Leonore Stubbs Part 14

Such periods were normal there to all but Leonore. Her sisters frittered away the hours in small pursuits which led to nothing, (if we except a certain kindly care of the poor on the estate, whose interests Sue at least found of importance)--otherwise they existed, and that is all that could be said for them.

But Leonore? Well, of course she had no alternative but to tread the path prescribed for her; and the bright spring days were followed by the longer ones of summer, and again by the crisp, dewy mornings and melting twilights of early autumn, without any incident or event taking place to mark one week from another.

Such a life was foreign to all the instincts of our little girl's nature. She was quick, alert, impetuous. She was keenly alive in every fibre of her being. She effervesced with vitality. Added to which there was a strange sense of growth pulsing through every vein.

And of this all outward token had to be repressed beneath the iron hand of convention. To the outward eye there was only a forlorn little black figure stealing meekly out of view, to seek, it might be supposed, the shades of solitude for pensive, retrospective meditation, or discharging with docility such offices of charity as were presumed to be proper and becoming to her widowhood,--but for the rest, no one really knew or cared what Leo did with herself.

She was much alone--they supposed she liked to be alone. On that one day to which she grew to look back upon as _the_ day--the day on which Sue's heart stood revealed--it had indeed for a moment appeared as if the bonds which held her in their grip must break, and give birth to a new era--but the episode ended disappointingly. It was not an upheaval, it was a mere crack on the surface--and the crack gradually closed again.

"I told you that father would not always be so amenable," said Sybil one day, not perhaps altogether ill-pleased to see her sister's face fall, and her cheek flush beneath a chilling response. "It is no use taking it to heart, child. You do better with him than any of the rest of us do, and that ought to content you."

And again it was: "Sue? What should I know about Sue? She goes her own way, and we go ours,"--the tone conveying, "and you must go yours," as plainly as though the words had been spoken.

But Leo had no "way" to go. She had no object on which to bend her eyes.

She had no end in view when she rose in the morning, no food for reflection at night. She drifted. Her poor little face took a wan, comfortless look,--and to herself she would wonder how, when she first returned to the home of her childhood, she could have felt so different, so foolishly hopeful and cheerful? All sorts of possibilities had seemed to lie before her then, how could they? She often sat for hours in the woods staring vacantly around, and thinking, thinking.

Had there been any human being in the big, dreary house to whom she could have poured out all the workings of a young, imprisoned soul beating against its bars, any one at this crisis to feel for and sympathise with the hapless child, any kind arm thrown around her, or hand in hers, things might have been different,--but as it was, alone she had to battle with all the subtle imaginings, the dim, confused perceptions, the fancies, the visions which haunted her.

Incredible as it may appear, she looked back upon her married life much as an emanc.i.p.ated schoolgirl regards the busy, merry past, all-sufficing at the time, but outgrown and left behind.

Leo never doubted that she had been happy,--but the thought that were it possible for her one day to wake up and find that all she had gone through of late was but a bad dream, brought no sense of longing, no pa.s.sionate thrill of desire. Instead, she shrank--yes, she shrank and hung her head, wondering if any one else so placed ever felt the same?

How was it?--why was it?

And anon she knew. It was the look on Sue's face.

In lighter vein, Leonore took to beautifying her person. As Mrs. Stubbs she had contented herself and annoyed her maid, a conscientious creature, by fulfilling its bare requirements. She had hurried through dressing-time, and been impatient of details. Anne's slow method of handling her hair was a constant worry; and now that Anne no longer existed for her, it must be owned that there was, or, to be correct, there had been up to the present, a _curly pow_ presented to the family on many occasions, which was hardly consistent with the dignity General Boldero sought to preserve.

But it chanced one day that a girl came to the house whose hair, of colour and texture similar to Leonore's own, was beautifully arranged and generally admired. It literally shone in the sun.

And as luck would have it, our heroine was caught at her worst that same afternoon; and conscious of frowsy locks tumbling about her ears, her vanity was mortified. She appeared at dinner with a fairly correct imitation of the visitor's coiffure, and every single member of the family had something to say about it: Sue's gentle, "You have such pretty hair, dear Leo," being the finis.h.i.+ng touch.

Thenceforth the pretty hair was brushed and brushed; and finding it still continued somewhat dry, Leo made almost her first purchase in the neighbouring town. She procured a wash--only a simple, vegetable concoction, but it answered the purpose--and there were great results.

Next, a manicure box which was among her possessions, but had lain about unused after it ceased to be a novelty, was brought into play. To confess the truth, Leo's hands were not her strong point, but hands and fingers can look better or worse according to the care bestowed on them, and there was now at least nothing to be ashamed of when she put on her rings. She began to wear her rings regularly.

And searching about for something else to do, she unearthed some weird implements, the sight of which made her laugh. With what zest she had once thrown herself into the new game of physical culture which all her friends were playing, and what fun she had thought it--for a time! Her supple joints had enabled her to accomplish feats beyond the reach of most, and she had attended drilling-cla.s.ses and fencing-cla.s.ses, and gained glory at both. She now fixed up a hook or two in her room, and found she could still do this and that, though she had lost the knack of the more difficult. To regain these, ropes and pulleys were worked vigorously,--and being once started, invention was called to aid, and there were all sorts of varied performances. Finally she volunteered to become a teacher; but though Maud and Sybil condescended so far as to look on, and even make a few half-hearted efforts, they were soon discouraged. They were not clumsy, but they were stiff; their bones were set; beside them Leo seemed to be made of elastic.

