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Masters of the Zodiac
Twelve Signs. Twelve Guilds. Twelve destinies about to unfold.
One by one, the new Masters will be called to take their rightful place in history
But the path to greatness is not an easy one, and each Master will have their own battles to fight along the way And if they refuse, if they turn their back on destiny, they stand to lose more than just the title of Master
Because it isn’t only their futures at risk, but their hearts as well…
Libra by Stella Moore
Scorpio by Kessily Lewel
Sagittarius by Honey Meyer
Capricorn by EJ Frost
Aquarius by Poppy Flynn
Pisces by J.M. Dabney
Aries by Ryan T. Osborn & Minette Moreau
Taurus by Eris Adderly
Gemini by Raisa Greywood
Cancer by Jennifer Bene & Shane Starrett
Leo by Golden Angel
Virgo by S. Cinders
Join the Masters of the Zodiac Facebook group for teasers, reveals, and a chance to meet all the wonderful authors who contributed to this project.
Author Note
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
28. Epilogue
Bonus Epilogue
About S. Cinders
Also by S. Cinders
Contents
Libra Stella Moore
Chapter 1
Author Note
Dear Reader,
The Masters of the Zodiac series comprises twelve different authors and their take on what it might be like if each Zodiac sign had a governing entity. We call these leaders, Masters of the Zodiac, and the governing body, we call guilds. Some stories are heavier in the paranormal aspects of such a world, whereas in other stories, it is merely part of the lifestyle.
In Virgo, the guild is a part of the lifestyle, but not the primary focus of the story. Imagine it’s like the weather, you tune into the news to get your horoscope from Chadrick Cummings and keep listening to hear if it might rain tomorrow. The guilds are simply a support system for everyone born in that zodiac sign. True to a Virgo’s nature, they rule the Virgo guild like a corporation, where other guilds might be more mystically devised, or perhaps even led by a bit of divination.
This story is a stand-alone work. However, I believe readers would enjoy diving into the other authors' stories, especially Leo’s story. There are many cross-overs with the Leo characters in Virgo.
Last, I want to share some possible trigger warnings. Our heroine is delightfully funny, and as we know, humor often hides the things we don’t want people to see. There is some childhood abuse that Daphne references, as well as some mental health challenges she will face throughout her growth in the book. There are also some light BDSM scenes and our couple dabbles in a ddlg relationship.
I wish you happy reading and hope you enjoy Virgo.
Love to all!
Cinders
“And for all Virgos out there looking for love, the stars have aligned. Expect to be swept off your feet. Don’t deny yourself the sensuous pleasures that are awaiting you. A word of caution: true love is still a long way off, but this is the first step in the right direction.”
— CHADRICK CUMMINGS, CHANNEL 8 NEWS
Prologue
DAPHNE BLESSING - QUEENS NY
“T
his will be easy,” I said distractedly, as I reviewed my list.
duct tape
Jumbo zip-ties
black sexy spy outfit
ski-mask - ask Paca
manicure & wax
Alpaca, yep, that’s his name, and nope, I don’t know if it’s the one his mama gave him, is one of my very best friends. I’d affectionately nicknamed him Paca not long after we’d met. He was my ride or die, ugly cry bestie, who I trusted with my most sacred of secrets.
However, as he sat at the foot of my bed eying the duct tape and jumbo-sized zip-ties, he looked at me like I had quite literally lost my mind.
“You can’t be serious here, Daph. People don’t just go around kidnapping other people. It’s a felony offense.”
I waved his concerns away like pesky flies at an afternoon picnic. “Paca, it’s not kidnapping when the person in question is your one true love.”
“Have you met Chadrick Cummings?” Paca countered. I jumped up triumphantly, with a smile wider than the Hudson River. “I have met him several times, as a matter of fact.”
Paca arched a perfectly placed brow. “Seeing a celebrity at a public event is not meeting them. Have you spoken to Chadrick Cummings, in person?”
I opened my mouth to spout that yes, I had indeed spoken to Chadrick Cummings because I had written at least half a dozen times. But unless you count the hastily scrawled, ‘Return to Sender’, which was written on my more recent forays of correspondence, I hadn’t really spoken with Chadrick.
My face fell. “No, I haven’t talked to him. But that’s just because fate has intervened. The road to true love isn’t supposed to be easy. Toss me those pants, would you?”
He picked up my leather pants and eyed them warily. Before he could comment, I snatched them out of his hands.
While I attempted to pour myself into my pants, I asked him, “So, what I am hearing is that you won’t let me borrow your ski mask?”
“What you are hearing is that you have bloody well lost your fucking mind,” he grumbled. “Besides, my ski mask isn’t black. It’s got the Pride flag all over it.”
“Finally!” I uttered as I edged up the last of the zipper. “Damn, I don’t know if I am going to be able to move in these pants, but they make my ass look amazing.”
Paca grabbed a pillow and covered his face. It appeared as if he was trying to smother himself. Paca could be so overly dramatic sometimes. I walked over and yanked the pillow off of his face.
“Come on,” I cajoled. “Just try to see things from my point of view, for once. I know in my heart of hearts that Chadrick Cummings is my soulmate. He’s my lobster, Paca. The penguin daddy to my future baby seahorses.”
He blinked in confusion.
“Never mind that,” I added hastily. Then I poured on my greatest impassioned plea–the one that had moved mountains for me all of my life. “Paca, this is my moment. You saw the Horoscope report today. I have to do this. The only way that Chadrick is going to take me seriously is if I do something so completely over the top that it blows the grand venture out of the park. Take a leap of faith with me, Paca, please?”
“While I appreciate the big puppy dog eyes,” Paca replied dispassionately, “I feel like, as your best friend, I have to tell you the
truth.”
I wrinkled my nose in distaste. “I have never cared for the truth.”
That statement was met with a roll of Paca’s eyes. “You’ve already given me this speech, Daph. When you sent the first letter declaring your everlasting love, I warned you not to.”
My expression soured. “You told me I sounded like a deranged stalker.”
He lifted a brow. “Are you saying you didn’t? Besides, you didn’t even attempt to write him until he started showing up in the press with Star Donovan. He’s not even single, Daph. That’s bad form.”
Fighting the urge to stomp my foot, I continued, “Their relationship is obviously a publicity stunt. He doesn’t love her.”
“It looks like love to me,” he argued.
“That’s what the press does,” I huffed. “It’s their damn job. Anyway, when I sent the flowers, you told me that a man doesn’t like to be hunted. Seeing as how you are never without companionship, I conceded on that point.”
Paca snorted. “It’s hardly a concession when the flowers were sent back.”
“He likely never saw them,” I retorted, ignoring the tiny twinge of doubt as I remembered the feedback from the florist.
Anyone could have written that terse note demanding that I stop bothering him. It had likely been Star Donovan. I could hardly blame her for thinking herself to be in love with the perfect man. And Chadrick was perfect. Every inch of his blond, bronzed body had me melting inside. Paca just didn’t understand—Chadrick was my lobster! He loved the zodiac as much as I did. Hell, maybe even more.
Paca got to his feet and walked over to where I had stared blindly out the window for just a smidge too long. His large frame dwarfed mine. At four inches over six feet, Paca looked like a professional football player. All toned black skin and perfect cheekbones. For a gay man, Paca wasn’t effeminate. However, when Kitty Sanchez, his drag alter ego, came out to play, Kitty was ten times the woman I could ever hope to be.
I know how cliche it sounded to move to the city and gain a gay best friend, fall in love, and live happily ever after. But that was literally what happened to me, sans the happily ever after. However, I had a plan to rectify that, and Paca was going to help whether he wanted to or not. Because that’s what best friends do, isn’t it?
I slumped against the window, tears gathering at the back of my eyes. “If you don’t think I should do this,” I began.
