CHAPTERII.
Atthe close of the second act, as she was urging her sister and brother-in-law to take some refreshment, she was disagreeably interrupted by hearing a voice which she recognised as that of Mr Portland, a friend of Lord Ilfracombe’s. Jack Portland (as he was usually called by his own sex) was a man whom Miss Llewellyn particularly disliked, on account of his bad influence over the Earl. He was a well-known betting and sporting man, who lived on the turf, and whose lead Lord Ilfracombe was, unfortunately, but too ready to follow. She shrunk back as she encountered him, but Mr Portland was not easily rebuffed.
‘Ah, Miss Llewellyn,’ he exclaimed, as he scrambled over the vacant seats to reach her side, ‘is this really you? I thought I recognised you from the stalls, but could hardly believe my eyes. What are you doing in the dress circle? I have always seen you in a box before.’
‘I am with friends, Mr Portland,’ replied Miss Llewellyn, with visible annoyance; ‘and one can see a play like this much better from the circle. We have been enjoying it very much.’
‘You must be pretty well sick of it by this time, I should think,’ returned Mr Portland, with his glass stuck in his eye, ‘for I’ve seen you here twice with Ilfracombe already. By the way, how is Ilfracombe? When did you hear from him last?’
Miss Llewellyn was on thorns.
‘Will you excuse me, Mr Portland,’ she said, with a face of crimson, ‘but I and my friends were just going to have some ices at the buffet.’
‘By Jove, but you won’t!’ exclaimed the officious Portland. ‘I will send them to you. How many do you want? Three?’
‘Yes, three if you please,’ answered Miss Llewellyn, who saw no other way of getting rid of her tormentor, and dreaded what he might say before her sister.
‘Who is that gentleman, Nell?’ inquired Hetty as soon as his back was turned.
‘No one in particular,’ said the other, ‘only an acquaintance of Lord Ilfracombe’s. Don’t take any notice of him, Hetty. He talks a lot of nonsense.’
She was praying all the time that Mr Portland, having given his orders to the waiter, might see he was not wanted, and go back to his stall. But he was not the sort of man who gives something for nothing. He meant to be paid for the attention, though in his own coin. The waiter soon appeared bearing the tray of ices and wafers, and in his train came Mr Jack Portland, smiling as if he knew his welcome was assured.
‘I’ve got you Neapolitan, Miss Llewellyn, you see. I remembered that Ilfracombe always orders Neapolitan. By the way, you never told me the contents of his last letter. He’s very gay at Malta I hear. Always with those Abingers. Have you heard of the Abingers? He’s the admiral there. By George, Miss Llewellyn, I’d recall Ilfracombe if I were you. Send him home orders, you know. He’s been out there quite long enough, don’t you think so?’
Miss Llewellyn saw that Hetty and William were listening with open eyes to this discourse, and did not know how to stop Mr Portland’s tongue. She would fain have got rid of him altogether, but of the two evils she chose what seemed to her the least. She lowered her voice, and begged him to cease his remarks on Lord Ilfracombe till they were alone.
‘That’s the way the land lies,’ he replied, with a wink in the direction of Hetty. ‘All right, mum’s the word! How deucedly handsome you are looking to-night,’ he added in a lower voice, as he brought his bloated face in close proximity to hers. ‘Tell you what, Miss Llewellyn, Ilfracombe’s a fool!—a d—d fool, by George! to leave such a face and figure as yours, whilst he goes gallivanting after a set of noodles at Malta!’
At this remark Nell flushed indignantly, and, turning her back on the intruder, directed her attention to her sister, upon which Mr Portland, with a familiar nod, and an easy good-night, took himself away. As soon as he was out of hearing Hetty pestered Nell to tell her his name, and to confess if he was anything to her.
‘I can’t say I think he’s handsome,’ she said, with a littlemoue, ‘his face is so red, and he stares so; but do tell me the truth, Nell. Is he your young man?’
‘My young man? Gracious, no, child! Why, I hate the fellow! I think he is the most odious, impertinent, presuming person I know! But he is a friend of Lord Ilfracombe’s, so I am obliged to be civil to him.’
‘Ah, well, I wish you had a young man, Nell, all the same. Mother would be so glad to hear you were thinking of getting married. She often says that it is high time you were settled, and that you’re far too handsome to be single in London, for that it’s a dreadful dangerous place for girls, and especially if they’re good looking. Shewouldbe pleased to hear you were keeping company with anyone that could keep you like a lady.’
‘But I’m not, Hetty, dear, nor likely to be, so you mustn’t get any ideas of that sort into your head. But let us attend to what is going on. I hope Will and you are enjoying yourselves.’
