Books: Herb of Grace

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Malcolm tossed restlessly on his bed as he tried to formulate plans,
which he rejected one by one. "If it comes to the worst, I must do
as Mrs. Godfrey suggests," he thought--"I must go down to the Wood
House and take counsel with them;" and in all probability it was
this thought that kept him wakeful.

The next morning Malcolm learnt from Cedric's scout that his master
had left by an early train; and as he himself had one or two
appointments that morning, he only waited to swallow a hasty
breakfast before he followed him.

For the next few hours he was very busy, and could hardly give
Cedric a thought; but as work slackened and the afternoon wore on,
he wondered at the non-arrival of the telegram. It was half-past
four before Malachi brought in the yellow envelope. Malcolm frowned
as he read it.

"Know all--have forgiven all--engagement holds good--sorry cannot
take advice.--TEMPLETON."

"Unhappy boy," he groaned, "the fowler has him in his net again."
Then he scrunched the thin paper in his hand, and set his teeth hard
like a man who sees the dentist coming towards him with the forceps.

"I must go down to them; there is nothing else for me to do. I dare
not take the responsibility of keeping this to myself an hour
longer. It is all in the day's work, as the lion-tamer said when the
lion prepared to bite off his head." And after this grim jest
Malcolm summoned Malachi and confided the Gladstone bag to his care,
and they sallied forth together. At Waterloo he sent off a telegram
to Verity; a few minutes later he was in the train and on his way to
Earlsfield.

CHAPTER XXIX

"SHE IS A WICKED WOMAN"

Am I cold--
Ungrateful--that for these most manifold
High gifts, I render nothing back at all?
Not so! not cold, but very poor instead.
--E. BARRETT BROWNING.

To love, is to be made up of faith and service.
--SHAKESPEARE.

It was half-past six when Malcolm reached the well-known station,
and taking a fly bade the man drive him to the "King's Arms," an
old-fashioned inn of good repute about half a mile distant from the
Wood House. Here he secured a room for the night; ordered supper, of
which he partook without appetite; then sallied forth to pay his
call. It was late in October, and the darkness of the country roads
surprised him, accustomed as he was to the well-lighted London
streets; he could scarcely find out his bearings until a welcome
light streamed out from the windows of the Crow's Nest. Malcolm
lingered a moment at the little gate. "It was there I dwelt in my
fool's paradise," he muttered, "and tried to eat of the forbidden
fruit. Now I know good and evil, and am a sadder and wiser man." And
then he went on doggedly; but he stopped again before he reached the
gate of the Wood House, for he knew intuitively that he had stumbled
into the little path leading to the woodlands. He strained his eyes
through the darkness, but could see nothing-only the chill, damp
October wind played round him, and the smell of moist earth and
decaying vegetation filled his nostrils. "Change and decay in all
around I see," he thought heavily; but as he turned away and crossed
the road a sudden remembrance came to him and made him giddy.

It was morning or early afternoon, he forgot which, and the sunshine
was filtering through the firs, and steeping his senses with the
warm, resinous perfume--"spices of Araby," he had called it to
himself, for he loved the scent above all things. He had clambered
up the bank to pick some honeysuckle, and then the little gate had
clanged on its hinges, and he had peeped through the brambles to see
who was coming.

And of course he knew who it was--that tall, robust young woman in
the white sun-bonnet who came down the path swinging her arms
slightly, but with the free proud step of an empress. "Elizabeth,
Elizabeth!" he had whispered even then, and all the manhood within
him seemed to welcome her gracious presence. Poor fool--poor blind
fool that he was!

Perhaps it was as well that Malcolm stumbled over the root of a tree
at that moment; the rude shock roused him.

"It is a blessing I have not sprained my ankle," he said to himself;
but he had struck his foot rather severely and limped on with
difficulty. The pain sobered him, and he thought how Elizabeth had
told him that they always used lanterns in the grounds; and he made
up his mind to borrow one for his return journey.

"I wonder if Carlyon will be there," he muttered, as he went up to
the front door. He had never seen it closed before, for in summer it
was always open from morning to night. Somehow the sight chilled
him: he was outside in the darkness and the cold, and for him no
household fires would burn warm and bright, and a bitter sigh came
to his lips.

He had raised his hand to the bell, when the door opened suddenly,
and the rosy-cheeked housemaid he remembered peered out into the
darkness. She was evidently very much startled when she saw Malcolm.

