Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 14 (15 page)

 
          
           
"You
can
do
this,
you are tempted to do it. Is Ned the man who can protect you?"

 
          
           
"No" was the soft reply.

 
          
           
"Who then?"

 
          
           
"Do not ask me. A good and honorable man; one who loves me well, and would
devote his life to me; one whom once it would have been happiness to marry, but
now—"

 
          
           
There her voice ended in a sigh, and all her fair hair fell down about her
face, hiding it in a shining veil.

 
          
           
"Why not now?
This is a sure and speedy way of
ending your distress. Is it impossible?"

 
          
           
In spite of himself, Gerald leaned nearer, took one of the little hands in his,
and pressed it as he spoke, urgently, compassionately, nay, almost tenderly.
From behind the veil came a heavy sigh, and the brief answer, "It is
impossible."

 
          
           
"Why, Jean?"

 
          
           
She flung her hair back with a sudden gesture, drew away her hand, and
answered, almost fiercely, "Because I do not love him! Why do you torment
me with such questions? I tell you I am in a sore strait and cannot see my way.
Shall I deceive the good man, and secure peace at the price of liberty and
truth? Or shall I defy
Sydney
and lead a life of dread? If he menaced my life, I should not fear; but
he menaces that which is dearer than life—my good name. A look, a word can
tarnish it; a scornful smile, a significant shrug can do me more harm than any
blow; for I am a woman—friendless, poor, and at the mercy of his tongue. Ah,
better to have died, and so have been saved the bitter pain that has come
now!"

 
          
           
She sprang up, clasped her hands over her head, and paced despairingly through
the little room, not weeping, but wearing an expression more tragical than
tears. Still feeling as if he had suddenly stepped into a romance, yet finding
a keen pleasure in the part assigned him,
Coventry
threw himself into it with spirit, and
heartily did his best to console the poor girl who needed help so much. Going
to her, he said as impetuously as Ned ever did, "Miss Muir—nay, I will say
Jean, if that will comfort you—listen, and rest assured that no harm shall
touch you if I can ward it off. You are needlessly alarmed. Indignant you may
well be, but, upon my life, I think you wrong
Sydney
. He is violent, I know, but he is too honorable
a man to injure you by a light word, an unjust act. He did but
threaten
, hoping to soften you. Let me see him, or write to
him. He is my friend; he will listen to me. Of that I am sure."

 
          
           
"Be sure of nothing. When a man like
Sydney
loves and is thwarted in his love, nothing
can control his headstrong will. Promise me you will not see or write to him.
Much as I fear and despise him, I will submit, rather than any harm should
befall you—or your brother. You promise me, Mr. Coventry?"

 
          
           
He hesitated. She clung to his arm with unfeigned solicitude in her eager,
pleading face, and he could not resist it.

 
          
           
"I promise; but in return you must promise to let me give what help
I
can; and, Jean, never say again that you are
friendless."

 
          
           
"You are so kind! God bless you for it. But I dare not accept your
friendship; she will not permit it, and I have no right to mar her peace."

 
          
           
"Who will not permit it?" he demanded hotly.

 
          
           
"Miss Beaufort."

 
          
           
"Hang Miss Beaufort!" exclaimed
Coventry
,
with such energy that Jean broke into a
musical laugh, despite her trouble. He joined in it, and, for an instant they
stood looking at one another as if the last barrier were down, and they were friends
indeed. Jean paused suddenly, with the smile on her lips, the tears still on
her cheek, and made a warning gesture. He listened: the sound of feet mingled
with calls and laughter proved that they were missed and sought.

 
          
           
"That laugh betrayed us. Stay and meet them. I cannot." And Jean
darted out upon the lawn.
Coventry
followed; for the thought of confronting so many eyes, so many
questions, daunted him, and he fled like a coward. The sound of Jean's flying
footsteps guided him, and he overtook her just as she paused behind a rose
thicket to take breath.

 
          
           
"Fainthearted knight!
You should have stayed and
covered my retreat. Hark!
they
are coming! Hide!
Hide!" she panted, half in fear, half in merriment, as the gay pursuers
rapidly drew nearer.

 
          
           
"Kneel down; the moon is coming out and the glitter of your embroidery
will betray you," whispered Jean, as they cowered behind the roses.

