00470
“And can you not confide it to me? Have I no right to ask for the confidence, Kate?” said he, with tenderness.
“Know you any one more deeply and sincerely your friend than I am, more ready to aid, protect, or counsel you?”
“But this I cannot—must not tell you,” said she, in accents broken by sobbing.
“Let me know, at least, enough to refute the insolence of an imputation upon your conduct. I cannot tamely sit by and hear the slanderous stories that to-morrow or next day will gain currency through the town.”
“I cannot, I cannot,” was all that she could utter.
“If not me, then, choose some other defender. Unprotected and undefended you must not be.”
“I need none, sir; none will asperse me!” said she, haughtily.
“What! you say this? while scarce five minutes since I saw you outraged, insulted in the open street?”
A burst of tears, long repressed, here broke from Kate; and for some minutes her sobs alone were heard in the silence.
“I will ask but one question more, Miss Dalton,” said George, slowly, as the carriage passed under the arched gateway of the Palace, “and then this incident is sealed to me forever. Is this secret whatever it be in your own sole keeping; or is your confidence shared in by another?”
“It is,” murmured Kate, below her breath.
“You mean that it is shared?” asked he, eagerly.
“Yes, Mr. Jekyl at least knows—”
“Jekyl!” cried George, passionately; “and is Alfred Jekyl your adviser and your confidant? Enough; you have told me quite enough,” said he, dashing open the door of the carriage as it drew up to the house. He gave his hand to Kate to alight, and then, turning away, left her, without even a “good-bye,” while Kate hurried to her room, her heart almost breaking with agony.
“I shall be late, Nina,” said she, affecting an air and voice of unconcern, as she entered her room; “you must dress me rapidly.”
“Mademoiselle must have been too pleasantly engaged to remember the hour,” said the other, with an easy pertness quite different from her ordinary manner.
More struck by the tone than by the words themselves, Kate turned a look of surprise on the speaker.
“It is so easy to forget one's self at Morlache's, they say,” added the girl, with a saucy smile; and although stung by the impertinence, Kate took no notice of the speech. “Mademoiselle will of course never wear that dress again,” said Nina, as she contemptuously threw from her the mud-stained and rain-spotted dress she had worn that morning. “We have a Basque proverb, Mademoiselle, about those who go out in a carriage and come back on foot.”
“Nina, what do you mean by these strange words and this still more strange manner?” asked Kate, with a haughtiness she had never before assumed towards the girl.
“I do not pretend to say that Mademoiselle has not the right to choose her confidantes, but the Principessa de San Martello and the Duchessa di Rivoli did not think me beneath their notice.”
“Nina, you are more unintelligible than ever,” cried Kate, who still, through all the dark mystery of her words, saw the lowering storm of coming peril.
“I may speak too plainly, too bluntly, Mademoiselle, but I can scarcely be reproached with equivocating; and I repeat that my former mistresses honored me with their secret confidence; and they did wisely, too, for I should have discovered everything of myself, and my discretion would not have been fettered by a compact.”
“But if I have no secrets,” said Kate, drawing herself up with a proud disdain, “and if I have no need either of the counsels or the discretion of my waiting-woman?”
“In that case,” said Nina, quietly, “Mademoiselle has only perilled herself for nothing. The young lady who leaves her carriage and her maid to pass three hours at Morlache's, and returns thence, on foot, after nightfall, may truly say she has no secrets, at least, so far as the city of Florence is concerned.”
“This is insolence that you never permitted yourself before,” said Kate, passionately.
“And yet, if I were Mademoiselle's friend instead of her servant, I should counsel her to bear it.”
“But I will not,” cried Kate, indignantly. “Lady Hester shall know of your conduct this very instant.”
“One moment, Mademoiselle, just one moment,” said Nina, interposing herself between Kate and the door. “My tongue is oftentimes too ready, and I say things for which I am deeply sorry afterwards. Forgive me, I beg and beseech you, if I have offended; reject my counsels, disdain my assistance, if you will, but do not endanger yourself in an instant of anger. If you have but little control over your temper, I have even less over mine; pass out of that door as my enemy, and I am yours to the last hour of my life.”
