CHAPTER IX.

CHARLIE.

My compact with Tessie did not, however, preclude one thing, and that was the taking advice of my friends on the state of my affairs. With the state of those of other people I had nothing to do. But I could not decide whether to write to Mr. Warrington or Mrs. Sandilands. The solicitor was, of course, the most proper person to consult on the subject, but it appeared to be such a formidable proceeding to make a regular complaint to him, and I dreaded its entailing legal inquiries, and perhaps a complete estrangement between myself and the Lovetts. And, in that case, what would become of my promise of fidelity to Tessie? Mrs. Sandilands, on the other hand, although only a woman, had thorough good sense, and had managed all her own money affairs since her husband’s death, and might be able to give me some hints by which to manage my guardian and obviate the necessity of calling in professional assistance.

So the day after I had taken that walk with Tessie, I sat down to write to Mrs. Sandilands. It was always a pleasure to me to take up the pen to address my old friend. Thoughts of the pretty countrified home which we had shared together, and of the many happy hours we had passed in each other’s society, used to flow in upon me as I wielded it, and sometimes I was almost tempted to regret I had been so cold-hearted as to be unable to claim the title of daughter so warmly offered to me. What a cheerful, comfortable fireside theirs was. I could imagine no brighter lot for some poor lonely unloved orphan than to be welcomed to the bosom of the Sandilands family—for any orphan, that is to say, except Hilda Marsh. The bright-eyed helpful girls and the boisterous healthy boys, with their rosy cheeks and young clear voices—I fancied I could see them at that moment gathered round the dinner-table.

Nellie and Connie and Flo helping their mother to carve, whilst Bell, the spoilt baby of the family, albeit ten years old, was seated at Mrs. Sandilands’ elbow, ready to grab at anything that came within her reach; and the boys’ eyes were glistening at the sight of pudding, and their mouths, luckily for all those concerned, too full to permit them to make much noise.

Poor Charlie would not be present at that early meal. He always took his lunch in town, and relied on his mother looking after his creature comforts at tea-time.

Poor Charlie! I always thought of his name with that prefix, though I used to tell myself it was very ridiculous to do so; and that if he had inherited any of his mother’s practical good sense, he must have seen, even before I had left Norwood, that the proposal he had made to me was one that, under any circumstances, I could never have entertained.

It was not his paltry income, nor the small chance he had of increasing it. If I loved a man, I felt that I could work for him, cooking dinners or scrubbing floors every day of my life, and be happier so, a great deal, than unloved and alone. But the one I slaved for must be superior to me. And poor Charlie was not. There was no conceit in saying so—it was the veritable fact. He was a dear good old boy, and I felt sure that some day he would make some woman very happy indeed; but it could never be myself.

Our natures didn’t coalesce. I was too clear-sighted concerning him for any chance to remain of my friendship ripening into love. I saw so much too plainly that his hair was sandy and his moustaches nearly red, and that he had no idea of argument, and was uncomfortable in society, and appeared as though he had been unused to it.

Still I wished he had written to me. During the three months I had spent in St. Pucelle, though Mrs. Sandilands had sent me a letter almost every week, she had never enclosed more than a message from her son; and I was curious about him, as all women are about their lovers, and wanted to find out if he had forgotten me, or was still silly enough to fret because I would not settle down in the bosom of his family as Mrs. Sandilands the Second.

What induced me to think about him so much that morning I do not know; but amongst my psychological studies, I have often observed the curious manner in which coming events often cast their shadow on the brain. Anyway, I was still sitting over that sheet of paper, nibbling my pen, and thinking of Charlie, when some one knocked at my bedroom door.

‘All right!’ I called out, imagining it to be a summons to _goûter_. ‘I’m very glad it’s ready, for I’m as hungry as I can be.’

‘But no,’ replied Ange’s merry voice, in French, ‘you are an hour out of your reckoning, Hilda: it is only half-past eleven. I come to tell you that somebody is waiting for you in the _salle_.’

‘Somebody! That means that old bore Miss Markham or her bosom friend Mrs. Carolus. No, thank you, _petite_ Ange! I am writing a letter, and cannot be disturbed. Say you could see me nowhere. That will be quite true.’

‘But supposing it is not Miss Markham or Miss Carolus! Suppose it is a gentleman, Hilda!’

My thoughts flew at once to Monsieur de Nesselrode, and my cheeks flamed like fire. That was because, since he had left off spending his evenings at our house, I had always felt a degree of guilty fear respecting him, under the idea that Mr. Lovett would some day question him too closely concerning his defalcation, and draw from him, perhaps against his will, a relation of the circumstances under which he had come to the determination to give up cards.

