CHAPTERIII.
TheCountess of Ilfracombe had had no desire to meet Mr Portland again; in fact, she would have declined the honour, had she not been afraid of exciting the suspicions of the earl; and she had not been under the same roof with him for more than a few days, before she was heartily sorry that she had not done so. Nora was a flirt, there was no question of that. She could keep a dozen men at her feet at the same time, and let each of them imagine he was the favoured individual. But she was not a fool. She had a countess’s coronet on her head, and she had no intention of soiling or risking the treasure she had won. Mr Jack Portland was, as the reader will have guessed, the same admirer of whomNora had spoken to Ilfracombe before their marriage, as having hair of the ‘goldenest golden’ hue, and who was the only man for whose loss she had ever shed a tear. The earl had been a little jealous at the time, but he had forgotten the circumstance long ago. When the countess heard she was destined to meet her old flame again, and as the intimate friend of her husband, she had felt rather afraid lest her heart should ache a little from the encounter. But the first glance at him had dispelled this idea. Two years is not a long time in reality, but it is far too long to indulge in continual dissipation with impunity. It had wrought havoc with the charms of Mr Jack Portland. His manly figure had begun to show signs ofembonpoint. His complexion was very florid, and there were dropsical-looking bags under his bloodshot eyes, and sundry rolls of flesh rising above the back of his collar, which are not very attractive in the eyes of ladies. His ‘goldenest golden’ hair had commenced tothin on the top, and his heated breath was too often tainted with the fumes of alcohol. The habits he had indulged in had destroyed the little modesty Mr Portland had ever possessed, and he was so presuming in his words and looks, that Nora had been on the point, more than once since he had come down to Thistlemere, of telling him to hold his tongue or leave the house. But then, there were those unfortunate letters of hers, which he retained, and the importance of the contents of which, perhaps she exaggerated. The fact is, that in the days when Mr Portland came to Malta to stay with the Lovelesses, he and Nora had made very fierce love to each other. There was no denying that, and the young lady herself had never pretended to be a model of all the domestic virtues. Her father had been very angry with her, and threatened to send her to England to a boarding-school. But the mischief had been done by the time Sir Richard discovered it. People generally lock thedoor after the steed has been stolen. Not that it had gone quite so far with Miss Nora Abinger as that; but a great deal of folly had passed between her and handsome Jack Portland, a good many secret meetings had taken place, and many letters written. Oh, those letters, those written protestations of eternal fidelity; those allusions to the past; those hopes for the future; how much mischief have they not done in this world. We talk of women’s tongues; they might chatter to all eternity, and not bring one half the trouble in their train as their too ready pens create. Mr Portland, not being approved of by the admiral, had found his visits to the house not so welcome as they might have been, and so the lovers resorted to writing as a vent for their feelings, and perhaps wrote more that they really felt—certainly more than they cared to think about or look back upon. Nora positively shivered when she thought what might, or might not be, in those letters which Mr Portland had promised to deliverup to her as soon as he returned to town. Meanwhile, she was on tenterhooks and afraid to a degree of offending the man who held such a sword of Damocles over her head, and presumed on his power, to treat her exactly as he chose, with coldness or familiarity. But if she attempted to resent his conduct, Mr Portland could always give her a quiet hint on the sly, that she had better be very polite to him. So her life on first coming to her husband’s home was not one of roses. She could remember the time when she had believed she loved Jack Portland, but she wondered at herself for having done so now. Perhaps it was not entirely the alteration which had taken place in himself, but more likely that her taste had refined and become more exclusive with the passing years. At anyrate, his present conduct towards her, in its quiet insolence and presumption, made her loathe and hate him. She wondered sometimes that her husband did not perceive the aversion she had forhis chosen friend, but Ilfracombe had been very subdued and melancholy since the day of their arrival. As Nora was so new to English society, and could not be presented at Court till the following spring, they had decided to pass their first Christmas very quietly, the Dowager Lady Ilfracombe, and the earl’s two sisters, Lady Laura and Lady Blanche Devenish, being, with the exception of the obnoxious Jack Portland, the only guests at Thistlemere. The Ladies Devenish were not disposed to make her life any easier than it needed to be to the youthful countess. In the first place, they were both considerably older than their brother, and resented Nora’s twenty years and her vivacity and independence as an affront to themselves. She ought to have been humbler in their opinion, and more alive to the honour that had been accorded her. To hear her talking to the earl on terms of the most perfect familiarity, and just as if he had been a commoner, like her own people, offended them. Andthen they considered that Ilfracombe should have married into the aristocracy, and chosen a woman as high born as himself. So they ‘held their heads high’ (as the servants would have said) in consequence, and elevated their eyebrows at Nora’s repartees, when she was conversing with gentlemen, and frowned at her boldness in giving her opinion, especially if it happened to clash with their own. The Dowager Countess did not agree with her daughters. She thought Nora a very clever, smart and fashionable woman, and quite capable of filling the position to which her son had raised her, and supporting her title with dignity.
