Lady Anna Part 44

Pray come and see me here. If you get this soon enough, pray come on Tuesday about one.

Yours affectionately,

ANNA.

"Tell mamma," said she to Sarah, "that I intend to go out and put that in the post to-day." The letter was addressed to Wyndham Street.

Now the Countess knew that Daniel Thwaite had left Wyndham Street.

"Tell her," said the Countess, "tell her--; but, of what use to tell her anything? Let the door be closed upon her. She shall never return to me any more." The message was given to Lady Anna as she went forth:--but she posted the letter, and then called in Bedford Square.

Mrs. Bluestone returned with her to Keppel Street; but as the door was opened by Mrs. Richards, and as no difficulty was made as to Lady Anna's entrance, Mrs. Bluestone returned home without asking to see the Countess.

This happened on a Sat.u.r.day, but when Tuesday came Daniel Thwaite did not come to Keppel Street. The note was delivered in course of post at his old abode, and was redirected from Wyndham Street late on Monday evening,--having no doubt given cause there for much curiosity and inspection. Late on the Tuesday it did reach Daniel Thwaite's residence in Great Russell Street, but he was then out, wandering about the streets as was his wont, telling himself of all the horrors of an idle life, and thinking what steps he should take next as to the gaining of his bride. He had known to a day when she was of age, and had determined that he would allow her one month from thence before he would call upon her to say what should be their mutual fate. She had reached that age but a few days, and now she had written to him herself.

On returning home he received the girl's letter, and when the early morning had come,--the Wednesday morning, the day after that fixed by Lady Anna,--he made up his mind as to his course of action. He breakfasted at eight, knowing how useless it would be to stir early, and then called in Keppel Street, leaving word with Mrs. Richards herself that he would be there again at one o'clock to see Lady Anna.

"You can tell Lady Anna that I only got her note last night very late." Then he went off to the hotel in Albemarle Street at which he knew that Lord Lovel was living. It was something after nine when he reached the house, and the Earl was not yet out of his bedroom.

Daniel, however, sent up his name, and the Earl begged that he would go into the sitting-room and wait. "Tell Mr. Thwaite that I will not keep him above a quarter of an hour." Then the tailor was shown into the room where the breakfast things were laid, and there he waited.

Within the last few weeks very much had been said to the Earl about Daniel Thwaite by many people, and especially by the Solicitor-General. "You may be sure that she will become his wife,"

Sir William had said, "and I would advise you to accept him as her husband. She is not a girl such as we at first conceived her to be.

She is firm of purpose, and very honest. Obstinate, if you will, and,--if you will,--obstinate to a bad end. But she is generous, and let her marry whom she will, you cannot cast her out. You will owe everything to her high sense of honour;--and I am much mistaken if you will not owe much to him. Accept them both, and make the best of them. In five years he'll be in Parliament as likely as not. In ten years he'll be Sir Daniel Thwaite,--if he cares for it. And in fifteen years Lady Anna will be supposed by everybody to have made a very happy marriage." Lord Lovel was at this time inclined to be submissive in everything to his great adviser, and was now ready to take Mr. Daniel Thwaite by the hand.

He did take him by the hand as he entered the sitting-room, radiant from his bath, clad in a short bright-coloured dressing-gown such as young men then wore o' mornings, with embroidered slippers on his feet, and a smile on his face. "I have heard much of you, Mr.

Thwaite," he said, "and am glad to meet you at last. Pray sit down.

I hope you have not breakfasted."

Poor Daniel was hardly equal to the occasion. The young lord had been to him always an enemy,--an enemy because the lord had been the adversary of the Countess and her daughter, an enemy because the lord was an earl and idle, an enemy because the lord was his rival. Though he now was nearly sure that this last ground of enmity was at an end, and though he had come to the Earl for certain purposes of his own, he could not bring himself to feel that there should be good fellows.h.i.+p between them. He took the hand that was offered to him, but took it awkwardly, and sat down as he was bidden. "Thank your lords.h.i.+p, but I breakfasted long since. If it will suit you, I will walk about and call again."

