CHAPTER XII

AT HOME AGAIN

GODFREY took her up to the moor. They talked first about her aunt in France.

"I thought we should never get you back," he said; "you have seemed to be taking root there."

"It has been very difficult," she responded.

And she tried to give him some idea of her life in the old Château.

He was a good listener, but somehow she did not fancy to-day that he was quite so wrapped up in her life as he used to be, and presently she paused:

"Now tell me about yourself and all the village. I have seen no one—not even Phemie. I almost thought she would have been round."

"Well, she was waiting, she did not like to intrude. I want to tell you about Phemie—and myself."

In a flash Adrienne saw what was coming. It struck her like a blow.

Godfrey was speaking in his frank, pleasant way.

"I know you will be glad. When you sent me away from you the last time, I felt I must take it like a man, and not pester you again. And somehow or other Phemie has been coming to see Mother, and we've taken a few rides together. And gradually our friendship has deepened, and I've come to know her better than I've ever done before. I always liked her as a friend, but she's more than that now. I had a little trouble with Mother. I suppose all mothers are the same; they like their sons to marry money, high birth, etc.; but she's really too fond of me to hold out against my wishes, and she has become quite attached to Phemie!"

"Oh, Godfrey, I'm so glad. Dear Phemie! She deserves to be made happy. She has been so plucky over the farm, and it has been uncongenial work. What does her mother say?"

"She doesn't seem over-pleased. I'm afraid she will miss her, but she works her like a galley slave. And I'm stopping a good bit of that. I insist upon her coming out with me. You don't know how pretty she's getting. She's losing all that worn, weary look about her eyes. She wanted you to know, so I told her I would tell you to-day."

"She'll make you the dearest wife! My best congrats, Godfrey. I'm very, very glad."

She listened whilst he went on to talk about his fiancée's perfections, and when their ride was over, and Adrienne reached home again, she felt as if all her world were falling to pieces.

She knew she had not wanted Godfrey when he had wanted her; but in spite of that, there was a little hurt feeling in her heart that he had forgotten her so entirely, and was so completely satisfied with this second choice of his.

"I have only been away about three months," she told herself—"it is barely that; yet he has put someone in my place with the greatest ease. I always felt that he did not really and truly love me. I often told him so, but he would not have it. I wonder what he would have said if I had told him that I had become engaged to Cousin Guy. I might have, if I'd taken him at his word. I almost believe that, if Godfrey had not always been flitting through my background, I might have given Guy a different answer. At all events I would not have snubbed him off so promptly. And now I've lost them both, and I believe that I shall be a single woman all my days! After all, there is nothing so very attractive or fetching about me. I shan't have an unlimited number of admirers haunting my steps."

And then she shed a few tears, and tried to think they were for her uncle Tom, and for the blank he had left behind him; but in reality she knew that they were for herself, and she grew angry at the thought of it, for she had so despised her Aunt Cecily's continual self-pity.

She took up her old life again, yet her thoughts were continually straying to the French village. The Admiral heard from his sister, who was of course distressed at the loss of her brother.

"I am quite sure you will send Adrienne back as soon as you can," she wrote. "Miss Preston, who is with me, does her best; but Adrienne knew my ways, and she is my niece, and has duties towards me. Why don't you sell your house and come out here? Dear Tom was too boisterous for my nerves, but I could give you the library here for your sanctum and you could help me in my business matters, which seem in sad disorder. I shall be glad to hear the conditions of Tom's will. I hope he did not forget his only sister, who is left to struggle on with insufficient means to keep her head above water."

But the Countess was doomed to disappointment. General Chesterton and his brother had mutually agreed to leave all they had to Adrienne. She was almost entirely dependent on them, as her father, like his sister Cecily, had spent more than he had saved. They considered that their sister, who had received equal shares with them at their father's death, was not as much in need of money as Adrienne. Meanwhile Adrienne heard from Bertha Preston.

