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Mrs. Lancaster’s Rival

Chapter XVI. A Visit to Mabel

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Chapter XVI. A Visit to Mabel.

Flora Lancaster would have been angry, perhaps, if any one had told her that a little uneasiness was mixed with the curiosity that went on growing in her mind, through the days after her meeting with Randal Hawke and Mabel Ashley. She heard nothing from Randal about her going to Pensand or staying away. He probably thought that she would not dream of going without leave from him; but here he reckoned a little too much on her submissiveness. Of course there had been till now no question of her going to the Castle: she could not keep too far away; but now that this splendid excuse presented itself in the shape of a girl staying there, who was anxious to make her acquaintance, it was very hard for Flora to resist the temptation.

She had never seen the Castle, some day to be her home, except, from the river or the other side of the combe, a few gray walls and battlements rising above the trees. She longed to go through the rooms once, to see what it was all like, so as to gain a little reality for her dreams of the future. Her patience and prudence, which had been so wonderful, were inclined to give way when this opportunity offered itself.

There could be no great harm in it. General Hawke, though he might dislike visitors, would hardly be rude to her in his own house; Randal, even if he did not approve, could not be very angry; Miss Ashley would be really pleased. Flora saw very well that Mabel had taken a fancy to her.

So one lovely afternoon she walked across by the page 147 lanes from St. Denys to Pensand, and with a beating heart, for she had many misgivings, passed in at the lodge-gate, and climbed slowly up the steep winding road. After her sunny walk she enjoyed the deep shade of the great old trees, though every rustle among the fern startled her, and in the stillness she stopped and listened sometimes, as if she was a person who had no right there.

Flora had hardly boldness enough for the part in life that she was now called upon to play. She could be cool and composed enough in what concerned Dick North-cote, or any other acquaintance or admirer she might have; but Randal was a different thing, and to walk in his grounds, to run the risk of meeting his father, was what agitated Flora to the very depths of her nature. More than once she was on the point of turning back, but then curiosity spoke and said: ‘You have so long wished to see the Castle, and there cannot be a better opportunity. Don’t be absurd; nobody will hurt you. If he is vexed you can soon pacify him.’ And that faint shadow of uneasiness, without putting itself into any words or conscious thoughts, had its effect too. Flora walked on rather more quickly than before.

It was like the palace of the Sleeping Beauty, she began to think, as she passed under the gate-tower, and through the wild rose-garden beyond, without seeing any living creature. But then she suddenly found herself at the house-door. She looked at the long silent building with the strangest feeling of familiarity, hesitating a moment before she rang the bell. When she did ring it the dreadful clanging noise seemed as if it would never stop. It brought a deepened colour into Flora’s checks, even with her age and experience. Perhaps the astonished face of the old butler, who came to the door at once, may have had something to do with this. He knew Mrs. Lancaster very well by sight, but in his page 148 wildest dreams he had never imagined her calling at the Castle.

However, he did not deny that Miss Ashley was at home, though there was a protest in his manner, a ‘What will the world come to next!’ as he led the way through the hall and library to the drawing-room. There was also disapproval in his voice as he announced Mrs. Lancaster.

Mabel got up quickly from a great chair near the open window, where she was sitting in lonely state, with the kitten in her lap, and welcomed Flora with a frank pleasure that set the visitor quite at her ease.

Mabel herself felt rather alarmed, though she did not show it—remembering the General’s orders, and what Randal had said—but of course poor Mrs. Lancaster knew nothing about that, and her kindness in coming was quite delightful. They sat down at each end of that large sofa which was Randal’s favourite, and talked a little about the walk from St. Denys, and the beauty of Pensand.

‘I must show you the garden presently, when you are rested,’ said Mabel. ‘Yes, I think it is the most lovely place I ever saw. I thought it very dull at one time; but now it is better, and I have my kitten. Isn’t she pretty?’

Flora was quite ready to admire the kitten. She could not help glancing round the room, too, which she thought quite alarmingly handsome and stately. She felt like an intruder among all those dark old portraits, though it was with a certain pride and satisfaction that she looked at them. Yet she had enough sense of the fitness of things to feel, with a little keen pain, that this small lame girl beside her was more fitted than she was to live in such rooms as these. She tried to put these disagreeable things out of her head, however, and began alking to Mabel in a personal sort of way about herself page 149 and her occupations, hovering near the subject that she wished and yet half feared to bring into their conversation.

