Throckmorton Part 21

"He is very sorry, Jacqueline, and he forgives you and will trouble you no more," she whispered. A look of relief came into Jacqueline's face.

She closed her eyes as if to sleep.

CHAPTER XII.

The next day Jacqueline was better, and about noon General and Mrs.

Temple arrived. Mrs. Temple showed no surprise when she heard that Jacqueline had come the day before; and when Judith said, falteringly, that Jacqueline had probably misunderstood their plans, Mrs. Temple accepted it quite naturally. About the same time Dr. Wortley, who had been sent for, came, and p.r.o.nounced Jacqueline's attack to be nothing but cold and fever, and raised the prohibition against her talking. The first time Mrs. Temple was out of the room, Jacqueline called Judith to her.

"Judith, I have been thinking about this, and I have made up my mind."

This was so unlike Jacqueline that Judith stared.

"If I thought Freke was really a single man, I would give up everybody--even you--for him. But n.o.body on earth knows what I suffered from my conscience while I was with him! And I believe Freke told the truth when he said we weren't married, after all, in spite of that minister and the fifty dollars. And now, dear Judith, it seems so easy to keep papa and mamma from knowing it."

"Easy, Jacqueline?--"

"Yes, easy, if you will only write to Aunt Steptoe; and it would kill me to have to face them!"

"But, Jacqueline, suppose--suppose Freke should claim you, or you might, in years to come, want to marry some one else?"

"I will promise you I will not--I will swear it--if I can't marry Freke, you may depend upon it I sha'n't marry anybody else! But, Judith, will you promise me to say nothing to papa and mamma until you have seen Freke, for he knows what ought to be done? I know--and I am sure--he will come back in a day or two. He knows well enough where I have run away to."

Judith was loath to making any promise at all, but Jacqueline became so violently agitated and distressed that at last, almost beside herself, Judith promised that for a few days, at least, she would say nothing about it.

Mrs. Temple was so full of Beverley, and the proceedings at Richmond, that she troubled Jacqueline but little with questions; and Judith was amazed at hearing Jacqueline describe to her mother a visit to her aunt, as if it had really been paid. The idea of concealment had taken complete possession of Jacqueline's mind, and she stopped at nothing.

Of course, the wedding had to be postponed; and Jacqueline surprised her mother, after two letters had pa.s.sed between Throckmorton and herself, by telling her quite calmly one day that the wedding was off, and that Throckmorton would shortly leave the county. General and Mrs. Temple were stunned; and Mrs. Temple, who had secretly thought the marriage preposterous from the start, now suddenly changed front, and was bitterly disappointed at this strange and unaccountable breaking off.

Jacqueline would only say, "I found I didn't love him, and couldn't marry him"; and she repeated this with a sort of childish obstinacy--so it seemed to Mrs. Temple. Throckmorton accepted his supposed bad news with the firmness and dignity that always characterized him. He told Mrs. Temple, when she and the general, sitting in solemn conclave in the drawing-room, had sent for him to give him this unalterable determination of Jacqueline's:

"Her happiness should be first always. The difference in our years I always felt; but, when she began to feel it, she was right in breaking with me. It is better that it should come now than later on."

Mrs. Temple was thoroughly puzzled by Throckmorton. She could not make out his quiet acquiescence in Jacqueline's decision--it was so unlike his usual vigorous way of overcoming obstacles. But, before he left, Freke had reappeared, and the dreadful truth had come to him and to Throckmorton and to Judith that, after all, according to the statutes of Virginia, he was not at liberty to marry again. Dreadful it was to Freke, who, light-minded and evil as he was, had really believed himself free, and whose implied doubt to Jacqueline was merely for the purpose of frightening her into submission. Freke went up to Richmond one day and returned the next. Half an hour's interview each with half a dozen lawyers had settled a hypothetical case that covered Freke's exactly: not all the clerks and licenses and ceremonies in Virginia could make his marriage to anybody good as it stood. It was true that there was an excellent chance that in the course of time various defects in the somewhat informal divorce proceedings that Freke had really thought sufficient might be remedied, and he would be a free man; but, for the present, he certainly was not.

Freke, who had thought his courage impeccable, found it failed him when he met Judith, for the first and last time, to settle upon the best course to pursue. Judith had Throckmorton's advice and a.s.sistance to back her up. Freke positively cowered under her gaze. It was settled that he was to go to the Northwest immediately, and devote all his energies to straightening out the strange tangle in which he had left his matrimonial affairs there; and, when it was settled, he was to return to Virginia, and then let Jacqueline decide what was to be done.

