The Lovels of Arden by Mary Elizabeth Braddon (web based ebook reader .TXT) 📖

lines on a sheet of paper, and folded it.

"Be so kind as to take that to your mistress," she said. "I am sure she will see me."

The second footman was that superior young man, Norris, whom Hannah Warman had praised. He stared aghast, recognising Mrs. Granger's voice and bearing, in spite of the thick veil folded over her face, in spite of her shabby garments.

"My lady shall have your note immediately, ma'am," he said with profound respect, and sped off as if to carry the message of a cabinet minister, much to the bewilderment of his brother officer, who did not know Mrs. Granger.

He reappeared in about two minutes, and ushered Clarissa duly up the broad staircase--dimly lighted to-night, the family being in Portland-place, in a kind of semi-state, only newly arrived, and without so much as a hall-porter--through the corridor, where there were velvet-cushioned divans against the walls, whereon many among Lady Laura's guests considered it a privilege to sit on her great reception nights, content to have penetrated so far, and with no thought of struggling farther, and on to the white-and-gold door at the farther end, which admitted the elect into my lady's boudoir.

Laura Armstrong was sitting at an ebony writing-table, with innumerable little drawers pulled out to their utmost extent, and all running over with papers, a chaotic mass of open letters before her, and a sheet of foolscap scrawled over with names. She had been planning her campaign for the season--so many dinners, so many dances, alternate Thursdays in May and June; and a juvenile fancy ball, at which a Pompadour of seven years of age could lead off the Lancers with a Charles the Twelfth of ten, with an eight-year-old Mephistopheles and a six-year-old Anna Boleyn for their _vis-à-vis_.

As the footman opened the door, and ushered in Mrs. Granger, there was a faint rustling of silk behind the _portière_ dividing Lady Laura's room from the next apartment; but Clarissa was too agitated to notice this.

Laura Armstrong received her with effusion.

"My dearest girl," she exclaimed, rising, and grasping both Clarissa's hands, as the man closed the door, "how glad I am to see you! Do you know, something told me you would come to me? Yes, dear; I said to myself ever so many times, 'That poor misguided child will come to me.' O, Clary, Clary, what have you been doing! Your husband is like a rock. He was at Arden for a few days, about a fortnight ago, and I drove over to see him, and entreated him to confide in me; but he would tell nothing. My poor, poor child! how pale, how changed!"

She had thrown back Clarissa's veil, and was scrutinising the haggard face with very womanly tenderness.

"Sit down, dear, and tell me everything. You know that you can trust me. If you had gone ever so wrong--and I don't believe it is in you to do that--I would still be your friend."

Clarissa made a faint effort to speak, and then burst into tears. This loving welcome was quite too much to bear.

"He told me he was going to take my boy away from me," she sobbed, "so I ran away from him, with my darling--and now my angel is dying!"

And then, with many tears, and much questioning and ejaculation from Lady Laura, she told her pitiful story--concealing nothing, not even her weak yielding to temptation, not even her love for George Fairfax.

"I loved him always," she said; "yes--always, always, always--from that first night when we travelled together! I used to dream of him sometimes, never hoping to see him again, till that summer day when he came suddenly upon me in Marley Wood. But I kept my promise; I was true to you, Lady Laura; I kept my promise."

"My poor Clary, how I wish I had never exacted that promise! It did no good; it did not save Geraldine, and it seems to have made you miserable. Good gracious me," cried Lady Laura with sudden impetuosity, "I have no patience with the man! What is one man more than another, that there should be so much fuss about him?"

"I must go home to Lovel," Clarissa said anxiously. "I don't know how long I have been away from him. I lost my head, almost; and I felt that I _must_ come to you."

"Thank God you did come, you poor wandering creature! Wait a few minutes, Clary, while I send for a cab, and put on my bonnet. I am coming with you."

"You, Lady Laura?"

"Yes, and I too," said a calm voice, that Clarissa remembered very well; and looking up at the door of communication between the two rooms, she saw the _portière_ pushed aside, and Geraldine Challoner on the threshold.

"Let me come and nurse your baby, Mrs. Granger," she said gently; "I have had a good deal of experience of that sort of thing."

"You do not know what an angel she is to the poor round Hale," said Lady Laura; "especially to the children. And she nursed three of mine, Maud, Ethel, and Alick--no; Stephen, wasn't it?" she asked, looking at her sister for correction--"through the scarlatina. Nothing but her devotion could have pulled them through, my doctor assured me. Let her come with us, Clary."

"O, yes, yes! God bless you, Lady Geraldine, for wanting to help my darling!"

"Norris, tell Fosset to bring me my bonnet and shawl, and fetch a cab immediately; I can't wait for the carriage."

