Chapter 11 of Coralie by Charlotte M. Braeme

CHAPTER XI

On the following day Lady Thesiger had arranged to come to Crown Anstey with Agatha, for the purpose of choosing from some very choice engravings that had been sent to me from London. I asked Sir John to accompany them and stay at lunch. It was always a red-letter day to me when my darling came to my house, and I remember this one—ah, me!—so well. It was fine, clear and frosty; the sky was blue; the sun shone with that clear gold gleam it has in winter; the hoar frost sparkled on the leafless trees and hedges; the ground was hard and seemed to ring beneath one's feet.

"A bright, clear day," said Coralie, as we sat at breakfast together.

"Yes," I replied. "Coralie, will you see that a good luncheon is served today? Sir John and Lady Thesiger are coming—Miss Thesiger, too—and they will remain for lunch."

Her face cleared and brightened.

"Coming today, are they? I am very glad."

I looked upon this as an amiable wish to atone for the unpleasantness of last night, and answered her in the same good spirit.

I am half ashamed to confess that when Agatha was coming I seldom did anything but stand, watch in hand, somewhere near the entrance gates. That I did today, and was soon rewarded by seeing the Harden carriage.

Ah, me! will the memory of that day ever die with me? My darling came and seemed to me more beautiful than ever. Her sweet, frank eyes looked into mine; her pure, beautiful face had a delicate flush of delight, and I—God help me!—forgot everything while by her side.

We were all in the library. How I thanked God afterward that Clare had not felt well enough to have the engravings sent to her room, as I proposed! We sat round the large center-table on which the folios lay open, Sir John, who took great delight in such things, explaining to Lady Thesiger. I was showing Agatha those I liked best, when quite unexpectedly, Coralie entered the room.

The moment I saw her face I knew that she meant mischief. Surely, woman's face never had so hard, so wicked a look before.

Sir John rose and bowed. Lady Thesiger looked, as she always did in the presence of mademoiselle, constrained and annoyed. Agatha's look was one of sheer surprise, for Coralie walked up to the table.

"Choosing engravings, Miss Thesiger?" she said, with an easy smile. "I must ask you to give me your attention for a short time. Perhaps you will not think the engravings of much importance after that."

She declined the chair Sir John placed for her with the hauteur of a grand duchess. As she stood there, calmly surveying us, she looked the most beautiful yet the most determined of women.

"May I ask," she said, "the exact date fixed for the marriage?"

Sir John answered her:

"The 26th of December, mademoiselle."

"May I ask," she said, "what Sir Edgar has thought of doing for me? Doubtless Lady Thesiger will have advised him. This has been my home for many years, and is my only home now. Has the question been considered? In the event of Sir Edgar bringing a young wife here, what is to become of me?"

There was a mocking smile on her beautiful face; her dark eyes flashed from one to the other of us; we felt uncomfortable. She had just hit upon the weak point that disturbed us all, the one cloud in a clear sky.

As no one else seemed inclined to speak, I answered:

"Everything will be done for your comfort, Coralie; you may be sure of that, for Sir Barnard's sake."

"And not for my own?" she said. "What is your idea of comfort, Sir Edgar? Do you propose offering me a little cottage and a few pounds per week? That would not content me."

She looked so imperial, so beautiful, that I wondered involuntarily what would content her, she who might have anything.

"Whatever you yourself think right, Coralie, you shall have."

I saw a strong disapproval in Lady Thesiger's face, and Coralie's quick eyes, following mine, read the same.

"Ah!" she said, hastily, "Lady Thesiger does not approve of carte blanche to ambitious cousins."

Lady Thesiger really restrained herself; she was tempted to speak—I saw that—but refrained.

"The best plan," said Sir John, calmly, "would be for Mademoiselle d'Aubergne to say what she herself wishes."

"I will tell you," she replied, "what I claim."

Then, as we looked up at her in wonder, she continued, with bland calmness:

"I claim as my own and right, on the part of my infant son, the whole of the estate and revenues of Crown Anstey. I claim, as widow of the late Miles Trevelyan, Esq., my share of all due to me at his death."

A thunder-bolt falling in our midst would not have alarmed us as those words did. Sir John looked sternly at her.

"In the name of heaven, what do you mean?"

"Just what I say, Sir John. I was the wife, and am now the widow, of the late Miles Trevelyan, Esq."

"But that is monstrous!" he cried. "Miles was never married."