‘Oh, lovely!’ said Hetty, with a sigh of ineffable content.
But Miss Llewellyn had not got rid of Mr Portland yet. As she was pushing her way out of the corridor when the play was over, she found him again by her side.
‘Will you be at home to-morrow, Miss Llewellyn?’ he asked in a low voice.
‘I believe so. Why?’
‘Because I particularly want to speak to you. May I call about three?’
‘Certainly, if you really wish to speak to me; but I cannot imagine what you can have to say that you cannot say now?’
‘Oh, that would be quite impossible,’ rejoined Mr Portland, looking her straight in the eyes; ‘I couldn’t even explain what my business with you is, but you shall hear all about it if you will be so good as to receive me about three.’
‘I shall be at home,’ replied Miss Llewellyn coldly, as she pushed her way out into the street and entered a passing cab with her companions.
‘I shall call for you both to-morrow about six o’clock, Hetty,’ she said, as she deposited them at the door of their lodgings, ‘and take you to the Alhambra. You’ll see something there more beautiful than you have ever seen before.’
‘Oh, Nell, youaregood!’ cried her sister; ‘and what a lot of money you must receive. It makes me wish that I, too, had come up to London town when you did, and gone to service, for then I might have saved some money to help Will furnish our rooms. I brought him nothing, you know, Nell—not even a penny, It seems so sad, doesn’t it?’
‘What nonsense!’ replied Miss Llewellyn. ‘You brought him your true, pure heart and your honest soul, and they are worth all the money in the world, Hetty, and I am sure William thinks the same. Good-night. We shall meet again to-morrow.’
And with a wave of her hand, she drove away to Grosvenor Square.
Her maid was waiting up for her, all consternation to find she had left the house without calling in her assistance.
‘Dear me, ma’am!’ she exclaimed, as she knelt down on the floor of Miss Llewellyn’s bedroom to unbutton her dainty boots, ‘to think you could go out, and me not to dress you. When John told me you had left the house, and not even taken the carriage, you might have knocked me down with a feather. And in this dress and mantle, too! Dear, dear, wherever did you go? Not to the theatre, surely?’
‘Yes, I did,’ responded her mistress. ‘I took some young friends from the country with me to the Adelphi; and you see, Susan, the fact is, they are not used to fashionable dressing, so I thought I would not make them feel uncomfortable by being smarter than themselves.’
‘Many ladies think the same,’ remarked the maid; ‘though I don’t hold with it, for it’s a real pleasure to look at such dresses as yours, even if one can’t have ’em for oneself.’
She spoke rather more familiarly than servants usually do to their mistresses, for she knew perfectly well, though she dared not say so openly, that Miss Llewellyn was not a gentlewoman any more than herself, but it was, she thought, to her profit to appear to think so. The Court favourite is generally the object of adulation and sycophancy until her reign is over. But Ellen Llewellyn had been accustomed to subservience for so long now that she had almost forgotten that it was not hers by right. It was only at times that the truth was borne in upon her that she held the luxuries of life on an uncertain tenure. Her maid undressed her, and put her blue cashmere dressing-gown about her shoulders, and would have hovered around her for an indefinite period, chattering of every bit of news she had heard that day, but Miss Llewellyn was in no mood to indulge her, and dismissed her at last rather abruptly. She wanted to be alone to ponder over the surprise she had had that afternoon—to dream again of Panty-cuckoo Farm; to wonder how the dear old garden looked under the July sun; if her mother had aged much during the last five years; whether her father’s figure was more bent and his steps feebler—above all, she wanted to communicate her thoughts to someone who would sympathise with them. She felt too excited to rest, so she took up her pen again and finished the letter in the writing of which she had been interrupted that afternoon by her sister’s arrival.
‘I had written thus far, my dearest, when I was interrupted by the appearance of my little sister Hetty, from Usk, and her husband, William Owen, when I never even knew that they were married. Oh, Ilfracombe, I was so surprised! They have come up to town for their wedding trip expressly to see me, so I felt compelled to show them some attention. But I was so nervous! I hurried them out of the house as soon as I could, and took them to the Adelphi; and there, who should spy us out but Mr Portland, who would keep on talking to me of you till I was fairly obliged to run away from him. What a fool he must be to speak so openly before strangers. I could have boxed his ears! Oh, I never feel safe or happy except when I am by your side. How very glad I shall be when you come home again. Then you will take me up to Abergeldie with you for the shooting, won’t you? Till then I shall not stir. How could I enjoy myself at a watering-place all alone? I have seen nothing of Mr Sterndale yet, and cannot imagine what he should have to say to me. We never had much in common; indeed, I regularly dislike him. He always looks at me so suspiciously as if he thought I was a wretched harpy, like some women we know of, and cared for nothing but your money and your title. Instead of which I love you so dearly that I could almost wish you were a ruined costermonger, Ilfracombe, instead of the grand gentleman you are, that I might prove my love by working for you and with you. Ah, if I only could do something to return all your goodness to me; but it is hopeless, and will never be. You are too high above me. All I can do is to love you.’