There was a strange and almost incongruous mixture of feeling in the way she uttered these words; at one moment abject in submission, and at the next hurling a defiance as haughty as though she were an injured equal. The conflict of the girl's passion, which first flushed, now left her pale as death, and trembling in every limb. Her emotion bespoke the most intense feeling, and Kate stood like one spellbound, before her. Her anger had already passed away, and she looked with almost a sense of compassion at the excited features and heaving bosom of the Spanish girl.
“You wrong yourself and me too, Nina,” said Kate Dalton, at last. “I have every trust in your fidelity, but I have no occasion to test it.”
“Be it so, Mademoiselle,” replied the other, with a courtesy.
“Then all is forgotten,” said Kate, affecting a gayety she could not feel; “and now let me hasten downstairs, for I am already late.”
“The Prince will have thought it an hour, Mademoiselle,” said the girl; the quiet demureness of her manner depriving the words of any semblance of impertinence. If Kate looked gravely, perhaps some little secret source of pleasure lay hid within her heart; and in the glance she gave at her glass, there was an air of conscious triumph that did not escape the lynx-eyed Nina.
“My Lady is waiting dinner, Miss Dalton,” said a servant, as he tapped at the door; and Kate, with many a trouble warring in her breast, hastened downstairs, in all the pride of a loveliness that never was more conspicuous.
KATE found Lady Hester, the Prince, and Mr. Jekyl awaiting her as she entered the drawing-room, all looking even more bored and out of sorts than people usually do who have been kept waiting for their dinner.
“Everybody has sworn to be as tiresome and disagreeable as possible to-day,” said Lady Hester. “George said he'd dine here, and is not coming; Lord Norwood promised, and now writes me word that an unavoidable delay detains him; and here comes Miss Dalton, the mirror of punctuality when all else are late, a full half-hour after the time. There, dear, no excuses nor explanations about all you have been doing, the thousand calls you 've made, and shops you 've ransacked. I 'm certain you 've had a miserable day of it.”
Kate blushed deeply, and dreaded to meet Jekyl' s eye; but when she did, that little glassy orb was as blandly meaningless as any that ever rattled in the head of a Dutch doll. Even as he gave his arm to lead her in to dine, nothing in his manner or look betrayed anything like a secret understanding between them. A bystander might have deemed him a new acquaintance.
“Petits diners” have, generally, the prerogative of agreeability; they are the chosen reunions of a few intimates, who would not dilute their pleasantry even by a single bore. They are also the bright occasions for those little culinary triumphs which never can be attempted in a wider sphere. Epigrams, whether of lamb or language, require a select and special jury to try them; but just in the same proportion as the success of such small parties is greater, so is their utter failure, when by any mischance there happens a breakdown in the good spirits or good humor of the company.
We have said enough to show that the ladies, at least, might be excused for not displaying those thousand attractions of conversation which all centre on the one great quality, ease of mind. The Prince was more than usual out of sorts, a number of irritating circumstances having occurred to him during the morning. A great sovereign, on whom he had lavished the most profuse attentions, had written him a letter of thanks, through his private secretary, enclosing a snuff-box, instead of sending him an autograph, and the first class of the national order. His glover, in Paris, had forgotten to make his right hand larger than the left, and a huge packet that had just arrived was consequently useless. His chef had eked out a salmi of ortolans by a thrush; and it was exactly that unlucky morsel the Cardinal had helped himself to at breakfast, and immediately sent his plate away in disappointment. Rubion, too, his ninth secretary, had flatly refused to marry a little danseuse that had just come out in the ballet, a piece of insolence and rebellion on his part not to be tolerated; and when we add to these griefs an uncomfortable neckcloth, and the tidings of an insurrection in a Russian province where he owned immense property in mines, his state of irritability may be leniently considered.
