Her lips quivered. She drew her hands away, and put one of them out to grasp a chair-back. “Oh, Edward, the worst!” she whispered.
He grew paler. “Your note alarmed me. Good God, what is it?”
Miss Winwood pressed her handkerchief to her mouth. “Lord Rule was with Mama yesterday—in this very room.” She raised her eyes imploringly to his face. “Edward, it is all at an end. Lord Rule has offered for my hand.”
A dreadful stillness fell in the shadowed room. Miss Winwood stood with bowed head before Mr Heron, leaning a little on the chair-back.
Mr Heron did not move, but presently he said rather hoarsely: “And you said—?” But it was hardly a question; he spoke it mechanically, knowing what she must have said.
She made a hopeless gesture—“What can I say? You know so well how it is with us.”
He took a step away from her, and began to pace up and down the room. “Rule!” he said. “Is he very rich?”
“Very rich,” replied Elizabeth desolately.
Words crowded in Mr Heron’s throat, hurt, angry, passionate words, yet not one of them could he utter. Life had dealt him her cruellest blow, and all that he could find to say, and that in a numb voice which did not seem to belong to him, was: “I see.” He perceived that Elizabeth was silently weeping, and at once came to her, and took her hands, and drew her to a couch. “Oh, my love, don’t cry!” he said, a catch in his own voice. “Perhaps it is not too late: we can contrive something—we must contrive something!” But he spoke without conviction, for he knew that he would never have anything to set against Rule’s fortune. He put his arms round Elizabeth, and laid his cheek against her curls while her tears fell on his gay scarlet coat.
After a little while she drew herself away. “I am making you unhappy too,” she said.
At that he went down on his knee beside her, and hid his face in her hands. She did not make any effort to pull them away, but said only: “Mama has been so kind. I am permitted to tell you myself. It is—it must be goodbye, Edward. I have not the strength to continue seeing you. Oh, is it wrong of me to say that I shall have you in my heart always—always?”
“I cannot let you go!” he said with suppressed violence. “All our hopes—our plans—Elizabeth, Elizabeth!”
She did not speak, and presently he raised his face, flushed now and haggard. “What can I do? Is there nothing?”
She touched the couch beside her. “Do you think I have not tried to think of something?” she said sadly. “Alas, did we not feel always that ours was nothing but a dream, impossible to realize?”
He sat down again, leaning his arm on his knee, and looking down at his own neat boot. “It’s your brother,” he said. “Debts.”
She nodded. “Mama told me so much that I did not know. It is worse than I imagined. Everything is mortgaged, and there are Charlotte and Horatia to think for. Pelham has lost five thousand guineas at a sitting in Paris.”
“Does Pelham never win?” demanded Mr Heron despairingly.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “He says he is very unlucky.”
He looked up. “Elizabeth, if it hurts you I am sorry, but that you should be sacrificed to Pelham’s selfish, thoughtless—”
“Oh, hush!” she begged. “You know the Fatal Tendency in us Winwoods. Pelham cannot help it. My father even! When Pelham came into his inheritance he found it already wasted. Mama explained it all to me. She is so very sorry, Edward. We have mingled our tears. But she thinks, and how can I not feel the truth of it, that it is my Duty to the Family to accept of Lord Rule’s offer.”
“Rule!” he said bitterly. “A man fifteen years your senior! a man of his reputation. He has only to throw his glove at your feet, and you—Oh God, I cannot bear to think of it!” His writhing fingers created havoc amongst his pomaded curls. “Why must his choice light upon you?” he groaned. “Are there not others enough?”
“I think,” she said diffidently, “that he wishes to ally himself with our Family. They say he is very proud, and our name is—is also a proud one.” She hesitated, and said, colouring: “It is to be a marriage of convenience, such as are the fashion in France. Lord Rule does not—cannot—pretend to love me, nor I him.” She glanced up, as the gilt time-piece on the mantelshelf chimed the hour. “I must say goodbye to you,” she said, with desperate calm. “I promised Mama—only half an hour. Edward—” She shrank suddenly into his embrace—“Oh, my love, remember me!” she sobbed.
Three minutes later the library door slammed, and Mr Heron strode across the hall towards the front door, his hair in disorder, his gloves and cocked hat clenched in his hand.
“Edward!” The thrilling whisper came from the stairhead. He glanced up, heedless of his ravaged face and wild appearance.
The youngest Miss Winwood leaned over the balustrade, and laid a finger on her lips. “Edward, c-come up! I must speak to you!”
He hesitated, but an imperious gesture from Horatia brought him to the foot of the stairs. “What is it?” he asked curtly.
“Come up!” repeated Horatia impatiently.
He slowly mounted the stairs. His hand was seized, and he was whisked into the big withdrawing-room that overlooked the street.
Horatia shut the door. “D-don’t speak too loud! Mama’s bedroom is next door. What did she say?”
“I have not seen Lady Winwood,” Mr Heron answered heavily.
“Stupid! L-Lizzie!”
He said tightly: “Only goodbye.”
“It shan’t be!” said Horatia, with determination. “L-listen, Edward! I have a p-plan!”
He looked down at her, a gleam of hope in his eyes. “I’ll do anything!” he said. “Only tell me!”
“It isn’t anything for you to do,” said Horatia. “I am g-going to do it!”
“You?” he said doubtfully. “But what can you do?”
“I d-don’t know, but I’m g-going to try. M-mind, I can’t be sure that it will succeed, but I think perhaps it m-might.”
“But what is it?” he persisted.
“I shan’t say. I only told you because you looked so very m-miserable. You had better trust me, Edward.”
“I do,” he assured her. “But—”
Horatia pulled him to stand in front of the mirror over the fireplace. “Then straighten your hair,” she said severely. “J-just look at it. You’ve crushed your hat too. There! Now, g-go away, Edward, before Mama hears you.”
Mr Heron found himself pushed to the door. He turned and grasped Horatia’s hand. “Horry, I don’t see what you can do, but if you can save Elizabeth from this match—”
Two dimples leapt into being; the grey eyes twinkled. “I know. You w-will be my m-most obliged servant. Well, I will!”
“More than that!” he said earnestly.
“Hush, Mama will hear!” whispered Horatia, and thrust him out of the room.
Chapter Two
Mr Arnold Gisborne, lately of Queen’s College, Cambridge, was thought by his relatives to have been very fortunate to have acquired the post of secretary to the Earl of Rule. He was tolerably satisfied himself; employment in a noble house was a fair stepping-stone to a Public Career, but he would have preferred, since he was a serious young man, the service of one more nearly concerned with the Affairs of the Nation. My Lord of Rule, when he could be moved thereto, occasionally took his seat in the Upper House, and had been known to raise his pleasant, lazy voice in support of a motion, but he had no place in the Ministry, and he displayed not the smallest desire to occupy himself with Politicks. If he spoke, Mr Gisborne was requested to prepare his speech, which Mr Gisborne did with energy and enthusiasm, hearing in his imagination the words delivered in his own crisp voice. My lord would glance over the sheets of fine handwriting, and say: “Admirable, my dear Arnold, quite admirable. But not quite in my mode, do you think?” And Mr Gisborne would have sadly to watch my lord’s well-kept hand driving a quill through his most cherished periods. My lord, aware of his chagrin, would look up and say with his rather charming smile: “I feel for you, Arnold, believe me. But I am such a very frippery fellow, you know. It would shock the Lords to hear me utter such energetic sentiments. It would not do at all.”