Sir Charles Mitford had not been guilty of any exaggeration when he announced his intention of filling his house at Redmoor with a very pleasant set of people. If a man have a kindly genial temper, a sense of humour, a desire to be pleasant to his fellow-creatures, such qualities, however they may have hitherto been concealed, will make themselves felt during a sojourn at a friend's well-filled country-house. There the heavy man, who has sat by one at a dozen dinner-parties during the season and never opened his mouth except to fill it, is discovered to be full of antiquarian erudition about the old castles and abbeys in the neighbourhood; and imparts his information, pleasantly studded with quaint anecdote and pungent remark. There Lady Katherine gives up her perpetual simper, and rests her aching lips, and occasionally covers her gleaming teeth. There Mrs. Phillimore mixes for a while with people in her own rank of life, and temporarily denies herself the pleasure of hunting orphans into asylums, and dealing out tea and Bibles to superannuated crones. Grinsby would have gone through life despised as a cockneylittérateur,--indeed, they intended to have immense fun out of him at the Duke's,--if he had not knocked over that brace of woodcock, right and left barrel; if, in fact, he had not made better shooting than any other man of the party; and Tom Copus would never have given that delicious imitation of little Mr. Loudswell, the blatant barrister, had it not been coaxed out of him during the private theatricals at Eversholt Park. What glorious flirtations, what happy marriages, what fun, enjoyable at the time, and lasting source of retrospective enjoyment for long after, have arisen from the gatherings in country-houses! In these days of imitation it is also gratifying to know that country-house society is essentially English. Monseigneur le Duc de Hausse et Baisse has a gathering at histerre, or the Graf von Hasenbraten fills his ancestral castle at Suchverloren with intending assistants at atreibejagd: but the French people are very unhappy; they long to be back in Paris, and they seek consolation in dressing and behaving exactly as if they had never quitted that city; while the manner of life among the Germans alters never;--to shoot a very little, to eat and drink a great deal, and the "sooner it's over the sooner to sleep,"--such are the simple conditions of Teutonic happiness.
The party at Redmoor was large and well constituted. Captain and Mrs. Charteris, whom everybody knew, were there. Tom Charteris had been in the Enniskillens; had run through all his money, and was in daily expectation of being sold up, when his uncle, the senior partner in a large distillery, died, leaving Tom such a share in the business as would bring him in an excellent income, on the sole condition that he should leave the army, and personally attend to the management of the distillery. It is probable that Tom would have been sufficiently idiotic to refuse compliance with these conditions; but, fortunately, he had taken to himself a wife, a young lady who was the daughter of the church-organist in a little town where the Enniskillens had been quartered, and who gave lessons in music and singing to the resident gentry. She was a prettypiquantelittle person; and Tom, lounging out of the barrack-window while he smoked his after-breakfast pipe, had seen her tripping to and fro, always neat, active, and sprightly, and always displaying a remarkably pretty foot and ankle. Admiration of pretty feet and ankles was among Tom's weaknesses, and he watched the little music-mistress with great interest, and began to look forward to her daily appearance with delight. Then he got an introduction to her,--without any definite end or aim, for good or for bad, but simply to amuse himself; then he became fascinated by her, and finally he married her. It was Mrs. Tom who insisted upon big jolly old Tom giving up the army and taking to the distillery and the money. She was a funny little woman, and would make her intimates shout with laughter at her imitation of Tom striding about the counting-house among the clerks (he never could get rid of his dragoon-swagger), and talking a haw-haw to the publicans who came to borrow money or beg for time. They had a pretty little house in Clarges Street, whence Tom would bowl away every morning at 9.30 to the distillery in Barbican, remaining there till half-past four, when Mrs. Tom would call for him in the brougham, and air him in the park till dinner-time. Everybody knew them, and hats were bobbing off over the iron-railings all down the Drive as they passed. Whenever a stoppage occurred Tom had to stand a running fire of chaff, being asked what it was a quartern, whether he'd like a drop of something short, with other jokes, in which the phrases "white tape" and "blue ruin" played conspicuous parts. The little house in Clarges Street was a great resort for a select few after the Opera, and many well-known men would drop in to have the claw of a lobster and a glass of champagne, or to smoke a final cigar whilst listening to Mrs. Tom's brilliant playing--till two A.M., when Tom turned his guests out, declaring he was a poor tradesman, and had to be up early to business. The house was a pleasant one, where there was a certain amount oflaissez-allerfreedom, but where Tom took care that his wife was thoroughly respected.
Then Mrs. Masters, always spoken of as "pretty Mrs. Masters," or "the pretty widow," was of the party,--a tall handsome woman with large eyes and masses of floating light brown hair, relict of old Dr. Masters, who had left her a capital income, which she seemed determined to keep to herself. Not more than eight-and-twenty, and eminently attractive, she was a source of wonder to her friends, who could not understand why she did not marry again. She had numbers of visitors, male and female; she went into society constantly, and did her due share of dancing and flirtation; but the latter was so mild in kind, and so general in its nature, that no man's name had ever been coupled with hers. Her most intimate enemies raised a report that she was at one time madly in love with Colonel Alsager; but if there was any truth in the rumour, she managed her madness so admirably as never to show a trace of it. She was invaluable in a country-house, for she was thoroughly good-tempered, entered heart and soul into everything that was proposed, and was a great bait for vain bachelors, whose vanity was specially piqued at her long resistance to the charms of their sex. With Mrs. Masters came her cousins, two young ladies named Tyrrell, whose father was a judge in India, who were of the ordinary stamp of pretty, pert, self-satisfied twenty-year-olds.