Jekyl, if truth were told, had as many troubles of his own to confront as any of the rest. If the ocean he sailed in was not a great Atlantic, his bark was still but a cockleshell; his course in life required consummate skill and cleverness, and yet never could be safe even with that. Notwithstanding all this, he alone was easy, natural, and agreeable, not as many an inferior artist would have been agreeable, by any over-effort to compensate for the lack of co-operation in others, and thus make their silence and constraint but more palpable, his pleasantry was tinged with the tone of the company, and all his little smartnesses were rather insinuated than spoken. Quite satisfied if the Prince listened, or Lady Hester smiled, more than rewarded when they once both laughed at one of his sallies, he rattled on about the Court and the town talk, the little scandals of daily history, and the petty defections of those dear friends they nightly invited to their houses. While thus, as it were, devoting himself to the amusement of the others, his real occupation was an intense study of their thoughts, what was uppermost in their minds, and in what train their speculations were following. He had long suspected the Prince of being attracted by Kate Dalton; now he was certain of it. Accustomed almost from childhood to be flattered on every hand, and to receive the blandest smiles of beauty everywhere, Midchekoff's native distrust armed him strongly against such seductions; and had Kate followed the path of others, and exerted herself to please him, her failure would have been certain. It was her actual indifference her perfect carelessness on the subject was the charm to his eyes, and he felt it quite a new and agreeable sensation not to be made love to.
Too proud of her own Dalton blood to feel any elevation by the marked notice of the great Russian, she merely accorded him so much of her favor as his personal agreeability seemed to warrant; perhaps no designed flattery could have been so successful. Another feeling, also, enhanced his admiration of her. It was a part of that barbaric instinct which seemed to sway all his actions, to desire the possession of whatever was unique in life. Those forms or fancies of which nature stamps but one, and breaks the die, these were a passion with him. To possess a bluer turquoise than any king or kaiser, to own an arab of some color never seen before, to have a picture by some artist who never painted but one; but whether it were a gem, a vase, a weapon, a diamond, or a dog, its value had but one test, that it had none its exact equal. Now, Kate Dalton realized these conditions more than any one he had ever met. Her very beauty was peculiar; combining, with much of feminine softness and delicacy, a degree of determination and vigor of character that to Midchekoff smacked of queenly domination. There was a species of fierte about her that distinguished her among other women. All that he had seen done by an illustrious title and a diamond tiara, she seemed capable of effecting in the simplest costume and without an effort. All these were wonderful attractions to his eyes; and if he did not fall in love, it was simply because he did not know how. He, however, did what to him served as substitute for the passion; he coveted an object which should form one of the greatest rarities of his collection, and the possession of which would give him another title to that envy, the most delicious tribute the world could render him.
There were some drawbacks to his admiration; her birth was not sufficiently illustrious. His own origin was too recent to make an alliance of this kind desirable, and he wished that she had been a princess; even de la main, gauche of some royal house. Jekyl had done his best, by sundry allusions to Irish greatness, and the blood of various monarchs of Munster and Conuaught, in times past; but the Prince was incredulous as to Hibernian greatness; probably the remembrance of an Irish diamond once offered him for sale had tinged his mind with this sense of disparagement as to all Irish magnificence. Still Kate rose above every detracting influence, and he thought of the pride in which he should parade her through Europe as his own.
Had she been a barb or a bracelet, an antique cup or a Sevres jar, he never would have hesitated about the acquisition. Marriage, however, was a more solemn engagement; and he did not quite fancy any purchase that cost more than mere money. Nothing but the possibility of losing her altogether could have overcome this cautious scruple; and Jekyl had artfully insinuated such a conjuncture. “George Onslow's attentions were,” he said, “quite palpable; and although up to this Miss Dalton did not seem to give encouragement, who could tell what time and daily intercourse might effect? There was Norwood, too, with the rank of peeress in his gift; there was no saying how an ambitious girl might be tainted by that bait.” In fact, the Prince had no time to lose; and, although nothing less accorded with his tastes than what imposed haste, he was obliged to bestir himself on this occasion.
