Chapter 16 The Lady of the Forest by L. T. Meade
LOST
Phil’s mother was in every sense a weak woman. She was not strong enough to be either very good or very bad; she had a certain amount of daring, but she had not sufficient courage to dare with success. She had a good deal of the stubbornness which sometimes accompanies weak characters, and when she deliberately set her heart on any given thing, she could be even cruel in her endeavors to bring this thing to pass. Her husband and the elder Rupert Lovel, of Belmont, near Melbourne, were brothers. Both strong and brave men, they had married differently. Rupert’s wife had in all particulars been a helpmeet to him; she had brought up his children to be brave and strong and honorable. She suffered much, for she was a confirmed invalid for many years before her death; but her spirit was so strong, so sweet, so noble, that not only her husband and children, but outsiders – all, in fact, who knew her – leaned on her, asked eagerly for her counsel, and were invariably the better when they followed her advice. Philip Lovel’s wife was not a helpmeet to him; she was weak, exacting, jealous, and extravagant. She was the kind of woman whom a strong man out of his very pity would be good to, would pet and humor even more than was good for her. Philip was killed suddenly in a railway accident, and his widow was left very desolate and very poor. Her boy was then five years old – a precocious little creature, who from the moment of his father’s death took upon himself the no light office of being his mother’s comforter. He had a curious way even from the very first of putting himself aside and considering her. Without being told, he would stop his noisy games at her approach and sit for an hour at a time with his little hand clasped in hers, while he leaned his soft cheek against her gown and was happy in the knowledge that he afforded her consolation. To see him thus one would have supposed him almost deficient in manly attributes; but this was not so. His gentleness and consideration came of his strength; the child was as strong in mental fiber as the mother was weak. In the company of his brave Cousin Rupert no merrier or gayer little fellow could have been found. His courage and powers of endurance were simply marvelous. Poor little Phil! that courageous spirit of his was to be tested in no easy school. Soon after his sixth birthday those mysterious attacks of pain came on which the doctor in Melbourne, without assigning any special cause for their occurrence, briefly spoke of as dangerous. Phil was eight years old when his mother’s great temptation came to her. She saw an English newspaper which contained the advertisement for the Avonsyde heir. Her husband had often spoken to her about the old family place in the home country. She had loved to listen to his tales, handed down to him orally from his ancestors. She had sighed, and groaned too, over his narratives, and had said openly that to be mistress of such an old ancestral home was her ideal of paradise. Philip, a busy and active man, spent no time over vain regrets; practically he and his elder brother, Rupert, forgot the existence of the English home.
Rupert had made a comfortable fortune for himself in the land of his adoption, and Philip too would have been rich some day if he had lived. Mrs. Lovel, a discontented widow, saw the tempting advertisement, and quickly and desperately she made her plans. Her little son was undoubtedly a lineal descendant of the disinherited Rupert Lovel, but also, and alas! he was not strong. In body at least he was a fragile and most delicate boy. Mrs. Lovel knew that if the ladies of Avonsyde once saw the beautiful and brave young Rupert, Phil’s chance would be nowhere. She trusted that Rupert Lovel the elder would not see the advertisement. She sold her little cottage, realized all the money she could, and without telling any one of her plans, started with her boy for England. Before she left she did one thing more: she made a secret visit to Belmont, and under the pretext of wishing to see her sister-in-law, sat with her while she slept, and during that sleep managed to abstract from the cupboard behind her bed the old silver tankard and a packet of valuable letters. These letters gave the necessary evidence as to the genuineness of the boy’s descent and the tankard spoke for itself.
Mrs. Lovel started for England, and during her long voyage she taught Phil his lesson. He was to forget the past and he was to do his very utmost to appear a strong boy. She arrived at Avonsyde, was kindly welcomed, and day after day, month after month, her hopes grew great and her fears little. Phil played his part to perfection – so his mother said – not recognizing the fact that it was something in the boy himself, something quite beyond and apart from his physical strength, which threw a sweet glamour over those who were with him, causing them to forget the plainness of his face and see only the wonderful beauty of the soul which looked through the lovely eyes, causing them to cease to notice how fragile was the little frame which yet was so lithe and active, causing them never to observe how tired those small feet grew, and yet how willingly they ran in grateful and affectionate service for each and all. Cold-hearted, cold-natured Miss Griselda was touched and softened as she had never been before by any mortal. She scarcely cared to have the boy out of her sight; she petted him much; she loved him well.
Mrs. Lovel hoped and longed. If once Rachel’s birthday could be passed, all would be well. When the ladies appointed Phil as their heir, he was their heir forever. Surely nothing would occur to interfere with her darling projects during the short period which must elapse between the present time and that eventful day two months hence.
As Mrs. Lovel grew more hopeful her manner lost much of its nervous affectation. In no society could she appear as a well-educated and well-read woman, but on the surface she was extremely good-natured, and in one particular she won on the old ladies of Avonsyde. She was practiced in all the small arts of fancy needlework. She could knit; she could crochet; she could tat; she could embroider conventional flowers in crewels. The Misses Lovel detested crewel-work, but Miss Katharine was very fond of knitting and Miss Griselda affected to tolerate crochet. Each night, as the three ladies sat in the smaller of the large drawing-rooms, the crochet and the knitting came into play; and when Mrs. Lovel ventured to instruct in new stitches and new patterns, she found favor in the eyes of the two old ladies.
