Robin Redbreast: A Story for Girls

'Yes, but Frank, though she has never said it actually, I have suspicions that she wants to help us practically – to increase our income,' said Mrs Mildmay with some hesitation.

'My dear child, I could never consent to anything of the kind,' exclaimed Colonel Mildmay, starting up. 'Her hospitality I am most grateful for; she may even do things for the children in the future, for Jacinth, I suppose, especially, as a godmother or a very old friend might. I am not foolishly proud. If she likes to leave you or Jacinth a little remembrance in her will, it would not be unnatural. But beyond that' —

'I know, I know,' interposed his wife, hurriedly. 'Of course I feel the same. But you see, if we talk this over with her, it will both gratify her and put things for always in their proper light.'

'Very well; I will do so, then,' said Colonel Mildmay. And then he turned and looked at his wife, for there was moonlight by this time, very earnestly. 'I don't doubt you, Eugenia,' he said; 'you know I never could. But you agree with me entirely, my dearest, do you not? I could never accept a position of the kind. And above all, when we know that there are others – the Harpers, I mean – who have claims upon her. For, but for the grandfather's misconduct, he would have had a good proportion of what is now Lady Myrtle's.'

'I absolutely agree with you, Frank,' Mrs Mildmay replied. 'And my most earnest hope is that our good old friend may come to see things in the right light with regard to her own family. This very conversation which I am urging may be a means of leading her to do so.'

Mrs Mildmay's courage would perhaps have failed her had she known what the 'conversation' she alluded to so lightly was really to consist of. It began by the most strenuous opposition on the old lady's side to the Barmettle plan. She had set her heart on Colonel Mildmay's accepting the post in London which was, according to her, 'the very thing to be desired for him.'

'You would be so near me,' she said. 'Any or all of you could come down at any time. Robin Redbreast would be your country home.'

Colonel Mildmay smiled gently while he thanked her, and then he reminded her of the overwhelming difference of the two appointments as regarded the 'pay.'

'But that needn't – that would not signify,' Lady Myrtle began, though with evident difficulty in expressing herself, while Mrs Mildmay's heart beat faster as she realised that they were approaching 'the tug of war.' 'I – you must know – it is only natural;' and with other confused expressions about Jacinth being to her 'as her own child,' 'no one of her own kith or kin except the Elvedons,' whose affairs were long ago definitely arranged, and references to her unforgotten devotion to the Jacinth of her youth, the old lady plunged into the thick of things. She had not meant to speak so soon, she said; she had wished her intentions to be faits accomplis before she disclosed them, but all this had upset her and she must explain.

And then she told the whole, and Colonel and Mrs Mildmay, though a little prepared for some announcement of proposed benefit to Jacinth in the future, listened in appalled and almost stunned silence to Lady Myrtle Goodacre's eccentric and, in their eyes, extravagant determination.

Jacinth was to be her heir – all that she had to dispose of, and it was still a great deal, even without that portion of her wealth which, with the knowledge that the old lord would have approved of her doing so, she meant to restore to the title; even shorn of that and of some other property on the Goodacre side which she only liferented, Lady Myrtle was a rich old woman. And all she had to leave, short of legacies to certain hospitals and other benevolent institutions which she had interested herself in, all was to be Jacinth's. The only landed property was Robin Redbreast and the small farm belonging to it, but in money there would be more than enough to keep up three or four places of its size.

Mrs Mildmay's heart sank, as she listened, but so far neither she nor her husband had interrupted the speaker by word or movement. And she, gaining confidence by their silence, at last came to the final announcement.

'So you see, my dear friends, that looking upon Jacinth as I do, it is only consistent – consistent, and I may say necessary– that you consent to my at once arranging for a proper allowance, whatever you like to call it, being arranged for her. And this – of course you will agree with me, that this must be an amount sufficient not only for a thoroughly good education, but for her to be surrounded by everything right and fitting for the position she will be called upon to occupy, perhaps not so very long hence, for I am an old woman. And I do not want to teach or induce any selfishness or self-assertion; I have the very greatest respect for parental authority; I will tell her nothing, or only what you approve of her knowing. But you see how it affects the present position of things, and your present decision, my dear Colonel Mildmay.'

Colonel Mildmay moved uneasily in his chair, but still he did not speak.

'You must see,' Lady Myrtle proceeded, 'that it would be entirely inconsistent in these circumstances for you to bury yourself and Eugenia and the children in a dreadful place like Barmettle. You will, I feel satisfied, agree that in anticipating the future a little, as it were, and allowing me at once to – to place a certain income at your disposal – an income which I am sure Jacinth will continue when things are in her own hands – you are only acting reasonably and – justly, I may say, as well as in a manner really to earn my gratitude.'

The old lady's voice trembled ominously: this strange continued silence was beginning to rouse some apprehension. As she uttered the last word – 'gratitude' – Mrs Mildmay, hitherto entirely quiescent till her husband thought well to speak, could no longer restrain herself. She leant forward and caught Lady Myrtle's hand in hers.

'My dear, most kind friend,' she said, and her own voice was tremulous, 'how can you use such an expression? You grateful to us! Ah, no indeed; as long as we live we shall be at a loss how to show our gratitude to you.'

'Yes indeed,' said Colonel Mildmay. 'I do not know how to express my appreciation of all your goodness. I' —

'Then you consent,' exclaimed Lady Myrtle, her bright eyes sparkling. 'You will be my children; you will let me feel that my lonely life is to have some joy before its close.'