“I don’t!” he added emphatically, but then he blew out a longsuffering sigh. “But who am I to stand in the way of true love?”
Tears immediately drying up, a wide smile broke across my face. I turned on my heels and threw my arms around him in a huge hug.
“Thank you, thank you, Paca. You won’t regret it.”
“You can take my hat, Daph, but I am warning you. If the police come looking for you, I will tell them where you’re at. Do you hear me? I am not becoming some bad man’s bitch in prison because you roped me into your batshit crazy scheme.”
I laughed. “You would love to be some bad man’s bitch.”
He barked out a laugh as he tossed his colorful ski-mask at me. “That’s what I get for playing drinking games with a fish like you. I swear you know all of my worst secrets.”
I grinned up at him. “Thank you, Paca. This is going to change my life.”
Chapter One
DAPHNE - CHARITY GALA, MANHATTAN NY
The torrential rain pounded down as we cowered in the bushes outside of the event center. Although I had been utterly confident in our success while safely ensconced in my apartment, now, in the freezing rain, darkness obscured my vision. As nagging doubts started to creep back in, the truth of Paca’s arguments began hitting home. Without a doubt, this had to be the most harebrained scheme I had ever concocted.
A twinge of guilt swept over me as I looked at Paca, who was dressed in black. What kind of friend was I to drag him into this foolish plan with me? As a black gay man, Paca already knew what it was like to have a target painted on his back. Clad in black with my mascara smeared under our eyes, we looked more like deranged football hooligans than facilitators of true love.
This was cray-cray. Paca was right.
Shivering from both the cold and the rain, I faced facts. We needed to call this ridiculous idea off. Sadly, I should have come to this realization ten seconds earlier. As it was, I opened my mouth the very second that Paca darted out of our hiding place.
“Wa-” My cry to call off the plans was ignored as a tall figure exited the building and stood underneath the darkened balcony.
I watched in horror as my best friend charged the figure and knocked him over the head. I hadn’t even realized I was moving until I slammed into Paca’s back like a crash test dummy, causing him to drop the figure he’d just bludgeoned.
“Oh my God!” I whimpered. “Did you kill him?”
Paca’s head whipped around, terror in his dark eyes as he whisper-yelled, “Where is the van, Daph?”
“Oh!” My fingers flew to my lips. Paca was right. I was supposed to be pulling up the getaway car as he lugged Chadwick to the street. This wasn’t nearly as slick as it had been in my mind.
“I can hear voices, Daph!” Paca pleaded for me to hurry.
“Right.” I straightened and dashed back to where we’d hidden the van. Under the guise of a catering service, we had easily gained access to the property. Despite being soaked to the bone, I pulled myself together and brought the van around.
Thankfully Paca had already dragged Chadrick to the edge of the sidewalk. It was just a moment later when Paca yanked open the van doors when I saw a sliver of light coming from the building.
“Someone’s coming,” I squealed. “Hurry!”
Paca muttered something incomprehensible and with a grunt shoved our precious cargo into the back of the van.
“Get in,” I uttered through clenched teeth, ignoring the doorway that was now wide open with several people coming through.
Paca jumped in and closed the doors from the inside.
I went to gun it, but then thought better of it. The van didn’t have windows and it would look highly suspicious if I tore out of there like a bat out of hell. So, with the patience of the angels, I pulled away from the curb and began to drive away.
“Is he dead?” I whispered again out of the side of my mouth.
“How should I know?” Paca snapped. “It was your idea to put a bag over his head.”
I frowned, knowing that it had been my idea. But in the hypothetical world of sweeping my true love off his feet, this had seemed more romantic and less like a kidnapping. Right now, it felt decidedly like a kidnapping.
“Can you just put your hand on his chest to see if he’s breathing?”
“Let me get the zip-ties on him first,” Paca grumbled.
I bit my lip as I navigated the van through the side streets until we were safely on our way back to Queens. I knew we couldn’t stay there. But Paca had already done more than any other friend would have and he didn’t have to participate in my escapade any longer than was necessary.
“He’s breathing,” Paca confirmed. “Damn, Daph, this man is built. Are you sure he plays for your team only?”
“Get your hands off my damn lobster, Paca.”
While I was only partially kidding, I was feeling highly possessive over the man. I had just committed a serious crime, all in the name of love. And fighting for true love, wasn’t that the noblest cause of all?
We were silent for the duration of the ride to Queens, although I made Paca check on his breathing at least twice during that span of time. Once we got to the shop, I let Paca out and grabbed the duffle bag stuffed with spare cash, snacks, and a change of clothes. I couldn’t be a cat woman if I was going to be on the run.
“It’s not too late to stop this,” Paca said, with genuine concern in his eyes.
A muffled moan from my captive led me to strengthen my resolve.
“I have to do this, Paca,” I said, going on my tiptoes to give him a massive hug. “Don’t take any calls from me, and don’t call me. Remember the plan.”
“You’re somewhere in the Midwest for a sewing convention, and I haven’t heard from you. Daph, where are you going?”
“It’s best you don’t know,” I said cagily, getting back into the van. It was then that I noticed my prisoner was thrashing around.
“Chadrick,” I snapped. “Quit doing that. You’re going to get hurt.”
The muffled curse wasn’t anything befitting a gentleman, but I forgave him, seeing as he was gagged and trussed up like a steer.
“Listen, I will explain everything. But we need to put some miles between us and well, whoever might be looking for you. So just snuggle into those pillows and blankets I packed back there. This shouldn’t be too long of a trip.”
Chapter Two
BENEDICT BOUND & GAGGED
My best friend, Chadrick Cummings, had a habit of coercing me into attending functions that I normally abhorred. Namely charity events. Not that I was against charity. I’m not a soulless monster. My company, Sharp Enterprises, has donated to a vast array of charitable foundations, and continues to do so annually. Not only did it look good for the board, but it was also a fantastic tax deduction.
However, giving to charity by means of signing a check was far different from wearing a tuxedo and being fawned over by wannabe rich sycophants. There’s one thing you need to know about me. I’m not what the touchy feely type calls a people person.
Most of humanity rubbed me the wrong way. Think of a cat on ice. Some things just aren’t meant to be together. Despite my best friend’s gregarious personality, and fame, he was also intelligent, loyal, and one hell of a soldier. That’s actually where our friendship started, during covert missions that nobody will ever read about, or even know happened.
Life and death situations bring individuals together. Just as it had with Chadrick and I during our stint in the military. In some way, that could be counted as another reason I had attended the charity function. Not because the event itself was considered a life and death situation, unless you could consider death by boredom, which I could take into consideration. But because Chadrick had been facing a mysterious stalker over the past several weeks that had shaken us all.
Thankfully, the situation ended up being resolved and Chadrick had come out relatively unscathed. What he had gained out of it was the love of a beautiful woman who could kick some serious ass. I was happy for him, if not a little jealous of the bastard.
I’d noticed at the gala, Scarlet—known to the public as Star—sitting rather gingerly after we’d gathered from the dining room. I could only imagine what the minx had done to provoke Chadrick’s attention.
“How are you doing?” Chadrick asked, meeting my smile with one of his own.
“Bored,” I answered honestly, and then frowned as thunder crashed outside the window. “I might leave now that dinner’s over. The only reason I haven’t left yet is because I was hoping the rain might let up. I got here before it started coming down.”
“Hey, do you want my umbrella?” Chadrick asked. “Not that I want you to leave, but if you wanted to get out of here…”
I considered the offer. “Give it a little longer and I might take you up on that. Did you two just get here?”
After engaging in some idle chitchat with Scarlet and Chadrick, I felt the day weighing on me and called it a night.
Turning to my friend, I said, “I’m going to get going. Can I take you up on the offer of your umbrella?”
