Beck Center English Dept. University Libraries Emory University
Emory Women Writers Resource Project Collections:
Women's Genre Fiction Project

An Adventuress, an electronic edition

by L.T. Meade [ Meade, L.T., 1854-1914]

date: 1899
source publisher: Chatto & Windus
collection: Genre Fiction

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CHAPTER XVIII

WHEN the girls left them Mr. and Mrs. Hume decided to take a holiday on their own account. They went into Yorkshire, and, when there, travelled about from place to place. In consequence, letters from Mary and Ethel did not reach them as frequently as they would otherwise have done.

A fortnight had passed and Mrs. Hume was feeling very much better for the change, when one day she remarked to her husband that they had had no news from the girls for a long time.

"Except a very short letter announcing their safe arrival we know nothing whatever about them," she said.

"Well, my dear Susannah, if they were ill we would be certain to hear," was the short reply. "But what is the matter, my love; you are surely not anxious?"

"Oh no--not really anxious, but I wonder they have not written."

"Doubtless a budget of letters awaits us at home. Remember, we said that ordinary letters were not to be forwarded."

"I forgot that. Well, I think I will send a line and tell the servants to let us have our letters," said Mrs. Hume.

Mr. Hume gazed for a moment at his wife; then he spoke.

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"I tell you what it is, Susannah; I see you are a little anxious, and the best way for me to relieve your mind is to go to Castellis."

"Oh! my dear Robert."

"Yes; it will suit me from many points of view., I want to see Kate on a matter of business. Those investments in Australian gold mines are not to my liking. If more satisfactory news does not reach the market in a day or two I shall insist on Kate selling out. She has taken a very large number of shares. I can bring you back word about the girls at the same time. I shall only be away for a couple of days. Would you like me to bring Mary back with me?"

"Nothing of the kind, Robert. I would not interfere with the dear child's pleasure for the world. But, surely, it is a long way to Cornwall?"

"Not too long to manage within a day," replied the lawyer. "I will start by an early train to-morrow morning. You are sure you don't mind being left?"

"Not in the least. Thompson is always so kind and attentive. Do go, of course, if it is necessary."

This matter being satisfactorily arranged, Mr. Hume made preparations for his journey, sent a telegram to Mrs. Henley at Castellis to announce his arrival on the following evening, and the next morning started for Cornwall.

He had an uneventful and dull journey, and arrived at his destination between nine and ten in the evening. It had been dark for several hours before he got to Wavertree Station, the nearest to Castellis.

The moment he landed on the platform he inquired of a porter, who came hurrying up, if a carriage was waiting from Castellis.

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"I don't think so, sir," answered the man; "but I'll inquire."

He returned in a moment to say that no carriage had come from Castellis, that the only carriage waiting was a brougham from the Pines, which had been sent to await the arrival of Sir John Fenton-Douglas, who was coming from town.

"Ah! and there he is," said the man. "I'll go and tell him that his carriage is here."

"But this is very awkward," cried Mr. Hume; "and I am very much surprised. Can I get any sort of trap to take me to Castellis?"

"Yes, sir; certainly, sir. We'll send to the village--it is about ten minutes off--and a fly can be here in less than twenty minutes."

As the man spoke Sir John Fenton-Douglas was seen approaching. He heard Mr. Hume speak about Castellis, and, taking off his hat, came forward.

"If you are going to Castellis I shall be very pleased to give you a lift," he said. "My place, the Pines, adjoins it."

"Thank you very much," replied Mr. Hume. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Hume; I am Mrs. Henley's uncle. I shall be only too glad to accept your kind offer."

"Then come this way," said Sir John Fenton-Douglas. He led the way out of the station, and a moment later he and Mr. Hume were bowling smoothly along in the direction of the Pines.

"It was lucky for me that I met you," said Hume. "I cannot understand my niece not sending a carriage to meet me. I sent a telegram early this morning to announce my arrival."

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"Perhaps I can explain," replied Sir John. "The family are away from home."

"Away from home!" answered Hume, turning and facing his host. "You astonish me. Surely you must be mistaken, my dear sir. My two daughters happen to be staying with the Henleys; they would not leave home without letting us know."

"It is a fact, however," replied Sir John. "The family left Castellis on the day that my wife and I and our children arrived at the Pines. It was a serious loss to us, as Henley had promised to introduce us to the neighbours; but, no doubt, they will soon be back, and then it will be all right."

"Odd, very odd," muttered Hume. "And my girls never mentioned it. Have you the least idea where they are?"

