The Vision of Desire
"I hoped you would consent to waive it," he said.
"I don't consent. I claim it"--decisively. "You can't leave under six
months." Coventry rose from his chair as though to indicate that the
interview was at an end, hesitated a moment, then added abruptly: "I'm
going abroad. I must have some one in charge whom I can trust. I shall be
leaving England to-morrow."
CHAPTER XXV
THE HALF-TRUTH
There are few truer sayings than the one which cautions us that evil is
wrought by want of thought as well as want of heart. When you are unlucky
enough to get a combination of the two, the evil accomplished is liable to
assume considerably increased proportions.
On the morning following Eliot's visit to the Cottage, want of thought,
in addition to a very natural semi-maternal pride, led Maria Coombe into
confiding jubilantly into the ear of Mrs. Thorowgood--laundress and
purveyor of local gossip--the fact that her Miss Ann and "the Squire up to
Heronsmere" were going to make a match of it. Mrs. Thorowgood, not to be
outdone, responded to the effect that she had "suspicioned" all along that
this was going to be the case, and that when she had heard in the village
yesterday that Mr. Coventry had gone straight to the Cottage upon his
return that afternoon to Silverquay--with Mr. Lovell away in Ferribridge,
too, and all!--she felt sure of it. "So I'm not surprised at your news,
Mrs. Coombe," she concluded triumphantly. "Not surprised at all."
Having thus successfully taken the wind out of Maria's sails, she proceeded
on her way delivering the clean laundry at various houses in the district,
and in the course of a few hours the news of Mr. Coventry's engagement to
Miss Lovell was being glibly discussed in more than one servants' hall as
an accomplished fact. By the afternoon, conveyed thither by the various
butchers, bakers, and greengrocers who had acquired the news in the course
of their morning rounds, the information had spread to the village.
Meanwhile, during the progress of Brett Forrester's visit to Heronsmere
in search of the puppy his aunt so ardently desired, a prying servant
had chanced to pause outside Eliot's study door, inspired by a fleeting
inquisitiveness to learn with whom her master was closeted. A single
sentence she overheard sufficed to convert that idle curiosity into a
burning thirst for knowledge. So she remained at the key-hole listening
post until it was satisfied, and later on, armed with a fine fat piece of
gossip, the like of which did not often come her way, she sallied forth to
spend her "afternoon out" in the village.
Thus it came about that the two streams of gossip--one emanating in
all innocence from Maria Coombe, the other having its origin in the
conversation overheard between Eliot and Brett--met and mingled together
and were ultimately poured into the ears of Miss Caroline, busily engaged
in parochial visitation. An evil fatality appointed that the first person
she subsequently encountered should be Mrs. Carberry, the M.F.H.'s wife,
with whom, in a flutter of shocked excitement, she promptly shared the
dreadful story she had heard. This, of course, carried then gossip into
another stratum of society altogether.
"I can hardly believe it's true! I'm sur_prised_!" twittered Miss Caroline.
"Although, of course, Miss Lovell is certainly rather unconventional, I've
always looked upon her as quite _nice_. But to spend a night--like that--at
a hotel--" Words failed her, and she had to rely upon an unusual pinkness
of her complexion to convey adequately to Mrs. Carberry the scandalised
depth of her feelings.
"Perhaps I'm not so surprised as you are," returned the M.F.H.'s wife. "I
never cared for the girl. After all, she was merely a companion-help."
"Companion-chauffeuse," corrected Miss Caroline diffidently.
"Companion-help," repeated Mrs. Carberry, unmoved. "And no one would have
taken her up at all if Lady Susan hadn't made such a silly fuss of her.
It's absurd, when her brother's nothing more than Mr. Coventry's estate
agent. I always think it's a great mistake to take people like that out of
their position. One generally regrets it afterwards."
"Still, I believe the Lovells were quite a good family--West Country
people--lost money, you know." Miss Caroline's conscience drove her into
making this admission. Also, she wanted very much to know how Mrs. Carberry
would meet it. Mrs. Carberry took it in her stride.
"That's just it. They've lost money--mixed with the wrong sort of people.
Losing money so often involves losing caste, too. If this story proves
to be true, I shall be very glad indeed that I never allowed my daughter
Muriel to make friends of these Lovells. We shall soon know," she added, a
note of hungry anticipation in her voice. "The part about the engagement is
true, without doubt, since it came direct from the Oldstone Cottage cook.
Besides, one could see that this Lovell girl was angling to catch Mr.
Coventry. If the engagement is broken off, we may feel pretty sure, I
think, that the rest of the story's true, too."
Privately, she hoped it would prove true, since a man is very often caught
at the rebound, and, judiciously managed, it seemed quite possible that
Coventry, shocked and disgusted at Ann Lovell's flightiness of character,
might turn with relief and admiration to so modest and well-brought-up
a girl as her own daughter. To see dear Muriel installed as mistress of
Heronsmere had been her ambition from the first moment of its new owner's
coming to live at Silverquay, and when Miss Caroline had volunteered the
news of Ann's supposed engagement to him, it had come as a rude shock to
her plans. But this had been so swiftly followed by the story of Ann's
scandalous behaviour in Switzerland that she had speedily reacted from
the shock, and was already briskly weaving fresh schemes to bring about
the desirable consummation of a marriage between her daughter and Eliot
Coventry. Decidedly, Mrs. Carberry was not likely to help stem the tide of
gossip setting against Ann!