Chadrick was quick to respond. “Of course. Take the car too. That way, he can just come back and bring it with him. We’ll be here a while.”
After retrieving Chadrick’s umbrella from the coat check, I found my way to the back of the building at an inauspicious entrance. Chadrick was always smart to plan his exits and entrances separate from all the rest. It was safer that way, and definitely my preference. I opened the door and smelt the rain pouring down on the city.
Some people hated the bright lights and crowded streets of Manhattan. But I loved it. Manhattan wasn’t just a place, it was a living entity with a pulse that you could feel if you knew where to look.
I blew out a big breath and closed my eyes, losing myself for a moment in the shadows of the city.
Obviously, I’m the biggest idiot on the face of the planet. What billionaire walks around outside in New York without a bodyguard, a weapon, or even a damn topcoat? I was a sitting duck, and it was hunting season.
I felt the blow, and then nothing more.
It could have been ten minutes or ten hours later when I awakened. I was that disoriented. My head was throbbing, my legs were bound, and they tied my hands behind me. There was something over my mouth, likely duct tape, and I had a bag over my head. Which I can only assume was used for a blindfold. I cursed a blue streak that would have shocked my mother and likely gotten me the belt by my father.
However, the last thing I expected to hear was a woman’s voice. Sexist of me? Yeah, probably. But in my defense, I didn’t have many enemies. Sure, there were business executives that likely daydreamed of chopping my head off or throwing me to the fishes. There were plenty I’d wished the same fate to. But we didn’t actually do it. I wasn’t a mobster. I was from money, upper class, upper society, and definitely not the sort who was involved in anything as tawdry as a kidnapping.
It wasn’t until my female bandit began to speak that the pieces started fitting together.
“Chadrick,” she snapped. “Quit doing that. You’re going to get hurt.”
I let out another string of expletives. Of course, the chit thought I was Chadrick. I had been carrying the man’s umbrella. We are of a similar height and build, and the exit wasn’t well lit.
Unbeknownst to my internal outrage, she continued, “Listen, I will explain everything. But we need to put some miles between us and, well, whoever might be looking for you. So just snuggle into those pillows and blankets I packed back there.”
Fucking snuggle up? I was bound and gagged like an animal. Besides, all I could picture was bed bugs and lice. I wasn’t about to snuggle in.
Chapter Three
DAPHNE TURNABOUT IS FAIR PLAY
Chadrick had been eerily still for the last few hours. One would think that perhaps he had gone to sleep. But I knew he hadn’t. Furious anger positively radiated off of him.
I tried to convince myself that reading his emotions so easily was just another sign of our compatibility. We were just two star-crossed lovers that needed to find one another. However, there was nothing friendly, romantic, or kind about the emotions I could pick up on.
Having some empathic qualities had often served me well over the years. It helped to diffuse a situation when you could read the emotion of the other individual. I would say Chadrick’s main emotion was murderous with a touch of cunning that I hadn’t expected.
Pulling into a rented cabin, I rambled, “We’re here. I know this must be horribly confusing for you. Please, just give me a chance to explain.”
Placing the van into park, I opened the door and was immediately assaulted by the gorgeous smell of nature. It was stunning, and for me, a symbol of renewal. Things were going to be fine, I assured myself.
Moving to the back of the van, I opened the doors and winced when I saw the zip-ties cutting into Chadrick’s ankles and wrists.
“Oh God! I am so sorry,” I exclaimed, jumping into the back of the van and searching for some scissors. “I never wanted to hurt you!”
In my fumbling, I finally came across some wire cutters and supposed they would work just as well. I snipped the zip-tie at the ankles first and then followed it by the wrists. I was just about to reach
for the bag that was over his head when strong arms grabbed my wrists.
We wrestled for about thirty seconds and before I knew it, I was flat on my back with both wrists held in his one hand while he straddled me. I bucked and twisted for all I was worth, but he was far heavier than I was.
“Please,” I begged him. “Chadrick, let me explain.”
With a muffled growl, he reached up with his one free hand and yanked the black bag off his head.
I’ve heard people use the phrase, I died a thousand deaths at that moment. But I never understood it until I met his furious gaze. The icy blue eyes and inky black hair were nothing like Chadrick’s golden mane.
“No, no, no!” I cried out. “You aren’t Chadrick. Oh no! What? How could this happen? Why aren’t you Chadrick?”
His autocratic features bespoke of wealth and privilege. Even with messy hair from the bag and with duct tape across his mouth, this man was incredibly handsome. And a bit familiar?
Still straddling me with my wrists immobile, he used his free hand to rip the duct tape off. I winced at his sharply inhaled breath.
“I am so damn sorry,” I whispered.
“It’s customary when one wishes to tie up another, that consent is given.” His sharply spoken words held a wealth of condemnation in them. Whoever this person was, he was used to being obeyed.
“You see,” I began, licking my lips as I tried to remember the rehearsed speech I had planned to have with Chadrick. But the words had slipped away. And all I was left with was the realization that I had not only been the cause of this man’s disheveled state, I had seen to it that he was hit over the head, tied up, and abducted.
“No,” he replied shortly. “I don’t see. I hope you have a good lawyer. You’re going to need it.”
I swallowed. This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen. Everything was true, I was guilty of the accusations he’d accused me of. Dear God! I was going to be some bad man’s boyfriend—or girlfriend? I didn’t know how it would work! Tears began to well at the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. The last thing I needed to do was fall apart.
I opened my mouth and said the first honest thing that came to mind. “I really need to use the bathroom. It’s been hours.”
He blinked, almost as if he hadn’t heard me.
“I have a small bladder,” I continued, like an idiot. “I don’t want to pee in the van, it’s a rental.”
His eyes narrowed. “I threaten you with legal action that will assuredly see you spend time in jail and all you can say is that you need to piss?”
“Oh no, I definitely wouldn’t say piss,” I countered, my mouth running away before my brain could catch up. “That’s not very ladylike.”
His jaw dropped. It was only a fraction, but I saw it. He was now looking at me like a specimen under a microscope. “Are you on some kind of drug?”
I frowned. “Of course not. I don’t do drugs, although sometimes I do take a melatonin gummy to help me sleep, but they are supposed to be non-habit forming.”
“You’ve lost your fucking mind,” he said at last, sitting up and releasing my hands.
I breathed a sigh of relief until I realized that he was searching in his pockets for something.
“Where is my cell phone?”
I winced. “Um, well, you see. It could have been used to trace you. So we left it back at the gala entrance.”
He slowly closed his eyes and uttered a few choice words. If it had been anyone else, I would have thought they were uttering a prayer. On this man, it was far more likely to be a curse that would send me straight to hell.
“You could let me up,” I offered, with what I hoped to be a kind smile.
He ignored me and shuffled his hands through my bags. He gave a triumphant snort when he came across his prize. The goddamned zip-ties.
“You wouldn’t.” I shook my head as I spoke. “That wouldn’t be gentlemanly.”
He barked out a laugh. “Who said I was a gentleman?”
“I thought you said that it was customary to gain consent before someone goes and ties another person up?” I argued.
He leaned down really close to my head. My breasts were smashed against his chest and my breathing became erratic. I could
feel his lips brush the shell of my ear as he replied, “My dear, this is simply a little tit for tat. You’ve already had a turn.”
No amount of arguing or conniving could convince him to leave my hands and feet free.
“How am I going to pee?” I pleaded at last.
“Let’s hope there are flushing toilets, shall we? It will be far less embarrassing to help you pee in a bathroom as opposed to the woods—don’t you think?”
“Help?” I squeaked. “I don’t need any help.”
He shrugged, making sure my bindings were tight before climbing out of the van. I worried that he was just going to leave me there, but a second later, he grabbed my feet and yanked me out.