He swore--and swore so that Judith believed him--that he thought himself a free man, and only despised the narrowness of people who believed there was no such thing as divorce. Why he should have fallen in love with Jacqueline did not puzzle Judith: had she not, with those irresistible glances of hers, ensnared a much stronger man? But one thing was decided as much by Jacqueline's agony of fear as anything else: nothing was to be said about the terrible complication to General and Mrs. Temple. Mrs. Steptoe's answer to Judith's letter gave a promise that nothing should be said about Jacqueline's non-appearance; and that removed any immediate danger of discovery. And, in a little while, both Freke and Throckmorton were gone--Freke, to move heaven and earth to get his divorce in proper shape; and Throckmorton, merely to be out of the way, and as far out of the way as possible.

To Judith it seemed as if the world were coming to an end. How a thing so dreadful, so unlike anything she had ever known before, could happen in their quiet lives, seemed more and more extraordinary. Here was Jacqueline--last year a child in heart, and now the first person in a tragedy. Never had she anything to conceal before; and now, with the most perfect art and premeditation, she was concealing, every day and hour, something that would be even more overwhelming to her father and mother than Beverley's death, and would convulse the little world in which they lived. As for the innumerable chances that it might be found out any day, Judith was abnormally alive to them. Every morning, when she went down-stairs, she half expected that the disclosure would come; every night she thanked Heaven it had been postponed a day.

Meanwhile Jacqueline, lying in her great four-poster, progressed slowly but gradually toward recovery. One night she called Judith to the bedside. She was fast getting well then.

"Judith," she said, "you know what queer notions I take? Well, I have been lying here thinking, thinking, perhaps you won't be able to keep the whole county from knowing about--"

The haunting fear of this never left Judith, but she could not but try and comfort Jacqueline.

"We will try--O Jacqueline, we will try!"

"And do you know it has troubled me even more than losing Freke; for I feel he is lost to me, even if he were to come to-morrow morning and say he was a free man; the fear that when I get well I shall be avoided; the people will leave me alone at church, and the county people will stop visiting us. That would indeed kill me."

"Dear child, we will hope and pray. I believe it would kill me too."

Jacqueline at this worked herself up into such a violent fit of weeping that Judith was frightened into giving her a great many more a.s.surances of safety than her own anxious heart believed, but Jacqueline at last was quieted. In both of them, so widely unlike, was that profound respect for their neighbors, characteristic of simple and provincial souls. They knew no other world but that little neighborhood around Severn church, and its opinion was life or death.

But it troubled Judith that by degrees visitors began to fall off and inquiries ceased for Jacqueline. The temper and habit of the people were such that Judith knew Jacqueline could never hope for any forgiveness if that week's journey should be known. Jacqueline too, although she was entirely silent afterward upon the subject, was thinking and dreading and fearing. It was the custom for many kindly and neighborly visits to be paid the sick, many flowers and delicacies to be sent them; but after a while Jacqueline ceased to have either flowers or visitors. She was nearly well, though, or at least she protested that she was. But, although Jacqueline declared to Judith that, if Freke were legally free to-morrow, she would not marry him as long as that other woman lived, it was plain that he had completely captivated her imagination. She loved him in her own wild, unreasoning way. Judith was hourly amazed at the sudden self-control, finesse, the power to deceive, that Jacqueline developed regarding him. Usually her composure was perfect, but once in her own room, Jacqueline threw herself on the rug before the fire and wept and sobbed so that Judith was seriously alarmed. But, still trying to keep the burden from the unconscious father and mother, she remained with Jacqueline until a calm had come after the storm.

"I love him! I love him!" was all Jacqueline would say, and Judith believed her.

"You told me how I ought to love Throckmorton," she said that night, with a melancholy smile; "it is exactly how I love Freke. Don't look at me in that indignant way, Judith. It is not my fault."

Jack Throckmorton had remained at Millenbeck when his father left.

Throckmorton had briefly announced to him that the wedding was off. Jack came at last to see them, looking very sheepish. Judith suspected that he came in obedience to Throckmorton's wishes. But Jacqueline at once slipped back into her old friendly way, if a little less gay and thoughtless than before. Jack sent her flowers, and would have brought his dog-cart over every day to take her to drive, so much touched was he by Jacqueline's illness, but Judith would not let him. Nevertheless, he was in and out of the house very much as he had been ever since that first night he was there. Judith, who had come to love him for his sweet, bright, boyish nature, he felt was his friend, as indeed everybody at Barn Elms was. The whole affair was intensely puzzling to Jack. He dared not show Throckmorton the awkward sympathy that he was struggling first to express and then to repress; but Jacqueline was young and ill, and had few pleasures, and he had once been a little gone on her, so it seemed the most natural thing in the world that he should be kind to her.

There were mysterious hints, though, flying about the county regarding Jacqueline's affairs. Mrs. Sherrard was dying with curiosity, and made many visits to Barn Elms for the purpose of gratifying it. But she soon found out that, beyond knowing that Jacqueline had tired of her engagement and had thrown Throckmorton over, neither General nor Mrs.

