CHAPTER XXTHAT VOICE
Isabel and her mother were jubilant over the result of Lady Peasewell’s drawing-room.
The occasion had been one of signal triumph for the former, for she had been universally declared the belle of the evening—the reigning star in all that brilliant company.
Not so much indeed on account of her superior beauty—for she could lay no claim to beauty of features—as her stately presence, fascinating address, and her rich and elegant attire.
Sir Charles Randal had undoubtedly been deeply impressed, for after his introduction to her he had scarce left her side during the remainder of the evening.
He called the next day, and the next he came to escort her to Buckingham Palace, the queen and her retinue being absent, and he having obtained passes to visit that royal residence so fraught with historic interest.
These incidents led to a more intimate acquaintance, until the young baronet became her almost constant attendant at the opera and other places of amusement, and it soon grew to be common talk that the fair American was likely to win him for a husband.
Isabel’s heart often turned longingly toward Adrian Dredmond, for she had been deeply touched by him. He was her ideal of manly excellence and nobility, but she knew how useless was that longing, for that look of scorn which he had given her at Lady Peasewell’s told her but too plainly how heartily he despised her.
She had met him since at a number of places of amusement,but he never asked her to dance, or noticed her presence save by a grave, cool bow, and the involuntary curling of his handsome lips; so she turned the battery of her charms upon the baronet, and with much better success.
Sir Charles was accounted a very fine young man, and a great catch, for he, too, was very rich; so that Mrs. Coolidge spread her motherly wings, ruffled her most gorgeous plumage, and made much of him, feeling immensely gratified at her daughter’s evident conquest, although no proposals had as yet been made.
Two months passed thus; the search for Brownie had been given up by Mr. Coolidge, who could not gain the vestige of a clew that, despairing of obtaining a situation in exclusive and aristocratic old England, she had returned to her native land, hoping to be more successful there.
What to do with her property was a puzzle to him, and he was greatly troubled on account of it, but he could only lock it carefully away, hoping some time in the future to see her and return it.
Isabel had been successful in returning the gems she had worn to the casket without his knowledge, and emboldened by her good luck, she continued, from time to time, to abstract some of them to garnish her ravishing toilets. At length her triumph was complete.
Sir Charles proposed and was accepted, and great was the rejoicing thereof.
His mother at first was somewhat troubled at the idea of his marrying out of his own country—she had hoped he would choose some one from the nobility; but as she was eager to multiply his worldly possessions, and she had heard such accounts of Mr. Coolidge’s fabulous wealth, she consented as gracefully as possible, and the contract was finally concluded to the satisfaction of all parties.
Mr. Coolidge, who could not fail to honor the young man, told Isabel that she was getting a husband much too good for her, unless she mended her ways in the future, and it certainly seemed as if she had adopted his advice, for she became so amiable, apparently, that she excited the admiration of all for the time.
Lady Randal was a widow.
At the death of her husband she had been left with two sons, one fifteen, the other, which was Sir Charles, ten.
The elder died in just a year after his father, so that the younger came into the title and property.
There had been a prospect two years after Sir Charles’ birth of another addition to the family, but Lady Randal was traveling upon the Continent at the time of its birth, and remained away a year after the event occurred; therefore it occasioned scarce any remark when it was reported that there was no child after all.
When, after her return to England, a friend ventured to speak of her disappointment, Lady Randal had put her black-bordered handkerchief to her eyes, and remarked that “it was so hard to lose one’s children,” and there the matter dropped.
Not more than a week after the engagement between Sir Charles and Isabel was announced, Mr. Coolidge was suddenly recalled to New York upon important and unforeseen business.
His partner telegraphed for his immediate return, and he departed in great haste, having only a few hours in which to make his preparation and catch the steamer. And in his haste he forgot to take with him, as he had intended, Miss Douglas’ casket of jewels.
As soon as Lady Randal knew of his departure, she sent a polite note, containing an invitation, to Mrs. Coolidge and her family, to spend a month with them at their country seat, as they were about departing for a season from town.
This was exceedingly flattering to the Coolidges, and the last of February found them domiciled at “Vallingham Hall,” near the ancient and beautiful town of West Malling, Kent County; all but Wilbur, who, still heart-sore and filled with anxiety upon Brownie’s account, resolved to try to lose himself in a trip to Switzerland and the Alps.
Lady Randal and her servants preceded her guests by a week to the Hall, leaving Sir Charles behind to escort their visitors, so that upon their arrival everything was in readiness for them, and they received a most cordial welcome.
Vallingham Hall was a handsome, though rather an ancient-looking structure, built partly of brick and partly of stone. The central portion seemed much older than the rest, a couple of wings and other additions having evidently been built on at different times. It had mullioned windows, and wide, massive doors, which gave it a grand and imposing appearance. The beautiful ivy, green and luxuriant, which clambered upon its sides to the very top of some of its turrets, gave it also a picturesqueness which made it charming to every one, and more than one artist, enamored of its beauty, had reproduced it upon canvas.
About a mile from the Hall, and standing within the limits of its park, there was a charming little villa of quite modern structure, and having such an air of comfort and cosiness about it that tempted the beholder to seek an entrance and obtain a glimpse within, wondering if the inside were as attractive as the outside.
