A Fair Mystery: The Story of a Coquette

"We cannot do otherwise," said the duchess, with a stately bend of her head.

Lady Estelle looked up with an expression of relief.

"I must ask you," continued the duke, "to follow me attentively. I am anxious to do two things – I wish to preserve the unsullied honor of my house, and I wish to do justice to her whom I must, in spite of my objection, call my grandchild. I propose to do it in this way: Let the secret of this private marriage ever remain unknown and unsuspected. It was known that Captain Studleigh admired Lady Estelle before he went abroad; it will not seem strange to any one that, having succeeded to the earldom, and finding her still with us, he seeks to marry her. Visit Downsbury Castle when you will, my lord; you can speak of Lady Estelle with all the rapture of a Studleigh. It will soon be rumored about that you have renewed the old love. At the end of six weeks I will take my daughter to Paris, you can follow us. I will not ask you to go again through the religious ceremony – I have too much respect for religion to suggest it; but you can go through the civil forms, with all the pomp and splendor due to your own rank and ours. Every paper in England will then have an account of the marriage of Lady Estelle Hereford with the Earl of Linleigh, and I shall be saved the greatest disgrace – the greatest shame that could have befallen me. Do you agree to my proposal, Lord Linleigh? In making it there is nothing against your interest or my daughter's – nothing against justice, loyalty, or honor; it is simply a subterfuge to save the honor of a noble house. Do you agree?"

"I see no objection," said the earl, cautiously.

"I shall dower my daughter right royally," said the duke – "as munificently as though she were marrying the man whom I should have chosen for her."

"It would save an immense deal of scandal, and rumor, and remarks," said the duchess, gravely; "it would save us from a thousand taunts and jeers. We have been so proud of you, Estelle!"

"But the child," said the earl – "she cannot be ignored after that fashion."

"Certainly not. My plan you will find best for her as well as for you. I have told you before that I cannot and will not submit to the degradation of hearing this story laughed at by half London. This is what I propose for the child: You, my Lord Linleigh, were in your youth famed for eccentricity. Tell the world openly, as you please, that you were married before you went abroad, and lost your wife. That is perfectly true, and you will not find many questions asked. Add that, unable to burden yourself with the care of a child in India, you were compelled to leave her with friends of your wife – every word of which is literally, strictly, and perfectly true. The only secret that I charge you to guard as you would guard your life, is this – the name of your wife. You will not find people curious to know it. They will conclude that you married some poor, pretty girl, and not tease you with questions. You can claim your daughter at once, and take her home with you."

The earl looked quite content, but there was a pitiful expression on the face of Lady Estelle that was painful to see.

"I understand," she said; "but, papa, if we do this she will never know who is her mother. She will never know that she is my child."

"It is not needful," was the stern reply. "I should think that any mother would shrink from letting her child know such a history as yours. She will be with you – under your charge – you can do all a mother's part toward her, and yet save the honor of our name."

The face of Lady Estelle grew crimson as she listened.

"My marriage was a legal one, papa," she said.

"Certainly, but not an honorable one. I do not, however, insist upon it; you can please yourself. You know the alternative – if you make the true story of her birth known, I shall leave England, and never look on the faces of my old friends again."

"I do not see, Estelle," said the duchess, in a grave, cold voice, "what difference it can possibly make to you. If you acknowledge her as your daughter twenty times over, you could not do more than let her live in your house, and take charge of her. You can do that now."

"Oh, mamma, it will be so hard!"

"I do not think you will find it so. You must remember that, with the unfortunate training the child has had, it is quite impossible that she can be any credit to you. You should have looked better after her education, had you ever intended to acknowledge her. Spare me this disgrace; do not let the world know that a girl brought up in the kitchen at Brackenside is my grandchild. I must confess that, even under the circumstances, bad, painful, as they were, I cannot imagine why you acted so with the child."

"I wanted her to be good and happy in a simple fashion. I never dreamed that these events would happen."

"I think," said the duchess, "that you should be willing to adopt your father's suggestion. It is by far the most sensible one."