The other ladies in the house do not call for description. Chief amongst the men was Captain Bligh, who, as he walked about and inspected the alterations which had been made under his directions, wondered whether his old father would ever relent, and whether he should have a chance of putting the old hall down in Norfolk in order for himself; or whether he should go on betting and billiard-playing and steeplechase-riding until he "went a tremendous mucker," and either blew his brains out or levanted. And there was Major Winton, who, dressed in a pair of enormous thigh-boots, a dreadnaught, and a sou'-wester, and accompanied by a keeper, went away every morning at dawn to lie out in the marshes for snipe and wild-fowl, and who did not return till dinner-time; immediately after which meal he was accustomed to retire to his bed-room, where a case-bottle of brandy, a jar of Cavendish tobacco, a huge meerschaum-pipe, and the adventures of the Chevalier Faublas, were awaiting him; and with these he would occupy himself until he went to bed. Laurence Alsager was at Redmoor also, though his visit to his father was yet unpaid; and so was Lord Dollamore. The officers of the garrison had called, and the officers of the frigate cruising off Torquay, and the neighbouring gentry; and the whole party seemed to enjoy themselves except Sir Charles Mitford,--whose happiness was not to be long delayed, for the Hammonds were expected on a certain day, which now dawned upon the impatient master of Redmoor.
He had returned home after luncheon, leaving the shooting party under the charge of Captain Bligh, and had been in a state of undisguisable anxiety all the afternoon, unable to settle himself to anything; now playing a stroke or two at billiards, and looking on at Tom Charteris, who was practising certain hazards preparatory to a match with Bligh; now strolling through the drawing-room, where Alsager was talking to Lady Mitford and Mrs. Masters; now interrupting Lord Dollamore, who was stretched out in an easy-chair in the library reading Montaigne. Sir Charles's impatience and restlessness was not unobserved by any of these. Tom Charteris supposed he was already sick of the quiet of the country, and contemplated recommending him a turn in the distillery by way of a cure. Lady Mitford could not understand his restlessness, and feared Charley had been annoyed about something. Mrs. Masters ascribed it to want ofsavoir faireon the Baronet's part, Only Colonel Alsager and Lord Dollamore guessed its real cause. The former frowned portentously as he watched his host; and the latter vas considerably amused.
"This is positively a very delicious experience of life," thought Dollamore, as he laid aside his book; "I could not have had a more charming field for study. So many different characters too! There is that remarkably uncouth person our host, who is so horribly raw and undisciplined as to be unable to behave himself decently when expecting the last object of his calf-love, And there's that modern Bayard, Alsager, who has undoubtedly atendressefor our hostess, and who as undeniably wore Laura Hammond's colours a little time ago, and bolted because of some inexplicable row with her. And there's Laura Hammond herself--delicious creature--with a newly-caught mouse in her mouth; and yet her eye constantly roving over the late captive playing round her, lest he should escape beyond possibility of recapture. There's that good-looking widow, too, who is as cold as ice, but who is supposed to have thawed a little once in Bayard's favour. And then there's Lady Mitford herself, who is worth all the rest of the women put together. What grace, what beauty, what thoroughly unsophisticated charms and real naturalness of manner! By Jove! compared to her, the widow is a giraffe, and the Hammond a dairy-maid. Talk of their birth and breeding! why this country-parson's daughter has the air and manner of a duchess. They will try and set upon her when she comes to town,--that old Clanronald, who looks like a cook, and the Tappington with her three daughters like grenadiers in petticoats; but if she has any pluck--and I think she has, under all that quietude--she'll ride them down right and left; and she'll have all the men on her side, though I don't know that that's any pull. Meantime this oaf is entertaining an angel unawares, and neglecting her,--is standing at the door of his tent ogling the daughters of the Cities of the Plain. So much the better for Bayard and--and for others. But theimbrogliois delightful, and I couldn't wish for better fun than to stand by and watch the play; cutting-in of course when I see a chance of holding winning cards."
And then Lord Dollamore rubbed his hands with great gusto, and applied himself with renewed delight to his volume of French philosophy.
At length the noise of wheels on the hard drive was heard, and Sir Charles rang the bell and summoned the servants, and, had the hall-door thrown open, and stood on the steps ready to receive his guests in person. Drawn by four horses at full gallop, Mr. Hammond's carriage came thundering along the drive, and ere it pulled up at the door Lady Mitford had joined her husband, prepared to echo his words of welcome. With her came Colonel Alsager,--carrying in his hand a light shawl, which he pressed upon her acceptance when he saw the door open, and felt the rush of the cold air, which sent the flames roaring up from the great open fireplace,--and also Lord Dollamore, who smiled placidly to himself as he saw this act of attention. "None but your regular Bayard would have done that," said he to himself; "wonderfully thoughtful fellows they are, by Jove!" He suffered under a slight lameness, and always carried a Malacca cane, with an ivory crutch-handle, declared by the men at the club to be his familiar, the recipient of his confidence, and the suggester of many of his iniquities. He carried it now, and rapped it against his teeth, and laid it to his ear, as though he were listening to its counsel.