"MY DEAR ADRIENNE,—

"I want to report myself to you, as I am afraid I am not a great success. Your capabilities and perfections are recounted to me day by day. I strive to emulate you. I run round and do errands, and garden and arrange flowers, and dust everything that I can lay my hands upon. We take perambulations about the garden and wood. When I can, I sneak off on my own, and visit little Agatha or call at my cottage. I am a great walker, and am always happy in the open air. Your friend the notary is closeted with your aunt continually. I fancy things are coming to a climax. He tells her he must foreclose the mortgage. This has been held over her head so long as a threat, that I think she does not believe he will do it. But there's a nasty look in his eye which means business. He evidently thinks the Count an ineffectual doll. He said as much to me the other day, which rather amused me, as I have seen him in quite another light. I asked your aunt what she would do when the time came for her to leave the Château. She looked quite scared, but evidently has been thinking the matter over, for she told me this morning that she would go straight to her flat in Orleans until her stepson bought it back for her. She has little idea of the tenacity and purpose of the village notary. Did you know she has mortgaged the furniture of the Château as well as the pictures? I told her that Van Dyck's portrait was worth a fortune. It seems a pity that it should go out of the family. Well—I must close. I hope you are well. We talk about you continually and I have many inquiries after you from the villagers.

"Yours affectionately,

"BERTHA PRESTON."

Adrienne felt very uneasy after receiving this letter. She showed it to her uncle, who calmly said that the sooner his sister got rid of the Château the better.

"It has always been a white elephant to her. She will be much happier in Orleans. We begged her long ago to get rid of it. In every way she will be better off in Orleans; she will be away from this scheming lawyer of hers."

"But, Uncle Derrick, I can't bear to think of the Château in his hands, and all its possessions. It is iniquitous! Oh if you knew it as I do, you would feel differently! I have learnt to love it. It is so mellow, so ancient; it seems to smile serenely in its decay. There's such a sense of peace and rest in it. There's a favourite seat of mine in the woods above it, where I sit and look down upon it, and think of all that has happened in it in the past. Cousin Guy told me one day that in their family records there was no deed of cruelty or of violence that had ever been committed inside its walls, and the atmosphere feels full of peace. I can't bear to think of it falling into the Bouveries' hands."

"My dear child," said her uncle, rather surprised at this outburst, "I had no idea that it had got such possession of you. We can do nothing to help your aunt, I fear. Tom and I were continually sending her money after her husband's death, but at last we stopped, for we judged it was no real help to her."

"I have money now," said Adrienne thoughtfully; "I wonder—"

"No, it's not to be thought of. I am getting an old man, and you will have yourself to provide for; you must not spend your money on bolstering up a ruin."

"Oh, but it isn't a ruin, that's what makes it so sad. It only wants decorating and painting. The walls and roof and all the rooms are sound and good. But I couldn't buy it. Mr. Bouverie wants it for himself and he would ask a fabulous price for it. What I am really concerned about is Van Dyck's picture. Cousin Guy told Aunt Cecily he would not let that go out of the family."

"Then let him come back and get it. Where is he?"

"I don't know. He gave me his banker's address in New York, in case of anything urgent. I will write to them to-day. I think I will enclose him Bertha's letter. I am so thankful she is there. I should be miserable if Aunt Cecily were alone."

"Do you want to go back to her?" her uncle asked her in his quiet voice.

Adrienne laid her hand upon his arm.

"Uncle Derrick, do you think I would or could leave you? I did wonder whether you would like to accept Aunt Cecily's invitation and go there for a visit. I should love you to see it all."

"I'm afraid I shouldn't care to do that," said the Admiral slowly. "Tom paid her a visit once, and it was a dead failure. No, my dear, I feel that Cecily and I like each other best at a distance. But if you feel you would like to go over again for a bit, you mustn't mind me. I can get on very well alone."

"That's your unselfish outlook. I'm not going to leave you at present. I couldn't."

She wrote to her cousin Guy that same day, enclosed Bertha Preston's letter, and told him that at present she was tied to her uncle.