"Not at all. I can eat, and you can talk to me. Take a cup of tea at any rate." The Earl rang for another teacup, and began to b.u.t.ter his toast.

"I believe your lords.h.i.+p knows that I have long been engaged to marry your lords.h.i.+p's cousin,--Lady Anna Lovel."

"Indeed I have been told so."

"By herself."

"Well;--yes; by herself."

"I have been allowed to see her but once during the last eight or nine months."

"That has not been my fault, Mr. Thwaite."

"I want you to understand, my lord, that it is not for her money that I have sought her."

"I have not accused you, surely."

"But I have been accused. I am going to see her now,--if I can get admittance to her. I shall press her to fix a day for our marriage, and if she will do so, I shall leave no stone unturned to accomplish it. She has a right to do with herself as she pleases, and no consideration shall stop me but her wishes."

"I shall not interfere."

"I am glad of that, my lord."

"But I will not answer for her mother. You cannot be surprised, Mr.

Thwaite, that Lady Lovel should be averse to such a marriage."

"She was not averse to my father's company nor to mine a few years since;--no nor twelve months since. But I say nothing about that.

Let her be averse. We cannot help it. I have come to you to say that I hope something may be done about the money before she becomes my wife. People say that you should have it."

"Who says so?"

"I cannot say who;--perhaps everybody. Should every s.h.i.+lling of it be yours I should marry her as willingly to-morrow. They have given me what is my own, and that is enough for me. For what is now hers and, perhaps, should be yours, I will not interfere with it. When she is my wife, I will guard for her and for those who may come after her what belongs to her then; but as to what may be done before that, I care nothing."

On hearing this the Earl told him the whole story of the arrangement which was then in progress;--how the property would in fact be divided into three parts, of which the Countess would have one, he one, and Lady Anna one. "There will be enough for us all," said the Earl.

"And much more than enough for me," said Daniel as he got up to take his leave. "And now I am going to Keppel Street."

"You have all my good wishes," said the Earl. The two men again shook hands;--again the lord was radiant and good humoured;--and again the tailor was ashamed and almost sullen. He knew that the young n.o.bleman had behaved well to him, and it was a disappointment to him that any n.o.bleman should behave well.

Nevertheless as he walked away slowly towards Keppel Street,--for the time still hung on his hands,--he began to feel that the great prize of prizes was coming nearer within his grasp.

CHAPTER XLII.

DANIEL THWAITE COMES TO KEPPEL STREET.

Even the Bluestones were now convinced that Lady Anna Lovel must be allowed to marry the Keswick tailor, and that it would be expedient that no further impediment should be thrown in her way. Mrs.

Bluestone had been told, while walking to Keppel Street with the young lady, of the purport of the letter and of the invitation given to Daniel Thwaite. The Serjeant at once declared that the girl must have her own way,--and the Solicitor-General, who also heard of it, expressed himself very strongly. It was absurd to oppose her. She was her own mistress. She had shown herself competent to manage her own affairs. The Countess must be made to understand that she had better yield at once with what best grace she could. Then it was that he made that prophecy to the Earl as to the future success of the fortunate tailor, and then too he wrote at great length to the Countess, urging many reasons why her daughter should be allowed to receive Mr. Daniel Thwaite. "Your ladys.h.i.+p has succeeded in very much," wrote the Solicitor-General, "and even in respect of this marriage you will have the satisfaction of feeling that the man is in every way respectable and well-behaved. I hear that he is an educated man, with culture much higher than is generally found in the state of life which he has till lately filled, and that he is a man of high feeling and n.o.ble purpose. The manner in which he has been persistent in his attachment to your daughter is in itself evidence of this. And I think that your ladys.h.i.+p is bound to remember that the sphere of life in which he has. .h.i.therto been a labourer, would not have been so humble in its nature had not the means which should have started him in the world been applied to support and succour your own cause. I am well aware of your feelings of warm grat.i.tude to the father; but I think you should bear in mind, on the son's behalf, that he has been what he has been because his father was so staunch a friend to your ladys.h.i.+p." There was very much more of it, all expressing the opinion of Sir William that the Countess should at once open her doors to Daniel Thwaite.