"There they are," he continued, "in a close carriage of course, because of my husband's health; but I'm at the open window, and remarkably well I look. Blue always became me, and my eyes are bright, and I've got a high colour. How do you do? My hand out at the window, and a very palpable squeeze to the oaf, who is blushing, by Jove, like a great schoolboy,--a very palpable squeeze. Steps down now, and, leaning heavily on his arm, out we jump, and--O yes, dear Lady Mitford! Kiss, kiss--you she-Judas!--and--hallo! rather astonished at seeing Bayard, eh? How do you do, Colonel Alsager? I scarcely thought you would be here. No, of course not; one string too many for her bow. Now for me!--Needn't ask you how you are, Mrs. Hammond; never saw you looking more charming.--And she smiles and passes on. Lord help us! is this Percy Hammond, this unfortunate object that they are helping out now? Why, he's only a year or two older than I; left Haileybury while I was at Eton; but what an awful wreck he is! What on earth made him marry a second time,--especially such a woman as this! Hallo! who have we here? Tall young woman; severely got up, but a neat figure, and a good stepper too. Very cold bow from Sir Charles; little hand-shake from my lady. Must be the governess. O yes, that's it; and there's the child. Now, then, all the characters are assembled; ring up the curtain--the play's begun."
Lord Dollamore was right; it had been a palpable hand-squeeze, palpable to him, palpable to Laurence Alsager, palpable to her from whom it should have been specially hidden--Lady Mitford. She saw it, but could scarcely believe she had seen aright; but then she noticed the manner in which Mrs. Hammond leaned on Sir Charles's arm, and a certain look which passed between them as she alighted. The next instant her guest had caught hold of both her hands, and was embracing her with effusion; but just before Georgie had had time to steal one glance at Laurence Alsager's face, and to read in the lowering brow and compressed lips that he too had noticed theempressementof the meeting. The whole thing was so thoroughly strange to her, so utterly unexpected, that she did not know how to act. Her first impulse was to drag herself out of Mrs. Hammond's embrace, to call her a false bad woman, and to go off in a flood of tears; but fortunately she did not attempt this experiment. She did the very best thing under the circumstances, and that was--nothing. She freed herself from her visitor's embracing arms when she had unresponsive received her kiss, and murmured a few commonplaces about her delight at seeing her; and then she went forward to say a passing word of kindness to Mr. Hammond as he was helped past her by his servants, to exchange salutations with Miss Gillespie, and to kiss the child's forehead. By this time she was perfectly ready to do the honours of her house, and to follow her husband, on whose arm Mrs. Hammond was already leaning, to the suite of rooms prepared for the guests. These were, as Sir Charles had said, the best in the house; and as they entered them, Georgie remembered how he had specially reserved them for the Hammonds, and she winced as her eye lighted on a splendid bouquet of hot-house flowers arranged in a vase on the writing-table. The fires burned brightly, and there was a sufficient air of comfort to justify Mrs. Hammond in clasping her hands and exclaiming, "How very, very charming! Everything in such exquisite taste; and oh, what lovely flowers, Lady Mitford! you know my passion for flowers, and have indeed taken pains to gratify it. Georgie bowed in an icy manner, and Sir Charles glowed from his head to his feet.
"It's too late to look out now, but I've no doubt that the prospect's delightful."
"Looks towards the south. Good for Hammond, and that kind of thing," said Sir Charles, explanatorily.
"We'll leave you now, Mrs. Hammond; the first dinner-bell has just rung," said Georgie, moving towards the door.
"Anything you want you've only to ring for, you know; so find out something to ask for by dinner-time. Do! you know you've only to ask and have in this house."
Georgie did not hear this last remark. She was hurrying as quickly as she could towards her own room; and on reaching it she flung herself on a sofa, and burst into tears.
It was the custom at Redmoor to assemble previous to the announcement of dinner in the library,--a large room, rather solemn with its dark oak bookcases, and when lighted only by two or three moderator-lamps, placed on small tables. Such was Sir Charles's whim; he had a notion that the removal from darkness to light awoke a corresponding cheerfulness; and though it had been often combated by Georgie, on this occasion she was grateful for any respite from the public gaze, and every opportunity of recovering her wonted calmness. Clang! goes the gong. "Dinner is served." Through the indistinct gloom Mrs. Hammond is seen sailing away on the arm of Sir Charles. Alsager has the widow for his companion, and feels a thrill run up his coat-sleeve, to which the arm within his coat-sleeve does not respond. There are officers from the garrison, who file off with the Tyrrell girls and with the young ladies, members of the neighbouring families; and the procession is closed by Lady Mitford, escorted by Lord Dollamore, who takes the opportunity of saying, "Charming woman Mrs. Hammond; so frank, ingenuous, and open! So devoted to her poor invalid husband--don't you think so?" And when Lady Mitford responds, "Yes, O yes, quite so," Lord Dollamore lifts the ivory crutch-handle of his Malacca cane to his mouth, and seems whispering to it untellable jokes.
The dinner was very good; but that was more due to Bligh than to any one else, even to Lady Mitford. Thechefwho had been let to the Mitfords with the house in Eaton Place had stuck to his bargain, and refused to go into the country. He had his club, hismenus plaisirs, and he declined to leave them. So the jolly Captain looked about, took Mrs. Austin the housekeeper into confidence, and found out from her that there was a woman who had lived as kitchen-maid in the first families, and who had always thought of bettering herself, but never had the chance, and was then at Sir John Rumbold's, hard by. This person was fetched over, and directed to try her prentice-hand at cooking a steak and a potato for Captain Bligh, that achievement being, as he opined, the great touchstone of the culinary art; and having been thoroughly successful, she was borrowed for a few days and further tried, and finally engaged. The dinner was so good that every one enjoyed it, even poor Percy Hammond, who had roused himself sufficiently to come to table, and whose eyes brightened under the influence of a bottle of the celebrated old Madeira placed at his side. It was not the old Madeira which caused Mrs. Hammond's eyes to brighten, but they had never shone more brilliantly, and her spirits had never been higher. She talked incessantly, addressing her conversation chiefly to her host, on whose right hand she was seated.
