Mr. Calder laid down his pen in resignation. He had been attempting to compose a letter to his solicitor, but the several people in the room who had come in to disturb him would not let him continue.
“I thought a man’s library was meant to be his private domain, even if his home has ceased to be his castle,” remarked he.
“How can you be so calm?” exclaimed his wife in return. “And how can you speak about castles when your daughter’s welfare is at stake?”
“I am afraid I do not catch the gist of your ideas, my dear.”
“I am speaking about your daughter, Sir! Kindly do not make fun of me!”
“I should never make fun of you, Eliza,” returned the minister with a reproachful look, “least of all, when you are speaking about Anne. Why, what is wrong now?”
“Why, Sir! What do you think? How can she be so selfish? To wish to come home, just when she is getting along very well! Does not she have any consideration for us?”
“That is what you wished to know when she first desired to go away.”
“But then things were very different. She had not been to Carlton House, nor begun to be on intimate terms with a good kind of people. I thought she was going to make a mockery of us all.”
“But now that she has met the Prince, you think she shall do us credit?”
Mrs. Calder sniffed.
“I am of Mama’s opinion,” put in the second Miss Calder, a handsome, strapping girl of plain speech. “Anne ought not to come home now. After all, she wished to go away, despite the mockery it made of us to have her acting as a governess. Maria is getting along very well with Mr. Siddons, and I have no doubt they shall be soon engaged to marry.”
“And you, Harriet, are doing pretty well by yourself, too,” added her father, with a sly look which Miss Calder chose to ignore.
“I am not speaking on my own behalf, Papa. But for Maria’s sake, and my mother’s, I think it is unfair for Anne to come home, just now. It is certain to ruin everything between Maria and Mr. Siddons, just when things were going along so well.”
“And for the greater convenience of Mr. Siddons, I am expected to let my eldest daughter make shift as well as she can in a strange city,” remarked Mr. Calder ironically.
“She has shifted perfectly well thus far, my dear,” his wife pointed out. “Why, only look at her! She went to London with an hundred pounds, and has now as her circle of acquaintance two countesses, a baronet, and the Prince himself!”
Here Ben, who had risen from his couch to join in the family argument, chose to speak up. “I do not think she regards the Prince as quite her intimate acquaintance, Ma’am.”
“Why, she took tea with him! And sat next to the Princess Lieven all the while!” retorted Mrs. Calder. “At least, that is what you have told us. It would have been very kind in her to write about it to her parents, rather than that brief little note!”
“That is neither here nor there, Eliza,” interrupted Mr. Calder. “I am not a reader of minds, and cannot guess what has made her so unhappy. But unhappy she certainly is, or she would not give up so easily. It is not like Anne to admit defeat.”
Now Ben added his agreement, and his mother, seeing herself as one against two, appealed to her daughter for support:
“Do not you think it most unkind of her, Harriet, to come home just when she was getting to the point where she might have done us all some good, rather than harm?”
“Most unkind, Mama,” affirmed the young lady. “She ought to stay where she is. Why, perhaps Sir Basil will marry her!”
“I do not think so, Harriet,” interjected Ben with a smile. “From what I gather, she does not hold a very high opinion of him, and he sounds too arrogant to fall in love with his ward’s governess.”
“What do you think has made her so miserable, Ben?” demanded his father. “Be so good as to be silent for a moment, ladies, and let us hear Ben’s opinion.”
The ladies, who had both opened their mouths at once, subsided with equal discontent. Their eyes turned simultaneously upon the young man, wrapped in a blanket and sitting upon a chair.
He thought for a moment, and then replied, slowly:
“Indeed, Sir, I cannot guess. It is the first time I have ever been so completely ignorant of Anne’s thoughts. Her letters, until this last one—” nodding toward the missive which lay upon a corner of Mr. Calder’s desk—“have all been cheerful and full of her usual good humour. Perhaps she has been concealing things from me—I don’t know. That must be the case, for she has given no hint of any misery, if indeed there is any. Save that she was discouraged with her writing, and had been unable to put anything down that she liked.”