I felt the awkward position that in such a case I should be placed: of how impossible it would be for me to explain to my trustee that I had had Tessie’s welfare at heart, more than that of the Baron, in persuading him to give up play, and that in going against the father’s wishes, I had been doing my very best for the daughter. Mr. Lovett would say, and naturally think, that he knew what would secure his child’s happiness better than myself, and I had no right to interfere. It would be very difficult to convince him that, beyond the pity which all right-minded people must feel to see a fellow creature throwing away his chances of happiness in this world, I had had no motive in advising the Baron to secure his. So that the name of De Nesselrode was rather a bugbear to me at that time; and I always felt my best safety lay in being present, if possible, at his interviews with Mr. Lovett.

So, on hearing Ange’s last piece of intelligence, I threw my half-finished letter into my blotting-case, and smoothed my hair before the looking-glass.

‘You need not wait, Ange. I will be down directly!’ I exclaimed.

‘Ah, I thought _that_ would bring you, mademoiselle!’ she called out with such a merry laugh, as she ran down the corridor, that I stopped short with the brush in my hand, to consider whether _petite_ Ange had not been having a little amusement at my expense, and I should find myself in the arms of Mrs. Carolus after all. However, I resolved to go and see.

I followed her so quickly, that I caught her up in our little sitting-room, tying back her hair with a black ribbon.

‘He’s such a _nice_ young man!’ she said demurely; ‘and Tessie is making such violent love to him already!’

‘Ange, what a goose you are! I know it is only the Baron!’

‘Well, go and see for yourself. If it is the Baron, he has dyed his hair!’

I opened the door of the _salle_ quietly and looked in. No, it was decidedly not the Baron. That light-grey tweed suit and stuck-up collar never belonged to any one but an Englishman.

Ah, I had it now! It was my young friend of the steamboat—Mr. Charteris’s cousin, Frederick Stephenson. I advanced quickly to bid him welcome. He turned round, and proved to be—Charlie Sandilands!

Oh, I _was_ so pleased to see him! All the blood in my body, I verily believe, rushed to my face as I darted forward with both hands outstretched to grasp his.

‘Charlie!’ I exclaimed eagerly. ‘Oh, Charlie, my dear old boy! wherever did you spring from?’

‘I thought you would be surprised to see me, Hilda,’ he replied, with his eyes fixed upon my countenance; ‘but I couldn’t help coming—I couldn’t, upon my word! I’ve got my annual leave, you see; and I did want to see you so much, that I put off taking it until I could spend it in St. Pucelle.’

‘Oh, how good of you, Charlie! And how long will you be here?’

‘Nearly a month, Hilda, unless you are sick of me before that time—in which case I shall go back to Norwood.’

‘Sick of you? That’s very likely! Why, it’s like old times to see your face again! What jolly days we will have together! I am so glad you came before the fine weather was over. Isn’t it a lovely place! And where are you staying, Charlie?’

In the gladness of my heart at meeting the boy again, I had been holding his hands all this time; but now, perceiving that Mr. Charteris was lounging in one of the window-seats, smoking, and regarding my ebullitions of delight, as I thought, with rather a contemptuous air, I dropped them as if they had been hot coals, and sat down on a chair close by.

‘I have put up at the Hôtel d’Etoile,’ said Charlie.

His pronunciation was delicious—something to make one scream by-and-by; but at that moment he might have stood on his head, and I should have regarded him gravely, so eager was I for news from my dear old home.

‘That is all right. I am glad you have chosen the Etoile. It is nearer us than the Cloche. Fancy, I was just writing a letter to your dear mother, and thinking so much of you, Charlie, and all the others, when they knocked at my door to tell me you were here! I suppose you have been introduced to Miss Lovett?’

‘Yes, Mr. Charteris was good enough to do so. I was surprised to see Charteris here, too, Hilda. It is quite a meeting of the clans! What an age it seems since he was at Norwood!’

Then I remembered that these two must have met at that period, though Charlie had been such a mere lad, that Mr. Charteris and I had doubtless considered that he had neither eyes nor ears. The recollection, however, of what I had told him of my early disappointment came back so vividly upon my mind, that I flushed scarlet and hated myself for so flushing, for fear lest the one man should interpret my change of countenance as regret for our lost intimacy, and the other accept it as a clue to the mysterious history I had partly confided to him. But Charlie appeared to see no connection at all in the two circumstances.

‘Mr. Charteris had quite forgotten me,’ he went on, ‘but I suppose that is not surprising. Hair upon one’s face makes such a difference.’ (Charlie’s moustaches resembled the down on an apple-tart, and had to be caught sideways to be seen at all.) ‘But I knew him at once. He is not the least altered since he was at Norwood. Is he, Hilda?’

‘Men alter less at Mr. Charteris’s age than they do at yours, Charlie. But tell me about your mother, and your brothers and sisters. I wish you could have brought your dear mother with you. And how are Nellie and Connie and Flo and little Bell? It seems years instead of months since I saw them all.’