 
          
           
"Your arms and hair will betray you
. '
Come under
my plaiddie,' as the song says." And
Coventry
tried to make his velvet cloak cover the
white shoulders and fair locks.

 
          
           
"We are acting our parts in reality now. How Bella will enjoy the thing
when I tell her!" said Jean as the noises died away.

 
          
           
"Do not tell her," whispered
Coventry
.

 
          
           
"And why not?" she asked, looking up into the face so near her own,
with an artless glance.

 
          
           
"Can you not guess why?"

 
          
           
"Ah, you are so proud you cannot bear to be laughed at."

 
          
           
"It is not that. It is because I do not want you to be annoyed by silly
tongues; you have enough to pain you without that. I am your friend, now, and I
do my best to prove it."

 
          
           
"So kind, so kind!
How can I thank you?"
murmured Jean. And she involuntarily nestled closer under the cloak that
sheltered both.

 
          
           
Neither spoke for a moment, and in the silence the rapid beating of two hearts
was heard. To drown the sound,
Coventry
said softly, "Are you
frightened?"

 
          
           
"No, I like it," she answered, as softly,
then
added abruptly, "But why do we hide? There is nothing to fear. It is late.
I must go. You are kneeling on my train. Please rise."

 
          
           
"Why in such haste? This flight and search only adds to the charm of the
evening. I'll not get up yet. Will you have a rose, Jean?"

 
          
           
"No, I will not. Let me go, Mr. Coventry, I insist. There has been enough
of this folly. You forget yourself."

 
          
           
She spoke imperiously, flung off the cloak, and put him from her. He rose at
once, saying, like one waking suddenly from a pleasant dream, "I do indeed
forget myself."

 
          
           
Here the sound of voices broke on them, nearer than before. Pointing to a
covered walk that led to the house, he said, in his usually cool, calm tone,
"Go in that way; I will cover your retreat." And turning, he went to
meet the merry hunters.

 
          
           
Half an hour later, when the party broke up, Miss Muir joined them in her usual
quiet dress, looking paler, meeker, and sadder than usual.
Coventry
saw this, though he neither looked at her
nor addressed her. Lucia saw it also, and was glad that the dangerous girl had
fallen back into her proper place again, for she had suffered much that night.
She appropriated her cousin's arm as they went through the park, but he was in
one of his taciturn moods, and all her attempts at conversation were in vain.
Miss Muir walked alone, singing softly to herself as she followed in the dusk.
Was Gerald so silent because he listened to that fitful song? Lucia thought so,
and felt her dislike rapidly deepening to hatred.

 
          
           
When the young friends were gone, and the
family were
exchanging good-nights among themselves, Jean was surprised by
Coventry
's offering his hand, for he had never done
it before, and whispering, as he held it, though Lucia watched him all the
while, "I have not given my advice, yet."

 
          
           
"Thanks, I no longer need it. I have decided for myself."

 
          
           
"May I ask how?"

 
          
           
"To brave my enemy."

 
          
           
"Good! But what decided you so suddenly?"

 
          
           
"The finding of a friend."
And with a
grateful glance she was gone.

 
          
           
"If you please, Mr. Coventry, did you get the letter last night?"
were the first words that greeted the "young master" as he left his
room next morning.

 
          
           
"What letter, Dean? I don't remember any," he answered, pausing, for
something in the maid's manner struck him as peculiar.

 
          
           
"It came just as you left for the Hall, sir. Benson ran after you with it,
as it was marked 'Haste.' Didn't you get it, sir?" asked the woman,
anxiously.

 
          
           
"Yes, but upon my life, I forgot all about it till this minute. It's in my
other coat, I suppose, if I've not lost it. That absurd masquerading put
everything else out of my head." And speaking more to himself than to the
maid,
Coventry
turned back to look for the missing letter.

 
          
           
Dean remained where she was, apparently busy about the arrangement of the
curtains at the hall window, but furtively watching meanwhile with a most
unwonted air of curiosity.

 
          
           
"Not there, I thought so!" she muttered, as
Coventry
impatiently thrust his hand into one pocket
after another. But as she spoke, an expression of amazement appeared in her
face, for suddenly the letter was discovered.