‘I had written thus far, my dearest, when I was interrupted by the appearance of my little sister Hetty, from Usk, and her husband, William Owen, when I never even knew that they were married. Oh, Ilfracombe, I was so surprised! They have come up to town for their wedding trip expressly to see me, so I felt compelled to show them some attention. But I was so nervous! I hurried them out of the house as soon as I could, and took them to the Adelphi; and there, who should spy us out but Mr Portland, who would keep on talking to me of you till I was fairly obliged to run away from him. What a fool he must be to speak so openly before strangers. I could have boxed his ears! Oh, I never feel safe or happy except when I am by your side. How very glad I shall be when you come home again. Then you will take me up to Abergeldie with you for the shooting, won’t you? Till then I shall not stir. How could I enjoy myself at a watering-place all alone? I have seen nothing of Mr Sterndale yet, and cannot imagine what he should have to say to me. We never had much in common; indeed, I regularly dislike him. He always looks at me so suspiciously as if he thought I was a wretched harpy, like some women we know of, and cared for nothing but your money and your title. Instead of which I love you so dearly that I could almost wish you were a ruined costermonger, Ilfracombe, instead of the grand gentleman you are, that I might prove my love by working for you and with you. Ah, if I only could do something to return all your goodness to me; but it is hopeless, and will never be. You are too high above me. All I can do is to love you.’
And with much more in this strain the letter ended. The excitement that had been engendered in Nell by seeing friends from home had been continued by writing her feelings to the man she loved; but now that it was over, and she lay down on her bed, the natural reaction set in, and she turned her beautiful face on her pillow and shed a few quiet tears.
‘Oh, how I wish Ilfracombe were here,’ she sobbed. ‘He has been away four months now, and my life is a desert without him. It is hardly bearable. And if Hetty or William should hear—if by chance anyone who knows it, like that officious Jack Portland, should come across them and mention it, and they should tell mother, it would break her heart and mine too. If he would only have the courage to end it, and do what’s right. But it’s too much to expect. I must not think of such a thing. I have always known it was impossible. And I am as certain as I am that there is a heaven that he will never forsake me; he has said it so often. I am as secure as if I were really his wife. Only this world is so hard—so bitterly, bitterly hard!’
And so Nell cried herself to sleep.
But the next morning she was as bright and as gloriously beautiful as ever, and when she descended to breakfast the butler and footman waited on her as assiduously as if she had been a countess, and the coachman sent up to her for orders concerning the carriage, and the cook submitted the menu for that day’s dinner for her approval. As soon as her breakfast was concluded she gave an interview to Lord Ilfracombe’s stud groom, and went with him into the forage and stable accounts, detecting several errors that he had passed over, and consulting him as to whether his master might not, with some benefit to himself, try another corn merchant. So much had she had identified herself with all the earl’s interests that she more than once used the plural pronoun in speaking of the high prices quoted to her.
‘This will never do, Farningham,’ she said once; ‘we cannot afford to go on with Field at this rate. His charges are enough to ruin a millionaire. With four horses here, and eleven down at Thistlemere, we shall have nothing left to feed ourselves soon.’
‘Very well, ma’am,’ replied the man, ‘I’ll get the price list from two or three other corn merchants, and submit them to you. I don’t fancy you’ll find much difference, though, in their prices. You see, with the long drought we have had this season, hay has risen terribly, and oats ain’t much better; they’re so poor I’ve had to increase the feeds. Will his lordship be home for the hunting, ma’am?’
‘Oh, yes, I hope so sincerely, Farningham. He says he shall miss the grouse this year; but I quite expect him for the partridge-shooting. And after that he is sure to go down to Thistlemere for the hunting season. He couldn’t live without his horses for long, Farningham.’
‘No, ma’am, he’s a true nobleman for that is his lordship, and I guessed as much; but I’m glad to hear you say so, for there’s no heart in getting horses in first-rate order if no one’s to see ’em or use ’em. Good morning, ma’am, and I hope we shall see his lordship soon again, for all our sakes,’ which hope Miss Llewellyn heartily echoed.