himself. He wondered it had not yet been made public at Laxton. He rode up the long drive, and saw that the marks of wheels were fresh. Evidently the carriage was out, and the Miss Vellacots in it. He heaved a sigh of disappointment, and yet of relief; he was not sure that he could bear another sight of Joan.

It was best to fight out his misery alone ; he must not betray himself further. Now he was opposite the conservatory, he could almost fancy the scene last night had been an imaginary one ; that Joan had never come out to him ; and that he had never said those few betraying words. Had not her last action been an appeal to him, and now he was going to tell her that any appeal was in vain. The bell was answered by the footman who knew Major Duncan. Strangely enough, he seemed to be expected, for, before he could ask any questions, he said — ■ " Will you walk this way, sir ? " Hector Duncan followed. He meant to keep an untroubled front. If he met Miss Vellacot, nothing he did or said should betray Joan ; but, to his surprise, he was ushered into the library, where Joan Vellacot herself was seated in a large arm-chair, with the Times concealing her face.

She rose very slowly to greet him. It was so difficult to meet naturally after last night's episode, and he was the first to speak. " I did not know you were at home," he said, without preface, as if they were merely con tinuing a conversation. " I came on purpose to deliver a letter to you, as I am " He took out the letter from his breast-pocket, and Joan looked up at him, with the blue Vellacot eyes quite troubled. What was the matter ? Had he been angry about last night ? She had gone through so much for him, surely he was not angry. The colour came to her cheeks with that sudden glow that makes some blushes so beautiful, instead of painful to witness. She could no longer trifle with love, for she was terribly in earnest, and the earnestness of the woman who has oftenest played with truth is not a light thing. vol. ii.

"What is the matter? Did I make you angry last night ? " she said. " I couldn't help it. It was because — because — I could not bear you should think so badly of me as you have done. Oh ! I know you did — at that horrid bazaar — at the ball — and all the time it was not true." Hector Duncan wished himself far away. He wondered if he could pass the ordeal safely. " No ; I have no right to be angry — to be anything," he said. " I have come here be cause some words that escaped me last night were not what I ought to have said, considering my position. Still, I was taken by surprise, and you did not give me time to tell you " Joan's face became deadly pale. She knew something dreadful was coming, just as one fancies one has dreamt a frightful dream before. " I thought," said Joan, resolved this time to speak plainly, "you would come to-day, and I stayed at home.

I knew you would tell me plainly that Why should I mind say ing it ? You said you loved me last night, and now to-day — ■ — I can't understand it. I was so happy, because I knew it would all come right." She held out her hand, and Hector took it. For this once he must not mind. Joan had a right to know he loved her, as well as the right to know he must never ask her to be his wife. The touch of that hand was enough to make him forget Margaret, and almost everything else but open disgrace. In a moment, his arm was round her, and her head was on his shoulder. " My darling ! it is true — all true. I loved you the first minute I saw you. No other woman has ever made me feel so ; but I was poor. What could I offer you besides a life of comparative poverty and my love ? I turned over every possibility, and then — just as I thought fortune favoured me — then I was told, Joan, that you were the promised wife of another man, and that man my friend.

Think for yourself — what could I do ? Every feeling of honour made me under stand you were no longer possible for me. I fancied you had deceived me, and that you had played with the affections of a man who had never given them away before. I wonder I did not go mad ; but I think I did lose all capability of judging. I made up my mind that I would put myself beyond the power of all deceptions again, and I went and asked another woman to be my wife." Joan started away from him. " To be your wife ! You did that ? Now I know everything. I feared it might be ; but I thought — last night, didn't you understand me ? It isn't true — is it ? You don't mean it. Anyhow, you will go and tell her you do not love her. It is Miss Austin. She will not mind ; she is different from No ; you can't do that — it would be wrong."

Joan was a woman now — the eyes, before so young, so pretty, had in this moment acquired a terrible expression. " Let me finish. I went to her father, and told him my wish. We did it all in a business like manner, and then I went to her " " Don't tell me all that," said Joan, angrily. " What does it matter, it was a mistake ; she must know it." " You forget I have pledged my word. I acted on impulse perhaps ; but it was also a deliberate impulse. If you were another man's promised bride, I should not doubt, and now the matter is public — your father knows. My darling, I cannot draw back. Pity me ; do not blame me. I must do my duty ; I cannot help myself. What would your father say, and John Peel ? No ; it is quite impossible." " Impossible ! Oh, it is wicked ! " said Joan. " It cannot be right to marry another woman when you have told me that you love me.

You must break it off. What would she think of you ? Make haste, and tell me it is not true. Never mind the future— it has been a horrid dream. I don't care what people say. We can wait till it is all forgotten. Papa will be angry ; but he will forgive us, I know he will, and " She paused. Joan could not frame the words, " John Peel." She altered them to, " and others too. Time makes so much difference. I — I Oh ! I know it is all wrong, though I can't explain it. You will face it, if — if you spoke truly last night. There is the carriage coming home. Make haste, promise me. We have been so stupid. Why did you mind about money ? But it isn't too late. Say you will break with her." " Joan — Joan ! for God's sake, do not speak so, do not make it harder. I ought not to have seen you. We must bear this — my duty is plain — even for your sake, I could not."

" You could, if you really cared," said Joan again. " There is the carriage stopping." She pulled off a little ring from her finger — " Keep it, and think over what I said. Don't send it back unless you mean to keep your word to her. It is wrong — dreadful ! Oh " There were steps in the hall, and Joan knew that she could not say another word. Major Duncan, with the ring in his hand, drew away towards the window just as Frances entered the room. Her surprise was evident, and she took no pains to conceal it. " Major Duncan, I did not know you were here. Joan, why did you allow visitors to be shown in this room. Papa may be coming in." Joan had stooped down to pick up the paper, and was folding it evenly. She seemed hardly conscious of her sister's remark, and it would have needed a very obtuse person indeed not to have noticed that something was wrong and unnatural.

The truth had already flashed into the mind of Frances. She had been so terribly upset about the blow that had fallen on John Peel, and in her heart she accused Major Duncan of being the cause of all the trouble. She now turned towards him haughtily — " Perhaps you will kindly come into the drawing-room, Major Duncan," she said, leading the way, but not allowing Joan to have the chance of another word. This, however, was not what Joan wished for. Left alone, she sat down again in the big arm-chair, and, with fixed gaze, she remained motionless, lost in the mazes of grief that were too great to find any outward expression. Major Duncan was capable of saving all appearances, for had he not given up so much already, for fear of what the world might say. When he reached the drawing-room door, he paused.