"Did you ring, sir?" she asked in some confusion, "for no one heard
a bell. The ladies are still in the dining-room, but I will tell
Mullins."

"Please do not bring them, I can well wait. I know my way to the
drawing-room." And Malcolm put down his hat and crossed the hall,
which looked warm and cheery with its bright fire.

The lamps had been lighted in the drawing-room, and the fireplace
was heaped with pine logs that spluttered and blazed merrily, and
diffused a sort of aromatic fragrance. There were pleasant tokens of
feminine occupation on the round table: an open book and a knitting
basket that he knew belonged to Dinah, and a piece of embroidery of
an ecclesiastical pattern, over which he had often seen Elizabeth
bending. There were the very gold scissors and thimble that she had
once left down by the Pool, which cost him and Cedric an hour's
search before they could find them. How pleased she had been when he
had brought them back to her! Malcolm felt an irresistible desire to
hold them in his hand a moment--then he turned quickly away.

There was a little side window in the drawing-room that formed a
sort of alcove; it was fitted up very prettily with palms and
flowering plants, and amongst the foliage stood a beautiful marble
figure of a Roman peasant with her pitcher on her shoulder.

Malcolm had often admired it. It was the work of a young German
sculptor, whom the sisters found in somewhat distressing
circumstances in Rome, with a sick wife and hampered with debt.
Arnim Freiligrath always regarded the dear ladies, as he called
them, as his benefactresses, for, strange to say, from that time
orders flowed in upon him, and he was soon looked upon as a rising
and successful sculptor.

Dinah had once told Malcolm that the woman's features reminded her
of Elizabeth, and Malcolm had agreed with her.

"I think it is the figure that most resembles your sister," he had
said; "but you were wise to buy it, it is very beautiful, and Arnim
Freiligrath is becoming quite the fashion."

Malcolm stepped up to the alcove; he would look at his favourite
water-carrier again. He put aside the heavy plush curtains that
half-veiled the recess, but the next moment he recoiled--for
Elizabeth herself was standing there, almost as motionless as the
marble woman beside her.

She was lost in thought, and had evidently not heard his footfall on
the soft carpet, and she was gazing out into the darkness. Something
in her expression arrested Malcolm's attention: he had never seen
her look like that before, her lips were pressed tightly together,
and her eyes were full of sadness. One hand was resting lightly on
the statue, and Malcolm could see the gleam of the opal ring on her
finger.

He feared to startle her, and yet it was impossible for him to stand
there any longer. He pronounced her name almost timidly; and as
Elizabeth started violently and turned round, he could see the tears
glistening in the large gray eyes. "Mr. Herrick," in an astonished
tone, as she gave him her hand--it was very cold, and trembled a
little in his grasp--"what makes you steal upon us like a ghost in
the darkness? Why did you not tell us you were coming?"

"I thought it would be better not," he returned quietly. "I wanted
to speak to you and your sister about something that seemed to me
important." Then Elizabeth gave him one of her quick, searching
glances.

"It is about Cedric," she said abruptly--"that boy has got into
trouble again?" Then Malcolm bowed his head. They were standing on
the rug before the fire now, and at Malcolm's mute answer Elizabeth
shivered slightly and held out her hands to the blaze as though she
were physically cold. Malcolm leant for support against the mantel-
piece, and watched her for a moment under his shading hand--if she
had only seen that hungry, eloquent look! But Elizabeth's eyes were
fixed on the fire. Poor Malcolm! never had she looked more beautiful
to him: the black velvet gown suited her to perfection, and the
antique Roman necklace she wore just fitted the full white throat.
This was not the rustic owner of the white sun-bonnet, but a grand,
imperial-looking Elizabeth. Malcolm felt as though he were fast
losing self-control: his forehead grew clammy, and though he tried
to speak--to break the embarrassing silence--no words would come;
but Elizabeth, lost in her own sad thoughts, was oblivious of his
emotion.

"Dinah will be here directly," she observed presently; "she is
engaged just now with a woman from the village, but she will not be
long, I hope. I trust"--and here she looked at him anxiously--"that
you have no bad news for us."

"I am afraid it is not good," he replied evasively.

"It has something to do with those odious Jacobis?" Again Malcolm
bowed his head.

"Cedric seems infatuated about them," she returned, with something
of her old impetuosity, the words tripping each other up in the
usual Elizabethan way. "We thought the man detestable--even Dinah
could not tolerate him. Oh," interrupting herself, "what am I
thinking about? you have come all this distance on our account, and
I have never thought of your comfort--you have not dined, of
course;" and Elizabeth's hand was on the bell, but he stopped her.

