BETWEEN THE SCENES.
PROGRESS OF THE STORY THROUGH THE POST.
I.
_From George Bartram to Noel Vanstone._
"St. Crux, September 4th, 1847.
"MY DEAR NOEL--Here are two plain questions at starting. In the name of
all that is mysterious, what are you hiding for? And why is everything
relating to your marriage kept an impenetrable secret from your oldest
friends?
"I have been to Aldborough to try if I could trace you from that place,
and have come back as wise as I went. I have applied to your lawyer in
London, and have been told, in reply, that you have forbidden him to
disclose the place of your retreat to any one without first receiving
your permission to do so. All I could prevail on him to say was, that
he would forward any letter which might be sent to his care. I write
accordingly, and mind this, I expect an answer.
"You may ask, in your ill-tempered way, what business I have to meddle
with affairs of yours which it is your pleasure to keep private. My dear
Noel, there is a serious reason for our opening communications with you
from this house. You don't know what events have taken place at St. Crux
since you ran away to get married; and though I detest writing letters,
I must lose an hour's shooting to-day in trying to enlighten you.
"On the twenty-third of last month, the admiral and I were disturbed
over our wine after dinner by the announcement that a visitor had
unexpectedly arrived at St. Crux. Who do you think the visitor was? Mrs.
Lecount!
"My uncle, with that old-fashioned bachelor gallantry of his which pays
equal respect to all wearers of petticoats, left the table directly to
welcome Mrs. Lecount. While I was debating whether I should follow him
or not, my meditations were suddenly brought to an end by a loud call
from the admiral. I ran into the morning-room, and there was your
unfortunate housekeeper on the sofa, with all the women servants about
her, more dead than alive. She had traveled from England to Zurich, and
from Zurich back again to England, without stopping; and she looked,
seriously and literally, at death's door. I immediately agreed with my
uncle that the first thing to be done was to send for medical help. We
dispatched a groom on the spot, and, at Mrs. Lecount's own request, sent
all the servants in a body out of the room.
"As soon as we were alone, Mrs. Lecount surprised us by a singular
question. She asked if you had received a letter which she had addressed
to you before leaving England at this house. When we told her that the
letter had been forwarded, under cover to your friend Mr. Bygrave, by
your own particular request, she turned as pale as ashes; and when we
added that you had left us in company with this same Mr. Bygrave, she
clasped her hands and stared at us as if she had taken leave of her
senses. Her next question was, 'Where is Mr. Noel now?' We could only
give her one reply--Mr. Noel had not informed us. She looked perfectly
thunderstruck at that answer. 'He has gone to his ruin!' she said. 'He
has gone away in company with the greatest villain in England. I must
find him! I tell you I must find Mr. Noel! If I don't find him at
once, it will be too late. He will be married!' she burst out quite
frantically. 'On my honor and my oath, he will be married!' The admiral,
incautiously perhaps, but with the best intentions, told her you were
married already. She gave a scream that made the windows ring again and
dropped back on the sofa in a fainting-fit. The doctor came in the nick
of time, and soon brought her to. But she was taken ill the same night;
she has grown worse and worse ever since; and the last medical report
is, that the fever from which she has been suffering is in a fair way to
settle on her brain.
"Now, my dear Noel, neither my uncle nor I have any wish to intrude
ourselves on your confidence. We are naturally astonished at the
extraordinary mystery which hangs over you and your marriage, and we
cannot be blind to the fact that your housekeeper has, apparently, some
strong reason of her own for viewing Mrs. Noel Vanstone with an enmity
and distrust which we are quite ready to believe that lady has done
nothing to deserve. Whatever strange misunderstanding there may have
been in your household, is your business (if you choose to keep it to
yourself), and not ours. All we have any right to do is to tell you what
the doctor says. His patient has been delirious; he declines to
answer for her life if she goes on as she is going on now; and he
thinks--finding that she is perpetually talking of her master--that
your presence would be useful in quieting her, if you could come here at
once, and exert your influence before it is too late.
"What do you say? Will you emerge from the darkness that surrounds you
and come to St. Crux? If this was the case of an ordinary servant, I
could understand your hesitating to leave the delights of your honeymoon
for any such object as is here proposed to you. But, my dear fellow,
Mrs. Lecount is not an ordinary servant. You are under obligations to
her fidelity and attachment in your father's time, as well as in your
own; and if you _can_ quiet the anxieties which seem to be driving this
unfortunate woman mad, I really think you ought to come here and do so.