The next thing I knew, I had been slung over the man’s shoulder and was now face to face with his ass.
A very fine ass.
Not that I was looking, because I sure as hell wasn’t. But if I was, damn, girl, you could bounce a quarter off that thing.
Without asking for the hidden key’s location, the man went to the cabin door and set me against the wall. Then he looked under the mat, above the door frame, and behind the flowerpot. It was behind the flowers.
With ease, he opened the door, flipped on the light, and hauled me inside. Taking a quick assessment of the small cabin, he located the bathroom and then came back for me. I was about to start screaming like a banshee when we heard it.
Crack, crack. Crack, crack.
Gunshots rang out in the night.
“What was that?” I whispered, suddenly not so afraid of this man.
“Stay here,” he admonished, and then he eyed my leather pants. Shaking his head, he left the bathroom and closed the door.
I looked around frantically for something to break the zip-ties, but there was nothing there. I settled for the countertop and tried to get the right angle. Perhaps if I hit it right, I could break the ties and get the hell out of here.
Another shot rang out that sounded closer.
The bathroom door slammed open and my captive turned captor stood there like an avenging angel.
“The tires have been shot out in the van,” he said through clenched teeth. “Is this all part of your plot to destroy Chadrick? God, I thought you were just a deranged fan. I didn’t take you for a killer.”
Confusion must have clouded my features, because his expression changed the smallest degree.
“What are you talking about? I would never want to destroy Chadrick. I am his one true love.”
“And if you can’t have him, nobody can? You’re a fucking nut job, is what you are,” he retorted, running a hand through his messy black hair.
“I swear to you. I don’t know who is out there. That has nothing to do with me.”
“If you didn’t want to hurt the man, why is there someone out there shooting up the van?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I have no idea. Nobody knew I was coming here, not even Paca.”
“Paca?” His brows drew together. “What’s a Paca?”
“My best friend. His name is Alpaca, don’t ask me why. I really don’t know. Anyway, he was the only one who knew I was going to profess my love for Chadrick tonight. And I never told him where I was going.”
“He could have discovered it,” he argued. “Saw the charges on your credit card.”
But I was shaking my head. “No, I rented this cabin from a friend of a client of mine and paid in cash. He couldn’t have known.”
“That leaves only one other thing,” he said grimly.
“What?” I hesitated to ask.
“They had to have followed us from the city.”
Chapter Four
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granted, not inquired into, that love itself might have failed, perhaps—but Cara never thought of it as possible. It was like the sunny house it dwelt on, always open, due not to anything in her, but to the mere fact that she was Cara. They would have loved any other kind of girl, she said to herself, under the same name just as well. Poor child! she was like Hamlet, though unaware of that sublimity. Friends, lovers, relations, all had failed her. Every soul thought of himself—no one truly or unfeignedly of others. Her head swam, her heart sank, the firm ground gave way under her feet wherever she turned. It might not cost the others much, but it cost her a great deal; even she herself in her own person: did she love more truly than they did? No; she was not devoted to her father, nor to Oswald, whom she was supposed to care for; and if to—anyone else, then they did not care for her, Cara said to herself, and fled from her thoughts with a beating heart.
That evening there was an interchange of visits, something in the old fashion. Edward thought he might come in, in the evening, when the public about would not be scandalised by the idea that he was able to visit his friends so soon after his father’s death; and Mr. Beresford said to himself that, surely he might go for a little to comfort his neighbour who was in trouble, and who had not herself been out of doors for these two long days. The young man and the older man crossed each other, but without meeting; and both of the visits were very pleasant. Miss Cherry was as kind to Edward as she had been cold to his mother. She got up to meet him and took his two hands in hers. She called him, inarticulately, her dear boy, and asked after his health tenderly, as if he had been ill. As for Cara, she did nothing but look at him with a wistful look, trying to read in his eyes what he felt; and when her aunt entered into the usual commonplaces about resignation to God’s will, Cara broke in almost abruptly, impatient even of this amiable fiction.
‘You forget what you were saying to-day,’ she said: ‘that Edward did not know his father, and therefore could not grieve as—I should.’
‘That is quite true,’ he said, ‘and therefore it is a different kind of feeling. Not the grief that Cara would feel; but that painful sense of not being able to feel, which is almost worse. I never thought of my father— scarcely knew him. Some time, of course, we were to meet—that was all; and gratitude to him, or any attempt to repay him, was not in my thoughts. And now it is impossible ever, in any place, were one to go to the world’s end—or at any time, were one to live as long as Methuselah, to say a kind
word to him, to try to make up to him a little. This is more painful than Cara’s worst grief would be, knowing she had done everything, made everything bright.’
‘Oh, no, no!’ she said, putting up her hands.
‘Ah, yes, yes!’ he said, looking at her with melting eyes, softened and enlarged by the moisture in them, and smiling upon her. Cara, in her confusion, could not meet the look and the smile.
‘Oh, Edward,’ she said, ‘it is you who are the best of us all. I am not good, as you think me. I am a sham, like all the rest; but if there is one that is true——’
‘Cara is foolish,’ said Miss Cherry. ‘I don’t know what is come to her, Edward. She talks as if nobody was to be relied upon; but I suppose she is at the age of fancy, when girls take things into their heads. I remember when I was your age, my darling, I had a great many fancies too. And I am afraid I have some still, though I ought to know better. I suppose you will take your mother away somewhere, Edward, for a little change?’
‘I have not heard anything about it, Miss Cherry; but there will be one change, most likely, very important to me, if I settle to do it. I need not go out to India now—unless I please.’
‘Oh, Edward, I am so glad; for, of course, you would not wish it—you did not wish it?’
‘No,’ he said, slowly. ‘I did not wish it; but, after all, if that seemed the best way to be good for something—to make some use of one’s life——’
He spoke to Miss Cherry, but his eyes were on Cara. If she had said anything; if she had even lifted her eyes; if she had made any sign to show that even as her brother—her husband’s brother—he could be of use to her! But Cara made no reply either by word or look. She put her hand nervously upon the book which lay on the table—the book he had been reading.
‘Oh, Cara, you must not think of that,’ said Miss Cherry; ‘we can’t be so selfish as to ask Edward to read to-night.’
‘Yes; let me read,’ he said. ‘Why should not I? I am glad to do anything after these two days. It seemed unkind to him, not to make some break in life—though I don’t know why; and there is nothing within reach to do. Let me read.’
Then Cara looked at him, with eyes like his own, suffused; her heart was melting, her mind satisfied. ‘But this is the one who does not care for me,’ she was saying to herself.
Next door there was less conversation between the elder people. Mr. Beresford tried, indeed, to take upon him the part of consoler—to talk to her and lessen her burden; but that change of all their relations did not answer. He fell silent after a while, and she dried her eyes and began to talk to him. The maid who brought up tea announced that Missis had picked up wonderful; while the other servants in the kitchen looked at each other, and shook their heads.
‘Anyhow, that’s better than the other way,’ the cook said, oracularly, ‘and we knows what we has before us—if the young gentlemen don’t find nothing to say.’
CHAPTER XXXIII.
LITTLE EMMY’S VISITORS.