These trifles were, as we have said, the solace of our little girl's happier moods--at least they did something towards whiling away the uneventful days,--but perhaps they might almost have been better left undone, since the more healthful and beautiful she became, the more the leaven of rebellious discontent worked within.

It seemed a shame that she should be so strong and well and winsome, and there be nothing and no one to win. It was an injustice, a waste. And was it to go on for ever? Was she to go on through a long, long life--life stretches very far ahead at twenty-one--crawling on her hands and knees, when she could have stepped out so boldly, head in air?

That was the question which chiefly presented itself to Leonore's mind, as the first long year of her widowhood drew towards its close. She had never once stirred from Boldero Abbey,--for it was by no means a part of the general's programme to send her where she might meet with either friends or strangers to whom the true state of the case might leak out--and he sharply negatived a suggestion on Sue's part.

"Nonsense. Leo was never better in her life. You have only to look at her. And it would not be decent for her to be going about as the rest of you do."

Money had been wrung from him for annual trips to London and the sea, but he had never grudged it more than now, and he had not himself moved a foot.

"I am certainly not going to pay for what I disapprove;" he set his lips grimly. "And I not only disapprove, but I forbid Leo to go prancing out into the world."

Wherefore Leo saw her sisters come and go, and remained stationary. But she could not be what she was, and not throw out a hint of what was for ever in her mind when at long last the year was over. It was only a little anxious word, and no one guessed how often it had hung upon the speaker's lips before it was out, nor how she wished it back directly it _was_ out. For it was met by a silence that stilled the very beating of her heart.

Then, "I do not quite understand," said Sue, gently as ever, "what is that you wish, Leo?" But Leo, who had hoped to be met half-way, perceived the coldness underneath.

"I only wanted to know how long this was to go on, Sue. I mean--I mean, how long I am to--to be unlike other people, and--and----" the rest faded away.

Half an hour afterwards the young widow went out by herself very quietly, and using a side entrance. She did not wish to meet anybody.

All along she had suspected the worst, but now that the bolt had actually fallen, she felt numb; there was a kind of weakness in her limbs; she trembled as she stole along the walk. For things had been made very plain, and the vague shadows of the future had taken form and shape. The future? There was to be no future for her. She ought not to be thinking about a future--the present and the past only were hers. And though of course her outward appearance could be suitably altered, and there might be, as time pa.s.sed, some relaxations and abrogations of rigid etiquette, no actual, positive change in her lot was to be looked for.

As a matter of fact, General Boldero had impressed thus much upon Sue, having perceived on this occasion more than she did. He saw that Leo was restive, he also saw that she was developing. He was not going to have her throw herself away a second time, but he was content to wait, and he was vaguely afraid that she would not be so. Wherefore she must be kept under lock and key.

The situation is now perhaps plain before our readers.

"Hollo?" said a voice on one side of a woodland stile.

"Hollo?" responded another opposite. "It's you?" continued Leo, stepping across, and giving Valentine Purcell her hand. "So you've come back, Val? What ages you have been away! I have missed you dreadfully."

"Not you. I don't believe it." Val beamed all over. "I say, have you though? You look uncommonly fit;" and he eyed her with a certain dubious admiration. If she were laughing at him, he was not going to be taken in, as he had been on several previous occasions.

"To be sure I'm fit, why shouldn't I be fit? I lead, oh, such a healthy life," retorted she, with mocking emphasis. "I eat, and I sleep, and I'm out all day. I do nothing but health from morning to night. Well?"

"Did you really miss me, Leo?"

"Humph!" said Leo, beginning to walk on.

"Did you know I had come back?" pursued he. "Did you think I should be here about this time? Did you----"

"Think you'd bother me with a lot of silly questions?" Leo whose first greeting had been simple and natural, a.s.sumed a pettish, artificial air.

"Can't you think of anything more amusing to say than, 'Did you, did you, did you?'"

"Ha--ha--ha!"

"And then to laugh idiotically!"

"I don't believe you missed me a bit, Leo."

"Neither do I, now I come to think of it. I forget when you went."

"Two months ago to-day. Don't you remember? Don't you----"

"And now it will be, 'Don't you--don't you--don't you?' Why should I remember? What is it to me that I should remember?"

"Anyhow you said you had missed me."

She had said it, and he had heard it, and stuck to the point like a leech. It mattered not that he had come very near to quarrelling with Leo before going off on his annual round of shooting visits; that she had been capricious and disdainful, and had once gone so far as to tell him that he bored her--(which no one had ever openly told Val before)--he had forgotten all that; and though during his absence he had also forgotten a good deal besides, and found other girls pretty and attractive, no sooner was he back at home than the needle of his mental compa.s.s flew round to its old point. He must needs hurry over to the Abbey, and take the field-path in which he had so often walked and talked with Leonore.

He had never made love to her; his grandmother had told him not.

Delighted as the old lady was with the turn events were taking, she had the wit to see that undue haste might ruin all, and enjoined caution with fervour. "Be friends, but no more--at present, Val."