'Indeed, indeed, all we can do, we shall,' said Colonel Mildmay very gently. 'You cannot ask more affection than we are most ready to give. But' – He hesitated, and the look of eager satisfaction faded out of the old lady's face.

'But!' she repeated sharply. 'What "buts" can there be in so simple a matter?'

It was a distressing position. Colonel Mildmay, essentially a kind-hearted man and most averse to giving pain, felt it acutely. But he was not one to temporise. It was a case demanding the plainest speaking.

'My dear Lady Myrtle,' he said, 'if I am blunt or rough, forgive me. It is just this. I cannot agree to what I think wrong, and I could never feel it right to agree to what you propose. I am still young enough and strong enough to work for my family in my profession, and the day I began to lead an idle, or even a comparatively idle life, would see me a miserable man. If you are so good as to continue your interest in my children – Jacinth especially – by asking them to visit you sometimes, we shall be most grateful. If – if you like to leave Jacinth some little sum of money in your will which would help or increase any provision I can make for her, I would be foolish and ungracious in the extreme to object. But more than this – no, my dear friend, no. For – and here I must crave your pardon beforehand for what must seem impertinence and intrusion – not only have we, we Mildmays, no claim upon you, but – there are those who have.'

CHAPTER XVI.

A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT

There was an awful pause. Such at least it seemed to poor Mrs Mildmay, who, now that she was not called upon to act for herself, and felt under the protection of her husband, dared to tremble! Then came Lady Myrtle's reply, short, cold, and decisive.

'I deny it,' she said.

Colonel Mildmay did not speak.

The old lady glanced at him. His eyes were fixed on the table beside which he was seated; he tapped it lightly with a paper-cutter which he held in his hand. And after a moment's waiting she spoke again.

'I know what you refer to,' she said. 'It would be nonsense to pretend I do not. And I can – even – understand how to you it may seem that the claim you allude to exists. But, if you have talked together about these – these people, as no doubt you have done, has not Eugenia told you what I have told her, that on a certain day my father and I shook ourselves free from the bonds which had become shackles of shame; that from that time Bernard Harper and all belonging to him ceased to be more to us than any stranger we might brush against in the street?'

Colonel Mildmay raised his head and looked at her quietly.

'It could not be done; the bonds do exist and must exist,' he said. 'The great thing is that, however cruelly they may have torn and wounded you in the past, they may now be to you a cause of happiness and satisfaction.'

But Lady Myrtle shook her head.

'I will never acknowledge even the possibility of my recognising these descendants of my former brother as anything to me,' she said. And the quietness with which she spoke was very impressive. 'I have given them assistance because I believe them to be worthy people in sore need. I may even do so again if you tell me their need continues. But that is all. I should be false to my dead father if I did otherwise.

'Still, the late Lord Elvedon – your father, I mean – looked forward to his elder son's children being reinstated,' Colonel Mildmay ventured to say. 'Why then, in the actual circumstances of his younger grandchildren being to the full as worthy and in far greater need, why treat them so differently?'

Lady Myrtle hesitated, for half a second only, but even that was something.

'My father could not have contemplated the possibility of Bernard's descendants being – of their wiping out his disgrace,' she said at last confusedly.

'Exactly,' Colonel Mildmay replied quickly. 'And it was only natural. But as he did not contemplate a state of things which has actually come to pass, how can his directions affect you with regard to these facts?'

Lady Myrtle again shook her head. She had grown very pale, but otherwise she was completely self-controlled.

'I cannot argue in that way. I do not even pretend to be logical,' she said. 'I can only repeat – so it is. So now you understand. If I did not leave that part of my property which I conscientiously believe to be at my own disposal to the one I have chosen – the child who it seemed to me had been sent to brighten in some measure the loneliness of my old age;' and here her firm clear voice trembled, 'then – my will must stand as it is, and all destined for Jacinth, and in a sense for you yourselves, shall go to the two hospitals I have selected as the most worthy of help. I will have no compromises, no half measures.'

Colonel Mildmay bowed.

'Then let it be so,' he said. 'It is certainly not for me to dictate to you, dear Lady Myrtle.'

She seemed a little perplexed by his manner.

'Why should I give in to you?' she said inconsequently. 'Why should I not leave my fortune to Jacinth all the same? Why do you take for granted that I shall not do so? should she be punished for your – your obstinacy and quixotry?' and in spite of herself a smile crept over the old lady's face.

'I do not take it for granted,' said Colonel Mildmay. 'I know that you would not act towards Jacinth in such a way as to place her in opposition to her parents. I know that you respect our way of viewing the matter, however you may disagree with it.'

Lady Myrtle seemed mollified.

'You judge me rightly,' she said. 'If one feeling is stronger than another in me, it is respect for parental authority and influence. You are right. I would not so act to your child as to sow discord and disunion between her and those nearest and dearest to her after I am gone. But, let me ask you one thing – is your present decision quite irreversible?'

Colonel Mildmay sat silent for a minute considering deeply.

'Yes,' he said; 'I do not see any choice. I cannot take the London appointment – to live in reality, my dear lady, on your bounty. For that is what it would be. And even if such a position had been possible for me – and I confess I cannot conceive its being so – still less possible would it be now that you know our mind as to the ultimate disposal of things, and that we have been forced to thwart your more than generous, your unprecedented goodness to us.'

'Then you will go to Barmettle?'