‘Well, I don’t agree with you, mamma,’ said Lady Blanche. ‘I consider she is far too forward in her manners with gentlemen. I’m sure the way in which Mr Portland leans over her when she is singing is quite disgusting. I wonder Ilfracombe does not take some notice of it. And what could be more undignified than her jumping up last evening to showLord Babbage what she calls the “Boston lurch?†Such a name too. I think some of her expressions are most vulgar. I heard her tell Ilfracombe that some place they went to together was “confoundedly slow.†Fancy, a lady swearing! If those are to be the manners of the new aristocracy, commend me to the old.’
‘Well, my dear,’ said her easy-going mother, ‘you know that times are altered from what they were. Now that so many of our noblemen are marrying American heiresses for money, you must expect to see a difference. Look at the Duke of Mussleton and Lord Tottenham! One married a music-hall singer, and the other, somebody a great deal worse! Young men will have their own way in these days. We must be thankful that Ilfracombe has chosen a nice, lady-like, intelligent girl for his wife. For my part, I like Nora, and think she will make him very happy. And,’ lowering her voice, ‘you know, my dear girls, that, considering the dreadful life he led before, and theawfulcreature he introduced into his house, we really should be very thankful he has married at all. Mr Sterndale was afraid, at one time, that nothing would break that business off. But I feel sure Ilfracombe has forgotten all about it. He seems quite devoted to his wife.’
‘Do you really think so, mamma?’ asked Lady Laura. ‘I think you are very short-sighted. Blanche and I have often said we were afraid he doesn’t care a pin for her. Just see how melancholy and low-spirited he seems. He goes about with a face like a hatchet. I asked Nora yesterday what on earth was the matter with him—if he wereill—andshe replied she was sure she didn’t know. Such an indifferent answer, it struck me, for a young wife. But really one does not know what to make of the girls now-a-days. They are quite different from what they were a few years ago. I am sure of one thing, that Nora has no sense of the responsibility of marrying into the aristocracy. I heard her say once that she would justas soon Ilfracombe had been a tradesman!’
‘Oh, that must have been meant for impertinence!’ exclaimed Lady Blanche. ‘What did she marry him for, then? I am sure she can’t love him. She has told me she was engaged to six men at one time. Really, mamma, her conversation at times is not fit for Laura and me to listen to.’
‘Now you’re going a great deal too far,’ said the old countess, ‘and I won’t let you speak of Nora in that way. Remember, if you please, that she is the head of the family, and that some day you may both be dependent on her for a chaperon.’
This prospect silenced the Ladies Devenish for a time at least, and the subject of the young Countess of Ilfracombe was dropped by mutual consent. But their remarks on their brother’s low spirits attracted Nora’s attention to her husband, when she soon perceived that they were right. Ilfracombe was certainly depressed. He seldomjoined in the general conversation, and when he did his voice was low and grave. The earl was not a brilliant talker, as has been said before, but he had always been able to hold his own when alone with his wife, and used to relate every little incident that had occurred during the day to her as soon as they found themselves shut in from the eyes of the world. But he had dropped even this. Once or twice she had rallied him on his low spirits, and had made him still graver in consequence. But when others began to notice his moodiness, and make unkind remarks on it, Nora thought it was time, for her own sake, to try and find out the cause. It was after a long evening spent in his company, during which Ilfracombe had let Jack Portland and two or three other guests do all the talking, that his wife attacked him on the subject. Seizing hold of his arm as he was about to pass from her bedroom to his dressing-room, she swung him round and pulled him down upon the sofa by her side.