Vallingham Hall was already gay with company when the Coolidges arrived, and more was expected the following week.
Sir Charles’ courtship seemed to be of the most blissful nature, at least to two persons.
Isabel was brilliant from her conquest, and rendered herself so fascinating to everybody that the young man was nearly overwhelmed with congratulations at having won so bonny and wealthy a bride, although among some of the high-born damsels, who were husband-hunting for themselves, there was now and then the curl of a red lip, and murmur of scorn about “plebian blood.”
Lady Randal, ignoring caste entirely, was always eulogizing Isabel’s “elegant manners, and her exquisite taste in dress,” and promising herself “so much happiness with a daughter, which she had always wanted, but never had.”
Mrs. Coolidge spared neither labor nor expense for her eldest, and her wardrobe was the mostrecherchéof anything to be seen among all the visitors at the Hall, while the jewels which she wore were a marvel to every one, and helped to swell the reports of her vast wealth.
When she found that her father had departed without taking them with him, she was delighted, and appropriatedthem without a scruple, and, as time wore away, she began to look upon them as almost belonging to her.
It must be confessed that she stood a little bit in awe of her high-born lover.
It did not take her long to discover that he was actuated only by the loftiest sentiments.
His manner was as courteous to a servant or an inferior as to an equal, and he never stopped to consider the position of any one when granting a favor.
The beggar or the peer was befriended with equal kindness.
Open and frank himself, he could not tolerate deception or hypocrisy in any one, and a deliberate wrong incurred his deepest displeasure.
Of course, the haughty and selfish girl could feel no sympathy with any such sentiments so foreign to her own nature, but having once learned Sir Charles’s idiosyncracies, and being extremely anxious to share his coronet and plethoric purse, she exerted herself to the utmost to blind his eyes, and, to all outward appearance, she became a most earnest advocate of all his philanthropic schemes, much to his satisfaction, and the secret contempt and amusement of Viola and Alma, who neglected no opportunity when alone with their sister to torment her about it.
One evening Sir Charles invited her to walk over a portion of the estate with him, and unfolded to her his plans for beautifying it, and of improving the condition and comfort of his tenantry.
She strove to listen attentively, and appear interested in it all, but it was hard work, and although she was exceedingly kind and gracious to all whom she met, and won for herself high encomiums for her sweetness among his people, yet her heart was not in it, and she was immensely relieved when they turned their steps homeward.
On their way they had to pass the villa before described.
Just before reaching it, Sir Charles had called her attention to a lovely view.
They stood silent for several minutes enjoying it, when suddenly a few rich chords, struck upon a fine-toned piano, saluted their ears, and then a voice of ravishing sweetness and power burst forth into joyous song.
Isabel started at the sound as if a wasp had stung her.
“Who is that?” she demanded, her face flushing with a sudden thought and fear.
“It comes from yonder villa. Did it startle you?” asked Sir Charles, regarding her disturbed manner with some surprise.
“A little—it was so quiet before.”
“I think it very fine,” he replied, stopping to listen again to the clear, beautiful tones.
“Who lives there?” Isabel asked, an anxious expression on her face.
“Lady Ruxley, an aged aunt of my mother’s.”
“Indeed! I thought she resided with you,” she said, wondering why a lady of such high degree should be living in what appeared to her such limited quarters.
She had heard of Lady Ruxley before, and knew that it was from her Sir Charles was to inherit a large amount of his property.
She had never met her, although she was quite curious about her, having heard much about her peculiarities.
“Lady Ruxley always makes her home with us while we are in town, but when we come to Vallingham Hall she prefers to be by herself, and a few years since she had this villa built, so as to escape the gayety and confusion which always reign there,” Sir Charles explained.
“Does she live alone?” Isabel queried, with a thoughtful look.
“She has never had any one but her servants, until within the past few years she has had a companion to read to and amuse her. She is quite old.”
“Ah, then it must be her companion who is singing now,” and she leaned eagerly forward to listen again. “Who is she?” she asked, somewhat sharply, when after a moment the sweet singer suddenly ceased.
“I really do not remember the name—some unfortunate individual, I believe, who met with an accident, enlisted Aunt Ruxley’s sympathies, and she insisted upon having her as a companion. I have never seen her. Indeed,” he added, smiling, “my time has been so fully occupied in another direction lately that I have not paid much attention to other people’s affairs,” and Sir Charles bestoweda fond look upon his betrothed, which called the bright color to her cheeks, and the smile to her lips again.
She asked no more questions, and they remained a few moments longer gazing into the valley; then, as the sun sank out of sight, and the air began to grow keener, they turned their faces homeward.
As they passed the villa they caught a glimpse of an old woman bent nearly double with age, hobbling into the house from the vine-covered porch.
She was leaning upon the arm of a slender, graceful figure, who seemed to be clad in deep mourning, the sight of which made Isabel Coolidge’s heart bound again with a sudden fear, and she bent forward for a better view.
She could not distinguish the person clearly, for the shadow of the vines about the door made it impossible, but a nameless dread of something, she knew not what, pursued her the entire evening, which neither the gay company at the Hall nor her lover’s fondest words could make her forget.