Your leaving Mrs. Noel Vanstone is of course out of the question.
There is no necessity for any such hard-hearted proceeding. The admiral
desires me to remind you that he is your oldest friend living, and that
his house is at your wife's disposal, as it has always been at yours.
In this great rambling-place she need dread no near association with
the sick-room; and, with all my uncle's oddities, I am sure she will not
think the offer of his friendship an offer to be despised.
"Have I told you already that I went to Aldborough to try and find a
clew to your whereabouts? I can't be at the trouble of looking back to
see; so, if I have told you, I tell you again. The truth is, I made
an acquaintance at Aldborough of whom you know something--at least by
report.
"After applying vainly at Sea View, I went to the hotel to inquire
about you. The landlady could give me no information; but the moment I
mentioned your name, she asked if I was related to you; and when I told
her I was your cousin, she said there was a young lady then at the hotel
whose name was Vanstone also, who was in great distress about a missing
relative, and who might prove of some use to me--or I to her--if we knew
of each other's errand at Aldborough. I had not the least idea who she
was, but I sent in my card at a venture; and in five minutes afterward
I found myself in the presence of one of the most charming women these
eyes ever looked on.
"Our first words of explanation informed me that my family name was
known to her by repute. Who do you think she was? The eldest daughter of
my uncle and yours--Andrew Vanstone. I had often heard my poor mother in
past years speak of her brother Andrew, and I knew of that sad story
at Combe-Raven. But our families, as you are aware, had always been
estranged, and I had never seen my charming cousin before. She has
the dark eyes and hair, and the gentle, retiring manners that I always
admire in a woman. I don't want to renew our old disagreement about
your father's conduct to those two sisters, or to deny that his brother
Andrew may have behaved badly to him; I am willing to admit that the
high moral position he took in the matter is quite unassailable by
such a miserable sinner as I am; and I will not dispute that my own
spendthrift habits incapacitate me from offering any opinion on the
conduct of other people's pecuniary affairs. But, with all these
allowances and drawbacks, I can tell you one thing, Noel. If you ever
see the elder Miss Vanstone, I venture to prophesy that, for the first
time in your life, you will doubt the propriety of following your
father's example.
"She told me her little story, poor thing, most simply and unaffectedly.
She is now occupying her second situation as a governess--and, as usual,
I, who know everybody, know the family. They are friends of my uncle's,
whom he has lost sight of latterly--the Tyrrels of Portland Place--and
they treat Miss Vanstone with as much kindness and consideration as if
she was a member of the family. One of their old servants accompanied
her to Aldborough, her object in traveling to that place being what the
landlady of the hotel had stated it to be. The family reverses have, it
seems, had a serious effect on Miss Vanstone's younger sister, who has
left her friends and who has been missing from home for some time.
She had been last heard of at Aldborough; and her elder sister, on her
return from the Continent with the Tyrrels, had instantly set out to
make inquiries at that place.
"This was all Miss Vanstone told me. She asked whether you had seen
anything of her sister, or whether Mrs. Lecount knew anything of her
sister--I suppose because she was aware you had been at Aldborough.
Of course I could tell her nothing. She entered into no details on the
subject, and I could not presume to ask her for any. All I did was to
set to work with might and main to assist her inquiries. The attempt
was an utter failure; nobody could give us any information. We tried
personal description of course; and strange to say, the only young lady
formerly staying at Aldborough who answered the description was, of all
the people in the world, the lady you have married! If she had not had
an uncle and aunt (both of whom have left the place), I should have
begun to suspect that you had married your cousin without knowing it!
Is this the clew to the mystery? Don't be angry; I must have my little
joke, and I can't help writing as carelessly as I talk. The end of
it was, our inquiries were all baffled, and I traveled back with Miss
Vanstone and her attendant as far as our station here. I think I shall
call on the Tyrrels when I am next in London. I have certainly treated
that family with the most inexcusable neglect.
"Here I am at the end of my third sheet of note-paper! I don't often
take the pen in hand; but when I do, you will agree with me that I am in
no hurry to lay it aside again. Treat the rest of my letter as you like,
but consider what I have told you about Mrs. Lecount, and remember that
time is of consequence.
"Ever yours,
"GEORGE BARTRAM."