“Pooh!” exclaimed Harriet. “Why should that make anyone miserable?”
“It could not, my dear,” replied her mama. “No doubt there is some other cause. I doubt not but that she has changed her mind about Mr. Siddons, and wishes to marry him after all now that he is nearly wed to Maria.”
“I beg of you, ladies, to be quiet for a moment!” commanded Mr. Calder, and turning to his son, he inquired if there had been no other mention of her work?
“She did mention that her novel had come out, Sir, but said no more about it. Only that her publisher advised her to keep up in the same line rather than to change. But I have got a clipping here from the London Courier, Sir, which speaks very glowingly about the book.”
“Why, let me see it!” Mr. Calder glanced over the sheet, and after a moment, exclaimed, “Why, this is most high praise! Fancy! I never knew we had a genius in the family!”
“A most selfish genius!” sniffed Harriet, doubly cross to see her sister defended, on the one hand, and praised for what she had always considered her idiotic scribbling, on the other. “Why, what does it say?”
Mr. Calder read them some excerpts of the column, and lifted his eyeglass to gaze at his wife.
“Now, then, Eliza—what do you have to say about your daughter?”
Mrs. Calder had several things to say, not the least of which was a condemnation of the young lady for being ashamed of her family name.
“Why should she keep it secret? Has she no pity for us? After shaming us all by going to be a governess, she might at least salvage our reputation a little by letting it be known who she is, when at last she does something we might all take pride in!”
“She did not wish to offend you and my father,” put in Ben gently, “in case it was not well received. She would not make you the laughing stock of the whole neighbourhood, she said.”
“Now here is something I hope you will attend to, Eliza,” pronounced the lady’s husband, much in the same voice he used upon the pulpit. “Here is a sentiment worthy of your respect and gratitude.”
Mrs. Calder said nothing. Her nerves were faring very poorly, and she was too confused to know what to think.
“We shall welcome her home with open arms,” continued Mr. Calder, “and let her know that she is well loved here, whether she choose to marry or no. The other girls have my consent to marry as they please, and you, my dear, must just accustom yourself to the idea that one of your daughters may live a solitary life. I have already written to tell her so, in any case. I dare say we shall see her any day now.”
“It was you, Arthur, who made her promise to stay for a whole year,” cried Mrs. Calder, “lest she take her own decision too lightly.”
“Well, well—perhaps I was wrong to do so. Even I am occasionally mistaken. Now run along, all of you, and leave me in peace. Do you, Ben, only wait a moment, please.”
Ben was very glad to stay, for he had more to say to his father than he would mention before his mother and sister, and when those ladies had left the room, he spoke up.
“Father, there is one other thing. . . .”
“Ah! I thought there might be.” Mr. Calder regarded his son very keenly. “You and Anne have always been as close as two peas in a pod. I supposed you might have some further insight into the case. What can have made her miserable, when she seemed to be going along so well?”
“I believe,” replied Ben slowly, “that it has got something to do with this.” Whereupon he handed over the last letter, but one, he had received from Ann, in which her visit to the Prince was described. “Only read the last two pages, Sir. The rest I have already told you.”
Mr. Calder did as he was bid, and after a while, looked up with a grave expression.
“I see what you mean. Such a suspicion must have made her situation very hard. Poor Anne! And she is so devoted to the child, as well as to Lady Cardovan. No doubt she has got some proof of her suspicions now. It would make her position exceedingly delicate. I suppose she thought she could not go along any more knowing what she did.”