O had found his particular pursuit interrupted by his father’s death. He could not go that day, which happened to be the hospital day, to meet Agnes at the gate; indeed, for once, his own inclinations were, for the moment, driven out of his head; and, in the many things there were to think of, from hatbands upwards, he forgot that this was the day on which alone he could secure a little conversation with the object of his thoughts. When the recollection flashed upon him in the evening, he was more disturbed than was at all usual to his light-hearted nature. What would she think of him? that he had deserted her, after compromising her; an idea equally injurious to his pride and to his affection; for he had so much real feeling about Agnes, that he was not self-confident where she was concerned, and shrank from the idea of appearing in an unfavourable light. Ordinarily, Oswald did not suppose that anyone was likely to look at him in an unfavourable light. And then there was the fear which sprang up hastily within him that this day which he had missed might be the last hospital day. Little Emmy had been gradually getting better, and when she was discharged, what means would he have of seeing Agnes? This thought took away all the pleasure from his cigar, and made him pace back and forward in his room, in all the impatience of impotence, ready to upbraid his father with dying at such an inconvenient moment. Yesterday would not have mattered, or to-morrow—but to-day! How often, Oswald reflected, it happens like this in human affairs. Given an unoccupied day, when an anything might occur without disturbing your arrangement—when, indeed, you have no engagements, and are perfectly free and at the command of fate—nothing, even under the most favourable circumstances, happens; but let it be a moment when something very urgent is on your hands, when you have an opportunity that may never occur again, and immediately earth and heaven conspire to fill it with accidents, and to prevent its necessary use. At that hour, however, nothing could be done. It was nearly midnight, and the House, with all its swarms of children and kindly attendants, must be
wrapped in the sleep of the innocent. Would Agnes, he asked himself, share that sleep, or would any troubled thoughts be in her mind touching the stranger who had so sought her society, and who had exposed her to reproof, and then left her to bear it as she might? This, it is to be feared, drove out of Oswald’s mind any feeling he might have had for his father. In any case, such feeling would have been short-lived. He had no visionary compunctions, such as Edward had, though it was Oswald, not Edward, who was supposed to be the poetical one of the brothers; but then Edward was not ‘in love,’ at least not in Oswald’s way.
A week had to elapse before the day on which he could hope to see Agnes again, and this contrariety made him more earnest in his determination to let nothing stand in his way a second time. He was so eager, indeed, that he neglected what would otherwise have been so important in his eyes—the arrival of the mail, which brought definite information as to Mr. Meredith’s property, and must settle what his own prospects were to be.
No man could give a warmer evidence of his love than this he felt within himself as he took his way towards the hospital. During the intervening week he had seen the little teacher almost daily, accompanying the procession of school-girls, and she had, he thought, been conscious that he was there, though she would not look at him. Naturally, Oswald made all he could of his deep hatband, his black gloves, and even the black border of his handkerchief, as he crossed the line; and once he felt that Agnes perceived these indications of woe in a quick glance she gave at him, though she avoided his eyes. This then was a point in his favour—if only little Emmy were still at the hospital. This time he was more bold than usual, and asked to be admitted to see the child, explaining who he was, and what was his connection with the accident. In this respect he took upon himself more than was necessary, blaming himself for being the cause of it —and at length got admittance, his mourning naturally standing him in stead with all the officials. Little Emmy had been by this time transported into the convalescent ward, and was lying on a sofa there, very bright-eyed and pale, looking eagerly, as Oswald saw, with a leap of his heart, for some visitor. When she perceived him a cloud of disappointment passed over her little face, then a glimpse of surprise and recognition, then the swift-rising colour of weakness.
‘Do you know me?’ said Oswald, taking the chair the nurse offered him.
‘Oh, yes!’ cried the child, with a mixture of awe and delight. No further preliminaries were necessary.
He listened, with patience, to an account of all the stages of her recovery, and delicately introduced his own inquiries. The ladies at the House had been very kind to her; had they not? They had come to see her?
‘Oh, yes, sir,’ cried little Emmy. ‘Miss Burchell came every week, and Sister Mary Jane has been twice. Miss Burchell is the kindest of all. I thought she was coming to-day; oh, isn’t she coming to-day?’ the child added, after a pause, looking at him with rising tears. ‘Did she send you instead, please?’ and though Oswald was so grand a gentleman, and his inquiries filled her with pride, yet his possible substitution for her more beloved visitor made Emmy ready to cry. Oswald did not like to be thus thrust into a secondary place, even with a child. A momentary irritation arose in his mind; then he laughed and forgave Emmy, remembering who it was that she preferred to him.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said; ‘I have not come instead of Miss—did you say Burchell? Is she one of the Sisters?’ he asked, hypocritically. ‘I thought you called them by their Christian names.’
‘Oh, sir, Miss Burchell is not a Sister. She is the teacher. I am in the third division,’ said the child, with pride; ‘and she teaches us. She is a lady—not like Miss Davies, in the infant school, you know; but a real, real lady. And all the Sisters are ladies. It is for goodness they take care of us, and not because they are obliged. Such a trouble as they take!’ said little Emmy, with the naïve surprise of her class, ‘and for nothing at all! And Miss Burchell is the kindest of them all.’
‘She has come to see you very often?’
‘Oh, sir, every open day! and she told me that—that—you had come to ask for me. She said it was so good and kind. She said, sir, as you were a very kind gentleman, and took an interest in poor children—especially orphans like me.’
‘Yes; I take a great interest in you, my poor little Emmy,’ said Oswald, blushing with pleasure. ‘I think you ought to have change of air after your long illness. Is there not a place where the children at the House go to when they have been ill?’
‘Oh!’ cried the little girl, with eyes as round as her exclamation, ‘Nelly Brown went to Margate after the fever. She used to tell us about the sands
and the shells, and riding on donkeys; but Nelly had a kind lady who took an interest in her,’ said Emmy, her countenance falling, ‘and paid for her. There are such a many orphans, sir,’ she added, with a wistful look at him. ‘Such a many! They would do more for us, if there wasn’t such a many of us, Sister Mary Jane says.’
A certain half-aggrieved and serious wonder was in the child’s eyes. Why there should be so many orphans puzzled little Emmy; and she felt that it was a special grievance to her, as one of them, debarred from the privileges which a smaller number might have shared.
‘And you have a kind gentleman, Emmy,’ said Oswald. ‘I hope it comes to the same thing. This is what I came to talk to you about——’
‘Ah, there she is!’ said little Emmy, growing red with delight.
Oswald got up precipitately from his chair. What would she say to find him here already installed before her? She came up, light-footed, in her nun’s dress; her face looked doubly sweet, or so, at least, her young lover thought, in the close circle of the poke-bonnet, to meet the rapture in the child’s eyes.
Agnes had no thought that Oswald was likely to penetrate here; therefore, she did not see him or think of him as she came up to the child, and he was a witness of the clinging to the little orphan’s arms, the tender sweetness of the salutation. Agnes could not have said anything more homely than the ‘How have you been, dear?’ but it sounded like the very softest utterance of loving kindness—maternal, dove-like murmurings, tender and caressing, to Oswald’s ear.
‘Oh, I am well—almost well; and here is the kind gentleman come to see me!’ cried little Emmy.
Agnes turned quickly, and looked at him. She thought it was the surgeon, who was young too, and had shown an almost unprofessional eagerness to explain to her all the peculiarities of this interesting case. When she saw who it really was she turned crimson, gave him a look which was half reproach and half satisfaction, and went away to the other side of the sofa, keeping the little patient between them. This suited both parties very well: for while Agnes felt it at once a demonstration of displeasure and flight out of a dangerous vicinity, it brought her face to face with him, and gave him a favourable point of view for all her changes of countenance. And who could object to his visit here, which charity—only charity—could have brought
about? By little Emmy’s sofa, Oswald felt brave enough to defy all the Sisters in the world.
‘I came to inquire into Emmy’s prospects of convalescence,’ said Oswald, insinuatingly; ‘and she tells me there is some place in Margate where children are sent to from the House. If the Sisters will let me pay for the child—she wants sea breezes, I think,’ and he looked at her in a serious parental way, ‘before she can be fit for work again.’
‘Oh, I think they will be very glad!’ said Agnes, somewhat breathless. She did not want him to know that she had as much as remarked his absence; and yet, in spite of herself, there was a slight tone of coldness and offence in her voice.