Flora’s gentle manner seemed to invite confidence. Mabel felt that, as she had done the other day. Having lived all this time without a woman to speak to, it was surprisingly easy to make friends with Mrs. Lancaster, and Mabel was quite ready to do it. The General’s prejudices, and Randal’s remarks on ‘society,’ were not worth thinking of. Mrs. Lancaster was a very pretty sweet-mannered woman, who had walked all the way from St. Denys to see her, when other people did not trouble themselves to remember her existence. Mabel in her loneliness was quite determined not to lose this chance of making a friend. Randal liked Mrs. Lancaster; he could not really mind; and so she chattered away.

One or two questions from Flora brought out the whole story of her young friend’s life, up to the time of her coming to Pensand. After that there was not much to tell. To Mabel herself it seemed rather dreamy and strange, that long string of summer days spent in solitude, with now and then a bright exception. Flora seemed to understand it all.

‘What a difference it must make to you when Mr. Hawke is here!’ she said. ‘Had you a very pleasant drive the other day, after we parted?’

‘O yes, charming,’ said Mabel. ‘And we are to have still nicer drives when he comes back. You know him very well, don’t you? Do tell me what you think of him.’

Flora looked at her with a curious intensity, and smiled.

‘Of course, I have known him ever since we were children. He and I and Mr. Northcote, whom I think you also know, we were all young together, and very naughty children too.’

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‘Mr. Northcote! yes; but Randal is much nicer,’ began Mabel, and then paused in some confusion. What was she saying? Had not Randal told her that Dick Northcote might very likely marry Mrs. Lancaster after all? ‘I don’t mean that, exactly,’ she said. ‘What I mean is, I know Mr. Northcote so very slightly, and Randal so well. No doubt Mr. Northcote might be just as nice, if one knew him. But I think one might so very easily be mistaken about Randal. Don’t you think so too?’

Mabel looked anxiously at her companion, to see if she minded that unfortunate remark about Dick. But Flora was smiling, and though there was something slightly peculiar in her smile, the gentleness of her manner was unchanged.

‘I think I know what you mean, quite well,’ she said, to Mabel’s relief ignoring Dick altogether. ‘His satirical way of talking about things.’

‘Yes. Do you know, when he first came I did not like him at all. I thought he was so sharp and ill-natured. But now I have quite changed my mind, and I should be a very ungrateful girl if I had not. I can’t tell you how kind he is. He thinks of everything to give one pleasure. He brought me a number of books from London’—here Mabel could not refrain from a small sigh—‘and he gave me this dear kitten; and now the pleasantest thing I have to think of is his coming back again.’

‘He is like a kind brother to you, in fact,’ said Flora.

‘I don’t believe brothers ever are so kind,’ said Mabel impulsively.

Then she thought there was something a little strange in the fixed intense manner in which Flora was gazing at her. It struck her that perhaps she ought not to talk of Randal in this way to a mere acquaintance, and the thought brought the colour into her face suddenly.

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‘Perhaps he would not like me to talk like this,’ she said.

‘I value your confidence, Miss Ashley,’ said Flora, in her low even voice. ‘Don’t mind speaking to me. I know very well how you must enjoy it. And in all you tell me there is nothing that is not natural.’

‘It all seemed to come as a matter of course,’ said Mabel. ‘His father and mine were like brothers, you see. So it was quite natural, as soon as we really understood each other, that we should call each other by our Christian names.’

‘Of course. Perfectly natural,’ said Flora.

Then, a little to Mabel’s surprise, she stood up and drew an odd quick breath, as if something was stiling her.

‘Do excuse me,’ she said; ‘but isn’t this room very hot? You said you would show me the garden. I should be so thankful for a little fresh air.’

‘O yes, we will go out at once,’ said Mabel.

They wandered about among the roses, but Flora did not seem to care about them much. Mabel thought she could not be well, and wondered what she could do for her. Flora, however, declared that she was perfectly well, and should enjoy her walk home.

