That Girl in Black; and, Bronzie

Greatrex’s face fell; he had been quite excited and delighted, poor fellow.

“Come, now,” he said again, in a different tone, “are you sure, Bessie? I think you must be mistaken.”

“I think so, too,” I added, a little more eager myself now. “You may have forgotten the name. Saint Edric’s is – ” and I went on to describe the church.

“You came with a lady who looked like a governess,” and I concluded with some details as to this person’s appearance.

“Yes,” Mrs Greatrex said, “that sounds like our governess – Mrs Mills; she was with us several years. But it is not only that I was never at Saint Edric’s; I was never at church all those weeks in London at all. I had a bad attack of bronchitis. I remember particularly how vexed I was not to wear my new things, especially as we – ” suddenly a curious change of expression came over her face, and just at that instant her husband interrupted her.

“I have it,” he began excitedly, but he got no farther. “Bessie,” he exclaimed, with almost a shriek, “my dearest child, you’ve scalded me!” and he looked up ruefully from the contents of a cup of tea deposited on his knee.

“No, no,” his wife exclaimed, “it was only a little water I was pouring into my cup, and it was not very hot. But come along, I have a cloth in the conservatory, where I was arranging some flowers. I’ll rub it dry in an instant.”

She almost dragged him off – with unnecessary vehemence, it seemed to me. I could not make her out. “An odd little woman,” I thought. “I hope, for Greatrex’s sake, she’s not given to nerves or hysterics, or that sort of thing.”

But they were back in two minutes, Greatrex quite smiling and content, though he has owned to me since that his knee was scalded, all the same.

No more was said on the subject of reminiscences. Indeed, it seemed to me that Bessie rather avoided it, and a new idea struck me – perhaps Greatrex was given to frightful jealousy, though he hid it so well, and his wife had got him off into the conservatory to smooth him down. Yes, his manner was queer. Poor little woman! I forgave her her hair.

We strolled off to the stables, then to have a smoke, and thus idled away the time till the dressing-bell rang.

“We’re very punctual people,” said Greatrex, as he showed me to my room.

So I made haste, and found myself entering the drawing-room some few minutes before the hands of my watch had reached the dinner-hour.

“She is punctual,” I thought, as I caught sight of a white-robed figure standing with its back to me, full in the light of a suspended lamp, whose rays caught the gleam of her radiant hair. “Not – not very wise to be down before him, if he has the uncomfortable peculiarity that I suspect. By Jove! how much taller she looks in evening dress! Strange that it should make such a difference!”

“So your husband is the laggard, in spite of his boasted punctuality, Mrs Greatrex?” I began.

She turned towards me.

“I am not Mrs Greatrex,” she said, while she raised her soft brown eyes to my face, and a little colour stole into her cheeks.

The words were unnecessary. I stood silent, motionless, spell-bound.

“I – I am only her sister – Imogen Grey,” she went on.

I have asked her since if she thought me mad: she says not; but I feel as if I must have seemed so. For still I could not speak, though certain words seemed dancing like happy fairies across my brain. “Bronzie, my Bronzie! found at last. Bronzie!”

And in another instant good little Bessie Greatrex was in the room, busy introducing me to her sister, “Miss Grey,” and explaining that she had not been sure of Imogen’s arriving in time for dinner – had I heard the wheels just as we went up to dress?

She was a little confused; but it was not till afterwards that I thought of it. In a sort of dream I went in to dinner; in a sort of dream I went through that wonderful evening. They were as unlike as sisters could well be, except for the hair: unlike, and yet alike; for, if there is one woman in this world as good and true as my Bronzie, it is her sister Bessie.

Yes, she was – she is my Bronzie, though no one knows the name, nor the whole story, but our two happy selves.

And I had it out with Bessie; she suspected the truth while I was questioning her about her recollections, and then she saw it must have been Imogen, and not herself: the dragging off poor Greatrex into the conservatory was to tell him to hold his tongue. She wanted so to “surprise” me! I believe, at the bottom of my heart, that Greatrex and she had planned something of the kind even before they heard my unexpected reminiscences; and if they did, there was no harm in it. But – if she hadn’t been my Bronzie, nothing would have been any use; I should have lived and died unmarried.