‘May I ask you to arrange it for me? I don’t know when she will be able to be moved; but when she is—summer is coming on, and the weather is quite genial already.’ (The weather is quite genial generally, one time or other, in April, to take the unwary in.)
‘Oh, yes,’ said Agnes again, assenting out of sheer timidity and embarrassment. Then she said, hesitating a little, ‘Perhaps it would be better to send word to the Sister Superior yourself.’
‘Is it necessary? I have been in great trouble lately, which is why I could not ask for poor Emmy last week,’ he said; and so managed as that the deep hatband should catch the eye of Agnes. Her face softened at once, as he saw, and her eyes, after a momentary glance at the hatband, returned inquiring and kind, not furtive or offended, to his face.
‘I am very sorry,’ she said, looking again at the hat, and in an eager, halfapologetic tone. ‘I will speak of it, if you wish. It is very kind of you to think of her—very kind.’
‘Kind! How can I be sufficiently grateful to Emmy?’ he said, low and quickly, in a tone which the child could not hear; and then he took the little girl’s thin small hand into his, and folded the fingers on a gold coin.
‘This is to hire donkeys on the sands, Emmy,’ he said, ‘but mind you must tell me all about it when you come back.’
‘Oh, sir! Oh, Miss Burchell! look what he has given me,’ said the child in ecstasy. But Oswald knew how to beat a retreat gracefully. He gave a little squeeze to Emmy’s fist, keeping it closed over the sovereign, and, bowing to Agnes, went away.
Was that the last of him? Better, far better, that it should be the last of him, poor Agnes felt, as her heart contracted, in spite of herself, at his withdrawal; but the surprise, and that pang of disappointment, which she would have gone to the stake rather than acknowledge, made her incapable of speech for the moment. It is very wicked and wrong to speak to a gentleman to whom you have never been introduced; but, then, when that gentleman has a legitimate opportunity of making a little acquaintance in a natural way, how strange, and rather injurious, that he should not take advantage of it! This failure of all necessity for resistance at the moment when she was buckling on her best armour to resist, gave an extraordinary twist to Agnes Burchell’s heart. It almost would have brought the tears to her eyes, had not she started in instant self-despair—though she would not have shed such tears for all the treasures of the world.
‘Oh, look what he has given me!’ cried little Emmy, ‘a sovereign, a whole sovereign—all to myself!’
‘He is—very kind,’ said Agnes, stiffly, and she was restrained even in her intercourse with Emmy, not saying half so much to her as she did on ordinary occasions, which was wrong; for, in fact, Emmy could not justly bear blame for anything committed, neither for his coming nor his going away. The child was quite cast down by Miss Burchell’s coldness. She began to inquire if Agnes was ill, if she was tired, if she thought the Sisters would object to let her go to Margate; thus plainly showing that she perceived her visitor’s abstraction, which was, of all things in the world, the last thing which Agnes wished to be remarked. And poor Agnes could not conceal how worried she was by these questions; she could not account for the discouragement, the sickness of heart, that had come over her. She was tired all at once—overcome by the heat or the cold; which was it?
‘It is the spring, miss,’ said the nurse.
And she was very willing to allow that it must be the spring.
‘I will send you word as soon as I have spoken to the Sister,’ she said, kissing little Emmy as she went away; ‘and forgive me, dear—for I have a headache. I have not been able to talk to you to-day.’
‘Oh, have you a headache?’ cried poor little Emmy, ready to cry for sympathy. What perverse things hearts are when they are young! Agnes walked away through the wards the emblem, of peaceful quiet, in her black bonnet, her soft face breathing serenity and ease, as one sufferer and
another thought as she passed, but under that conventual drapery a hundred thoughts rustling and stinging, so that the girl was afraid lest they should be heard. Oh, she was glad that he was gone! Glad to be spared the struggle and the necessity for telling him that he must haunt her steps no more. Glad to be let alone, to do her work in peace; her work, that was what she lived for, not absurd romances which she was ashamed even to dream of. Her mind was brimful and running over with these thoughts. It was like carrying a hive full of bees, or a cage full of birds through the place, to walk through it like this, her heart beating, and so many voices whispering in her ears. But suddenly, all at once, as she came out of the great doors, they all hushed in a moment. Her heart stopped (she thought); her thoughts fled like frightened children. She was stilled. Why? It was all for no better reason than that Oswald Meredith was visible at the gate, in his black clothes, looking (the hospital nurses thought) like an interesting young widower, bereaved and pensive, yet not inconsolable. He had put on a look in conformity with his hatband, and stood there waiting for her as she came out, claiming her sympathy. Agnes grew still in a moment, the tumult and the commotion ceasing in her mind as by magic. She tried to look as if she did not see him, and then to pass him when she got out beyond the gate; but he stepped forward quickly into her path.
‘May I ask if you will speak for me about little Emmy?’ he said. ‘The child looks weak and rather excitable. I should like, if the authorities will permit me, to pay her expenses to the sea.’
‘Oh, yes, they will permit you,’ said Agnes, smiling in spite of all her terrors. ‘You are very kind. I will speak—if you wish it.’
‘And write to me,’ said Oswald, eagerly. ‘It will be necessary to write to me to let me know.’
But Agnes demurred to this easy settlement of the matter. ‘Sister Mary Jane will write. She manages these things herself. But she will be pleased. Good morning,’ she said, making am attempt to quicken her steps.
‘I am going this way,’ said Oswald. ‘I could not come last week. We had bad news.’
She looked up at him, half alarmed, half sympathetic. She was sorry, very sorry, that he should suffer. It was not possible (she thought) to be like the priest and the Levite, pass on on the other side, and pretend to care nothing for one’s neighbour. But then she ought to tell him to go away. So
Agnes compounded with her conscience by uttering nothing; all she did was to look up at him with tender brown eyes, so full of pity and interest, that words would have been vain to express all they were able to say.
‘My father is dead in India,’ said Oswald. ‘You may fancy how hard it is upon us to hear of it without any details, without knowing who was with him, or if he was properly cared for. I have not had time for anything since but to attend upon my mother, and see to what had to be done.’
He felt that this was a quite correct, description; for had he not sacrificed the last hospital day to the shock of the news, if not to the service of his mother; and there had been things to do, hatbands, &c., which had kept him occupied.
‘I am very sorry,’ said Agnes, with downcast eyes.
‘You who are so tender and sympathetic, I knew you would feel for—my mother,’ said Oswald; upon which name the girl looked up at him again. To feel for his mother—surely there could not be anything more natural, more right, than this.
‘You would like my mother—everyone does. It is amusing the way in which people run after her. Not that there is any room for amusement in our mournful house at present,’ said Oswald, correcting himself. ‘This is the first day the sun has seemed to shine or the skies to be blue since I saw you last.’
‘I am very sorry,’ said Agnes again; and then, after a pause, she added nervously, ‘It is not that I think anything—and, oh, I hope you will not be vexed now that you are in trouble!—but you must not come with me. The Sister thinks it is not right, and neither do I.’
‘Not right!’ said Oswald, with an ingenuous look of surprise.
Agnes was driven to her wit’s end. ‘I do not want to seem absurd,’ she said, trembling, ‘and indeed there is no need for explanation. Please, you must not wait for me at the hospital, or walk back with me any more.’
‘Alas! have we not been planning to send little Emmy away? That means that I shall not have the chance, and that the brightest chapter in my life is almost over. Must it be over? You don’t know what it has been to me. You have made me think as I never thought before. Will you abandon me now, just when I feel on the threshold of something better?’
‘You must not talk so,’ said Agnes, roused to something like anger. ‘You know very well that, meeting me as you have done, it is wrong; it is not the part of a gentleman to talk so.’