If we have dwelt thus long upon the secret thoughts of the company, it is because their conversation was too broken and unconnected for recording. They talked little, and that little was discursive. An occasional allusion to some social topic, a chance mention of their approaching departure from Florence, some reference to Como and its scenery, formed the whole; and then, in spite of Jekyl, whose functions of “fly-wheel” could not keep the machine a-moving, long pauses would intervene, and each lapse into a silence apparently more congenial than conversation. All this while Jekyl seemed to be reading the complex scheme of doubt, irresolution, and determination that filled Midchekoff's mind. The stealthy glances of the Russian's eyes towards Kate, the almost painful anxiety of his manner, to see if she noticed him while speaking, his watchful observance of her in her every accent and gesture, told Jekyl the struggle that was then passing within him. He had seen each of these symptoms before, though in a less degree, when the coveted object was a horse or a picture; and he well knew how nothing but the dread of a competition for the prize would rouse him from this state of doubt and uncertainty.
The evening dragged slowly over, and it was now late, when Lord Norwood made his appearance. With a brief apology for not coming to dinner, he drew Jekyl to one side, and, slipping an arm within his, led him into an adjoining room.
“I say, Jekyl,” whispered he, as they retired out of earshot of the others, “here's a pretty mess Onslow's got in. There has been a fracas in the street about Miss Dalton. How she came there at such a time, and alone, is another matter; and George has struck Guilmard, knocked him down, by Jove! and no mistake; and they're to meet tomorrow morning. Of course, there was nothing else for it; a blow has but one reparation, George will have to stand the fire of the first shot in Europe.”
Jekyl hated a duel. Had he been a member of the Peace Congress, he could not have detested the arbitrament of arms more heartily. 'It involved partisanship, it severed intimacies, it barred general intercourse, and often closed up for a whole season the pleasantest houses of a town. The announcement of a strict blockade never struck a mercantile community with more terror. To Norwood the prospect was directly the opposite. Not only an adept in all the etiquette and ceremonial of such meetings, he liked to see his name circulated in these affairs as a kind of guarantee of his readiness to seek a similar reparation for injury. He had trusted for many a year on his dexterity at twelve paces, and he never missed an opportunity of sustaining the prestige of a “dead shot.”
It was, then, with an ardor of amateurship that he narrated the various little preliminary steps which had already been taken. Merkheim, the Austrian secretary, had called on him, on the part of Guilmard; and as, in a case so clear, there was little to arrange, the only difficulty lay in the choice of weapons.
“The Frenchman claims the sword,” said Norwood; “and it is always awkward to decline that proposition for a soldier. But I suppose George has about as much chance with one weapon as the other.”
“You think he 'll kill him, my Lord?”
“I think so. If the offence had been less flagrant or less public, possibly not. But a blow! to be struck down in the open street! I don't see how he can do less.”
“What a break-up it will cause here!” said Jekyl, with a nod of his head in the direction of the drawing-room.
“It will send them all back to England, I suppose.”
“I suppose it will,” added Jekyl, mournfully.
“What a bore! It's particularly unpleasant for me, for I hold some half-dozen of George's acceptances, not due yet; and, of course, the governor will never think of acquitting them.”
“I conclude it is inevitable the meeting, I mean?” said Jekyl.
“To be sure it is. Onslow took care of that! By the way, Jekyl, how came she there at such an hour, and alone, too?”
“She had been shopping, I fancy, and missed the carriage. There was some blunder, I have heard, about the coachman drawing up at the wrong door.”
“No go, Master Jekyl. Don't try it on with me, old fellow. You know all about it, if you like to tell.”
“I assure you, my Lord, you give me a credit I don't deserve.”
“You know the whole story from beginning to end, Jekyl. I 'd back you against the field, my boy.”
The other shook his head with an air of supreme innocence.
“Then George knows it?” added Norwood, half asserting, half asking the question.
“He may, my Lord, for aught I can tell.”