"I suppose you have some charming old places about here, Sir Charles?--abbeys, and ruins, and castles," said she after a pause.
"I daresay there are, but as I have only just come here, you know, I can't say. Major Maxse, no doubt, can tell you; they've been quartered in the neighbourhood for the last twelve months, and know every inch of it.--Maxse, Mrs. Hammond asks whether there are any old ruins, castles, abbeys, that sort of thing, in the neighbourhood. I tell her she should inquire of you, a the likeliest person to know."
Major Maxse, the gentleman addressed, a good-looking middle-aged man, replied, "Well, I really think I might earn an honest livelihood by setting up as guide to this region. Though we've been here little more than a twelvemonth, I've been so horribly bored that I think I have explored every nook and corner of the country within a circle of fifty miles; and I am very happy to tell Mrs. Hammond that there are all sorts of ruins for her to choose from, with all sorts of architecture, and all sorts of legends attached. For example, there's Egremont Priory."
"That's Boscastle's place, isn't it?" said Lord Dollamore, from the other end of the table; "who made the legend about that? one of the family probably; for there never was a Boscastle yet who was known to speak truth, even by accident."
"First-rate place for wild-ducks," said Major Winton: "don't send any confounded picnic people there, Maxse; they'll scare the birds."
"Even at the risk of being considered confounded picnic people, if it's a pretty place, and has a good story attached to it, I propose that we make a party and go," said Georgie.
She was a little astonished at herself when she had said this, but she had said it purposely. She was wondering what it was that had attracted her husband in Mrs. Hammond which she herself did not possess; and she thought perhaps it was a certain dash and verve, to which she had never pretended, but which her rival undoubtedly displayed. Poor Georgie felt that perhaps she had been a little too tame and sedate; and this speech was her first attempt in the opposite direction.
"Charmingly said, Lady Mitford; the very thing," said Mrs. Hammond. "And I think we could go, even if there were no story at all--"
"There's round tower which is occupied by an old woman, who'll boil potatoes, and lay the cloth, and that kind of thing--all under shelter, you know," said Captain Bligh, who was of an eminently practical turn.
"O no; but we must have the legend," said Lord Dollamore. "Come, Major Maxse, you don't get off telling us the Boscastle legend."
"Oh, it's the old story with the usual ingredients--love and a ghost," said Major Maxse.
"Yes; but what love? whose ghost?" asked Mrs. Hammond. "You promised to tell me, Major Maxse, and we're all attention."
"It is simply this. After the Restoration Roger Boscastle, who had been serving with the Royalists from the beginning of the war, and who had had to fly the country after Naseby, came back to his estates and to his wife, who during her husband's absence had been living with her own family, strict Parliamentarians. Lady Boscastle was a very lovely woman; but a little strict and rigid, and scarcely suited to a rollicking swashbuckler like her husband. One day there arrived at Egremont Priory a troop of horse escorting a beautiful lady and her father, both foreigners, who had done the king much service in time of need, and who had known Roger Boscastle when abroad. Roger seemed very much surprised to see them, and so did Lady Mildred; the latter more especially when first the old nobleman threw his arms round Roger's neck and exclaimed, 'Mon fils!' and then the young lady did ditto and exclaimed, 'Mon amour!' but they were neither of them so astonished as were the old gentleman and the young lady when Roger led Lady Mildred forward and presented her as his wife. They were thoroughly taken aback, and the young lady muttered to Roger under her breath something which Lady Mildred could not catch, but which, by the expression of her eyes, must have been very unpleasant. However, they took up their abode in the castle, whither they had been commended by the king; and they were very polite, especially the lady, to Mildred, who hated her with such hatred as is only felt by a woman who suspects another of carrying on with her husband."
"Bravo, Maxse!" interrupted Lord Dollamore; "gad, that's really quite graphic,--that last sentence. You've mistaken your profession, Maxse; you ought to have been an author."
"I'm afraid the last sentence was cribbed from theGuidebookto the county. However, to cut my story short, one night Lady Mildred overheard a conversation between her husband and Pepita (that was the foreign lady's name), from which it was pretty clear that Roger had represented himself as a single man when abroad, and had actually married Pepita. Then Mildred had a stormy interview with Roger, and told him of her intention to leave him the next day and go to her brother. But the next morning she was found dead, stabbed to the heart with a dagger, round the handle of which was a scrap of paper, inscribed 'In a Spaniard's way;' and Pepita, her father, and Roger Boscastle were all gone. The latter came back when quite an old man, but was found dead in his bed the morning after his arrival; frightened, it is supposed, by the ghost of Lady Mildred, which in stormy weather duly walks the castle, wringing its hands and waving the bloody dagger in the air."
"No, I don't like the last bit," said Lord Dollamore; "too much like Richardson's show. All the rest very good and dramatic; don't you think so, Lady Milford?"
"Oh, very good indeed--thoroughly interesting; and, as usual, the only innocent person in the story was punished."
"That was because she was innocent," said Lord Dollamore; "there must have been eligible persons, even among her Roundhead friends; how very much better to have consoled herself with--"
"As usual, you miss the point of the story, Lord Dollamore," said Alsager, hotly interrupting; "surely it would have been better to have been the murdered than the murderess in such a case."
"It's very lucky there are not any such cases now-a-days," said Sir Charles. "No woman would put a knife into another now."
"Into any one who stood between me and my love I would, for one," said Mrs. Hammond under her breath; and she looked for a moment so fierce, that Mitford said, "Gad, I believe you!" in a similar tone.
When the ladies had left the room Laurence Alsager said to Lord Dollamore: "You had heard that story before?"
"What story, my dear Alsager?"
"The legend of Egremont Priory."