"He feels Uncle Tom's death intensely," she wrote; "and I cannot leave him alone. He has more claim upon me than Aunt Cecily, but somehow or other I feel torn in two; and I do want you to save the darling Château from the Bouveries if you can. Surely his rope is long enough now to hang him? I can't help hoping that you will save the situation. It is critical now, and that is why I am writing to you."

She was relieved when this letter went.

One day, when the Admiral was away on business, Adrienne rode over to see Phemie. She had had a note from her telling her of her happiness, but saying it was harvest time and consequently a very busy time at the farm.

She found her baking bread in the delightful kitchen. Mrs. Moray was in the cornfields, and so was Dick. The girls kissed each other affectionately.

"Why, Phemie, I don't know you! You look at least ten years younger."

"I wish I could return the compliment. Nothing would take away your good looks, or your happy eyes, but you are thin and a little worn. I am afraid you have had a sad home-coming."

"It is sad," said Adrienne, sitting down on the low window-seat, and removing her hat, letting the breeze from the open window fan her heated temples. "The house is a different place without Uncle Tom. It seems so silent and grave! Uncle Derrick is very quiet, and I feel getting very old and quiet too."

"But you mustn't!" said Phemie energetically. "It's all wrong. You have your life before you, and you're young, younger than I. Oh, Adrienne, I cannot sometimes believe that my happiness is real! I have always looked upon Godfrey as an ideal modern knight; he is so good, so generous, so courteous to all, and the poorer and humbler a person is, the more he goes out of his way to befriend them. I used to look upon him as your particular property, and when I found you did not care about him, I felt angry with you; I was indignant because you could not appreciate him. And then, when you went away, we were thrown together, and I still thought it was only his kindness of heart towards one who was in a very monotonous and unpalatable groove. It was almost too much for me, when he came to close quarters and asked me to be his wife.

"At first I was terrified of his mother. I know it was an awful blow to her, and I must say she has been most wonderfully forbearing and kind. And if she was taken aback by it, you can imagine what Mother was like. We had an awful scene. She said the farm would have to be given up, and that if I deserted her, she would wash her hands of the whole concern. Do you know, I didn't think Dick had it in him. He showed up most wonderfully. Told Mother that my future prospects came before the farm, that he did not intend to give it up if she did, and that he was thankful that my life of toil was going to cease. He told Mother there were plenty of land girls and labourers' daughters or wives who could take my place, and that the farm was doing so well that hired labour was now a possible thing.

"Mother calmed down then, and had a wonderful talk with me afterwards. She owned up that she had driven us both, but that she was so afraid we would take after our father, who drifted through life without any idea of steady application or work! She always makes me angry when she talks about Father; but my own happiness has made me more sympathetic, I think, and I tried to see her side. She said that Dick was turning out as she had hoped for, and that if he could see his way through without my help, she would be willing to spare me, and would get some land girl or woman to help her.

"She made me laugh; she said, 'I'll take care not to get one of these pretty flighty girls who will be setting their caps at Dick. I'll pick out the plainest and homeliest that I can find. Strength and cleanliness are the chief things I want in them.'"

Phemie paused, then in a different tone she said:

"Oh, Adrienne, when I think that I shall have leisure time! Time for the best part of me to be refreshed. When I shall be able to paint, to read, to be able to enjoy some of the beauty in the world which I had put behind me! Well, I just can't believe it. I'm so terribly afraid I may wake up and find it a dream!"

"Dear Phemie, I'm so thankful, so glad!"

And in her heart Adrienne was; she told herself that the life unfolding before Phemie was so gloriously full for her, that she was only thankful that she had not marred it in any way.

Yet before she left Phemie, she plucked up courage and said to her:

"You'll forgive me, if I ask you whether Godfrey is more to you than the life of ease and comfort which he offers you. Would you go to him if you both had to work hard for your living?"

Phemie flashed an indignant look at her friend.