"I have not inquired."

"Well, well; it is queer, very queer."

Sir John said nothing.

"I hope you like the Pines," continued Hume after a pause.

"We are charmed with the place. It is Mrs. Henley's property, is it not?"

"Yes; she was a Miss Bouverie--a great heiress. The fact is, she has more money than she knows what to do with, and she is as handsome and clever as she is rich. I am her guardian and the principal trustee to her property. It is a great responsibility."

"Would she be induced to sell the Pines?"

"I do not think so. The fact is, I am astonished at her allowing you to have it even at a rent. Her father was very fond of the old place, and never would hear of any one else living there. Kate adores her | | 171 father's memory. No, Sir John, I am afraid the Pines will never become your property."

Sir John said nothing; after a pause Hume spoke again.

"I hope my niece and her husband will soon return. There are few more charming people than they both are; and Kate, as well as being a great heiress, is also a great beauty, and is as bright and amiable as she is good-looking."

"Did you say that your niece's name had been Miss Bouverie--Kate Bouverie?" said Sir John, speaking slowly.

"Yes, before her marriage that was her name. Why do you ask?"

"Merely on account of a curious coincidence--"

Sir John paused. Mr. Hume turned and faced him. After a moment Sir John continued--

"I ought to tell you," he said, "that I have only lately come into my property and title. A year ago I was a comparatively poor man--a doctor. My name was Fenton--Dr. Fenton, of Mentone. I left Mentone in the February of this year, and a month later my cousin died. I was the next heir both to the property and title."

"A great change for you," said Hume, when the other paused.

"Yes, yes; but what I meant to say was this--that I had the privilege of attending a young lady of the name of Bouverie--Kate Bouverie--at Mentone last winter. Could it possibly have been your niece?"

"Highly probable, for she was staying there."

"Then it must have been your niece: and do you mean to tell me that she is quite well?"

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"Quite well! Of course she is. She is in superb health."

"Let me congratulate you."

Mr. Hume did not speak at all for a moment. Then he said--

"Kate never mentioned being ill. Your tone seems to imply that there was something serious the matter with her. What do you mean?"

"People have recovered from serious complaints before now," said Sir John.

"Then when you attended her she had a grave illness?"

"She had; she was very ill. I am glad that she has recovered."

"She is quite well! I wonder she never mentioned it. Where did you say you attended her?"

"I have not told you up to the present, but I will now. At a villa up one of the valleys--the Villa Beau Séjour."

"The very place!" said Hume. "It is extraordinary. I went there to see her. Her young companion died suddenly, and she was in great trouble."

"What! Miss Mildmay? A remarkably fine girl!"

"Yes, now that you mention it, I believe her name was Mildmay. Kate fretted dreadfully for her; she was much attached to her."

Sir John's face became graver and graver; but in the darkness Mr. Hume could not see its expression. After a long pause he said--

"I am glad your niece is well. Doubtless, happiness and--"

"Oh, she is really very strong," said Mr. Hume. "I thought her consumptive," replied Sir John.

"Did you? When a child her father was | | 173 anxious on that point; but she has evidently quite got over it."

"I am delighted to hear it."

The two men did not speak again until they reached the Pines.

"I will dismount here," said Sir John, "and send the carriage on to Castellis with you."

"Thank you; you are very kind. It is extremely lucky for me that I met you."

They shook hands, exchanged hopes that they should meet again, and a moment later the brougham was bowling along in the direction of Castellis.

On arriving there Mr. Hume soon contrived to make himself comfortable. He obtained Henley's present address, spent a night under the old roof, and early the next morning started for Falmouth. He there transacted his business with Kate, saw that she looked well and blooming, scolded her for her nervous terrors with regard to the Castellis ghost, and announced his intention of leaving Falmouth for Yorkshire on the following morning.

"By the way," he said, later on that same day, "I have a curious thing to mention. I had the good luck to accompany your next-door neighbour, Sir John Fenton-Douglas, as far as the Pines last night, otherwise I should have had either to wait for a trap from the village or to walk the whole way. In future, Kitty, when you leave home unexpectedly, let your relations know."

"Oh! it was all my fault," cried Ethel. "I have been so lazy I hardly ever wrote; and then, father, you said the letters were not to be forwarded."

"So I did, my child."

"Would you suppose, father," said Mary, speak | | 174 ing suddenly, "that Kate was a nervous person--the sort of person who would be terrified by a ghost?"