Ben nodded. “That is my assumption, Sir. To be in constant contact with the lady whom she esteems so highly, and all the while suspecting what must never be mentioned———”
“Yes, yes,” nodded Mr. Calder. “It is not unheard of, for such a child, the product of a brief or illicit affair, to be brought up by strangers. That she should have come back, in this kind of guise, to her true parents must be the proof of a very skillful and secretive hand. No doubt it was arranged long ago, to look like a simple adoption. Everything points to it, does it not? Did not you say the father was only a very distant relative? Such kinds of things do happen, I am aware, in the more elevated levels of our society. What would be unheard of in a poor farmer, is quite common amongst the ton. Why! Look at the example our own Royal Family as set! Royal dukes think nothing of raising up a whole herd of illegitimate families! Poor child!”
“And poor Anne!”
“Indeed. Well, I am very glad you told me of it. It seems much clearer now, and I am glad Anne understands her duty so well. She could hardly stay on in that position.”
“That is my own opinion, Sir.”
“Yes, yes.”
The young man rose to leave the room, but was detained by a word from his father.
“Ben—I am aware of what you did to help Anne with her little triumph, and do not think I don’t esteem you for it.”
The young man coloured. “I had nothing to do with it, Sir.”
“Well, well—you have always been a modest fellow. But you are as clever as anyone, I know.”
Ben was too embarrassed by this show of praise to reply. He turned and fled out of the room as soon as he could.
Mr. Calder smiled after him, shaking his head. After a while, he resumed his letter writing. But the minister’s tranquility was destined to be disturbed yet again that morning, for in an hour the post arrived, brought by his youngest daughter from the village, on her way home from a visit to a friend. Mr. Calder looked over the correspondence briefly, and was surprised to see that one of the letters was directed from Regent’s Terrace, in an unfamiliar hand. He cut open the envelope, and read in amazement the following letter:
Friday, December 7
My dear Sir:
I hope you will not think me too forward in writing to you in this way, without the benefit of your acquaintance. And yet, if you do not know me, I feel almost that I know you, for I have heard much praise sung of you by your daughter, and believe you to be an exceptional kind of man.
I am writing to you unbeknownst to Miss Anne Calder, my ward’s governess, and of course, as you know, a very remarkable young woman in her own right. That such an exceptional member of her sex should be reduced to the position of seeking work as a governess to support herself strikes me as a great injustice of our society. To remedy just these kinds of injustices is, in a way, my work, though naturally on a rather different level. As you may know, I am presently under appointment by His Highness, Prince George, to the Court of the Tuileries. Though unable to perform many services of a personal kind, I have made every effort throughout my career to attempt, through diplomatic means, to improve England’s situation. My present obligation, therefore, seems clear, and I hope it will not strike you as odd or presumptuous, but only as the duty of a fellow Englishman, more blessed by circumstance than yourself.
Your daughter has mentioned to me that you have nine children, and that one of them is an invalid. My own mother was ill during a great deal of my childhood, and I know only too well what suffering such an illness can bring into a family. My father, Lord Hargate, was fortunate enough to provide the best medical attention for her, which must have eased some of the burden from his mind. I cannot fathom how it would have been, had he not been so well disposed, nor how much greater our own suffering would have been as a result. You, Sir, burdened with the support of so large a family, must feel doubly unfortunate. Accept, therefore, as a favour to myself, the enclosed bank draught. I have already spoken to Mr. Soames, the Regent’s own physican, who has kindly agreed to supervise your son’s care. When it is convenient for you, please be so kind as to let me know whether or not your son is too ill to travel. If so, Mr. Soames shall travel to your home. If not, I should be more than happy to have the young man reside with me whilst he is attended to. The accompanying draught should cover all of his expenses. Any more that is needed may be obtained through my banker, Harold Connhoughton, in Bond Street.
I know what a proud man you must be, but pray, for your son’s sake, do not allow false dignity to prevent any chance of his recovery. I am,
Your faithful servant,
Basil Ives
No words could express Mr. Calder’s amazement upon reading this document, nor his further astonishment when he was sufficiently recovered to glance at the enclosed check. One thousand pounds! One thousand pounds of misplaced charity! And all on account of his daughter’s desire to play a trick upon the world!
“Anne, Anne,” murmured the minister out loud, “what a devilish creature you are! And how am I to deal with this?”