Fenwick's Career Part 45

'It's a French name,' she said, with smiling apology, handing it to Miss Anna.

Miss Anna glanced at it, and then at the bearer.

'Kindly step this way,' she said, pointing to the parlour, and holding her grey-capped head rather impressively high.

Madame de Pastourelles obeyed her, murmuring that she had sent her carriage on to the Dungeon Ghyll Hotel, whence it would return for her in an hour.

Eugenie had made her first speech--her first embarra.s.sed explanation.

She and Miss Anna sat on either side of the parlour table, their eyes on each other. Eugenie felt herself ill at ease under the critical gaze of this handsome, grey-haired woman, with her broad shoulders and her strong brows. She had left London in hurry and agitation, and was, after all, but very slenderly informed as to the situation in Langdale. Had she inadvertently said something to set this formidable-looking person against her and her mission?

On her side Miss Anna surveyed the delicate refinement of her visitor; the black dress so plain, yet so faultless; the ma.s.s of brown hair, which even after a night's railway journey was still perfectly dressed, no doubt by the maid without whom these fine ladies never venture themselves abroad; the rings which sparkled on the thin fingers; the single string of pearls, which alone relieved the severity of the black bodice. She noticed the light, distinguished figure, the beauty of the small head; and her hostility waxed within her. John's smart friend belonged to the pampered ones of the earth, and Miss Anna did not intend to be taken in by her, not for a moment.

'Mr. Fenwick has been terribly overworked,' Eugenie repeated, colouring against her will, 'and yesterday he was quite broken down by your letter. It seemed too much for him. You will understand, I'm sure. When a person is so weak, they shrink--don't they?--even from what they most desire. And so he asked me--to--to come and tell Mrs.

Fenwick something about his health, and his circ.u.mstances these last two years--just to prepare the way. There is so much--isn't there?--Mrs. Fenwick cannot yet know; and I'm afraid--it will pain her to hear.'

The speaker's voice faltered and ceased. She felt through every nerve that she was in a false position, and wondered how she was to mend it.

'Do I understand you that John Fenwick is coming to see his wife to-night?' said Miss Mason at last, in a voice of battle.

'He arrives by the afternoon train,' said Eugenie, looking at her questioner with a slight frown of perplexity.

'What is the matter with him?' said Miss Anna, dryly.

Eugenie hesitated; then she bent forward, the colour rus.h.i.+ng again into her cheeks.

'I think'--her voice was low and hurried, and she looked round her to see that the door was shut and they were really alone--'I think it has been an attack of depression--perhaps--perhaps melancholia. He has had great misfortunes and disappointments. Unfortunately, my father and I were abroad, and did not understand. But, thank G.o.d!'--she clasped her hands involuntarily--'I got home yesterday--I went to see him--just in time--'

She paused, looking at her companion as though she asked for the understanding which would save her further words. But Miss Anna sat puzzled and cold.

'Just in time?' she repeated.

'I didn't understand at first,' said Eugenie, with emotion; 'I only saw that he was ill and terribly broken. But he has told me since--in a letter I got just before I started. And I want you to advise me--to tell me whether you think Mrs. Fenwick should know--'

'Know what?' cried Miss Anna.

Madame de Pastourelles bent forward again, and said a few words under her breath.

Anna Mason recoiled.

'Horrible!' she said; 'and--and so cowardly! So like a man!'

Eugenie could not help a tremulous smile; then she resumed:

'The picture had come--just come. It was that which saved him. Ah, yes'--the smile flashed out again--'I had forgotten! Of course Mrs.

Fenwick must know! It was the picture--it was _she_ that _saved_ him. But your note, by some strange accident, had escaped him. It had fallen out, among some other papers on the floor--and he was nearly beside himself with disappointment. I was lucky enough to find it and give it him. But oh! it was pitiful to see him.'

She shaded her eyes with her hand a moment, waiting for composure.

Miss Anna watched her, the strong mouth softening unconsciously.

'And so, when he asked me to come and see his wife first--to tell her about his troubles and his breakdown--I felt as if I could not refuse--though, of course, I know'--she looked up appealingly--'it may well seem strange and intrusive to Mrs. Fenwick. But perhaps when she understands how we have all been searching for her these many months--'

'Searching!' exclaimed Miss Anna. 'Who has been searching?'

Her question arrested her companion. Eugenie drew herself more erect, collecting her thoughts.

'Shall we face the facts as they are?' she said at last, quietly. 'I can tell you very shortly how the case stands.'

Miss Anna half-rose, looked at the door, sat down again.

'Mrs. Fenwick, you understand, may return at any time!'

'I will be very short. We must consult--mustn't we?--for them both?'

Timidly, her eyes upraised to the vigorous old face beside her, Eugenie held out her delicate hand. With a quick, impulsive movement, wondering at herself, Miss Anna grasped it.

A little while later Miss Anna emerged from the parlour. She went upstairs to find Carrie.

Carrie was sitting beside the open door of her room, calmly ripping up a mattress. The bed behind her had been substantially lengthened, apparently by the help of a packing-case in which Mrs. Fenwick had brought some of her possessions across the Atlantic. A piece of white dimity had been tacked round the packing-case.

'Carrie, what on earth are you doing?' cried Miss Anna, in dismay.

'It's all right,' said Carrie--'I'm only making it over. It's got lumpy.' Then she laid down her scissors, flushed, and looked at Miss Anna. 'Who's that downstairs?'

'It's a lady who wants to see your mother. Will you go and fetch her?'

'Father's "messenger"?' cried Carrie, springing up, and breathing quick.

Miss Anna nodded.

'Your mother should be very grateful to her,' she said, in rather a shaky voice.

Carrie put on her hat in silence, and descended. The door of the parlour was open, and between it and the parlour window stood the strange lady, staring at the river and the fell opposite, apparently deep in thought.

At the sound of the girl's step Eugenie turned.

'Carrie!' she cried, involuntarily--'you are Carrie!' And she came forward, impetuously holding out both her hands. 'How like the picture--how like!'

And Eugenie gazed in delight at the small, slight creature, so actively and healthily built, in spite of her fairy proportions, at the likeness to Fenwick in hair and skin, at the apple-freshness of her colour, the beauty of her eyes, the lightness of her pretty feet.

Twelve years!--and then to find _this_, dropped into your arms by the G.o.ds--this living, breathing promise of all delight! Deep in Eugenie's heart there stirred the pang of her own pitiful motherhood, of the child who had just flickered into life, and out of it, through one summer's day.

She shyly put her arm round the girl.

'May I,' she said, timidly--'may I kiss you?'

Carrie, with down-dropped eyes, a little grave, submitted.

'I am going to tell my mother. Father sent you, didn't he?'