"Had I? Not unlikely. You know I'm a very eccentric reader, and delight in odd stories."
"It's a pity you did not save Maxse the trouble of telling it again."
"Do you think so? Well, do you know I can't agree with you? Its recital seemed to bring out the character of some of our friends in the highest degree; and if there is anything I delight in, it is the study of character."
Lady Mitford's proposition of a visit to Egremont Priory, though originally made in a kind of bravado, was remembered by most of her guests--notably by Mrs. Hammond, who saw in it a better chance of flirtation than she had had since her arrival at Redmoor. Ever since Georgie had noticed the warm lingering hand-pressure exchanged between her husband and her visitor on that occasion, she had been thoroughly on thequi vive, and, like most young women ignorant of the world's ways, had imagined that the best way to nip a flirtation in the bud was by being perpetually observant of all that took place, and by letting the guilty persons know that their conduct was watched. It requires considerable experience before a woman discovers that--so long as the affair is confined within certain bounds--totally to ignore its existence is her very best policy; a policy which saves her from infinite domestic discomfort, and is besides the only possible method of galling her rival.
But Georgie was not only young, but country-bred,--which means a great deal, for London girls at seventeen know more of the world than country girls at five-and-twenty,--and had had scarcely any experience. So she went to work naturally, and betrayed her anger in the plainest manner,--in perpetual supervision, in lip-bitings and hand-clenchings, in occasional tears, whichwouldcome welling up into her eyes, however far back she might hold her head, and were perfectly visible, however hastily brushed away. To Mrs. Hammond, who was a practised duelist, all this behaviour was delightful; she took it as a tribute to her own powers of fascination, and was proportionately pleased. Flirtation, in its strongest sense, was absolutely necessary to her existence; but she never condescended to boys, and she regarded officers, when merely officers and nothing more, as very small game. She liked to entangle men of position and celebrity, no matter how grave or how old (she had perfectly charmed a bachelor bishop; and the enemies of one of our greatest physicians declared that his wife rendered his home unbearable on account of his attentions to Mrs. Hammond); and the latest literary, artistic, or theatrical lion was usually to be found hovering about her. But far beyond anything else she liked a flirtation with the husband of an acknowledged pretty woman; and the more beautiful the wife, the more bent was Laura Hammond on captivating the husband That gave her greateréclatthan anything else, and she likedéclat. She liked being talked about,--up to a certain point; she liked women to express their wonder at what men could see in her to rave about; she liked to have repeated to her what men said at clubs: "'Str'ord'nary little woman the Hammond! There's Cosmo Gordon been everywhere with her, leaving that lovely wife of his all by herself, by Jove! What the doose can there be in her?" and other speeches of a like nature. She also liked to be on good terms with the wives of her admirers--a thing by no means so difficult as might be imagined by the inexperienced. There are women so spaniel-like in their nature that they will fawn on those who injure them; and some of these consorted with Mrs. Hammond with a vain idea of propitiating her by their forbearance, and thus inducing her to give up the chase. She had at first thought that Georgie Mitford might be of this order; but she was by no means disappointed to find her otherwise. She gloried in a contest out of which she could come victorious, and despised all easy triumphs; there was pleasure in captivating a man whose position or celebrity reflected lustre on his enslaver; but there was tenfold pleasure when he, in his blind infatuation, set the rules of society at defiance, and openly neglected the wife whose beauty had hitherto been his greatest pride.
So Mrs. Hammond reminded Sir Charles that dear Lady Mitford had expressed a wish that they should go over in a party to Egremont Priory, and suggested that he had better see about it at once. Of course Sir Charles saw about it immediately; told Bligh to have some luncheon sent over the next day, and to mind that they had a big fire in the keep, for it was anything but picnic weather; wrote a line to Major Maxse and other officers to join them; and proceeded to poll his visitors as to how they would go over to the spot. How would Mrs. Hammond go? How? Oh, wouldn't dear Lady Mitford ride over with her on horseback? they could get some gentlemen to escort them; and it would be delightful. Dear Lady Mitford was much obliged, but would rather not. Mrs. Hammond could ride over on horseback if she chose, and doubtless would find plenty of cavaliers; but Lady Mitford would drive in a pony-phaeton. Ah, of course! Mrs. Hammond had forgotten Lady Mitford's charming experience of pony-phaetons; and as she said this she looked round with a light and pleasant smile at Colonel Alsager, who was pulling his black beard, and glowering horribly close by. Sir Charles Mitford had no objection to Georgie's going in a phaeton--no objection to her driving, for the matter of that; but since that accident, it would be better, he thought, to have some one reliable in coachmanship sitting by her: Lord Dollamore, for instance? But Dollamore declared he was the worst whip in the world; his horrible rheumatism had crippled his hands; and why should not that tremendous fellow Alsager, who had already earned the medal of the Humane Society--why should not he go? Ay, Alsager was the very man, Sir Charles thought; and Laurence, though he saw every atom of the play on Dollamore's part, and felt himself completely jockeyed into the position, could discern no way out of it, and assented with apparent delight. He was not too pleased to see a certain look of terror which had pervaded Lady Mitford's face when Dollamore was proposed as charioteer fade away when the other arrangement was finally decided upon. Many men would have taken the change as a compliment; but Laurence had had experience, and thought otherwise. Lord Dollamore, Tom and Mrs. Charteris, one of the Tyrrell girls, and Captain Bligh, might post over in the break; in which also went the luncheon-hampers. Fred Aspen, Ellen Tyrrell, and Major Winton, would ride. So the stud-groom had his orders, and all was arranged. Sir Charles had not said how he intended to go to Egremont Priory, and yet no one was surprised, when the cavalcade was on the point of setting out, to see his big horse Tambour Major brought out by the stud-groom, who was closely followed by a helper leading Lady Jane--a very dark iron-gray mare--with a lady's saddle on her. No one doubted for an instant for whom the lady's horse was intended. A bright red spot burned on Lady Mitford's cheek; and as she settled herself in the phaeton by Laurence's side, she said in a loud and marked tone, "I hope, Colonel Alsager, I shall not have occasion to-day to increase the debt of gratitude I already owe to you."