 
          
           
"I'd have sworn it wasn't there! I don't understand it, but she's a deep
one, or I'm much deceived." And Dean shook her head like one perplexed,
but not convinced.

 
          
           
Coventry
uttered an exclamation of satisfaction on
glancing at the address and, standing where he was, tore open the letter.

 
          
           
 Dear C:

 
          
           
 I'm off to
Baden
. Come and join me, then you'll be out of
harm's way; for if you fall in love with J.M. (and you can't escape if you stay
where she is), you will incur the trifling inconvenience of having your brains
blown out by

 
          
           
 Yours truly, F.R. Sydney

 
          
           
"The man is mad!" ejaculated
Coventry
, staring at the letter while an angry flush
rose to his face. "What the deuce does he mean by writing to me in that
style? Join him—not I! And as for the threat, I laugh at it. Poor Jean! This
headstrong fool seems bent on tormenting her. Well, Dean, what are you waiting
for?" he demanded, as if suddenly conscious of her presence.

 
          
           
"Nothing, sir; I only stopped to see if you found the letter. Beg pardon,
sir."

 
          
           
And she was moving on when
Coventry
asked, with a suspicious look, "What made you think it was lost?
You seem to take an uncommon interest in my affairs today."

 
          
           
"Oh dear, no, sir.
I felt a bit anxious, Benson
is so forgetful, and it was me who sent him after you, for I happened to see
you go out, so I felt responsible. Being marked that way, I thought it might be
important so I asked about it."

 
          
           
"Very well, you can go, Dean. It's all right, you see."

 
          
           
"I'm not so sure of that," muttered the woman, as she curtsied respectfully
and went away, looking as if the letter had
not
been found.

 
          
           
Dean was Miss Beaufort's maid, a grave, middle-aged woman with keen eyes and a
somewhat grim air. Having been long in the family, she enjoyed all the
privileges of a faithful and favorite servant. She loved her young mistress
with an almost jealous affection. She watched over her with the vigilant care
of a mother and resented any attempt at interference on the part of others. At
first she had pitied and liked Jean Muir, then distrusted her, and now heartily
hated her, as the cause of the increased indifference of
Coventry
toward his cousin. Dean knew the depth of
Lucia's love, and though no man, in her eyes, was worthy of her mistress,
still, having honored him with her regard, Dean felt bound to like him, and the
late change in his manner disturbed the maid almost as much as it did the
mistress. She watched Jean narrowly, causing that amiable creature much
amusement but little annoyance, as yet, for Dean's slow English wit was no
match for the subtle mind of the governess. On the preceding night, Dean had
been sent up to the Hall with costumes and had there seen something which much
disturbed her. She began to speak of it while undressing her mistress, but
Lucia, being in an unhappy mood, had so sternly ordered her not to gossip that
the tale remained untold, and she was forced to bide her tune.

 
          
           
Now I'll see how
she
looks after it;
though there's not much to be got out of
her
face, the deceitful hussy, thought Dean, marching down the corridor and
knitting her black brows as she went.

 
          
           
"Good morning, Mrs. Dean. I hope you are none the worse for last night's
frolic. You had the work and we the play," said a blithe voice behind her;
and turning sharply, she confronted Miss Muir. Fresh and smiling, the governess
nodded with an air of cordiality which would have been irresistible with anyone
but Dean.

 
          
           
"I'm quite well, thank you,
miss
," she
returned coldly, as her keen eye fastened on the girl as if to watch the effect
of her words. "I had a good rest when the young ladies and gentlemen were
at supper, for while the maids cleared
up,
I sat in
the 'little anteroom.'"

 
          
           
"Yes, I saw you, and feared you'd take cold. Very glad you didn't. How is
Miss Beaufort? She seemed rather poorly last night" was the tranquil
reply, as Jean settled the little frills about her delicate wrists. The cool
question was a return shot for Dean's hint that she had been where she could
oversee the interview between
Coventry
and Miss Muir.

 
          
           
"She is a bit tired, as any
lady
would be after such an evening. People who are
used
to
play-acting
wouldn't
mind it, perhaps, but Miss Beaufort
don't
enjoy
romps
as much as
some
do."