“If so, he's treating me unfairly,” said Norwood, rising and pacing the room. “As his friend in this affair, there should be no reserve or concealment with me. You can surely say that much, Jekyl, eh? What a close fellow you are!”
“It is so easy not to blab when one has nothing to tell,” said Jekyl, smiling.
“Come, there is something you can tell me. Where does that small corridor behind George's apartment lead to? There is a door at the end of it, and, I fancy, a stair beyond it.”
“That, if I mistake not, leads up to Lady Hester. No, I remember now; it leads to Miss Dalton's room.”
“Just so; I could have sworn it.”
“Why so, my Lord?” asked Jekyl, whose curiosity was now excited to the utmost.
“That 's my secret, Master Jekyl.”
“But the door is always locked and bolted from within,” said Jekyl, “and there is no keyhole on the outside.”
“I'll not stand pumping, Jekyl. If you had been frank with me, perhaps I should have been as open with you.”
For an instant Jekyl hesitated what course to follow. It might be that Norwood really knew something of great importance. It might be that his discovery was valueless. And yet, if it concerned Kate in any way, the information would be all-important, his great game being to make her a princess, and yet preserve such an ascendancy over her as would render her his own slave.
“She's a strange girl, that Dalton,” said Norwood. “I wish she had about forty thousand pounds.”
“She may have more than that yet, my Lord,” said Jekyl, dryly.
“How do you mean, Jekyl? Is there any truth in that story about the Irish property? Has she really a claim on the estate? Tell me all you know, old fellow, and I 'll be on the square with you throughout.”
Jekyl, who in his remark had darkly alluded to the prospect of Kate's marriage with Midchekoff, now saw that Norwood had totally misconceived his meaning, and like a shrewd tactician, determined to profit by the blunder.
“Come, Jekyl, be frank and aboveboard. What are her prospects?”
“Better than I have told you, my Lord,” replied he, coolly. “If I cannot—for I am not at liberty to explain why—I am quite ready to pledge my word of honor to the truth of what I say, or, what your Lordship will think more of, to back my opinion by a bet.”
“By Jove! that is news!” said the Viscount, leaning his head on the chimney to reflect. “You are such a slippery dog, Master Jekyl, you have so many turnings and windings in you, one is never quite sure with you; but supposing now, for argument's sake, that one thought of making this fair damsel a peeress, is there no hitch in the affair no screw loose that one ought to look to?”
“In her birth, my Lord?”
“No; d—n her birth! I mean about the tin.”
“I believe, my Lord, that I can save you all speculation on the subject when I say that pursuit would be hopeless there. The Midchekoff has gained the start, and must win in a canter.”
“That Tartar fellow! nonsense, man; I know better than that. He 'll never marry anything under royalty; the fellow's mother was a serf, and he must wash that spot out of his blood whenever he can.”
“You are mistaken, my Lord. He only waits to be certain of being accepted, to offer himself.”
“Refuse him!” said Norwood, laughing, “there's not that girl in Europe would refuse him. If every decoration he wore on his breast were a stripe of the knout upon his back, his wealth would cover all.”
“The Prince would give half his fortune to be assured of all you say, my Lord,” said Jekyl, gravely.
“By Jove! one might make a good thing of it, even that way,” said Norwood, half aloud. “I say, Jekyl,” added he, louder, “how much are you to have? nay, nay, man, there 's no impertinence in the question, we are both too much men of the world for that. It 's quite clear that this is your scheme. Now, what 's the damage?”
“My Lord, you are as flattering to my abilities as unjust to my character.”
“We 'll suppose all that said,” broke in Norwood, impatiently; “and now we come back to the original question, whether I cannot afford to be as liberal as the Russian. Only be explicit, and let us understand each other.”
“My Lord, I will not insult myself by believing I comprehend you;” said Jekyl, calmly.
And before Norwood could detain him he left the room.
“Jekyl, come back, man! just hear me out you've mistaken me! Confound the cur,” muttered the Viscount, “with his hypocritical affectation as if I did not know his metier as well as I know my bootmaker's.”