"I quite agree with it," said Lord Linleigh. "Then the chief burden falls upon me – I have but to own to a private marriage, as your grace suggests. It is doubtful whether any one cares to inquire the name of my wife. I was but Captain Studleigh, and a Mrs. Studleigh is of no note. Even if the girl herself should question me, I should merely say that I prefer not to mention her mother's name."

"It will be far the best plan. The girl has a Studleigh face; claim her at once, and let her take her station as your daughter and mistress of your house until you take Estelle home."

"I think it will be the best plan," said the earl.

"If I were in your place," continued the duke, "I should not go to the farm; I should at once return to Linleigh Court; and when you reach there, send for the farmer, his wife, and your child – it will make far less sensation. They are honest people, too, and if you ask for silence they will keep it. It is not probable that any one will ever see her again who knew her here. The farmer and his wife have shown good tact and good sense in keeping friends and acquaintances at a distance."

"I am sure you are right," said Lord Linleigh. "Estelle, do you consent?"

She was silent for some few minutes; they saw her face quiver with pain. Then she left her seat and went round to her father, and knelt down by his side.

"Dearest," she said to him, "I owe you this reparation. The dearest wish of my heart was to hear my child call me mother. I renounce that wish for your sake – I promise to do as you suggest. Will you, in turn, forgive me?"

Perhaps he was glad of the opportunity; for, bending over, he kissed her face, and she saw tears in his eyes. The duchess came round and joined the little group, but even in that moment Lady Estelle felt that the full pardon of her stately mother would indeed be difficult to win.

CHAPTER XLVIII

AN IMPORTANT LETTER

A few days after the events described in the previous chapter, a paragraph went round the principal English newspapers which created some little sensation. It was headed "Romance in High Life," and ran as follows:

"It is not generally known that the Earl of Linleigh has been married and lost his wife. The marriage – which took place when the young and gallant captain had little expectation of the earldom of Linleigh – was in itself, we believe, a romance. Whether the sudden departure of the young officer for India was caused by the death of his young wife, we are not aware. As it was impossible to take his infant daughter with him, the child was left in charge of his wife's friends. We learn, on the highest authority, that the young lady, who will henceforth take her title as the Lady Doris Studleigh, is a most beautiful and accomplished girl, who will be a great addition to the shining lights of society. The earl is about to take up his residence, with his beautiful daughter, at Linleigh Court."

Considerable sensation was caused by this, but no one was in the least surprised. Captain Studleigh had been known as a great flirt: those who remembered him as the handsome young man of his day, smiled and said, "There, that is why the gay gallant never married. I thought there was some reason."

How many rich widows smiled on him, and smiled in vain. They wondered a little when he had married, and all agreed that it was most probably a nobody – a girl with a pretty face; he never cared for any other – neither birth nor money, that was certain. The announcement caused no other remark, and was very soon forgotten. If Lady Doris Studleigh was anything like the Studleighs, she would be sure to be beautiful – they had always been, without exception, the handsomest family in England. She would be a great heiress, no doubt, and her debut was most anxiously looked for.

It was, perhaps, a fortnight after that paragraph had been well discussed, that another appeared. It was as follows:

"Marriage in High Life. – We are informed that a noble earl, whose recent accession to a magnificent estate and ancient title caused some little sensation in the fashionable world, will soon lead to the hymeneal altar the lovely and accomplished daughter of one of our most respected peers."

Every one knew at once that the Earl of Linleigh was meant; but who was the lady? First a rumor – a whisper; then a certainty – it was Lady Estelle Hereford. People remembered that he had liked her, and had tried hard to get up a flirtation before he went abroad. Gossip gradually wore itself out. In the meantime strange events had occurred at the farm.

There came a cold, snowy morning when Doris had been home some few days. She was growing impatient. The change was so great from gay, sunny Florence to cold foggy England; from that luxurious villa, where flowers and light abounded, to the homely farm-house; from the honeyed words of her lover to the somewhat cold disapproval of Mattie and Mrs. Brace. Mark had said but little to her.

"You tired your wings, my bonny bird," he said; "I am glad they brought you back here."

He did not seem quite so much at home with her as he had been. More than once Earle saw him look in wonder at the lovely face and white hands; then he would shake his honest head gravely, and Earle knew that he was thinking to himself she was out of place at the farm. Mrs. Brace had said but little to her; she knew it was useless. Earle had begged her to be silent, while Mattie looked on in sorrowful dismay. Would Earle never see that Doris was unworthy of him?