Temple knew anything to communicate. About this time, too, the party-giving fever, which was never long in abeyance with Mrs. Sherrard, seized her. A party she must give. General Temple brought a note to that effect, coupled with a request for Mrs. Temple's salad-bowls and ladles, one day from the post-office. Jacqueline, who had been out-of-doors several times and had quite given up her invalidism, showed the keenest and the most unexpected delight when she heard of the party. She jumped up and down, clapped her hands, and began to dance.

"Oh, how glad I am! It has been so stupid lately. I do want to dance again dreadfully. How I wish I could go to a ball every night in the week!"

Judith was surprised at Jacqueline's eagerness about the party. Mrs.

Temple had first said decidedly that Jacqueline should not go, at which Jacqueline threw her hands up to her face and burst into such a pa.s.sion of stormy weeping that Mrs. Temple was completely puzzled, and so was Judith.

"But, my child, you are not strong enough!"

"I am!--I am!" cried Jacqueline. "I will ask Dr. Wortley if I can't go to the party. I am sure I will cry myself ill if I don't go; and I am so well and strong."

Mrs. Temple, who had got a little indulgent to Jacqueline since her illness, agreed to leave it to Dr. Wortley. The next time he came over to pay a friendly visit, Jacqueline took him off to herself, and came back triumphant. Dr. Wortley had agreed. The old doctor had a queer look in his face.

"I consented, madam," he said to Mrs. Temple, "because this young lady promised me that she would make herself ill if she did not go; and I have known young women to keep that promise. She has given me her word she will be very prudent--will not overexert herself; and Mrs. Beverley is to watch her."

"And I'll come home the instant Judith proposes it!" cried Jacqueline.

Mrs. Temple finally agreed, upon condition that the weather was fit.

For some days before the party it threatened to be very unfit. Dark clouds overhung the sky, and a biting March wind swept over the bare fields and through the somber aspens and Lombardy poplars, as yet leafless and wintry, around the house. Jacqueline seemed to have but one idea in her head, and that was the party. She haunted the windows where the cutting wind came in through the open c.h.i.n.ks and crannies, until Judith warned her that she would soon begin to cough again, and worse, if she did not take care of herself. She pestered Simon Peter with asking for weather signs. When the morning broke, cloudy and overcast, Jacqueline was almost in despair; she could eat no breakfast, but sat at the table watching the clouds. Presently the sun came out upon the dreary landscape, and the sun in Jacqueline's eyes came out too. From the deepest gloom she pa.s.sed to the wildest gayety. Her eyes shone; and taking little Beverley into the great, empty drawing-room, she waltzed around with him, singing and capering about until the boy, like herself, was in a gale of good humor. Judith had never ceased being puzzled by it. Still another obstacle, though, seemed to arise in Jacqueline's path. General Temple had a suspicion of gout, and declared that the party was out of the question for him. At this, Jacqueline looked so pale and disappointed that even Mrs. Temple's heart melted toward her.

"But I can take care of Jacqueline, mother," said Judith; "we are safe, you know, with Simon Peter on the box, and we will come home before twelve o'clock."

Mrs. Temple consented, and for the second time that day Jacqueline's spirits rose. Toward twilight, when the fires had been lighted in their rooms for the two girls to dress, for early hours prevail in the country, Judith went into Jacqueline's room. Jacqueline was twisting up her beautiful blonde hair into a knot on top of her head, taking infinite pains; her eyes were s.h.i.+ning, her whole air one of quick expectancy.

"Why are you so anxious about this party, Jacqueline?" asked Judith, to whose lips the question had often risen during the last week.

"Wait a moment and I will tell you," replied Jacqueline, still intent on her hair.

Judith waited until the last tress was in place, and Jacqueline came over to the fireplace.

"Because--because, Judith, I have a feeling--I don't know where it comes from--that everybody knows about--" She stopped and cast down her eyes in a troubled way, but without blus.h.i.+ng. "And I thought if I went to this party I would be convinced that it was all a mistake. I know it is very silly, but it has kept me awake at night ever since I was first ill, thinking how the people would eye me at church. You know how sick people take up those fancies. Well, I am determined to prove to myself it isn't so. Jack Throckmorton won't be at the party, but I shall no doubt have a plenty of partners, and this horrible feeling--that I am disgraced in some way--will leave me; I am sure it will. You know mamma's way of treating these notions. 'Just give your secret fears an airing, and see how they will disappear,' that's what I mean to do. Like ghosts, they vanish when you speak to them and try to handle them, and then you are rid of them for good."

Judith said not a word. The same horrible fear had been with her. Freke and Throckmorton were safe--General and Mrs. Temple suspected nothing--it made her sick at heart as she thought about the news traveling over the county.