‘Oh, they’re flourishing, Hilda, and going on just as usual. Nell’s been worrying mother ever since you left to send her to a continental school, but I don’t think she’ll get her way. Mother’s much too timid to let any one of them out of her sight.’

‘There are no young ladies’ schools in St. Pucelle, or I should try and persuade Mrs. Sandilands to send Nell here—and I’d look after her! It is so charming to see any one from the old country when you are exiled in a foreign land.’

‘One would imagine to hear you talk, Miss Marsh,’ interposed Mr. Charteris, ‘and to see the rapture with which you welcome your friends from England, that you had been expatriated for a lifetime, instead of three months.’

He spoke ‘nastily’ to me, and he meant me to take it so. I could almost have thought, from the expression of his voice, that he was annoyed at witnessing the friendly terms on which I was with Charlie Sandilands. But that would have been too ridiculous, under the circumstances. However, I could not help giving him a _quid pro quo_.

‘I am not in the habit of forgetting my friends, Mr. Charteris. And if an absence of three months can make me so glad to meet them again, it is only a proof that I have found none better to take their places in the interim.’

He bit his lip and went on smoking, whilst I turned my attention again to Charlie, and continued my catechism of his home affairs.

It was strange that during the three weeks Cave Charteris and I had spent under the same roof, not a word nor a hint had been exchanged between us relating to our former intimacy. That he had entirely forgotten it I could not believe; neither could he credit me with so short a memory. On the contrary, his studied avoidance of the subject convinced me that he remembered only too well, although it was convenient to attribute his reticence to his fear of hurting my feelings by reviving thoughts of my lost mother. At the same time he never appeared quite at his ease when in my presence, and as he reminded me painfully of a time of weakness and suffering which I had lived to be very much ashamed of, we had mutually avoided each other as much as possible. I was surprised, therefore, to see that he condescended to take any notice of my interest in Charlie Sandilands.

‘Have you had luncheon yet, Charlie?’ I went on, with my back turned to Mr. Charteris.

‘No, Hilda. They told me at the hotel it was served at one.’

‘Well, go and get it then, and come back to take a walk with me.’

‘I shall be delighted!’

‘Will not Mr. Sandilands stay and take some _goûter_ with us, Hilda? Papa will be in directly,’ interposed Tessie.

‘_No!_’ I said decidedly. ‘He had better go back to his hotel.’

I had no idea of a friend of mine breaking bread in Mr. Lovett’s house, whilst I could prevent it. The Sandilands had always been honest to the core. Let Charlie go and eat bread that had been paid for! I felt sure his mother would have said the same.

‘Call for me at two o’clock,’ I said in parting. ‘I will take you such a lovely walk as you have never seen before, right up the hill to the forest of Piron.’

‘Past the Château des Roses!’ said Tessie, mischievously.

Ah! how she would have altered her tone, had she known _why_ I took any interest in the Château des Roses or its master!

‘Tessie, how can you!’ I cried, with burning cheeks. ‘Now, I shall take Mr. Sandilands in exactly the opposite direction, over the trout stream and through the valley of Artois!’

‘But I saw that as I came in the diligence yesterday,’ said Charlie.

‘Then there are a dozen other walks, all prettier than the one I first mentioned, for me to introduce you to. But I want to take you right away from the town to some place where we can talk privately of all that has happened since we last met.’

‘In three months!’ sneered Cave Charteris.

When I say he ‘sneered,’ I mean that he spoke the words unpleasantly, and as though he would have liked to laugh, had he dared, at what I said.

‘And why not?’ I returned. ‘A great deal of consequence may occur in that time. It is long enough to make or mar a life; why should I not find sufficient has happened in it to interest my friend for the length of a walk?’

‘Everything that happens to you is of interest to me, Hilda,’ exclaimed Charlie, with boyish fervour.

‘I knew that before I spoke! Mr. Charteris must have few friends worthy the name if he did not know it also!’

‘I am not so fortunate as Miss Marsh,’ replied that gentleman. ‘No one takes such an interest in me.’

‘Not those at home,’ remarked Ange, pitifully. The little maid had crept into the _salle_ a few minutes after myself. Charteris turned and looked searchingly into her blushing face.

‘No, I am afraid not even “those at home,” Miss Lovett. But how can I expect it? I am not Miss Hilda Marsh.’

‘Even I have been forgotten by those I thought my friends,’ I remarked quietly.

‘But never by my mother nor me,’ said Charlie, in an eager tone.

‘I know that, Charlie, without your telling me. But now go back to the hotel and get your _goûter_, and I will be ready for walking on your return.’

‘How I wish some one would take me for a walk,’ observed Mr. Charteris, with a professional sigh, as Charlie disappeared. _Petite_ Ange said nothing, but she sighed also.

END OF VOL. II.

BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD, SURREY.

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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

● Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. ● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. ● Enclosed blackletter font in =equals=.