On the night of Phil’s illness the poor woman sat down with an inward groan to give Miss Griselda her usual evening lesson. No one knew how her heart beat; no one knew how her pulse throbbed nor how wild were the fresh fears which were awakened within her. Suppose, after all, Phil could not keep up that semblance of strength to the end! Suppose an attack similar to the one he had gone through to-day should come on in Miss Griselda’s presence. Then, indeed, all would be lost. And suppose – suppose that other thing happened: suppose Rupert Lovel with his brave young son should arrive at Avonsyde before the 5th of May. Mrs. Lovel could have torn her hair when Phil so quietly told her that he had written to young Rupert, and that even now a reply might be waiting for him at Southampton. She knew well that Rupert’s father would remember how near Avonsyde was to Southampton. If the boy happened to show Phil’s letter to his father, all would be lost. Mrs. Lovel felt that she could not rest until she went to Southampton and secured the reply which might be waiting for Phil at the post-office. These anxious thoughts made her distraite; and bravely as she wore her mask, one or two sighs did escape from her anxious breast.
“How silent you are!” suddenly exclaimed Miss Griselda in a snappish tone. “I have asked you the same question three times! Am I to crochet twelve or thirteen stitches of chain? Oh, you need not trouble to answer; I am putting away my work now. The pattern is not working out at all properly. Perhaps you are anxious about Phil. If so, pray do not let me detain you. It is a great mistake to coddle children, but I suppose a mother’s foolishness must be excused.”
“You quite mistake. I am not the least anxious,” answered poor Mrs. Lovel, who was in reality on thorns. “I am so very sorry that I did not hear your question, dear Miss Griselda. The fact is, I have been wondering if I might ask a little favor. I should like to go to Southampton to-morrow morning. Can you spare the carriage to send me to the railway station?”
Miss Griselda stared.
“Can I spare the carriage?” she repeated haughtily. “I was not aware that you were a prisoner at Avonsyde, Mrs. Lovel. Of course you can go in or out as you please. Pray send your own orders to the stables.”
Mrs. Lovel was profuse in her thanks, Miss Griselda as cross and ungracious as possible. The fact was the old lady was longing to pay Phil a visit in his room, and would have done so had she not feared his mother accompanying her. The poor unhappy mother would have given worlds to be with her boy, but dreaded Miss Griselda’s comments.
The next day, early, Mrs. Lovel went to Southampton, executed a few commissions in order to give color to her expedition, fetched Phil’s letter from the post-office, and returned home, burning with impatience to read its contents. She would not have scrupled to open the envelope had not Phil implored of her, just when she was starting on her journey, to let him have this pleasure himself.
Phil was much as usual the next morning, and he and Aunt Grizel and Kitty had gone off on an expedition into the forest to look for mosses. When Mrs. Lovel got back the little party had not returned. She had still to control her impatience, and after taking a hurried lunch went up to her tower bedroom. She laid the letter with the Australian postmark on the writing-table and paced in a fever of anxiety up and down the small room. Suddenly it occurred to her to beguile the slow moments with some occupation. Why should she not open that trunk which contained old reminiscences and one or two articles of value? Why should she not open it and put its contents in order, and take out the precious tankard and clean it? This task would give her occupation and cause the weary moments to pass quickly.
She stooped down and was startled to find that the key was in the lock. How very, very stupid of her to have left it there! When had she been guilty of so dangerous a piece of negligence? With trembling fingers she raised the lid of the trunk and began to search for the tankard. Of course she could not find it. Suddenly she heard footsteps approaching and half-rose in an expectant attitude. Her little son came quickly in.
“Oh, mother, have you brought my letter?”
“Yes; it is on the table. Phil, there was a silver tankard in this trunk, and I can’t find it.”
Phil had flown to his letter and was opening it eagerly.
“Phil, do you hear me? I can’t find the silver tankard.”
He went up at once to his mother.
“I beg your pardon, mother. I am so dying to see what Rupert says! A silver tankard? Oh, yes; that old one they always had at Belmont; the one Gabrielle was so proud of. I did not know they had given it to you. Oh, mother, I am sorry. Do you know, I never thought of it until this minute.”
“Thought of what? Speak, child; don’t keep me on thorns!”
“I found it, mother, and I took it out with me that day when I was nearly drowned in the bog. I had it with me that day.”
“Well, boy, well! Where is it now?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember a single thing about it. I think I had it with me in the bog. I’m almost sure I had, but I can’t quite recollect. Perhaps I dropped it in the bog. Mother, what is the matter?”
“Nothing, child. I could shake you, but I won’t. This is terrible news. There! read your letter.”
“Mother darling, let us read it together. Mother, I didn’t know it was wrong. Kiss me, mammy, and don’t look so white. Oh! I am almost too happy. Mother, Rupert says when I am reading this he will be in England!”
“Then we are lost!” said Mrs. Lovel, pushing the slight little figure away from her. “No, no, I scarcely love you at this moment. Don’t attempt to kiss me. We are utterly lost!”