The reader need hardly be told that this was wormwood to the Countess. It did not in the least touch her heart and had but little effect on her purpose. Grat.i.tude;--yes! But if the whole result of the exertion for which the receiver is bound to be grateful, is to be neutralised by the greed of the conferrer of the favour,--if all is to be taken that has been given, and much more also,--what ground will there be left for grat.i.tude? If I save a man's purse from a thief, and then demand for my work twice what that purse contained, the man had better have been left with the robbers. But she was told, not only that she ought to accept the tailor as a son-in-law, but also that she could not help herself. They should see whether she could not help herself. They should be made to acknowledge that she at any rate was in earnest in her endeavours to preserve pure and unspotted the honour of the family.

But what should she do? That she should put on a gala dress and a smiling face and be carried off to church with a troop of lawyers and their wives to see her daughter become the bride of a low journeyman, was of course out of the question. By no act, by no word, by no sign would she give aught of a mother's authority to nuptials so disgraceful. Should her daughter become Lady Anna Thwaite, they two, mother and daughter, would never see each other again. Of so much at any rate she was sure. But could she be sure of nothing beyond that?

She could at any rate make an effort.

Then there came upon her a mad idea,--an idea which was itself evidence of insanity,--of the glory which would be hers if by any means she could prevent the marriage. There would be a halo round her name were she to perish in such a cause, let the destruction come upon her in what form it might. She sat for hours meditating,--and at every pause in her thoughts she a.s.sured herself that she could still make an effort.

She received Sir William's letter late on the Tuesday,--and during that night she did not lie down or once fall asleep. The man, as she knew, had been told to come at one on that day, and she had been prepared; but he did not come, and she then thought that the letter, which had been addressed to his late residence, had failed to reach him. During the night she wrote a very long answer to Sir William pleading her own cause, expatiating on her own feelings, and palliating any desperate deed which she might be tempted to perform.

But, when the letter had been copied and folded, and duly sealed with the Lovel arms, she locked it in her desk, and did not send it on its way even on the following morning. When the morning came, shortly after eight o'clock, Mrs. Richards brought up the message which Daniel had left at the door. "Be we to let him in, my lady?" said Mrs. Richards with supplicating hands upraised. Her sympathies were all with Lady Anna, but she feared the Countess, and did not dare in such a matter to act without the mother's sanction. The Countess begged the woman to come to her in an hour for further instructions, and at the time named Mrs. Richards, full of the importance of her work, divided between terror and pleasurable excitement, again toddled up-stairs. "Be we to let him in, my lady? G.o.d, he knows it's hard upon the likes of me, who for the last three months doesn't know whether I'm on my head or heels." The Countess very quietly requested that when Mr. Thwaite should call he might be shown into the parlour.

"I will see Mr. Thwaite myself, Mrs. Richards; but it will be better that my daughter should not be disturbed by any intimation of his coming."

Then there was a consultation below stairs as to what should be done.

There had been many such consultations, but they had all ended in favour of the Countess. Mrs. Richards from fear, and the lady's-maid from favour, were disposed to a.s.sist the elder lady. Poor Lady Anna throughout had been forced to fight her battles with no friend near her. Now she had many friends,--many who were anxious to support her, even the Bluestones, who had been so hard upon her while she was along with them;--but they who were now her friends were never near her to a.s.sist her with a word.

So it came to pa.s.s that when Daniel Thwaite called at the house exactly at one o'clock Lady Anna was not expecting him. On the previous day at that hour she had sat waiting with anxious ears for the knock at the door which might announce his coming. But she had waited in vain. From one to two,--even till seven in the evening, she had waited. But he had not come, and she had feared that some scheme had been used against her. The people at the Post Office had been bribed,--or the women in Wyndham Street had been false. But she would not be hindered. She would go out alone and find him,--if he were to be found in London.