The Long Vacation Part 45

Dolores wrote her telegram--

"Dolores Mohun, Valentia, Silverton, to Gerald Underwood, Trinity College, Oxford. Ludmilla here. Circus. Come."

She sent it with the more confidence that she had received a letter from her father with a sort of conditional consent to her engagement to Gerald, so that she could, if needful, avow herself betrothed to him; though her usual reticence made her unwilling to put the matter forward in the present condition of affairs. She went out to the post-office at the first moment when she could hope to find the telegraph office at work, and just as she had turned from it, she met a girl in a dark, long, ill-fitting jacket and black hat, with a basket in her hand.

"Lydia!" exclaimed Dolores, using the old Rockquay name.

"Miss Dolores!" she cried.

"Yes, yes. You are here! I saw you last night."

"Me! Me! Oh, I am ashamed that you did. Don't tell Mr. Flight."

There were tears starting to her eyes.

"Can I do anything for you?"

"No--no. Oh, if you could! But they have apprenticed me."

"Who have?"

"My mother and Mr. O'Leary."

"Are they here?"

"Yes. They wanted money--apprenticed me to this Jellicoe! I must make haste. They sent me out to take something to the wash, and buy some fresh b.u.t.ter. They must not guess that I have met any one."

"I will walk with you. I have been telegraphing to your brother that I have found you."

"Oh, he was so good to me! And Mr. Flight, I was so grieved to fail him.

They made me get up and dress in the night, and before I knew what I was about I was on the quay--carried out to the s.h.i.+p. I had no paper--no means of writing; I was watched. And now it is too dreadful! Oh, Miss Dolores! if Mrs. Henderson could see the cruel positions they try to force on me, the ways they handle me--they hurt so; and what is worse, no modest girl could bear the way they go on, and want me to do the same. I could when I was little, but I am stiffer now, and oh! ashamed.

If I can't--they starve me--yes, and beat me, and hurt me with their things. It is bondage like the Israelites, and I don't want to get to like it, as they say I shall, for then--then there are those terrible songs to be sung, and that shocking dress to be shown off in. My mother will not help. She says it is what she went through, and all have to do, and that I shall soon leave off minding; but oh, I often think I had rather die than grow like--like Miss Bellamour. I hope I shall (they often frighten me with that horse), only somehow I can't wish to be killed at the moment, and try to save myself. And once I thought I would let myself fall, rather than go on with it, but I thought it would be wicked, and I couldn't. But I have prayed to G.o.d to help me and spare me; and now He has heard. And will my brother be able--or will he choose to help me?"

"I am sure of it, my poor dear girl. He wishes nothing more."

"Please turn this way. They must not see me speak to any one."

"One word more. How long is the circus to be here?"

"We never know; it depends on the receipts--may go to-morrow. Oh, there--"

She hurried on without another word, and Dolores slowly returned to Miss Vincent's lodgings. Her lecture was to be given at three o'clock, but she knew that she should have to be shown the school and cla.s.s-rooms in the forenoon. Gerald, as she calculated the trains, might arrive either by half-past twelve or a quarter past four.

Nervously she endured her survey of the school, replying to the comments as if in a dream, and hurrying it over, so as must have vexed those who expected her to be interested. She dashed off to the station, and reached it just in time to see the train come in. Was it--yes, it was Gerald who sprang out and came towards her.

"Dolores! My gallant Dolores! You have found her!"

"Yes, but in cruel slavery--apprenticed."

"That can be upset. Her mother--is she here?"

"Yes, and O'Leary. They sold her, apprenticed her, and these people use her brutally. She told me this morning. No, I don't think you can get at her now."

"I will see her mother at any rate. I may be able to buy her off. Where shall I find you?"

Dolores told him, but advised him to meet her at Miss Hackett's, whom she thought more able to help, and more willing than Miss Vincent, in case he was able to bring Ludmilla away with him.

"Have you heard from my father?"

"Yes--what I expected."

"But it will make no difference in the long run."

"Dearest, do I not trust your brave words? From Trieste I hear that the endeavour of Benista to recover his wife is proved. There's one step of the chain. Is it dragging us down, or setting us free?"

"Free--free from the perplexities of property," cried Dolores. "Free to carve out a life."

"Certainly I have wished I was a younger son. Only if it could have come in some other way!"

Dolores had to go to luncheon at Miss Vincent's, and then to deliver her lecture. It was well that she had given it so often as almost to know it by heart, for the volcano of anxiety was surging high within her.

As she went out she saw Gerald waiting for her, and his whole mien spoke of failure.

"Failed! Yes," he said. "The poor child is regularly bound to that Jellicoe, the master of the concern, for twenty-five pounds, the fine that my uncle brought on the mother, as O'Leary said with a grin, and she is still under sixteen."

"Is there no hope till then?"

"He and O'Leary declare there would be breach of contract if she left them even then. I don't know whether they are right, but any amount of mischief might be done before her birthday. They talk of sending her to Belgium to be trained, and that is fatal."

"Can't she be bought off?"

"Of course I tried, but I can't raise more than seventy pounds at the utmost just now."

"I could help. I have twenty-three pounds. I could give up my term."

"No use. They know that I shall not be of age till January, besides the other matter. I a.s.sured them that however that might end, my uncles would honour any order I might give for the sake of rescuing her, but they laughed the idea to scorn. O'Leary had the impudence to intimate, however, that if I chose to accept the terms expressed, 'his wife might be amenable.'"

"They are?"

"Five hundred for evidence on the previous marriage in my favour; but I am past believing a word that she says, at least under O'Leary's dictation. She might produce a forgery. So I told him that my uncle was investigating the matter with the consul in Sicily; and the intolerable brutes sneered more than over at the idea of the question being in the hands of the interested party, when they could upset that meddling parson in a moment."

"Can nothing be done?"

"I thought of asking one of your old ladies whether there is a lawyer or Prevention of Cruelty man who could tell me whether the agreement holds, but I am afraid she is too old. You saw no mark of ill-usage?"

"Oh no. They would be too cunning."

"If we could help her to escape what a lark it would be!"