‘Is it not the part of a gentleman to admire, to reverence—to love?’ Oswald said the last words almost under his breath, and yet she heard them, notwithstanding the noises in the street.
‘Mr. Meredith!’ She gave him an indignant look, but it ended in a blush, which ran like a warm suffusion all over her, and checked further words on her lips.
‘I know your name, too,’ he said. ‘And it is not love only, but reverence, that is in my heart. Oh, Agnes! don’t turn me away! May not my mother come, when she is well enough to go anywhere, and plead my cause? She might speak if I may not.’
‘Oh, go away, please, go away,’ said Agnes, in distress. ‘We are almost at the House again.’
‘And why should not we be at the House, if you will let me hope?’ cried Oswald. ‘I don’t want to skulk away! Yes, I will go and hide myself somewhere if you will not hear me. I shall not care what becomes of me. But Agnes——’
‘Oh, Mr. Meredith! Go, please. I cannot think it is right. I—don’t understand you. I ought not to listen to you—in this dress; and I have only begun the work.’
‘There are other kinds of work. There is the natural work. Is not a wife better than a sister?’
Agnes lighted up with the sudden flash which was characteristic of her. She raised her eyes to him glowing with indignant fire, her face suffused with colour. ‘Better?’ she said; ‘better to live for one’s self and one other than for the poor and helpless and the miserable! Oh! do you know what you say? You are a tempter; you are not a true Christian! Better! when there are so many who are wretched and friendless in the world, with no one to care whether they live or die? Do you think a woman does better who tries to make you happy than one who gives herself up for them?’
In the heat of this sudden burst of controversial eloquence, she turned aside into another street, which led out of the way of the House. Nothing else would have tempted her to such a curious breach of decorum; but the argument did, which filled her with indignant fervour. She did it only half
consciously, by impulse, burning to know what he would answer, what plea he could bring up against her. But here Oswald’s cleverness failed him. He was not wise enough to see that a little argument would have led her on to any self-committal. He answered softly, with mistaken submission.
‘I will retract. I will say anything you please. No, not better; only happier. You would make me the most blessed of men; and what can you do for the poor? So little; everybody says, so little! But for me there would be no limit to what you could do. I have the most need of conversion. Ah! let your mission be me!’
Agnes started and came to herself. She looked round her, alarmed and scared, when she knew, yet only half knew, that she had left the direct road. ‘I have taken the wrong turn,’ she said, with confusion. ‘Mr. Meredith, let us forget that we have ever met. How could I turn back, having just put my hand to the plough? Oh, it is very weak and wicked of me, but I do not want the Sister to see you. She will think—but you have been kind, and I will say good-by here.’
‘Do you want to say good-by? Why should we forget we have ever met? Tell me to forget that I am born!’
‘Oh, no, no; it is not like that. Mr. Meredith, we have only known each other four or five—a few weeks.’
‘Six—I have kept closer count than you.’
‘And what does that matter in a life?’ said Agnes, looking up at him with a courageous smile. ‘Nothing! no more than a moment. We have not done any harm,’ she added, collecting all her strength. ‘We have not neglected our work nor wasted our time. And we never meant anything. It was all an accident. Mr. Meredith, good-by. I shall pray that you may be happy.’
‘Ah! that is like what the world says of saints,’ he said, sharply. ‘You make me wretched, and then pray that I may be happy.’
‘Oh, no, no,’ she cried, the tears coming to her eyes. ‘How can I have made you wretched? It was only an accident. It has been only a moment. You will not refuse to say good-by.’
Foolish Agnes! she had nothing to do but to leave him, having said her say. But, instead of this she argued, bent upon making a logical conclusion to which he should consent, convinced, though against his will. On the whole she preferred that it should be against his will—but convinced she had determined that he must be. They walked away softly through the little
street into the sunset, which sank lower every moment, shedding a glory of slant light upon the two young figures so sombre in garb, so radiant in life. Where they were going they did not know, nor how the charmed moments were passing. Every shade of the coming evening lay behind them, but all the glory of the rose tints and glowing purple, the daffodil skies and gates of pearl, before.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE WIDOW
T full particulars of Mr. Meredith’s death and Mr. Meredith’s will came by the next mail; and this information acted as a kind of funeral ceremony and conclusion to the melancholy period. All his affairs were in order; his will unassailable, the provisions sufficiently just. There was more money than anyone expected, and it was divided into three unequal shares—the largest for his eldest son, the second for Edward, the least of all for their mother. This arrangement took them all by surprise, and it was with some little difficulty that Mrs. Meredith was brought to see how it affected herself. That there would be any difference to her had not occurred to her. She had thought only of her children. ‘They certainly will not be worse off than they have been,’ she said five minutes before the contents of the will were communicated to her; but any question as to how she herself would be affected had not entered her mind. Even after she had heard it she did not realise it.
‘I am afraid you will scarcely be able to keep up this house unless the boys stay with you, which is not to be expected,’ said old Mr. Sommerville. She looked at him, taking her handkerchief from her eyes. ‘My house?’ she said, faltering. Mr. Beresford was present and one or two other old friends.
Oswald was playing with a paperknife, balancing it on his finger, and paying no attention. He was thinking of something else with a vague smile on his face. He was as rich almost as he had hoped—made an ‘eldest son’ of, in so far at least that his portion was the biggest; and he was thinking of a house of his own, taking no thought for his mother, and a wife of his own soon to be beguiled out of poke-bonnets and convent cloaks, yet all the more piquant from the comparison. Naturally this was more interesting to him than his mother, and the house that he had been used to for years. But Edward, who, whatever he was himself doing, managed somehow to see what Oswald was about, and who thought he knew what that preoccupation and absorption meant, interposed hastily. ‘Of course my mother will keep
her house. It is quite unnecessary to enter into such questions. The economy of the household is unchanged,’ he said.
‘But, my lad, I don’t agree with you,’ said old Sommerville. ‘You may both take to chambers, your brother and you. Most young men do now-adays, so far as I can see. I will not say whether it’s better for them, or worse for them. Anyhow, your mother must be on her own footing. You must not be dependent on the whimsies of a boy. I would advise you, my dear madam, to look out for a smaller house.’
‘A smaller house?’ she repeated again, in dismay. ‘Why a smaller house?’ Then her eyes fell upon Oswald. ‘Yes, I understand. Oswald will perhaps—marry. It is quite true; but I have lived in this house so long—I am used to it. I do not wish to change.’
‘You will not be able to afford it—on your income, madam,’ said old Sommerville, watching her keenly. He was fond of studying mankind, and to see how a fellow-creature encountered a change of fortune was keenly interesting to the old man.
She looked at him, opening her eyes wider with a curious gaze of surprise; then paused a moment, looking round her as if for some explanation. ‘Ah,’ she said, ‘I begin to understand.’ Nobody spoke to her; the other two old friends who were present turned aside and talked to each other. Mr. Beresford looked over a photograph book as earnestly as if he hoped to find a fortune between the pages; only the old spy watched the new-made widow, the admired and beloved woman to whom in this distinct way it was becoming apparent that she had not been so much beloved after all.
And her face was worth a little study—there came over it a momentary gloom. She had been thinking with so much tender kindness of him; but he, it was evident, had been less tender in his thoughts of her. But then, he had died, and she lived. No doubt, if it had been she who had died, his mind too would have been softened, and his heart grown tender. The cloud lightened, a soft smile came into her eyes; and then two tears sprang quickly over the smile, because he had slighted her publicly in these last settlements; he had put her down willingly and consciously out of the position she had held as his wife. She felt this sting, for love and honour were the things she prized most. Then her courageous spirit roused up, and this time the smile descended softly, seriously, to touch her mouth.