‘You must take some roses,’ said Mabel, cutting a lovely red one.

‘No, indeed, thank you. The garden at home is quite full of roses,’ said Flora. ‘Please leave these beauties where they are. I may not go straight home, and they would fade before I got there. I really mean it. I would rather not have them, thank you.’

As they drew near the house again, Mabel’s ear distinguished the well-known sound of Stevens setting down the tea-tray in the drawing-room. At the same instant Flora paused; perhaps she heard it too.

‘If I go down this path, it will bring me out into the page 152 drive, won’t it?’ she said. ‘I think I had better say good-bye now.’

Mabel was beginning to remonstrate, when General Hawke suddenly stepped out of the drawing-room window. Mabel felt rather terrified, and Flora coloured deeply; her young companion wondered why. But the General was equal to the occasion. Mabel almost felt as if she loved him the next moment, when he came forward in the pleasantest, politest manner, claimed acquaintance with Mrs. Lancaster, and shook hands with her quite kindly.

‘Your tea is ready, Mabel,’ he said. ‘Mrs. Lancaster will be glad of it after her long walk.’

But Flora would not be persuaded to go into the house again.

‘Thank you, General Hawke,’ she said. ‘You are very kind; but I promised to be home in time for my father and mother’s tea. I can’t disappoint them.’

‘Then you are a very good daughter,’ said the General kindly; ‘and I suppose we must not say any more. How does Captain Cardew like this hot weather? He is a wonderful man, is he not? Just as strong and hearty as ever?’

‘He is very well, thank you,’ said Flora. ‘Good-bye, Miss Ashley.’

General Hawke stood there on the gravel, and watched the two young women as they wished each other good-bye. Mabel was a little disturbed and vexed at her friend’s sudden departure; he could see that; there was a sad puzzled look in her eyes. Mrs. Lancaster, too, looked grave. But he could not be aware of the change in her as Mabel was—of the unaccountable cloud that had come over her gentle serenity. Mabel walked with her as far as the drive; and as they stood there for a moment, out of the General’s hearing, Flora had the greatest difficulty in not giving some quick passionate page 153 answer to the almost affectionate question that those earnest eyes were asking her. She was wise, however, and restrained herself. She walked quickly away, and Mabel went back to tea and the General.

‘What brought that good woman here?’ said he, without any particular sign of indignation.

‘She came to see me,’ said Mabel. ‘I hope you won’t be angry with her. She did not know, you see, that you objected to strangers.’

‘She ran away rather fast when I appeared,’ said the General. ‘We are not often troubled with visitors from St. Denys, fortunately. It is a very good thing, do you know, to have the character of being ferocious; it saves you from a great many bores. How do you like that lady?’

‘She is very pretty, I think, and very nice,’ said Mabel.

‘Yes; a good-looking woman still, though nothing to what she was ten years ago, when all the boys were wild about her.’

‘Was Randal wild about her too?’ said Mabel, she did not know why.

‘Randal!’ said the General, looking at her rather sharply. ‘What can have put that into your head?’

‘Nothing at all. I don’t know. I only wondered.’

‘No, my dear. Randal may not be perfect—no young man is. But he is a sensible fellow, with very good taste; and he was always sure to leave that sort of nonsense to rattlepates like Dick Northcote.’

It was a great relief to Mabel that Mrs. Lancaster’s visit had not enraged the General. She thought perhaps, in spite of what he had said to Randal, he would not very much object to her coming again.

And Flora! Several times in her long walk home all her strength seemed suddenly to desert her, and she was obliged to sit down on the bank by the roadside, till she had scolded herself back into some sort of life.

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This was what she had gained by her journey to Pensand. What had before been nothing but a faint possibility had become an awful suspicion, deepening sometimes into almost certainty. And yet she told herself it could not be; she could not believe it. Other people might be false, but this one person must be true, or what was to become of her? Then she hated herself for suspecting him. Then she remembered Mabel’s blush, and the happy tone in which she talked of ‘Randal,’ the one brightness in her dull life. Then again—But it was no use arguing with oneself about it. Time would show.

And so at last Flora reached home, pale and exhausted. She lay on the sofa all the evening, submitting to be caressed and petted by her mother, who begged her never to think of taking such a long walk again.