"I'm not demonstrative by nature, Adrienne, I take after Mother in that; but do you think me so despicably mean as to take from Godfrey all his good things, and not give him my heart, my life, my all? He has always been my secret king and hero. But I naturally kept such feelings to myself."

"Phemie dear, it was impertinent of me, but Godfrey and I have grown up together, and he does deserve a wife who will do what I cannot do, love and adore him. I can't tell you how happy I shall be. Two of my greatest friends coming together like this!"

She rode home assuring herself that she was deeply content, and yet in the bottom of her heart there was rather a lonely deserted feeling, as if all her friends were leaving her—that she would no longer be necessary to them.

"Well, I have Uncle Derrick, nothing will touch our love," she said to herself, and she went back to him with sunshine in her eyes and smile.

Two or three weeks passed. Adrienne devoted herself to her uncle; she got out her old songs and sang them to him in the evenings, the time of day in which they most missed the General; she rode out with him, and brought her work into the library when he was poring over his books and pedigrees. And all the time her thoughts were in the little French village, wondering if Bertha were getting tired of the incessant demands made upon her time, whether Agatha and she held long conversations together, whether Gaspard was keeping the rose-beds weeded, whether the small vineyards on the sloping hill were showing signs of a good vintage, and whether the Bouveries were really making preparation for taking possession Of the Château.

At last she heard from Bertha that her aunt was going to make her usual autumn move into her Orleans flat.

"She is playing a kind of game with herself and everyone else," wrote Bertha, "by insisting that this is her usual move, and that she will be returning in the spring, but I happen to know that Monsieur Bouverie has promised her to wait to take possession till she has gone, and that he means to move in directly she has done so. She is writing to you to implore you to come back and help her with the move. She will not trust me as she trusts you. Do you not think you could come for a week or two? You need not go to Orleans with her. I believe she will be happy there. And I really cannot stay much longer. I have heard from an invalid cousin of mine who wants me to go to the Riviera with her the end of September. If I do so, I shall have to be shutting up my cottage and getting rid of my bits of furniture. I do not care to live there now. But I must justify my existence by being of some use to someone, so think my cousin's proposal fits in."

The following day Adrienne had the usual hysterical effusion from her aunt, and after reading over both these letters to her uncle, he advised her to go over for a week or two.

"And don't be miserable, my dear child, over that old Château, but be thankful that your aunt will no longer have such an incubus."

"Oh, Uncle Derrick," said Adrienne with a laugh and a sigh, "you don't know its charms. It will be a hard wrench to me to say good-bye to it. I am still hoping it may be saved. I have been calculating the time. If Cousin Guy received my letter, he might be on the way home."

"I believe he went away to make it easy for your aunt. I know he thinks she is mistaken in living on there; and when he is at hand, she bleeds him, and convinces herself that he will not see her turned out."

So in a very few days' time, Adrienne crossed the Channel once more. She could leave her uncle with an easy mind for a week or two. He was a man who was always occupied, and he told her that he had a good deal of business to see to in town, connected with his brother's estate.

The glories of an early autumn were tinting the trees and hedges, and wrapping the woods and distant hills in a golden haze, when Adrienne arrived at her destination.

She had an unpleasant moment or two at the station, for Monsieur and Madame Bouverie were seeing friends off in the train for Orleans.

Madame Bouverie affected not to see Adrienne at first and called out in her shrill French voice:

"Au revoir, Nancie; next time you visit us, you will find us comfortably installed in the Château, I hope. Ah! What a work is before us, bringing that mouldy old place up to date, but we shall do it. Inside and out you will be astonished at the metamorphosis!" Then with a triumphant smile she turned and nodded affably to Adrienne.

"You have returned to help your aunt pack up. So glad to see you."

Adrienne felt her bow was stiff; she passed out to where the car was waiting for her with hot indignation in her heart. But as she passed along the familiar lanes, and noted the tiny green shuttered houses, the purple bloom of the grapes on the sloping hills, and heard once more the melodious bells of the oxen passing along with their loads, she said to herself with a little glow within her:

"This has become my second home. How I love it all!"