"I have just had supper at the 'King's Arms,' where I have taken a
bed; I want nothing, I assure you."

"At the King's Arms'!" exclaimed Elizabeth. Then she suddenly
flushed and bit her lip. She had forgotten--how could she suppose
that anything would induce him to sleep under their roof again!
Malcolm's manner, his painful air of consciousness, the deep
melancholy in his eyes, told her plainly that his trouble was as
fresh as ever.

Elizabeth began to feel nervous; it was a relief to both of them
when Mullins entered the room with the coffee. "At least, you will
have a cup of coffee," she said with a little effort. "Mullins, will
you put the tray down, and tell my sister that Mr. Herrick has come
down to speak to us on business, and ask her not to keep him
waiting."

Malcolm did not refuse the coffee. As he took the cup in his hand he
said in a low voice, "I hope Mr. Carlyon is well."

"Thank you, he is far from well," she returned gravely. "Mr.
Charrington has been away for the last six weeks, and he has had far
too much to do; he has taken a bad cold, and his cough is
troublesome. I have been speaking to Dr. Randolph to-day, and he
thinks the vicar ought to come back." Then she stopped as Dinah came
hurriedly into the room. Malcolm's unexpected visit had evidently
alarmed her.

"Oh, Mr. Herrick, what is it?" she said in such a troubled voice
that Malcolm felt almost afraid to tell his news. Evidently
Elizabeth read his thoughts.

"You must tell us everything," she said rather abruptly; "it will be
wrong to keep anything back." And thus admonished, Malcolm began his
long story--his summons to the Manor House, and Hugh Rossiter's
revelation concerning the Jacobi family. The sisters listened in
breathless silence, only when Malcolm mentioned the words billiard-
marker and valet Elizabeth uttered a quick exclamation, and threw up
her head with a proud gesture, while poor Dinah grew white when she
heard that her boy was actually engaged. "It is impossible--there
must be some mistake," she whispered, as though to herself--"our
dear boy would never keep such a thing from his sisters. Cedric is
so frank and open, he would never have secrets from us."

"Cedric is under a bad influence," replied Malcolm; "these people
have got hold of him and will not let him go." And then he went on
to tell of his interview with Cedric, and his total want of success.
"I could do nothing," he went on despondently; "I seem to have lost
my influence with him. I did my best, Miss Templeton," with an
appealing look at Dinah's sad, sweet face; but it was Elizabeth who
answered him.

"Do you think we do not know that," she returned impulsively--"that
Dinah and I are not grateful to you! You have taken all this trouble
for us--you have been to Cookham and Oxford, and now you have come
here, and you are quite tired and worn out with the worry of it all,
and we can do nothing for you in return!" and Elizabeth quivered
with emotion. But Malcolm, suppressing his own agitation, tried to
turn off her speech with a laugh. She was grateful to him--good
heavens! she might as well have offered a cupful of earth to a man
dying of thirst!

"Let him finish, Betty dear," observed Dinah faintly; "he has more
to tell us." And then Malcolm produced the telegram and laid it
before them. The sisters glanced at each other with dismay, and
Dinah's forehead was furrowed like an old woman's.

"What is to be done, Mr. Herrick, to save my poor boy from this
iniquitous marriage?" she inquired in a tremulous tone, and
Elizabeth's eyes were asking him the same question.

"That is just the difficulty, my dear lady," he replied slowly. "If
I can only see my way clear--Mr. Rossiter advised me to speak to
Miss Jacobi; he seems to think she is more amenable to reason than
her brother, and probably he is right." But to Malcolm's surprise
Dinah's mild eyes began to flush angrily.

"I have a worse opinion of her than I have of her brother," she said
hurriedly; "she is a wicked woman--she let men make love to her when
she knew her husband was alive! If she marries Cedric, I will never
see her or him either;" and here Dinah trembled from head to foot.

Elizabeth, startled by the excitement of one generally so gentle,
knelt down by her sister and put her arms round her. "Dear Die," she
implored, "don't make it worse for us all. Mr. Herrick is trying to
help us, and we must not make things more difficult for him. What do
you advise?" she continued, turning to Malcolm. "You have seen this
Leah--would it be better to bribe or frighten her?"

"That is impossible for me to say," returned Malcolm, averting his
eyes quickly from the earnest, troubled face. "I have only exchanged
a few words with Miss Jacobi, and know little about her."