Of her adventures but little has been said. Earle told them that he had met her in Florence, where she was staying as governess to some little children, and had induced her to come home with him – that was all they knew. Of the story told to Earle they were in perfect ignorance.

Doris had shown some little sense; she had taken the costly gems from her fingers. In any case it would never be safe to wear them again; they would attract too much attention. She told Earle, laughingly, that she had thrown her pretty false stones away, when, in reality, she had safely packed them where no one but herself could find them. Then, after the novelty of receiving Earle's homage again had worn off, she began to grow impatient.

"I cannot stay here long, Earle," she said; "it is too terrible. When shall I hear any news?"

"Soon, I am certain," was the reply. "Do not – pray, do not precipitate matters by any imprudence, Doris. Wait a few days longer."

But the news came at last. On a cold, snowy morning, while the farmer and his wife sat at breakfast, they heard the postman's horn outside the gate.

"News ought to keep this weather," said Mark, laughingly; "it is cold enough."

Mrs. Brace hastened to the door. There was a steaming cup of coffee to be carried to the frozen postman, who took it gratefully, and gave her a large, thick letter.

"It is registered, Mrs. Brace," he said, "and your husband must sign the receipt."

Now, if there was anything in this world of which Mark Brace really stood in awe, it was of pen and ink. He could plow, sow, reap with any man; place a pen in his hand and an inkstand before him, and he was reduced to a state of utter imbecility.

"Sign a receipt!" he said to his wife. "The man knows he has brought the letter; that ought to be enough."

When he found it must be done, he submitted to it. Then it was discovered that the only inkstand in the house was in Doris' room, and that young lady asked wonderingly what they wanted ink at that early hour of the morning for.

"Surely my father is not taking to literature, Mattie!" she cried.

"My dear sister, when will you learn that it is in bad taste to be always sneering at our father?" was Mattie's answer.

"What does he want the ink for? Tell me?"

"There's a letter – a thick, registered letter – seemingly a very important one, and the receipt had to be signed."

She wondered why the mocking smile died so suddenly from Doris' face – why she grew pale, and agitated, and unlike herself.

"I shall be down in one moment, Mattie," she said.

When she was left alone she clasped her hands together.

"It has come at last!" she said – "at last!"

It was ten minutes before she went down; then Mark had almost recovered from the effort he had made in signing the receipt – the postman had departed – and, like all simple-minded people, Mark and his wife were wondering from whom the letter had come, and what it was about. Doris listened quietly for a minute. Mattie was engaged in preparing tea for her sister. Then Doris said:

"Do you not think it would save all trouble and discussion if you opened the letter?"

Mark laughed sheepishly, and said:

"She is right, you know."

Then he opened the letter. It was not very long, and they saw a slip of pink paper fall from it. Mrs. Brace picked it up and saw that it was a check for fifty pounds.

Meanwhile Mark read on slowly and laboriously; then he looked around him with a bewildered face, and read it again.

"What is it, Mark?" asked his wife, anxiously.

"Stop!" said Mark, waving his hand. "Steady. I have had many a hard puzzle in my life, but this is the hardest – I cannot understand it. Either the man who wrote it is mad, or I am – I cannot tell which. Patty, read that letter aloud; let me see if it sounds as it reads."

Mrs. Brace took the letter obediently from her husband's hands. No one saw the torture of suspense in Doris' face. Mrs. Brace read aloud:

"The Earl of Linleigh presents his compliments to Mr. Mark Brace, and begs that he will grant him a favor. The earl desires most particularly to see Mr. Brace at once, on very important business, and as the earl cannot go to Brackenside, he will be glad if Mr. Brace will start without delay for Linleigh Court. It is also absolutely necessary that Mr. Brace should bring with him his wife and the young lady known as Doris. The earl incloses a check for fifty pounds to cover traveling expenses, and he earnestly entreats Mr. Brace not to delay one hour in coming."

"Send for Earle," gasped Mark, "before there is another word said about it – send for Earle."