 
          
           
The emphasis upon certain words made Dean's speech as impertinent as she
desired. But Jean only laughed, and as
Coventry
's step was heard behind them, she ran
downstairs, saying blandly, but with a wicked look, "I won't stop to thank
you now, lest Mr. Coventry should bid me good-morning, and so increase Miss
Beaufort's indisposition."

 
          
           
Dean's eyes flashed as she looked after the girl with a wrathful face, and went
her way, saying grimly, "I'll bide my time, but I'll get the better of her
yet."

 
          
           
Fancying
himself
quite removed from "last night's
absurdity," yet curious to see how Jean would meet him,
Coventry
lounged into the breakfast room with his
usual air of listless indifference. A languid nod and murmur was all the reply
he vouchsafed to the greetings of cousin, sister, and governess as he sat down
and took up his paper.

 
          
           
"Have you had a letter from Ned?" asked Bella, looking at the note
which her brother still held.

 
          
           
"No" was the brief answer.

 
          
           
"Who then?
You look as if you had received bad
news."

 
          
           
There was no reply, and, peeping over his arm, Bella caught sight of the seal
and exclaimed, in a disappointed tone, "It is the
Sydney
crest. I don't care about the note now.
Men's letters to each other are not interesting."

 
          
           
Miss Muir had been quietly feeding one of Edward's dogs, but at the name she
looked up and met
Coventry
's eyes, coloring so distressfully that he pitied her. Why he should
take the trouble to cover her confusion, he did not stop to ask himself, but
seeing the curl of Lucia's lip, he suddenly addressed her with an air of
displeasure, "Do you know that Dean is getting impertinent? She presumes
too much on her age and your indulgence, and forgets her place."

 
          
           
"What has she done?" asked Lucia coldly.

 
          
           
"She troubles herself about my affairs and takes it upon herself to keep Benson
in order."  

 
          
           
Here
Coventry
told about the letter and the woman's
evident curiosity.

 
          
           
"Poor Dean, she gets no thanks for reminding you of what you had
forgotten. Next time she will leave your letters to their fate, and perhaps it
will be as well, if they have such a bad effect upon your temper, Gerald."

 
          
           
Lucia spoke calmly, but there was an angry color in her cheek as she rose and
left the room.
Coventry
looked much annoyed, for on Jean's face he detected a faint smile, half
pitiful, half satirical, which disturbed him more than his cousin's
insinuation. Bella broke the awkward silence by saying, with a sigh, "Poor
Ned! I do so long to hear again from him. I thought a letter had come for some
of us. Dean said she saw one bearing his writing on the hall table
yesterday."

 
          
           
"She seems to have a mania for inspecting letters. I won't allow it. Who
was the letter for, Bella?" said
Coventry
, putting down his paper.

 
          
           
"She wouldn't or couldn't tell, but looked very cross and told me to ask
you."

 
          
           
"Very odd!
I've had none," began
Coventry
.

 
          
           
"But I had one several days ago. Will you please read it, and my
reply?"
 
 And as she spoke, Jean laid two
letters before him.
 
 

 
          
           
"Certainly not.
It would be dishonorable to read
what Ned intended for no eyes but your own. You are too scrupulous in one way,
and not enough so in another, Miss Muir." And
Coventry
offered both the letters with an air of
grave decision, which could not conceal the interest and surprise he felt.

 
          
           
"You are right. Mr. Edward's note
should
be kept sacred, for in it the poor boy has laid bare his heart to me. But mine
I beg you will read, that you may see how well I try to keep my word to you.
Oblige me in this, Mr. Coventry; I have a right to ask it of you."

 
          
           
So urgently she spoke, so wistfully she looked, that he could not refuse and,
going to the window, read the letter. It was evidently an answer to a
passionate appeal from the young lover, and was written with consummate skill.
As he read, Gerald could not help thinking,
If
this
girl writes in this way to a man whom she does
not
love, with what a world of power and passion would she write to
one whom she
did
love. And this
thought kept returning to him as his eye went over line after line of wise
argument, gentle reproof, good counsel, and friendly regard. Here and there a
word, a phrase, betrayed what she had already confessed, and
Coventry
forgot to return the letter, as he stood
wondering who
was the man whom Jean loved
.