The Master of the Ceremonies Part 93

"I don't know. I hope not," said Barclay. "I want to believe in her.

Well, Joseph?"

"Two chaises to-night, sir, Moggridge says. Sir Harry Payne and Sir Matthew Bray."

"That will do. Well, old lady?"

"It can't be for Claire, Jo-si-ah, I'm sure," cried Mrs Barclay. "She wouldn't look at that miserable fop."

"Suppose he is jackal for Rockley, old lady?"

"Oh, Jo-si-ah, don't. It must be for her sister May."

"No, I think not. She and Burnett have got on all right lately, and Payne hasn't been near her, that I know. Look here, old woman, I won't believe it if I can help it, but it looks very much as if Claire is really going off to-night."

"Then she shan't," cried Mrs Barclay, beginning to cry. "If the poor girl has been worked upon just when she was poor and miserable, and has been weak enough to consent, she shall find she has got a friend who will stand by her, and give her good advice, and stop her. Jo-si-ah, I love that girl as if she was my own child--and--"

"Well?"

"I shall go down to their house and see her and talk to her, and I shall stop with her till I know she's safe. That is, mind, if it's true. But it ain't."

"Well," said Barclay, "you shall do so, for I don't want her to go wrong. Only mind this, it is suspicious that she has not been near you lately."

"Not it," said Mrs Barclay, "bless her! She's had some reason, and-- there, that's her knock, I'll swear."

She ran out of the room, and came back directly with Claire, looking more pale and troubled than ever, leaning upon her arm.

Mrs Barclay darted a triumphant look at her husband, and Barclay took Claire's hand in a grave distant manner that made the visitor wince.

Volume Three, Chapter IV.

MRS BARCLAY HAS HER TURN.

Claire winced again, and involuntarily glanced at the door, repenting that she had come, as she saw Mrs Barclay frown and make a series of grimaces at her lord, all of which were peculiar enough to a stranger, but which simply meant to the initiated: "Go away and leave us together: I can manage her better than I could if you stayed here."

Barclay comprehended from old experience all that his wife meant to signify, and, making some excuse, he shortly left the room.

"There, that's right, my dear," said Mrs Barclay warmly. "Men are such a nuisance when you want to have a nice cosy chat. Why dear, dear, dear, how white you look. Your bonny face oughtn't to be like that.

You've been wherriting yourself over something. It isn't money, is it?"

"No, Mrs Barclay, we seem to have been a little better off lately."

"But you are in trouble, my darling? Now don't say you aren't, but speak out plain to me. Oh, I wish I could make you believe that I am a very, very true friend, and that I want to help you. There, I know: you've been falling out with Cora Dean."

Mrs Barclay prided herself on this as being a master stroke of policy to draw Claire out and make her ready to confide in her; but Claire shook her head and smiled sadly.

"No," she said dreamily, "I am not in trouble about that. I thought I would call and see you to-day. There, I must go now."

"Is that all?" said Mrs Barclay in a disappointed tone. "Why, I was in hopes that you were over head and ears in trouble, and had come to me for help."

"Mrs Barclay!" exclaimed Claire.

"No, no, no, my dear. What a stupid old woman I am! I didn't mean that, but if you were in trouble, I hoped that, seeing how much you are alone, you had come to me for help and advice."

Claire's face worked and her lips quivered. She vainly tried to speak, and finally, utterly broken-down with the agony of her encounters on the previous day with Louis and her sister, with the following sleepless night and the despair of the present day, during which she had been vainly striving to see some way out of the difficulty, she threw herself upon the breast offered to receive her troubles and sobbed aloud.

"I knew--I knew," whispered Mrs Barclay, soothing and caressing the poor girl by turns. "I knew as well as if some one had told me that you were in trouble and wanted help. There, there, cry away, my darling.

Have a good long patient one, and don't hurry yourself. You'll be a world better afterwards; and if you like then to tell me about it, why, you see, you can, and if you don't like to, why, there's no harm done."

Even if the amiable plump old soul had said nothing more than the first sympathising words, Claire's emotion, so long pent up, would now have had its vent, the tears seeming to relieve her overburdened brain as she clung to her hostess, listening, and yet only half hearing her whispered words.

It was perhaps as well, for with all its true-heartedness there was a comic side to Mrs Barclay's well-meant sympathy; and some of her adjurations to "cry away," and not to "stop it," and the like, would have provoked a smile from anyone who had been present at the scene.

"There, there, there, then, that's better," cried Mrs Barclay, beaming in Claire's face and kissing her tenderly. "Now you'll be comfortable again; and now, my dear child, we're all alone, and if you like to make a confidant of me, you shall find you can trust me as much as my Jo-si-ah can. But don't you think I'm a scandal-loving old busybody, my dear, for I don't ask you to tell me anything."

"You are always so good to me, Mrs Barclay," sighed Claire, clinging to the ample breast.

"Oh, nonsense, my dear. I only offer to be your confidant, so as to help you in your trouble. For you are in trouble, my dear--dreadful trouble, and it hurts me to see you so--hurts me, my dear, more than you think for, so what I say is--If it does you good to come and sit with me and be comforted by having a good cry over me, just as if you were my little girl, why you shall, and I shan't ask you a single question; but if you think such a silly stout old woman can do you any good by giving you advice, or--now don't be offended--finding you money; or by asking my Jo-si-ah what to do--"

"Mrs Barclay!" cried Claire in tones of dismay, and with her cheeks flus.h.i.+ng.

"Ah, that's the way of the world, my dear," said Mrs Barclay with a quiet contented smile, as she drew Claire's head back upon her shoulder, and stroked and patted her cheek. "You don't know my Jo-si-ah. He seems a rough harsh-spoken old money-grubber, but he's the tenderest-hearted, most generous man that ever lived. There, there, you needn't speak. I was only going to finish and say Claire Denville has two true friends here in this house; and as for me, here I am, ready to help you in any way, for I believe in you, my dear, in spite of everything that has been said, as being as good a girl as ever breathed."

"Heaven bless you!" exclaimed Claire, nestling to her; "you are a true friend, and I will tell you all my trouble."

"That's right, my dear, so you shall, and two heads are better than one.

Shall I help you?"

"Oh, yes, yes, Mrs Barclay, if you can. I am so helpless, so weak with this new trouble, I don't know what to do."

"No; and you'll be driving yourself half crazy, my dear," whispered Mrs Barclay. "Why, I know as well as can be what it is."

"You know, Mrs Barclay?"

"To be sure I do, my dear. Now, why not let me ask him here some day, and just talk the matter quietly over with him?"

"Yes, yes," cried Claire; "but he is so impetuous, and the situation is so horrible."

"Not a bit of it, my dear. Of course, he is impetuous. Enough, to make him, hearing such things as he does; but just you let me get him here some day and have a chat with him, and then you see him, and try and understand each other. Never mind about the money, my dear: be poor and happy. Love's better than riches; and the happiness enjoyed by two good people who really care for each other is--well, I don't want to be single."

"Mrs Barclay! What do you mean?"

"Why, that with all his doubts and distances, Richard Linnell wors.h.i.+ps you as much as you love him."

"Oh, hush, hush, hus.h.!.+" cried Claire piteously. "Don't talk about that, Mrs Barclay. It is impossible."

"It isn't, my dear, and that's flat. You're being cruel to him, and more cruel to your own dear self. Come, now, try and be advised."

"Mrs Barclay," cried Claire wildly, "you don't know. My trouble now is far greater than anything about self;" and, clinging to the only friend she seemed to have, she told her all.