‘Not yet, Ilfracombe,’ she said archly. ‘I want to speak to you first. You haven’t said a word to me the whole evening.’
‘Haven’t I, my darling?’ he replied, slipping his arm round her slender waist. ‘It’s only because all these confounded women never give one time to put in a syllable. I wish you and I were alone, Nora. I should be so much happier.’
‘Should you, Ilfracombe?’ she asked, a little fearfully. ‘Why?’
She was so afraid lest he should get jealous of Mr Portland’s intimacy with her before she had the power to promise him she would never speak to the man again. But Mr Portland was the last person in Lord Ilfracombe’s mind. All he was thinking of, was the disastrous fate of Nell Llewellyn, and wishing he had had the courage to tell his wife about it before he married her.
‘Because, if we were alone together day after day, we should get to know each other’s hearts and minds better than we do now, and I should feel more courageto speak to you of several little things that annoy me.’
‘Things aboutme, you mean,’ she said in her confident manner, though not without a qualm.
‘Things aboutyou, my angel!’ exclaimed her enamoured husband, with genuine surprise. ‘What is there about you that could possibly annoy me? Why, I think you perfection—you know Ido—andwould not have you altered in any particular for all the world.’
‘Then why are you so depressed, Ilfracombe?’ said Nora. ‘It is not only I who have noticed it. Everybody, including your mother and sister, say the same, and it is not very complimentary tome, you know, considering we have only been married five months, is it?’
Lord Ilfracombe grew scarlet. The moment had come, he saw, for an explanation, and how could he make it? He feared the girl beside him would shrink from him with horror if she heard the truth. And yet he was a man of honour, according to aman’s idea of honour, and could not find it in his heart to stoop to subterfuge. If he told Nora anything, he must tell her all.
‘Dearest,’ he said, laying his fair head down on her shoulder, ‘I confess I have felt rather miserable lately, but it has nothing to do with you. It concerns only my self and my past life. I have heard a very sad story since we came home, Nora. I wonder if I dare tell it to you?’
‘Why should you not, Ilfracombe? Perhaps I can guess a good part of it before you begin.’
‘Oh, no, no, you cannot. I would rather not think you should. And yet you are a little woman of the world, although you have been so long cooped up (as you used to tell me) in Malta. Your father told me, when I proposed for you, that I must be entirely frank and open with you, for that girls now-a-days were not like the girls of romance, but were wide awake to most things that go on in the world, and resented being kept in the dark where their affections were concerned.’
‘I think my father was right,’ was all that Nora replied.
‘Andyet—andyet—howcanI tell you? What will you think of me? Nora, I have been trying so hard to keep it to myself, lest you should shrink from me, when you hear the truth; and yet, we are husband and wife, and should have no secrets from each other. I should be wretched, I know, if I thoughtyouhad ever deceivedme. I would rather suffer any mortification than know that, and so perhaps you, too, would rather I were quite honest with you, although I have put it off so long. Would you, my dearest?’ he asked, turning his handsome face up to hers. Nora stooped and kissed him. It was a genuine kiss. She had not been accustomed to bestow them spontaneously on her husband, but she knew what was coming, and she felt, for the first time, how much better Ilfracombe was than herself.
‘Yes, Ilfracombe,’ she answered gravely, ‘trust me. I am, as you say, a woman of the world, and can overlook a great deal.’
‘That kiss has emboldened me,’ said the earl, ‘and I feel I owe it to you to explain the reason of my melancholy. Nora, I have been no better than other young men—’
‘I never supposed you were,’ interposed his wife.
‘Ah, wait till you hear all. Some years before I met you, I took a fancy to a girl, and she—lived in my house. You understand?’
Lady Ilfracombe nodded.