Mrs. Masters raised her eyebrows as Lord Dollamore assisted her into the break, and afterwards had two minutes' confidential whispering with Miss Tyrrell; and Mrs. Charteris had scarcely time to frown down old Tom, who was always full of hisgaucheries, before he had ejaculated, "Making the running early, eh? ah, haw, haw!"
Sir Charles Mitford saw nothing of this little performance; but Mrs. Hammond, whose eyes and ears were everywhere at once, lost not one single scrap of it. So, just before the word for starting was given, while Mrs. Masters was doing her whispering, and Lady Mitford was burning with anger, and Captain Bligh was peering into the various hampers to see that nothing had been forgotten; while Sir Charles himself, intoxicated with her wonderful piquancy (she never looked to such advantage as in her riding-habit), was coming across to mount her, she turned calmly round, and said in a voice which could be heard by all round, "No,--thanks, Sir Charles--I won't trespass on your attention. As host you have all sorts of things to look after and to do.--Major Winton, if that chestnut will stand for half a minute--here, boy, look to his head!--I'll get you to mount me, and if you'll permit me I'll join your party. I'm the best of chaperons, Major; and when it's required, my talent for admiring the landscape is enormous."
This last was utteredsotto voce, and with a quick side-glance towards Ellen Tyrrell. It was a clever move; and though by no means convincing, had some effect on all the party. Sir Charles bowed, sprang on Tambour Major, and rode away with disgust plainly visible in every feature; Lady Mitford looked disconcerted; so did Alsager, though he understood it all; Dollamore took his familiar stick in consultation, and whispered to it that she was a devilish clever little woman; Tom Charteris winked quietly at his wife; and Major Winton was delighted. He told some friends afterwards, in the freedom of barrack-room conversation, that he didn't go in for women's society and that sort of thing, you know, and he'd no idea he was so d--d nice.
So they went on. The party in the break was very humorous; they kept up a running fire of jokes against Bligh about something being forgotten, and compelled him (naturally a nervous man, and very proud of his arrangement of such matters) to dive frequently to the bottom of hampers and return with the supposed missing article in his hand, his face purple with stooping and triumph combined. Captain Bligh was not a humorist, but he retorted with several broad allusions to Tom Charteris's distillery; and, a flash of old sporting experience having suddenly revealed to him that there was an affinity of meaning between the words 'gin' and 'snare,' he dilated thereon after a fashion that Mr. George Cruikshank might have envied. They were very quiet in the pony-phaeton, for Georgie was annoyed at having so plainly shown her anger; and Laurence, finding that his few remarks about the weather and the scenery only gained monosyllabic answers, soon lapsed into silence. Sir Charles was seen going across country at a great pace, apparently comforting himself by taking it out of Tambour Major, and clearing everything in first-rate style. The mounted party seemed to enjoy themselves most of all; Major Winton was in the seventh heaven, for Mrs. Hammond did all the talking, requiring him only to throw in an occasional word, and she looked so fascinating that he devoted himself to her during the ride, entirely neglecting Ellen Tyrrell--to that young lady's great gratification, be it said, as she regarded the Major as a fogie, and was infinitely better pleased with the attentions of one of the officers who joined the cavalcade just as it emerged on the Redmoor.
The winter picnic passed off much more pleasantly than might have been augured from its commencement. During the drive Georgie had had time deliberately to examine herself, and to arrive at the conclusion that what she was doing was very foolish, and more than that, she was afraid, very wrong. It might be that her own jealousy had jaundiced her ideas; it might be that the pressure of the hand from which her misgiving first dated, was entirely imaginary. What right had she to suspect Charley of fickleness? Had he not proved his truth in the noblest way, by coming back to her in the time of his prosperity and raising her to her present position? Was it likely, then, that he would so suddenly change? Yes, she had been very wrong to permit the growth of such horrible suspicions, and she would make up for it to Charley by tenfold warmth and affection. Georgie's already-suffused face deepened in hue as she remembered what, in the bitterness of her spirit, she had said to Colonel Alsager on taking her seat in the phaeton. What could he have thought of her? Whatever he may have thought, nothing could be gathered from the calm grave expression of his face. Very likely he guessed what was passing through his companion's mind; for from the little he had seen of Georgie, he believed her to possess more commonsense than is given to the average woman, and he was certain she could show it in no better way than by totally ignoring this business, at all events in its present stage. Laurence saw plainly enough Mrs. Hammond's intentions. There was not a point in her system of strategy which he did not comprehend; and he also saw that Mitford was morally weak, and obviously flattered by her attentions. In the present stage of affairs, however, for Lady Mitford to show herself annoyed was the very worst policy she could adopt; and while she kept silence Laurence guessed she was arguing the question within herself, and earnestly hoped she would come to the right decision. He knew she had done so when, just as they were nearing their destination, she looked up with a bright smile and said, "I have been a very dull companion, I am afraid, Colonel Alsager! but the truth is I was full of thought."
"A bad thing to bring out to a picnic, Lady Mitford. I should advise you to discard it as speedily as possible."
