VI
The Decision
Christopher wrote to Roderick, advising him of his coming to the Hague, and quickly made all his arrangements. Now that he had made his decision he was almost glad to be going. He longed to leave England behind him, and with it, all his uncertainties. Two days before his departure he visited Lady Frances.
She received him in her drawing-room. She thought she had never seen him look so old.
“Well, dear Chris?”
He sat down beside her, trying to smile.
“I have come to—say farewell, Lady Fanny.”
She sat very still.
“Ah … Holland.”
“Yes, Holland. You understand that I cannot remain in London?”
“I suppose so,” she sighed. “Poor Chris!”
“Don’t—pity me! I can’t bear it. There’s no peace for me in England, and no work. Always I think of Roxhythe, longing only to see him—to hear his voice—feel his hand in mine—.” He stopped, biting his lip. “I am sorry. I have no right to weary you with such—foolishness.”
She took both his hands.
“Chris, are we not friends? How could I be wearied? Won’t you—tell me everything?”
“You are so kind,” said Christopher. “You’ve always been so kind—I—oh, to be able to talk to someone!”
“I know. You won’t go back to Roxhythe?”
“I cannot. You know what happened. You have heard all the tales concerning my lord. I should be acting falsely to all that I hold most sacred if I gave way to my longing to be with him.”
Again she sighed.
“And he does not—care as I care. It is not to be expected. Lady Fanny—I am not—complaining, but—I loved him so greatly! I trusted him so! And he tricked me. It’s—all over. I’ve to forget it all. I’ve to forget Roxhythe, and all that he meant to me. I must go right away, where I shall not be so constantly reminded of him.”
She stroked his hand gently.
“So you are for Holland? Perhaps it is best after all. But I shall miss you sadly, Chris.”
“Please—don’t speak of it! I’ve so loved your friendship! But I must go.”
“I know you must, Chris. And I know how hard it is.”
“Hard!” he whispered. “It is—tearing my heart out of my body. I—” he smiled crookedly. “I leave it—with him. I suppose I shall be at peace again—one day. But I shall always remember these wonderful years—when I was—so happy. I should—be grateful for them—for the memory of them. Sometime I shall look back on it all calmly—but just now—I daren’t let myself think!”
“Dear boy, I am sorry from the depths of my heart! But you are right; this great, great ache will fade—you’ll only remember the happiness and be glad that you were happy. And you’ll be happy again. You have your brother.”
“Yes. He—doesn’t count, you know. I—never cared for him greatly, and since I have been with—Roxhythe—he has had all my love. He has it still. There will never be another in his place. I’m a weak fool—but—oh, Lady Frances, I want him so much!”
She tugged at his bowed shoulders.
“Don’t, Chris! Ah, don’t! He’s not worth it! Oh, why, why did he catch you in his net?”
“God knows. I don’t really regret it. He has been responsible for so much that was wonderful in my life. And now—I hate all other masters. I compare them, you see—and they don’t bear comparison. Roxhythe was—I hardly know—incomparable.”
“He is just Roxhythe,” said Fanny sadly.
Christopher caught his breath in a half-sob, half laugh.
“ ‘I am Roxhythe.’ … I can hear him say it—in that soft voice! So haughtily! Yes, he is just Roxhythe.” He stood up, biting his lip. “I leave the day after tomorrow, Lady Frances. You’ll not—quite forget me?”
“Forget my Chris? Is it likely? One day you will come back. I am going to wait till then. You won’t forget me, I hope?”
He kissed her hands.
“It were impossible. I shall never forget—all your kindness. You’ll let me write to you?”
“You must write,” she said. “I should be so sad if you did not.”
“I can’t thank you enough—Goodbye, Lady Fanny!”
My lady put her hands on his shoulders and lifted her face.
“You may kiss me, Chris. My poor, poor, Chris!”