‘What does it matter?’ she said, with her habitual sweetness. ‘My husband knew I had a little of my own. If I am not able to keep up this house, I must get another house, Mr. Sommerville, that I can keep up.’
‘Madam,’ said Mr. Sommerville, ‘that is the way to take it. I respect you for what you say; many a woman now would have raged at us that cannot help it, would have abused the maker of the will, and made a disturbance.’
‘Made a disturbance?’ said Mrs. Meredith. The smile brightened into a momentary laugh. It was the first time she had allowed herself to stray beyond the gloomy pale of memory which she considered her husband’s due. But the sound of her own laugh frightened her. She shrank a little, saying hastily, ‘Oh, Edward, my dear boy, forgive me!’ He was not her favourite son, or at least he had thought so; but he was the one to whom she clung now.
‘I thought you knew my mother,’ said Edward, proudly, ‘after knowing her so long. That is all; is it not? We can settle among ourselves about houses, &c. I think my mother has had enough of it now.’
‘No,’ she said, ‘oh, no; whatever ought to be done, I am quite able for; if there is any stipulation as to what I must do, or about the boys—if the boys should marry; but to be sure they are of age, they are their own masters,’ she added, with once more a faint smile. ‘Whether their mother is considered wise enough—oh, Edward! no, I am in earnest. Perhaps there is some task for me, something to do.’
This was the only little resentment she showed; and even the sharpwitted old Sommerville scarcely took it for resentment. The friends took luncheon with the family at an early hour, and departed, carrying away the unnecessary papers, and leaving everything as it had been; the blinds were all drawn up, the sunshine coming in as usual. Oswald, with his hat brushed to a nicety and his cigars in his pocket, went out just as usual. The usual subdued domestic sounds were in the house, and in the course of the afternoon four or five visitors were allowed to come in. Everything was as it had been; only Mrs. Meredith’s pretty ribbons, all soft in tint as in texture, her dove-coloured gown, her lace, her Indian shawls and ornaments, were all put away, and crape reigned supreme. There was no further conversation on the subject until after dinner, when Edward and his mother were alone. Oswald was dining with one of his friends; it was hard to hold him to the
etiquette of ‘bereavement.’ ‘Besides,’ Mrs. Meredith said, ‘no one thinks of these rules with a young man.’
‘It will be strange to have to leave this house,’ she said, when the servants had left the dining-room. ‘It was the first house I had in England, when I brought you home. Some people thought the country would have been best; but I liked the protection of a town, and to see my friends, and to be near a good doctor; for you were delicate, Edward, when you were a child.’
‘Who, I, mother? I don’t look much like it now.’
‘No, heaven be praised—but you were delicate; two little white-faced things you were, with India written in your little pale cheeks. That was the first thing that brought me home. You could not have stayed in India; and then the question was, Edward, to leave your father, or to leave you—and, oh—you seemed to have so much more need of me!’
‘Do not go over the question again, mother. You did not do it, I am sure, without thought. Let us think of the future now. You are to stay in the house you like, and which is all the home I have ever known; as for a smaller house, or for what you are able to afford, that is simple nonsense. It appears I have a separate income now, not merely an allowance. You don’t mean to turn me out, do you, to the streets?’
‘My dear boy!—of course, wherever I have a roof, there is a place for you.’
‘Very well, mother; this is the place. You don’t want me to go off and live in chambers?’
‘Not unless—you think it necessary; unless—you would like it better, Edward. Oh, I hope not, my dear!’
‘So do I,’ he said, smiling. ‘I hope you don’t mean to turn me out for the sake of something you can afford. We must live together, mother, you and I. I can’t be idle; you know, I must do something; and all the pleasure I shall ever get out of life,’ he added, with the solemnity of youthful conviction, ‘will be to find my home always the same—and my mother. I look for no other happiness.’
‘My dear,’ she said, ‘that is all very well at present, till you see someone who is dearer to you than either your mother or your home. That will come some time; but in the meantime, dear——’
‘The meantime will be always, mother—the other time will never come.’
Mrs. Meredith gave him a sudden look—then checked herself when about to say something, sighed a little, and made a pause; and then she began to talk on another subject between which and this there seemed little connection, though Edward perceived the connection easily enough.
‘We shall have it all to ourselves apparently,’ she said, with a faint smile. ‘Oswald, I suppose, will be thinking of a house for himself; and why should he wait? There is no reason why he should wait. To be sure, they are young. Has he said anything to you, Edward?’
‘Nothing, mother.’
‘Well; they must have their reasons, I presume. One does not like to be left quite out; but it is the thing one ought to expect as one gets old. Old people are supposed not to sympathise with youth. It is a mistake, Edward —a great pity; but I suppose it will be the same as long as the world lasts. I did the same, no doubt, when I was young too.’
He made no reply. So sure as he was that he never could have such secrets to communicate, how could he say anything? and she went on.
‘I am not finding fault with Oswald. He has always been a good boy— both of you,’ she said, smiling upon him. ‘You have never given me any great anxiety. And everything has turned out well hitherto. They will have plenty of money; but so long as Oswald does not say anything, how can I speak to her father, as I should like to do? Men do not notice such things; and it seems uncandid with so good a friend; but till Oswald speaks—I hope he will be an attentive husband, Edward. He will be kind; but there are many little attentions that a fanciful girl expects—and feels the want of when they fail her.’
Edward said nothing to all this; how could he? He winced, but bore it stoutly, though he could not make any reply. It was better to accustom himself to have it talked about; but he could not himself enter upon the subject. ‘Will you mind if I leave this evening, for a little?’ he said.
‘No, dear; certainly not—but, Edward,’ she said, coming round to him as she rose from the table, and laying her hand on his arm, ‘are you sure it is good for you, my dear boy? are you not making it harder for yourself?’
‘Let me alone, mother—so long as I can,’ he said, hoarsely. ‘No; it does not make it harder; and it can’t last long now.’
‘No—there is no reason why they should wait. I wish—I wish he may not be a careless husband, Edward. Why should he spend all his evenings away? There is something in it I cannot understand.’
‘He has always been the happy one, mother. Whatever he has wished for has come to him. He does not know what it is to be so fortunate—nothing has cost him any trouble—not even this.’
‘Still, he should not be away every evening,’ said the mother, shaking her head; and she drew him down to her and kissed his cheek tenderly. ‘My boy! we must comfort each other,’ she said, with soft tears in her eyes. Her heart bled for him in the troubles she divined, and she was one of the women who never lose their interest in the trials of youthful love. Yet, sympathetic as she was, she smiled too as she went upstairs. He thought this would last for ever—that he would never change his mind, nor suffer a new affection to steal into his heart. She smiled a little, and shook her head all by herself. How short-lived were their nevers and for evers! She went up to the drawing-room, where she had spent so many quiet evenings, pleased to think that her boys were happy, though they were not with her; where she had thought of them at school, at college, in all the different places they had passed through, trying to follow them in her thoughts, anxiously wondering what they were doing, often pausing to breathe out a brief, silent prayer for them in the midst of her knitting, or when she closed her book for a moment. This had become so habitual to her, that she would do it almost without thinking. ‘Oh, bless my boys; keep them from evil!’—between how many sentences of how many books—in the pauses of how many conversations—woven through and through how many pieces of wool, had those simple supplications gone!
By-and-by she heard the door close of the next house, the bell ring in her own, the familiar step on the stair, and the neighbour came in and took his usual place. They sat on each side of the fireplace, in which still glimmered a little fire, though the season was warm. It irked her that she could not continue with him the conversation she had been having with Edward; but till Oswald spoke what could she say? and they had plenty to talk about.
‘I wonder,’ he said, ‘if it was a bad dream when I was sent away—not knowing why, or where to go?’
‘Where were you going? I never wished it. How I should have missed you now! It is in trouble that we want our friends most. Edward has been so
