Chapter 12 of Coralie by Charlotte M. Braeme

CHAPTER XII

The little party that had so gayly assembled in the old library broke up in the deepest gloom. Sir John was the only one who seemed at all incredulous.

"Rely upon it," he said, "that, after all, it is some trick of the French woman."

But Lady Thesiger had no such hope.

"I felt sure there was something wrong with Miles," she said. "He was not happy. He had married in haste and repented at leisure."

For my own part, I had no hope. Remembering the subtle, seductive beauty of the woman, I could well imagine Miles being led, even against himself, into a marriage or anything else.

When they were gone I went back to the library. I wanted to face this terrible blow alone, to realize the possibility that instead of being Sir Edgar Trevelyan, of Crown Anstey, wealthy, honored and powerful, I was Edgar Trevelyan, poor, homeless and penniless.

Could it be possible that after this life of ease, luxury and happiness, I was to fall back into the old position—hard, monotonous labor, with eighty pounds per annum?

It seemed too hard. Do not think any the worse of me, reader, if I own that the tears came into my eyes. It was bitterly hard.

Without warning Coralie entered the room. It must have been a triumph to her to see the tears in my eyes. She stood at some little distance from me.

"Edgar," she asked, "do you hate me?"

"No! I am too just to hate you for claiming what is your own. You ought to have told me before, Coralie. It has been most cruel to let me live in this delusive dream. If you had told me that night when I came here first, it would have been a momentary disappointment, but I should have gone back to my work none the worse for it."

"I might have done it, but I saw in this, my secret power, the means of winning you. Edgar, it is not too late even now. Make me mistress of Crown Anstey, and I will find the means of restoring your lost position to you."

I turned from her in unutterable loathing. She was so lost to all womanly honor and delicacy, my whole soul revolted against her.

"Not another word, Coralie. I would not take Crown Anstey from you if the alternative were death!"

"That is very decisive," she replied, with the mocking smile I dreaded. "We shall see."

"You will keep your word to me?" I cried, hastily. "You will say nothing to Clare? She will soon be well. I could not bear to have any obstacles thrown in the way of her recovery. When I leave her, my friends will make some arrangements to spare her the shock of knowing why—at least, for a time."

"I shall respect your wishes, Edgar. I have no desire to hurt your sister. She is quite safe, so far as I am concerned."

It may be imagined that I did not sleep very well that night. Early on the following morning Sir John rode over.

"The sooner we look into this affair the better," he said. "We will ride over to Edgerton today and examine the church register."

We did so. Alas! there was no mistake; the marriage had been celebrated on the 14th of June. The two witnesses, as she said, were Sarah Smith and Arthur Ireton. The marriage service had been performed by the Reverend Henry Morton.

The entry was perfectly regular, no flaw in it. Sir John's face fell as he read it.

"Now," he said, "the marriage laws in England are very strict; there is no evading them. If this marriage is perfectly legal we shall find an entry of it in the registrar's books. We must pay for a copy of the certificate."

We went to the registrar's office. There, sure enough, was the entry, all perfectly legal and straightforward.

"Now," said Sir John, "before we rest let us find out the Reverend Henry Morton, and see what he knows about it."

That involved a journey to Leamington, where he was then residing. We found him without difficulty. He remembered the marriage, and had no hesitation in answering any questions about it. He knew Miles Trevelyan, and had remonstrated with him over the marriage. But what could he do? Miles was of full age, and told him frankly that if he refused to marry him someone else would.

"I have been ill and occupied," he said, "and have heard nothing of the Trevelyans since I left Edgerton. However, if my evidence and solemn assurance are of any service, you have them. They were properly and legally married; nothing in the world can upset that fact."

"So it seems," said Sir John, with a deep sigh, "Edgar, you have lost Crown Anstey."

The next day I wrote to Moreland & Paine, asking one or both to come over at once. Mr. Paine arrived the same evening, and looked very grave when he was in full possession of the case. He had a long interview with Mrs. Trevelyan, as we called her now; also with her solicitor, Mr. Dempster. Then he sought me.