"You mean the Contessa Ferrari," interrupted Dinah almost harshly;
"for heaven's sake let the woman be called by her right name!"

"It is a name she refuses to own," he returned quietly. "Will you
let me say what I really think?--you know I have only seen her
twice. I think she is a wronged and unhappy woman, and that her
troubles have hardened her nature and made her reckless. Her brother
tyrannises over her, and she has never been free to lead her own
life or follow her own better impulses, and her beauty and wonderful
fascination have only been used to further Saul Jacobi's ambitious
aims. In my opinion Cedric was right when he declared to me that she
was more sinned against than sinning."

"Then in that case you will be able to influence her," returned
Dinah quickly. "Tell her from me, Mr. Herrick, that if she persists
in marrying my poor boy, she will be marrying a pauper; that on the
day the marriage takes place I shall alter my will, and that my
sister Elizabeth will be my heir. Tell her this, and I will write to
Cedric and let him know what he has to expect."

"Do you really mean this?" asked Malcolm, much impressed by this
unexpected resolution on the part of one usually so yielding and
gentle.

"I mean every word," returned Dinah firmly. "Yes, Betty dear," as
she saw her sister's astonished face, "I am perfectly serious. You
know what Cedric is to me"--and here her sweet voice quavered for a
moment--"if it would do him good, I would give him half my fortune
at this moment, and would never grudge it; but no money of mine
shall be used for his undoing. Let him give up this woman and come
back to me, and there is nothing I will not do for him. Am I right,
Elizabeth? Do you agree with me?"

"I agree with you, and you are always right, darling. Mr. Herrick,
will you do as she says, and make this Leah understand that she has
nothing to expect from us. Oh, what trouble we are giving you, and
we have no right!" and here Elizabeth turned her head away in pained
confusion. She had said the wrong thing. Why did not Dinah come to
her assistance and say some word of grateful acknowledgment?

"You have every right to use me as you will," returned Malcolm in a
low voice, "for I have done nothing to forfeit your friendship." And
with a dreary attempt at a smile--"A friend is born for adversity."
Then Elizabeth rose from her kneeling position, but she did not
answer--perhaps she could not, for Malcolm's worn face and sad, kind
eyes seemed to bring a sudden lump to her throat. How good he was--
how generous and forgiving and unselfish! She longed to take his
hand and bid God bless him; but she could not trust herself or him.
"It has gone too deep," she said with inward wonder, for Elizabeth
was truly humble in her estimation of herself. Dinah was too much
wrapped up in her own troubled thoughts to notice Elizabeth's
emotion.

"Will you tell me what you mean to do?" she asked anxiously, for
Malcolm had risen too as though he intended to take his leave. He
explained briefly that he intended to act on Hugh Rossiter's
suggestion. He would waylay Leah Jacobi in Kensington Gardens and do
his best to induce her to give Cedric up.

"I shall tell her you have written to him and advise her to talk
things over with her brother. When he knows Cedric Templeton is not
his sister's heir, he will be the first to insist that your
projected marriage should be broken off--I shall say some such words
to her."

"And you will come down again, and let us know the result of your
interview?" and Dinah looked at him imploringly. "Your room shall be
ready for you at any time."

"You are very kind," he returned hesitating. "My room at the 'King's
Arms' seems very comfortable." Then Dinah understood and changed
colour slightly.

"It will be giving you trouble," she observed regretfully.

"No--no, it is not that," he returned hurriedly; "but it is
impossible to say how things may be--what circumstances, or what
complications may arise to keep me in town. I will write--you shall
not be kept in suspense an hour longer than I can help; and you may
depend on me that I will do my utmost to break off this wretched
engagement."

"I trust you implicitly," returned Dinah gravely. "You will forgive
me if I cannot thank you properly to-night."

"You need not move, Die; I will light Mr. Herrick's lantern for
him"--Elizabeth spoke in her old natural way. Malcolm stood beside
her silently as she performed her hospitable task. Then she placed
it in his hand. "I wonder how you groped your way through the
plantation," she said smiling; "but this little glimmer will guide
you safely. Good-night, Mr. Herrick; we shall look eagerly for your
promised letter. Poor Dinah will have one of her bad sick headaches
to-morrow--worry always brings them on."