"I fully intend to do so, and hope every one else will follow your advice. By the way, I may say, 'Physician, heal thyself;' for you've been most sedate ever since we started."
"I was wondering," laughed Laurence, "among other things, what the groom seated behind us could think of us. He's young, I see, and may possibly therefore imagine that silence is a sign of good breeding."
"In that case, in his opinion we must be perfect aristocrats, for we've not exchanged a word. Ah, here comes the cavalcade; how well Mrs. Hammond looks!--doesn't she? and how perfectly she sits her horse!"
"Yes, she rides admirably, and--ah, I thought so; she has just discovered we were looking at her, or she would not have done that."
"That" was to put her horse at a bit of bank and hedge bordering the grass-meadow, on which she and her party were cantering. She cleared it admirably, and drew rein close by the phaeton. As her horse jumped, Mrs. Hammond caught Laurence's eye, and her own lighted up with a saucy triumph; the exercise had done her good, and she was in great spirits.
"Well, dear Lady Mitford, I hope you've enjoyed your drive; no accident this time, I see. But Colonel Alsager is a good whip.--I've heard your praises sung often by men who really understand the subject, Colonel Alsager. They say you have the very hand for a restive animal--light, but firm."
"They get away from me sometimes, though, Mrs. Hammond," said Laurence, looking up.
"Ah, that happens with every one," she replied; "but you always conquer at last, don't you?"
"Always; and when I get them in hand again, I make them remember their freaks, and pay for them."
"You're quite right," said she carelessly. "Ah, here is Major Winton. I assure you, Lady Mitford, the Major is the most perfect escort; full of talk and fun, he never suffers you to be dull for an instant. And there's the break arrived, and that energetic Captain Bligh managing everything as usual. What very large hampers! And I declare there's Sir Charles arrived before any of us, and superintending the laying of the cloth in that romantic-looking old tower."
Lady Mitford caught sight of her husband at the same time, and hurried off to him. She was full of penitence, and wanted to set herself right with him at once.
"Ah, and there's Lady Mitford off at the mere sound of his name. Look at that, Colonel Alsager, and--will you have the kindness to help me to dismount, Colonel Alsager?--No, thank you, Major, I won't trouble you; the Colonel is already on the ground. There, Laurence Alsager," she whispered, as she sprang from the saddle, "that is what I pine for,--domestic love;" and she heaved a little sigh, and tapped the ground with the delicate little riding-boot, which the lifting of her habit had exposed.
For an instant Laurence was taken off his guard, and said bitterly, "When you might have had it, you spurned it;" then recovering himself, he added, "However, we have had that out once, and--"
"And here is Major Winton," said Mrs. Hammond in her airiest manner. "Luncheon already, eh? then you shall give me your arm, Major, for this turf-hill is awkward to climb, especially in a habit."
Meanwhile Georgie had hurried away to where her husband was standing watching the laying of the cloth in the one room of the keep, by the old châtelâine and her granddaughter. Georgie made her way up to him, and with the tears rising in her eyes, said, "Oh, Charley, I'm so glad I have found you; I wanted to speak to you."
"Did you, little woman?" said he, looking down at her in great astonishment; "what about? Nothing left behind, is there?"
"No; that is--at least--I don't know; it was not about that I wanted to speak."
"What was it, then? Nothing the matter with the ponies?--not another accident, eh?"
"No, O no; I only wanted to say that I hoped you would not be annoyed at--at anything I did when we started from home to-day--about the way in which the party was divided, I mean."
"Why, you silly little woman, of course not; you had nothing to do with it. If Winton chose to make himself ridiculous, it wasn't your fault. There, come, dry your eyes, Georgie, and let's go and look after the people."
So, then, he had not noticed her anger or her foolish speech at all. Georgie hardly knew whether to be pleased or vexed at the discovery.
The indefatigable Captain Bligh had now brought his arrangements to a head, and all was ready for luncheon. A large fire burned in the great open fireplace of the old room, lighting up the grim old walls, and flickering through the narrow slips and embrasures, whence in old days the archers had done good service. Lady Mitford headed the table, with Lord Dollamore and Major Maxse, who had ridden over with some of his brother officers, on either side. Mrs. Masters was delighted to find herself next to Colonel Alsager; Tom Charteris was placed opposite the largest piece of cold beef, and told to go on carving it until somebody stopped him; Mrs. Charteris was acting as a kind of female aide-de-camp to Captain Bligh; and if Mrs. Hammond found Major Winton, who was on one side of her, unusually talkative, she could make no such complaint of Sir Charles Mitford, who sat on the other side, and was unusually silent.
The meal went off with great success. Everybody was hungry, and nearly everybody was good-tempered; there was abundance of champagne, and the officers and the young ladies had a great deal of laughter; and then they set out to explore the ruins, and there was that charming story of the murdered lady, and the spot where she appeared was pointed out by the old housekeeper, who told the legend in a deliciously-funny manner; and Tom Charteris hid himself behind a buttress, and at its conclusion bounced out among them with a great roar, clanking a dog-chain which he had picked up. All the ladies screamed, and Ellen Tyrrell was so frightened that she nearly fainted, and had to be supported by Frank Somers, the officer who had ridden with her from Redmoor; and even when she recovered she was so weak as to be compelled to walk very slowly, so that she and her companion were some distance behind the rest of the party.