Then he was struck by the peculiar expression of his wife's face. She bent down and whispered to him.

"That is it!" he said, with sudden conviction; "that is it! Heaven bless me! I never thought of it; send for Earle."

"Is it anything of any harm to you, father?" asked Mattie, anxiously.

"No, my child. Doris, you say nothing."

"What can I say? You are a great man to be sent for by a mighty earl. What can he want us for?"

"It has come at last!" said Mark. "Well, thank Heaven, we have done our duty. I shall not be afraid to face him or any one else."

Then Mark sat in silence till Earle came, when he dismissed the two girls from the room, little dreaming that Doris knew far more of her own story than he did.

"Read this," he said, placing the letter in Earle's hand, "then tell me what you think."

Earle read the letter attentively.

"I think," he said, "that this concerns Doris, and that you will most probably find the earl is either her father, or that he knows something of her parentage."

"I expected it," said Mark, with a deep sigh; "and Heaven knows, Earle, I shall be thankful to get the girl off my hands without any more trouble. She frightens me, my dear boy – she does, indeed; she is so unlike the rest of us. I am always wondering what she will do or say next; she is out of place here altogether. It will be a relief to me." And honest Mark wiped his brow with the air of one who was glad to get rid of a great burden. "My wife has more sense and better judgment than any woman in England," he continued, "and she thinks he will turn out to be Doris' father. Where is the mother, I wonder? What do you advise, Earle?"

"I advise you to do exactly what Lord Linleigh says. Start at once, and take the ladies with you. The matter is evidently pressing, or he would not write so urgently."

"I must go, then; but it is really a trouble, Earle. I can get on with an honest plowman or a sensible farmer, but with lords and ladies I am quite at sea. My dear boy, I dread them. I shall never forget what I went through with the duchess. Of course I know about all mankind being sons of Adam to begin with, but I like my own sort of people best, Earle."

"I do not know that you are wrong," was the reply.

"Earle," said Mark, suddenly, "will you tell Mattie about this affair when we are gone? I know she will feel it terribly; she is very fond of Doris, and neither her mother nor I have ever hinted it to her."

"I will tell her," said Earle, gravely. "Now let me do what I can toward helping you. I will drive you to Quainton Station; you must go to London first, and from London to Linleigh. It is in the south of Kent."

"I believe that you know every place in the wide world, Earle," said the farmer, admiringly.

In a short time they were all on the road to London, while Earle, left alone with Mattie, told her the whole story, and had the satisfaction, for once in his life, of seeing genuine surprise.

CHAPTER XLIX

"WELCOME, MY DAUGHTER, TO YOUR FATHER'S HEART."

Linleigh Court stands on the southern coast, where the southern sea kisses the shores, and the fertile lands yield sweetest fruits and flowers. It has not the stamp of antiquity which makes some of the fair homes of England so celebrated. The architecture is not of the grand old Norman type; it is of modern build, with large, cheerful, airy, sunlit rooms, each having a balcony filled with fairest flowers.

The chief recommendation of Linleigh Court is that the whole place does not contain one dull room; they are all filled with warmth, light, and fragrance. The grounds are large, extensive, and magnificently laid out, and slope to the very edge of the sea. They are sweet, old-fashioned gardens, where grow all the flowers poets have ever loved.

On a bright summer's day, when the sun was shining on countless flowers, when the white doves and birds of bright plumage fluttered among the trees, it would have been impossible to have found a fairer home than Linleigh Court. On this bright, cold winter's day it looked warm and cheerful; the evergreens were all in perfection.

The journey had been a comfortable one, thanks to Earle. He had seen that the travelers went first-class, which, notwithstanding the fifty pounds, would never have occurred to Mark. He had attended to every detail of comfort, liberally fed the guards and porters, in spite of the printed regulations looking him in the face and forbidding any such enormity.

When they reached Anderley station, there was a carriage with a coronet on the panels, a smart coachman and footman awaiting them. Mark looked aghast; the grandeur of the whole affair dismayed him; while Doris stepped into the carriage with the dainty air and grace of one who had always been accustomed to such luxuries. Then they drove through the rich Kentish scenery until they came to the park. Mark first caught sight of the tall towers of the Court from between the trees, and he cried out in surprise:

"This is a magnificent place, Doris. I think it is even better than Downsbury Castle."