"She looks far from well," replied Malcolm; "I fear this has been a
great shock to her, and to you too;" and then he shook hands and
went out into the darkness. When he was half-way down the drive he
turned round--the door was still open, and the cheerful light
streamed out into the blackness. Elizabeth was standing on the
threshold looking after him. When she saw him stop she waved her
hand with a friendly 'good-night;' then the door closed, and there
was only the October darkness, and an eerie, wandering wind moaning
through the woodlands.

CHAPTER XXX

IN KENSINGTON GARDENS

If you would fall into any extreme, let it be on the side of
gentleness. The human mind is so constructed that it resists
vigour and yields to softness.
--ST. FRANCIS DE SALES.

Malcolm went up by an early train the next morning. He had a long
day's work before him--a mass of correspondence to sift, several
business interviews, and some proofs to revise. It was later than
usual when he went back to Cheyne Walk, but Verity had put aside his
dinner for him, and sat beside him while he ate it. She even brought
him coffee with her own hands. Perhaps these little womanly
attentions soothed him insensibly--though he was so used to them by
this time that he was almost tempted to take them as a matter of
course--for his face lost its strained, weary look.

"There is a beautiful fire in your room, Mr. Herrick," she observed
cheerfully before she left him. "I shall tell Amias that you are
tired, and that he must not expect you in the studio to-night."

Malcolm smiled gratefully. "What a good little soul you are, Verity-
-you always say just the right thing! Tell Goliath, with my love,
that I am busy, so there must be no pipe and no palaver to-night. I
shall have to be up betimes too;" and then he took counsel with
Verity as to the hour when his breakfast should be served.

It was quite true that he had business waiting to be done;
nevertheless, as he lay back in his easy-chair by the fire, he could
not bring himself to take up his pen. At this very hour on the
previous evening he had been with Elizabeth; the dear face--dearer,
alas! than ever--had been before him; the changing, characteristic
voice, so musical yet so uneven, had been in his ears! He recalled
her look as she stood so wrapt in thought in the alcove before she
perceived his presence. Its deep sadness had surprised him. What
could be troubling her? In a few months she would marry the man she
loved. Truly God's best gifts were hers--health, wealth, and love--
and yet the shadowed brow and the eyes misty with unshed tears
seemed to speak of some hidden sorrow. What could it be? That was
his last waking thought that night, and the question still troubled
him when he walked the next morning in the direction of Kensington
Gardens to keep his self-made tryst with Leah Jacobi.

He knew the gate that was nearest to Gresham Gardens; but it was
long before the hour that Hugh Rossiter had mentioned when he
reached it, and began pacing up and down like a sentinel on duty.

Fortunately the morning was fine, and a faint gleam of sunshine
tried to penetrate the thin haze brooding over the Gardens. Although
it was the last day of October, the air was mild; but, contrary to
his usual custom, Malcolm failed to notice the effect of the
clinging mist round the leafless trees, the nebulous distances, and
the faint golden streaks of sunshine; his mind was full of the
approaching interview and the difficult work that lay before him.

It was so early that the place seemed quite deserted; but presently
he heard dogs barking, and the next moment two little fox-terriers,
curiously alike, rushed past him intent on their play. He recognised
them at once from Cedric's description--they were Tim and Tartar,
belonging to Saul Jacobi; and he knew their mistress was at hand.

He looked at her intently as she came slowly towards him. She wore a
dark red dress and jacket, that set off her graceful figure, and her
close velvet hat was a darker shade of the same colour.

On any one else the effect might have been too striking, but it
exactly suited her; and as Malcolm noticed the exquisite colour of
her face and the. wonderful coils of black hair, he was obliged to
acknowledge that Cedric's temptation had been strong, and that many
an older man might have lost his heart to so beautiful a creature.

Leah's eyes had been fixed on the ground, and she did not see
Malcolm until she was quite close to him; but, though she was
evidently surprised to meet him, she only bowed gravely, and would
have passed on. But Malcolm placed himself at her side.

"You are an early riser, Miss Jacobi," he observed in a friendly
tone. "Are you always so energetic?"

"I like an early morning walk," she replied quietly; but there was
an uneasy flush on her face, as though she found Malcolm's society
embarrassing. "I generally have the Gardens to myself at this hour.
My brother is a late riser, and this is my leisure time. I have
never met you here before, Mr. Herrick;" and here Leah gave him a
quick, furtive glance from under her long lashes.

"I daresay not," he returned coolly, "this is hardly my beat. To
tell you the truth. Miss Jacobi, my errand is to you this morning."
A quick, undefinable expression almost resembling fear came over her
face; but she answered him quietly.

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