"I don't suppose what is a fact," replied Hume. "Kate is evidently terrified of the ghost, as she has run away from it. She inherits her fear from her mother. What a little goose you made of yourself about that same ghost when you were a child, Kitty!"

"Yes, yes; how well I remember," answered Kate.

"And that reminds me," said Hume, " I have something to scold you about, Kate. You never mentioned how ill you were last year."

"Ill--last year?" she said, colouring. "What do you mean?"

"My dear girl, I can quite understand your very unselfish wish not to alarm us unnecessarily, but you must have been very bad indeed. Sir John Fenton-Douglas told me all about it."

Mary uttered a short laugh.

"This is most interesting," she said. "How in the world did Sir John Fenton-Douglas, who has never seen Kate to my certain knowledge, get the information of her illness?"

"My dear Mary, you have a very rude habit of interrupting," said her father, with some impatience. "But under the circumstances I will forgive you. There is quite a little romance about Sir John. He only came in for the property lately, and was a doctor at Mentone when Kate happened to be there. He says that he attended you, Kate."

"Kate Mildmay he means," replied Kate.

"No, my dear, he said he attended you, and that you were very ill. He even seemed to think that you were threatened with consumption."

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"Oh, nonsense! that she is not," said Mary, with a short laugh. As she spoke her eyes grew bright and round. She fixed them upon Kate's face.

"Did you know," she said suddenly, "that Sir John Fenton-Douglas and the Mentone doctor were one and the same?"

"Ralph mentioned the fact to me," replied Kate.

"And you never told us?"

"It escaped my mind. But I remember now that I had a bad cold, and that Dr. Fenton attended me. I was not specially interested in a doctor who only visited me two or three times."

"He must have done you a great deal of good if he really thought you consumptive, and if you have recovered."

"His prescriptions were excellent. The balmy air also put me to rights."

As Kate spoke she rose to her feet.

"It was really Kate Mildmay he must have been thinking about," she said. "She, poor girl, was very ill."

"Now, my dear Kitty, I do not know what you mean," said her uncle. "He spoke of Kate Mildmay as in robust health. What are you talking about?"

"It seems to me," said Mary, "that you, Kate, and father are having a game of cross purposes. What fun this is! You say you were quite well at Mentone. Sir John Fenton-Douglas says you were very ill indeed. You say your friend, Miss Mildmay, was very ill, and Sir John says she was in perfect health. Now who speaks the truth on this occasion, you or the doctor?"

"I think I must bear the palm," said Kate, "seeing that poor Kate is dead and in her grave. When | | 176 I see Sir John I shall laugh at him for his very short memory."

"Well, well," said Ralph Henley, who was standing by his wife; "do not let us discuss this matter any more. But, Kitty, my love, if you really at any time of your life had a tendency to consumption, had we not better go abroad for the winter?"

"There is nothing in all the world I should like better," replied Kate.

"Then we will do it," he said.

"It is not a bad idea, Kate," said Mr. Hume. "Of course, any one to look at you now, can see that you are in buoyant health; but it is best to be on the safe side. And your poor mother died of consumption. Well, I shall go to bed now. I have a long journey before me to-morrow, and am dead tired."

Late that evening, when Mr. Hume and the girls had retired to their rooms, Kate sought her husband. Anxiety had made her blooming face look pale, and there were dark shadows under her eyes. She had already dismissed Marryat; and now she sat down close to Henley, and laid her head on his shoulder.

"Oh, my darling, how I love you!" cried the young man.

"And I love you, Ralph, with all my heart and soul. Ralph, dear, say something pretty to me, say something beautiful--something that will rest my heart."

"My poor little girl, how sadly you talk! What do you wish me to say, Kitty? There are no words to express my true feelings. I love you beyond words. Is that what you mean?"

"I suppose it is; you manage to put it in the right way. Ralph, you don't only love me for my money?"

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"Now, Kitty, that is rank treason. You know that money and you cannot be named in the same breath."

"Nor just for my beauty?"

"No, my dearest, I love you for yourself--for your bonny, little, darling, sweet self--for the lovableness which is in you. I love you because you are so affectionate, so womanly, so true."

"Don't!" cried the girl, a sudden passion and pain in her voice. "Ralph, dearest, best beloved, I have come here to-night to confess something to you."

"To confess to me? My darling, what can you have to confess? If there ever was a white little life, it is yours ? What do you mean, Kitty?"

"Nothing dreadful," she answered, with a laugh. "And yet I think you ought to know."

"Well, I am listening."