‘Most men knew of this, and your father made it a condition of our marriage that the whole thing was put an end to. Of course it was what I only intended to do, but I knew it was my duty to make some provision for the young woman, so directed Mr Sterndale to tell her of my intended marriage, and settle a certain sum of money on her. I returned to England, so happy in you, my darling, as you well know, and looking forward to spending such a merry Christmas with you, for the first time in our own home, when I was met with the news that—that—’
‘That—what, Ilfracombe? Don’t be afraid of shocking me. Is she coming to Thistlemere to throw some vitriol in my face?’
‘Oh, no, my darling, don’t speak like that. Poor Nell never would have injured you or anyone, and it is out of her power to do so now. She is dead, Nora—dead by her own hand. When she heard the news she went and threw herself into the river. Can you wonder if I feel miserable and self-reproachful when I remember that I have caused that poor girl’s death? that my great happiness has been built up on her despair? Oh, what did the foolish child see in me to drive her to so rash an act for my sake? I feel as if her dead face would haunt me to the end of my life.’
And the earl covered his face with his hands. Nora also felt very much shocked. Death seems a terrible thing to the young and careless. It takes sorrow and disappointment and bodily pain to make us welcome it as a release from all evil.
‘Oh, Ilfracombe,’ she whispered, ‘I am so sorry for you. Death is an awful thing. But I cannot see it wasyourfault. You meant to be good and kind. She expected too much, surely? She must have known that some day you would marry, and it would come to an end?’
‘That is just what Sterndale said!’ exclaimed the earl joyfully; ‘and you say the same. You do not spurn me from you, my own darling, because of the vileness of my former life? Oh, Nora, you are a woman in a thousand. I have been dreading lest you should find this disgraceful story out, or hear it from some kind friend. But now my mind will be at perfect rest. You know the worst, my dearest. There is nothing more for me to tell. We two are one for evermore,’ and he kissed her rapturously as he concluded.
Nora shuddered under her husband’s caresses, although they had never been so little disagreeable to her as now. How she wished she could echo his words, and say that she, too, had nothing more to reveal.But those terrible letters; what did they contain? what had she said in them, or not said, to rise up at any moment and spoil her life? She had never been so near honouring Ilfracombe as at that moment—never so near despising herself. But she answered very quietly,—
‘My dear boy, you have told me nothing new. Do you remember a letter that you received at the hotel a few days after we were married, Ilfracombe? You left it in the sitting-room, and were terribly upset because you could not find it, until the waiter said he had destroyed one which he picked up. He didn’t destroy your letter. It wasIwho picked it up, and I have it still.’
‘And you read it?’ said the earl, with such genuine dismay, that it completely restored Nora’s native assurance.
‘Now, what on earth do you suppose that a woman would do with a letter of her husband’s that she had the good fortune to pick up?’ she cried, ‘especially a letter from a young woman who addressedhim in the most familiar terms? Why, of course, I read it, you simpleton, as I shall read any others which you are careless enough to leave on the floor. Seriously, Ilfracombe, I have known your great secret from the beginning; and, well, let us say no more about it. I would rather not venture an opinion on the subject. It’s over and done with, and, though I’m awfully grieved the poor woman came to so tragic an end, you cannot expect me, as your wife, to say that I’m sorry she’s out of the way. I think it is awfully good of you to have told me of it, Ilfracombe. Your confidence makes me feel small, because I know I haven’t told you everything thatI’veever done; but then, you see,’ added Nora, with one of her most winning expressions of naughtiness, ‘I’ve done such lots, I can’t remember the half of it. It will come to the surface by degrees, I daresay; and if we live to celebrate our golden wedding, you may have heard all.’
But Ilfracombe would not let her finish her sentence. He threw his arms aroundher, and embraced her passionately, saying,—
‘You’re the best and dearest and sweetest wife a man ever had, and I don’t care what you’ve done, and I don’t want to hear a word about it; only love me a little in return for my great love for you.’
But Lady Ilfracombe knew the sex too well not to be aware that, if he had imagined there was anything to tell, he would not have rested till he had heard it; and, as she lay down to sleep that night, all her former love of intrigue and artifice seemed to have deserted her, and she wished from the bottom of her heart that she could imitate the moral courage of her husband, and “leave the future nothing to reveal.â€â€™