It was a lovely afternoon; she glided up the old avenue, and noted the golden tints on the trees, and then came upon the old Château mellow and stately still. Tea was on the terrace and her aunt and Bertha Preston were both waiting to welcome her.

Nothing marred the warmth of that welcome. Adrienne felt that her aunt was really attached to her, and old Pierre hovered about with a pleased smile on his withered face. He had gathered a dish of golden plums in honour of her return and she turned to thank him with her bright smile, but was rather taken aback to see his old eyes fill with tears. He hobbled off, furtively brushing the sleeve of his coat across his eyes. To Adrienne it seemed impossible that the old Château was going to pass away from the de Beaudesserts, and certainly her aunt seemed strangely unaware of the fact. She was all smiles and graciousness, telling Adrienne bits of local news, and asking with a little sympathy in her tone after her brother.

"It does not do to be bound up so entirely in one another as he and Tom were," she said with a sigh; "they were two inseparables! Of course Derrick must miss Tom tremendously."

"Yes, I could not bear to leave him; but he will be in London for a week or two over business matters, and I shall soon be back again."

The Countess shook her head at her:

"I am going to introduce you to Orleans society, and shall not let you go in a hurry. I have told Miss Preston of some plans I have in my head."

"When are you going?" Adrienne asked.

"As soon as you can get me packed. I don't like autumn in the country, and the fall of the leaf is not healthy."

"Have you heard from Cousin Guy?"

"Not for weeks. He is always a bad correspondent. It is most inconsiderate of him staying away at this juncture, when I specially want him. I do not know where he is, or what he is doing. I have only his banker's address."

After tea, Adrienne went up to her room and Bertha accompanied her.

She settled herself down in a big easy-chair by the window for a good talk. The Countess had gone to her room to turn out some of her wardrobes ready for Adrienne's inspection. Annette went with her to help her.

"My dear Adrienne, your aunt is a marvel. She can turn from disagreeables and forget all about them within ten minutes. We had awful scenes this morning with Pierre and his family. It appears that Monsieur Bouverie has been interviewing them and asking them if the Countess has given them notice to leave. He told them he would not require their services, and he hoped to take possession of the Château on the fifteenth of next month. That will be barely three weeks from to-day. They all arrived up in your aunt's room in tears. She got very agitated, and alarmed, dissolved into tears herself and then waved them all away.

"' The Count will be back. He'll put things all right. You need not be afraid. I leave you as usual to take care of the Château in my absence. Monsieur Bouverie is trying to frighten you. You really must not come and upset me like this. My heart won't stand it. The sooner I am in Orleans the better. Mademoiselle is coming to take me there."

"She then cheered up, and has been extra cheerful all day. Can you understand her? Monsieur Bouverie is absolutely determined, and within his rights, he tells me, to take the Château on the fifteenth of October."

"It's all perfectly dreadful," said Adrienne; "I can understand Aunt Cecily's mind a little. She has always been under dread of this time coming, but she has slipped through so many of her troubles that she expects to slip through this. And even I don't believe Monsieur Bouverie will be successful in wresting the property from us. I somehow think that Cousin Guy will prevent it."

"Has your cousin been playing a game?" Bertha asked. "Because the Bouveries talk of him and think of him as an indolent dreamy fool, a good farmer, but with no love for his old house, and with no intention of saving it. I should call him a masterful, keen-witted man, who would let nobody get the better of him in business matters!"

"Yes," said Adrienne; "that is him. And I rely upon him to return in time to circumvent the Bouveries. I am not going to make myself miserable before it is necessary. Let us enjoy these lovely days, Bertha."

"My dear, I must be off to-morrow. But I shall be at Le Sourge for a week or two yet. I have to pack up too. We shall see each other, I hope, several times before you leave."

The rest of the evening passed quietly. The Countess talked much of Orleans and of her flat, and from hints she let drop, and from a little confidence on Bertha's part, Adrienne was made aware that her aunt intended to make a match for her with a certain young Baron in Orleans.