"I did not tell you, nor Uncle Robert either, how seriously ill I was at Mentone last year."

"Then it was true?" said the young man, his heart beating hard. "You were very ill?"

"Yes, Ralph, I was very ill."

"And Dr. Fenton, who is now Sir John Fenton-Douglas, attended you?"

"He did."

"But Kitty, why didn't you tell us? Why should there be any mystery about the matter? Had we known, we--" He broke off abruptly. "The fact is, Kate, we always looked upon you as very strong."

"And I am very strong now--at least, I think I am. But I was ill then, and Dr. Fenton was nervous about me. Kate Mildmay first got her serious illness through looking after me. It was partly on that account that I feel so intensely sorry for her."

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"My love, even looking after you would not give her consumption. Why, Kitty, you are trembling all over."

"Put your arm round me, Ralph. Ah! that is better. When I feel you close to me, and your great, strong heart beating against mine, I am calm and happy. Ralph, all the world may be on one side of the scale, and you on the other. If such were the case, I know which side the balance would go down. I don't want the world, nor beauty, nor wealth--I only want you. Oh, my husband, I shall go mad if we are ever to be parted!"

"Why should we be parted? Kate, you really must be ill again now. Altogether, my dear little girl, your nature is developing in a very queer way. You have become so nervous about the ghost, and--"

"I was always nervous about the ghost. Why do you forget it? Ralph, I must speak of that, too. I cannot go back to Castellis; I can never go back."

"On account of the ghost?"

"Partly on account of the ghost, and also--"

"Ah! perhaps we are coming to the true reason now."

"The ghost is one of the reasons, I assure you; but there is another. I don't want to meet Dr. Fenton."

"But, my clearest Kate, why not? My dear girl, this is very awkward. We really must return to my home some time; and Dr. Fenton has taken the Pines for five years."

"I won't meet him, Ralph. I have quite a horror of him. I remember how gloomy he was about me. He used to come into my room and shake his head and put on such a long face that really I thought my | | 179 days were numbered. It was the greatest blessing to me when he was called suddenly to England. I should quite hate to see him again. I believe I should be ill again if I saw him. Ralph, darling, don't let me see him. I cannot explain to you my feelings with regard to him. My poor little mother died of consumption, you know. Oh, Ralph, I was afraid to tell you of my illness. Do you know why?"

"Why, Kate?"

"Before I saw you I thought, of course, I would tell you. But when I saw you and realised what my feelings were, I got frightened. I said to myself: 'There is such rubbish talked now about heredity and all that sort of thing--and Ralph, my dear conscientious Ralph, may think it wrong to marry me.' I determined that you should never know."

"I should have married you in any case," said the young man gravely.

"I feared you would not. I was a coward, and I kept the secret of my illness to myself. But, Ralph dear, don't look so gloomy. I am quite well now."

"I hope you are. You look very pale, and how you are trembling to-night! I have often noticed lately, too, that you seem depressed."

"I suppose it is the thought of last spring," continued the girl. "It is true I feel splendidly well now, but when the cold weather comes--"

"We will go abroad, Kate. We won't face the cold; the risk would be too great."

"Oh, Ralph, you make me so happy when you say that. It is what I long for; but I did not like to suggest it when I know how fond you are of your own country. Let us go to Australia--far away at once to that beautiful country. When does the next | | 180 ship sail? Don't let us delay. If I should get that cough back I might frighten myself into another illness. Even the thought of Sir John brings back the remembrance of that hacking cough, and the perspirations, and the weakness. Do let us go as soon as possible. A winter in Australia will set me up. I know I am really strong, and at present there is no danger."

"But there is. This is most terrifying!" cried Henley. "You must come up to town with me and see one of our best doctors. I insist upon it."

"No, no; please don't ask me. Do take me away. If I happen to be ill when we get to Australia, then I will see some doctor. Oh, Ralph, don't delay."

"I certainly won't. I never saw you in such a queer, nervous state. Yes, there is nothing of importance to keep us here. I will go to Castellis and dismiss the servants, and put the place once more into the hands of caretakers."

"Do, Ralph. And oh, when do you think we can start?"

"I will go on to town and inquire when the steamers sail."

"Let us go by the Orient Line. We could go in a week, could we not?"

"A week, Kitty? But we shall have several things to get."

"Oh, never mind the things. We must go in a week."

"If you wish it, dearest."

"I do. Oh, it will be such a relief! I shall then feel quite sure that the hideous death by consumption is not to tear me from you."

"Your wishes shall be carried out, my darling."

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