The day following, the news that Eliot had left England for an indefinite
stay abroad flew like wildfire through the neighbourhood, and, in
consequence, substance was immediately given to the stories already
circulating. There could be no longer any further doubt as to what had
happened--Coventry had asked Miss Lovell to marry him, and then,
discovering how she had forfeited her reputation somewhere on the
Continent, had broken off the engagement between them the very next day.
Silverquay fairly buzzed with the tale. Everybody jumped to the same
conclusion and told each other so with varying degrees of censure and
disapprobation. Miss Caroline, eager as a ferret, even paid a special visit
to Oldstone Cottage, to obtain confirmation of the dreadful truth. Having
previously assured herself that Robin and Ann were both out, she darted
into the Cottage on the plea of delivering the monthly parish magazine and,
naturally, lingered on the doorstep to chat a little with Maria.
"Surely there's no truth in this story I hear, Maria?" she opened fire
after a few minutes devoted to generalities.
"What story may you be meaning, ma'am?" inquired Maria blandly. She had
heard the tale, of course, from half a dozen different sources, and was
inwardly fuming with loyal wrath and indignation--the more so in that
she dared not mention the matter to her young mistress whose still, pale
composure had seemed to fence her round with a barrier which it was beyond
Maria's powers to surmount.
"Why--why--" Miss Caroline fluttered. "The story that she stayed the night
at a hotel in the mountains with young Mr. Brabazon when she was on the
Continent."
"And did you suppose 'twas true?" demanded Maria scornfully, her arms
akimbo, her blue eyes gimleting Miss Caroline's face.
"I--I don't know what to think," began Miss Caroline feebly.
Maria looked her up and down--a look beneath which Miss Caroline wilted
visibly.
"Well, 'tis certain sure no one would pass the night with you, miss, on any
mountain top," she observed grimly. "And 'tis just as sure they wouldn't
with Miss Ann--though there'd be a main diff'rence in the reason why!" And
with a snort of defiance she had flounced back into the house, slamming the
door in Miss Caroline's astonished face.
To Ann herself, the sudden cloud of obloquy in which she found herself
enveloped heaped an added weight to the burden she already had to bear, and
compelled her to take Robin fully into her confidence. It was a mystery
to her how the story of the Dents de Loup episode had leaked out in the
neighbourhood. She utterly declined to believe that Coventry himself
would have shared his knowledge of the incident with any one. But that it
_had_ leaked out was cruelly self-evident, and the worst part of it was
that the malicious gossip was founded on so much actual fact that it was
difficult--almost impossible, in fact--to combat or refute it. She felt
helpless in the face of the detestable scandal which had reared itself upon
a foundation of such innocent truth.
"I wish Coventry had accepted my resignation," fulminated Robin fiercely.
"This is a perfectly beastly business. That vile scandal's all over the
place."
"I know," assented Ann indifferently. It hurt her that certain people
should think ill of her as they did, but after all, the ache in her heart
hurt much more. A man stretched on the rack would probably take little
notice if you ran a pin into him. The lesser pain would be overwhelmed by
the great agony. And although the first realisation of the gossip that had
fastened on her name filled Ann with bitter indignation and disgust, it
became a relatively small matter in comparison with the total shipwreck
of her love and happiness. It did not really matter very much that Mrs.
Carberry had cut her pointedly in the middle of Silverquay, or that some
of the village girls whispered and pointed at her surreptitiously as she
passed. These were all external things, which could be fought down. But the
wound that Eliot himself had dealt her had pierced to the very core of her
being.
"Well," Robin resumed thoughtfully after a brief silence. "I've _got_ to
stay here till the six months are run out. But you needn't, Ann. You had
better look for a post of some kind till I'm free--"
"A post!" She laughed rather bitterly. "I've a good recommendation for any
post, haven't I? A story like this would be sure to follow me up somehow,
and I should probably be politely requested by my employer to leave.'
"Then go away for a bit. I'll find the money somehow. I won't have you
baited by all the old tabby-cats in the neighbourhood."
Ann stood up, her head thrown back proudly on its slim young throat.
"_No_," she said with decision. "No, Robin. I'm not going to run away from
village gossip. I'm going to face it out."
Robin sprang up.
"Well done, little sister!" he exclaimed, a ring of wholehearted admiration
in his voice. "We'll stick it out together--stay here and live it down." He
held out his hand and, Ann laying hers within it, they shook hands soberly,
just as in earlier days they had so often shaken hands over some childish
pact.
The loyalty of Ann's friends, of Lady Susan and of Cara and the rector, was
a very real consolation. Lady Susan had descended on the Cottage the moment
the story came to her ears--which happened to be on the very day following
Coventry's departure from Silverquay. Brett, she vouchsafed, had run up to
town unexpectedly for a few days. "And he's just as well out of the way,"
she added briskly, "till we've got this tangle straight"--little dreaming
that her nephew was responsible for the whole knotting of the tangled
skein. By kindly probing she elicited the real, grim tragedy which lay