With this exception they all kept together; and Georgie had the satisfaction of engaging her husband's arm during the greater portion of their stay. When the time came for their return, the only change made was, that Mrs. Masters had manoeuvred so successfully as to induce Lady Mitford to change places with her,--Georgie returning in the break, and Laurence driving the widow in the phaeton. But this time the equestrians all started together. Sir Charles did not tear away on Tambour Major; for though still annoyed with Mrs. Hammond, he had by this time got his temper under control. It was a trying time for Tambour Major, who hated being held back, and pushed and jumped so as to be very disagreeable company at close quarters. He was very disagreeable indeed to Major Winton, who had eaten a large lunch and wanted to digest it quietly; and equally disagreeable to Frank Somers and Ellen Tyrrell, who were engaged in a conversation which compelled them to keep their horses at a walking-pace. The only person who was really pleased was Mrs. Hammond, who in Tambour Major's struggles and plunges saw her way to the end which she had all along intended to accomplish.
"That's more show than business, I'm thinking, Sir Charles," said she, pointing with her whip to the horse as he gave a tremendous plunge.
"How do you mean 'show,' Mrs. Hammond? I only know it's all I can do to hold him steady."
"Let him have his head, then; he looks as if he would rush his fences, and had not the least notion of steady jumping."
"You should have seen him this morning; he--"
"You took good care I should not, by running away from us."
"He'd do just the same going home. I can take you the way I came, over some of the prettiest jumps you have ever seen," said Mitford, getting nettled about his horse. "Come, who'll follow?"
"I, for one," said Mrs. Hammond; but no one else spoke.
"They only want a lead; come, let us show them the way;" and as he spoke, Sir Charles turned his horse out of the high-road up a short sloping embankment on to a broad stretch of moorland, and with Mrs. Hammond close by his side, was away at full gallop. The rest of the riding party looked after them, but did not attempt to follow. Major Winton, finding himself decidedlyde trop, lit a cigar, and jogged lazily along by himself, while the others continued their conversation.
Away go the big black horse and the dark iron-gray, side by side, flying over the purple moorland, Lady Jane holding her own well with her companion, let him tear and struggle as he may to shake her off. Now far away to the right looms dark the first obstacle, which Sir Charles points out with his whip, and at sight of which Mrs. Hammond rings out a merry little laugh. As they approach, it developes itself as a double line of posts and rails, good stiff oak timber, which must either be cleared or declined, through which there is no scrambling. Tambour Major sees it already, and rushes at it with a great snort of triumph, clearing it at a bound. Nor is the gray to be balked; scarcely has he alighted, foam-flecked and trembling, in the field beyond, than Lady Jane is by his side.
"That's number one," said Sir Charles; "the next we shall find just at the end of--" but Mrs. Hammond laid her whip upon his arm. She had previously looked round and marked that they were far out of the range of observation by their late companions.
"Quite enough," she said; "I am satisfied with Tambour Major's performances, and own I did him grievous injustice. From the manner in which he went at that, I am certain he could do anything. Besides," she added, bending forward and patting Lady Jane's neck with her pretty dogskin gauntlet, "I wanted to speak to you."
"To me, Mrs. Hammond?"
"Yes, to you--to you, alone. You are angry with me?"
"I--angry? 'Pon my word I can assure you--I--"
"Ah, don't deny it." Her voice dropped into its most musical and softest key. "Do you think I am not quick to read any change in your manner?"
"No, but really--I haven't the least right to--"
"The least right! I thought you had promised to be my friend,--my firm, steadfast, constant friend. Ah, if you knew how I have longed for such a friend,--one in whom I could confide, and who would advise me!"
She dropped her head on her breast as she said this, and the red rays of the dying sun touched the tight braids of her chestnut hair with gold.
"Such a friend you will find in me," said Mitford; "I meant it when I said it--I mean it now."
"No," said Laura plaintively, "no; you have other ties and other claims upon you, and it must not be. The world cannot understand such confidence as I would give and receive; it is too pure and too earnest for worldly comprehension.--Already--but I won't speak of that."
"Finish your sentence, please."
"No, it was nothing, really nothing."
"Then tell me, or I shall fancy it was something. Tell me."
"How you compel me to obey you! I was going to say--it's excessively silly of me; very probably it was only my own foolish notion, but I'm so nervous and anxious about anything which concerns--my friends; I thought that Lady Mitford seemed a little annoyed at your obvious intention of riding with me this morning."
She stole a look at him under her hat to see how he received this shot.
"Who? Georgie! annoyed? Oh, you must have been mistaken. I should have noticed it in an instant if that had been the case."
"You think so! Well, then, very likely it was my mistake. And I was so frightened, so fearful of causing any misunderstanding between you, so terrified at the thought of getting you into trouble, that I at once called that odious Major Winton into my service, and have suffered him to bore me with hisniaiseriesthroughout the day."
"Oh,thatwas the reason that you flirted with Winton, then! I thought--"
"Thought what? Ah, I've caught you! You were angry then?"
"Well, perhaps,--just a little."
"I should have been deeply hurt if you had not been; it would have showed that you had no real interest in me, and that would be dreadful. Just before I knew you, I held my life as utterly valueless, the daily repetition of a dull dreary task,--nothing to live for, nobody to care for. And this morning, when I thought you were really angry with me, that feeling came back so hopelessly--oh, so hopelessly! I think I should die if I had no one to take interest in me now."
She moved her hand towards the little pocket in her saddle-flap for her handkerchief, but he stopped it in its descent and held it in his own.
"While I live," said he, "you will never have cause to make that complaint."
And their eyes met,--hers soft and dreamy, his fierce and eager. A delicious interchange of glances to the persons concerned, but perhaps not so pleasant to a looker-on. Apparently very displeasing to the only one then present--a tall slim woman, picking her way in a very cattish manner across the adjoining meadow; who stopped on catching sight of the equestrians, frowned heavily as she watched them, and crouched under the shadow of the hedge until they had passed.