"If you had seen the grand old Florentine, palaces, you would not think much of either," said Doris, indifferently.

Whatever happened, she had made up her mind not to admire; they should not find her easily surprised. Yet as the magnificent terraces, the fountains, the superb building itself, came into sight, her heart swelled higher and higher with vanity and gratified pride. No sweet compunction or humility such as sometimes visits a monarch about to ascend a throne came to her. No gratitude to Heaven that she was to share in such glorious gifts; no resolve to make others the happier for her happiness; nothing but a sudden elation, a vain, self-glorious sensation, and contempt for the life she had left behind.

"So this is my father's house," she mused. "I have yet to see why he has lived in this affluence, while I have been brought up as a farmer's daughter?"

The two who were watching her wondered what brought that rapt expression to that beautiful face. They little guessed the nature of her musings.

"I wish this was all over," said Mark, as the carriage drew up at the stately entrance. "Only Heaven knows what we have to do now."

Doris laughed, a low, rippling laugh of perfect content; then the great hall door was flung open, and they saw the magnificent interior, the liveried servants, the shining armor, and Mark's heart sank within him. Then he recovered himself a little, and when he looked around him, they were all three standing in one of the most magnificent halls in England. A servant was bowing before them, and Mark heard him say:

"My lord is anxiously expecting you; will you come this way?"

They passed through two or three rooms which, by their splendor, completely awed the farmer and his wife. Mark's shoes had never seemed to be so large and so thick as when they trod on that velvet pile. The wondrous mirrors, pictures and statues dazzled him, the quantity of ornaments puzzled him; he wondered how one could possibly move freely in such over-crowded rooms.

"We cannot all be earls," thought Mark, "and I am not sorry for it. I am more comfortable in my kitchen than I could be here."

Mrs. Brace followed with a pale face. She wondered less about the externals, and more what they were about to see. When they reached the library, chairs were placed for them.

"My lord will be with you in a few minutes," said the servant, and they were left alone.

"I cannot help trembling," said Mrs. Brace. "What have we to hear?"

The words had hardly left her lips, when the door opened, and a tall, handsome man entered the room. They saw that his face was pale and agitated, and his lips trembled. He looked at the farmer and Mrs. Brace, but not at the young girl who stood near them. As yet his eyes never met hers or rested on her. He went up to Mark with outstretched hands.

"You are Mr. Brace," he said. "Let me introduce myself – I am the Earl of Linleigh."

"I thought as much," replied Mark, anxious to do his best. "I have done what you wished, my lord – brought Mrs. Brace and Doris with me."

The earl held out his hand in silent greeting to the farmer's wife, but never once looked at the young girl. Then he drew a chair near to them.

"I must thank you for coming," he said. "You have been very prompt and attentive. I hoped you would come to-day, but I hardly dared expect it."

"We thought it better to lose no time," said Mark.

"You did well, and I thank you for it. I have something of great importance to say to both of you – something which ought to have been told years ago. You, perhaps, can almost guess it."

Mark nodded, while his wife sighed deeply.

"Twenty years ago," continued the earl, "I was a young man, gay, popular, fond of life, an officer in the army, and the younger son of a noble family, but poor. You do not know how poor a man of fashion can be. I was very popular – every house in London was open to me – but I knew that I was sought for my good spirits and genial ways. As for marriage – well, it was useless to think of it, unless I could marry some wealthy heiress."

He paused for a few minutes, and Mark shook his head sadly, as though he would say it was indeed a wretched state of things.

"I speak to you quite frankly," said the earl. "It might be possible to gloss over my follies, and give them kindly names – to say they were but youthful follies, no worse than those of other young men: I might say that I sowed my wild oats; but I come of a truthful race, and I say I was no better – not one-half as good, in fact, as I ought to have been. Then, as a climax to my other follies, I fell in love, and persuaded the young girl I loved to marry me privately. That was bad enough, but I did worse. When we had been a short time married, we quarreled. Neither would give in, and we parted. It matters little to my story who my wife was, whether above or below me in station, whether poor or rich – suffice it to say that we parted.