"This is a bad business, Mr. Trevelyan," he said; and by his ceasing to use the title, I knew he had given up all hope of my cause. "Of course," he continued, "you can go to law if you like, but I tell you quite honestly you have no chance. The evidence is clear and without a flaw; nothing can shake it. If you have a lawsuit you will lose it, and probably have to pay all costs."

I told him that I had no such intention; that if the estate were not legally mine, I had no wish to claim it.

"It was a very sad thing for you, Mr. Trevelyan. I am heartily grieved for you."

"I must bear it like a man. I am not the first who has lost a fortune."

But Sir John would not hear of my final arrangements until we had been to Lincoln and had seen the child.

"No one knows the depth of those French women," he said. "It is possible there may be no child. Let us take her by surprise this very day, and ask her to accompany us to the house where the nurse lives."

Both lawyers applauded the idea.

"If there be any imposture we are sure to find it out," they said.

Without a minute's loss of time, Mrs. Trevelyan was asked to join us in the library. She complied at once.

"We want you to go with us to Lincoln to show us the child," said Sir John, abruptly.

She consented at once so readily that I felt certain that our quest was useless. We started in an hour's time, my poor Clare being led to believe that we had gone to Harden on a visit.

We reached Lincoln about six o'clock at night. While we stood in the station waiting for a cab Mr. Paine turned suddenly to Coralie.

"What is the address?" he asked.

Again there was not a moment's hesitation.

"No. 6 Lime Cottages, Berkdale Road," she replied; and fast as a somewhat tired horse could take us we went there.

We reached the place at last; a row of pretty cottages that in summer must have been sheltered by the lime trees, and the door of No. 6 was quickly opened to us—opened by a woman with a pleasant face, who looked exceedingly astonished at seeing us. Coralie came forward.

"I had no time to write and warn you of this visit, Mrs. Smith. Be kind enough to answer any questions these gentlemen may wish to ask you."

We all made way for Mr. Paine. I shall never forget the group, the anxiety and suspense on each face.

"Have you a child here in your charge?" asked the lawyer.

But she looked at Coralie.

"Am I to answer, madam?"

"You are to answer any questions put to you; my story is known."

"Have you a child here in your charge?" he repeated.

"I have," she repeated.

"Who is it? Tell us in your own words, if you please."

"He is the son of the late Mr. Miles Trevelyan and his wife, who was Mademoiselle d'Aubergne."

"Where were they married?" he asked.

"They were married at the Church of St. Helen's, Edgerton. I was one witness; the other was Arthur Ireton, the head game-keeper."

"Where was this child born?" he asked again.

"Here, sir, at this house. Mrs. Trevelyan left home, it was believed, to visit some friends. She came here and took this house. I remained with her, and have had charge of little Master Rupert ever since."

He asked fifty other questions; they were answered with equal clearness and precision.

"Let us see the child," said Sir John, impatiently.

She went into the next room and brought out a lovely little boy. He was asleep, but at the sound of strange voices opened his eyes.

"Mamma!" he cried when he saw Coralie, and she took him in her arms.

Sir John looked earnestly at him.

"There is no mistake," he said; "we want no further evidence. I can tell by his face this is poor Miles' son."

He was a lovely, bright-eyed boy; he had Coralie's golden-brown hair, which fell in thick ringlets down his pretty neck.

"But it is Miles' face," Sir John repeated, and we did not doubt him. "There remains but one thing more to make the whole evidence complete. We must see the registration of the birth of the child, and it would be better to see the doctor who attended you, madam."

We did both on the following day. The registration of the child's birth was right, perfect and without a flaw.

The doctor, a highly respectable medical practitioner, offered us his evidence on oath.

There was nothing left, then, but to return to Crown Anstey and give up possession.

I loved the little boy. It was too absurd to feel any enmity against him. He was so bright and clever; it would have been unmanly not to have loved dead Miles' son.

Of Coralie Trevelyan I asked but one favor; that she would allow me one week in which to make some arrangement for Clare before she brought the young heir home. She cheerfully agreed to this.

"You bear your reverses very bravely," she said.

"Better than I bore prosperity," I replied, and that, God knows, was true.

This new trial had braced my nerves and made me stronger than I had ever been in my whole life before.