Five minutes afterwards, the three women were seated in the cab, and on their way to Soho.

"You have sent for Mr. Granger, of course," said Lady Laura.

"No, not yet. I trust in God there may be no necessity; my darling will get well; I know he will! Dr. Ormond is to see him to-morrow."

"What, Clarissa! you have not sent for your husband, although you say that his boy is in danger?"

"If I let Mr. Granger know where I am, he will come and take my son away from me."

"Nonsense, Clary; he can't do that. It is very shameful of you to keep him in ignorance of the child's state." And as well as she could, amidst the rattling of the cab, Lady Laura tried to awaken Clarissa to a sense of the wrong she was doing. Jane Target stared in amazement on seeing her mistress return with these two ladies.

"O, ma'am, I've been, so frightened!" she exclaimed. "I couldn't think what was come of you."

Clarissa ran to the bed.

"He has been no worse?" she asked eagerly.

"No, ma'am. I do think, if there's any change, it is for the better."

"O thank God, thank God!" cried Clarissa hysterically, falling on her knees by the bed. "Death shall not rob me of him! Nobody shall take him from me!" And then, turning to Laura Armstrong, she said, "I need not send for my husband, you see; my darling will recover."

* * * * *


CHAPTER XLVIII.


"STRANGERS YET."

Lady Laura went back to Portland-place in an hour; but Geraldine Challoner stayed all night with the sick child. God was very merciful to Clarissa; the angel of death passed by. In the night the fever abated, if only ever so little; and Dr. Ormond's report next day was a cheering one. He did not say the little one was out of danger; but he did say there was hope.

Lady Geraldine proved herself an accomplished nurse. The sick child seemed more tranquil in her arms than even in his mother's. The poor mother felt a little pang of jealousy as she saw that it was so; but bore the trial meekly, and waited upon Geraldine with humble submission.

"How good you are!" she murmured once, as she watched the slim white hands that had played chess with George Fairfax adjusting poultices--"how good you are!"

"Don't say that, my dear Mrs. Granger. I would do as much for any cottager's child within twenty miles of Hale; it would be hard if I couldn't do it for my sister's friend."

"Have you always been fond of the poor?" Clarissa asked wonderingly.

"Yes," Geraldine answered, with a faint blush; "I was always fond of them. I can get on with poor people better than with my equals sometimes, I think; but I have visited more amongst them lately, since I have gone less into society--since papa's death, in fact. And I am particularly fond of children; the little things always take to me."

"My baby does, at any rate."

"Have you written or telegraphed to Mr. Granger?" Lady Geraldine asked gravely.

"No, no, no; there can be no necessity now. Dr. Ormond says there is hope."

"Hope, yes; but these little lives are so fragile. I implore you to send to him. It is only right."

"I will think about it, by and by, perhaps, if he should grow any worse; but I know he is getting better. O, Lady Geraldine, have some pity upon me! If my husband finds out where I am, he will rob me of my child."

The words were hardly spoken, when there was a loud double-knock at the door below, a delay of some two minutes, and then a rapid step on the stair--a step that set Clarissa's heart beating tumultuously. She sat down by the bed, clinging to it like an animal at bay, guarding her cub from the hunter.

The door was opened quickly, and Daniel Granger came into the room. He went straight to the bed, and bent down to look at his child.

The boy had been light-headed in the night, but his brain was clear enough now. He recognised his father, and smiled--a little wan smile, that went to the strong man's heart.

"My God, how changed he is!" exclaimed Mr. Granger. "How long has he been ill?"

"Very little more than a week, sir," Jane Target faltered from the background.

"More than a week! and I am only told of his illness to-day, by a telegram from Lady Laura Armstrong! I beg your pardon, Lady Geraldine; I did not see you till this moment. I owe it to your sister's consideration that I am here in time to see my boy before he dies."

"We have every hope of saving him," said Geraldine.

"And what a place I find him in! He has had some kind of doctor attending him, I suppose?"

"He has had a surgeon from the neighbourhood, who seems both kind and clever, and Dr. Ormond."

Mr. Granger seated himself at the foot of the bed, a very little way from Clarissa, taking possession of his child, as it were.

"Do you know, Mrs. Granger, that I have scarcely rested night or day since you left Paris, hunting for my son?" he said. And this was the first time he acknowledged his wife's presence by word or look.

Clarissa was silent. She had been betrayed, she thought--betrayed by her own familiar friend; and Daniel Granger had come to rob her of her child. Come what might, she would not part with him without a struggle.

After this, there came a weary time of anxious care and watching. The little life trembled in the balance; there were harassing fluctuations, a fortnight of unremitting care, before a favourable