"Miles was married to me, Sir John."

"But we must have proof; your word goes for nothing. There must be indisputable proof of such an assertion."

She smiled with quiet superiority.

"Knowing with whom I have to contend, it is not probable that I should assert anything false. I am prepared to prove everything I say."

My darling's face grew white as death. I was bewildered. If this were true—oh, my God! if it were true—fortune, love and everything else were lost.

"Where were you married?" asked Sir John.

"At Edgerton—St. Helen's, Edgerton. The Rev. Henry Morton married us, and the two witnesses were Sarah Smith, who was my maid, and Arthur Ireton, who was head game-keeper here at Crown Anstey."

It was so quickly told and so seemingly correct, we looked at each other in amaze.

"We must examine into it," said Sir John, "before going any further."

"That will be best," she replied, composedly. "I had better explain that Miles, poor fellow, fell in love with me the first time he saw me. Sir Barnard would not hear of such a thing. He told Miles that if he persisted in marrying me he would curse him. Perhaps he had his own reasons for not liking me. His son tried to obey him, but I am proud to say that the love Miles had for me was far stronger than fear of his father. Still, for pecuniary reasons he did not care to offend him, so we were married privately the second year of my stay at Crown Anstey."

She turned to Lady Thesiger with a mocking smile.

"I know perfectly well," she said, "why your ladyship has never liked me. You met me walking one evening with Miles Trevelyan in the Anstey woods; you saw him kiss me. You know, now, that he was my husband and had a right to kiss me if he chose."

Lady Thesiger bowed very stiffly.

"Two years after our marriage," Coralie continued, "my little son, called Rupert, after the Crusader Trevelyan, was born. Under the pretense of visiting some of my relations, I went to Lincoln. In the registry of the church of St. Morton Friars you will find the proper attestation of my son's birth."

"Where is that son?" asked Sir John, incredulously.

"At Lincoln. I can send for him. You can go there and see him; he is under the care of Sarah Smith, my nurse. He is living and well, and he, not Mr. Edgar, is the heir of Crown Anstey."

"But why," asked Sir John, incredulously, "why have you never told this story before? It seems incredible that you should have waited until now."

"I have my own reasons," she replied. "I waited first to see what Sir Edgar would be like; then, when I saw him—I—I need not be ashamed to own it, even before Miss Thesiger—I liked him, and if he had been reasonable I should never have told my story at all."

"That is," said Sir John, with supreme disgust, "if Edgar had been duped by you and had married you, you would have defrauded your son of his rights?"

"Yes," she replied, with a smile; "it is Crown Anstey I love, and I would rather be the wife than the mother of the master of Crown Anstey."

"You are a wicked woman," he said, sternly.

"I am a successful one," she retorted. "Pray, Sir John, examine all these proofs at your earliest convenience; I am anxious to take my place as mistress of my own house; I am anxious to have my child here in his own home."

We all rose; no words can express my emotions. It was not the fortune, God knows—not the fortune; but I knew when I lost that I lost Agatha.

I felt my face growing white as death itself and my hands trembled.

"One moment," I said. "A year ago the doctor told me if my sister kept up her strength, and had nothing to make her either anxious nor unhappy, she would in all probability recover. Now, whether this story be true or false, I pray you all, for God's sake, keep it from her!"

"I shall not mention it," said Coralie.

"Do not despair, Edgar," said Sir John. "I do not believe—I never shall!"

"I wrote to London last night," continued Coralie, "for Mr. Dempster, who was Sir Barnard's lawyer on one or two occasions. You, of course, Mr. Edgar Trevelyan, will retain the services of the family solicitors."

"I shall need no solicitors if your story be true. I shall not seek to defraud Miles' son of his birthright; I shall yield it to him."

"You will find it true in every particular," she said; "and remember always that it is your own fault I have told it."

With that parting shot she quitted the room.

"My poor boy," said Sir John, "this is a terrible blow to you."

"I am afraid," said Lady Thesiger, "that this abominable woman has spoken the truth. I always thought poor Miles had something on his mind—some secret. I told him so one day, and he did not deny it."

My darling came up to me with her sweet, pale face and outstretched hands.

"Never mind, Edgar," she said. "If you lose Crown Anstey I will try to love you all the more to make up for it."

What could I do but bless her and thank her? Yet I knew—God help me, I knew in losing my fortune I lost her!