Norwood walked noiselessly to the door of the salon and peeped in. Lady Hester, the Prince, and Jekyl were in earnest conversation in one quarter; while Kate sat apart, apparently engaged with her embroidery-frame, but in reality too deeply sunk in thought to notice the bright tints before her. Norwood entered listlessly, and strolling across the room, took a place beside her. She moved slightly as he drew forward his chair, and, then, as she drew back her flounce, Norwood saw that it was of deep black lace. He coolly took out his pocket-book wherein he had deposited the torn fragment, and, regarding it with attention, saw that it perfectly corresponded with the dress. So leisurely and with such circumspection did he proceed that several minutes elapsed before he looked up.
“You are meditative, my Lord, to-night,” said Kate, at last, making an effort to relieve an awkward situation; “what are you thinking of, pray?”
“Admiring your dress, Miss Dalton, which strikes me as singularly beautiful and becoming.”
“Great praise this, from such an acknowledged judge as Lord Norwood,” said she, smiling.
“I prefer it to antique lace, which in general is too heavy and cumbrous for my taste; I like these fine and delicate tissues, so frail and gossamer-like, not but their frailty, like all other frailty, incurs occasionally a heavy penalty; as here, for instance, you see this has been torn.”
“So it has,” said Kate, with confusion, “and I never noticed it. What a quick eye you must have, my Lord!”
“And a sharp ear, too, Miss Dalton,” said he, significantly; “in fact, I am one of those people whose every-day faculties do duty for what in others goes by the name of cleverness. It 's a great pity,” said he, looking down at the dress; “you see, Miss Dalton, what a false step can do.”
“And yet I cannot remember when this occurred,” said she, assuming to misunderstand his equivocal expression.
“Not recall it, not a clew to the mishap?” asked he, shrewdly.
“None,” said she, blushing at the pertinacity with which he clung to the theme; “but it's of no consequence.”
“Would Miss Dalton think it very singular if I should be able to assist her memory? Would she accept the service as kindly as it was proffered, too?”
“Really, my Lord, you begin to speak in riddles,” said she, more than ever piqued at his persistence.
“And yet,” said he, following out the thread of his own thoughts, “I am assuredly as safe a counsellor as Albert Jekyl.”
Kate grew deadly pale, but never replied to this speech.
“And certainly,” resumed he, “the man who speaks in his own name should ever take precedence of an envoy.”
“My Lord,” said she, firmly, “the very little which I can understand of your words implies a pretension to knowledge and influence over me which I disdain to accept; but still I cannot believe that you seriously mean to insult me.”
“Of course not,” said he; “I have come on a very different errand. If I did passingly allude to bygones, it was to show you that you can afford to be candid when I am frank. We two, united, would walk over the course, and no mistake, that 's what I was coming to. I don't mean to say that the Russian is not richer egad! there 's no disputing that, still, as to rank, a peer of Great Britain, I take it, is the equal of any man. Not to remind you of the old adage about 'a bird in the hand' I speak frankly, because you are your own mistress.”
“Kate, if Lord Norwood will excuse you, come to me for one instant,” cried Lady Hester.
“Just say yes, before you go, or, if not yes, tell me that I have ground for hope,” whispered Norwood. But she arose without speaking.
00484
“I'll not stand a 'hedge,' by Jove!” said Norwood, sulkily; “play or pay, nothing else for me.”
“Allow me to pass you, my Lord,” said Kate, courteously.
“One word, off or on, Miss Dalton,” said he, rising, and affecting to make way, while he still barred the passage. A proud, disdainful smile was all the reply she vouchsafed.
“All right,” said he, insolently; “only remember how we stand, Miss Dalton, and whenever you want to repair the mischance of your lace flounce, don't forget the piece is in my keeping;” and he opened the pocket-book as he spoke, and exhibited the fragment before her. Sick with a terror she could neither explain nor realize, she lay back again in her chair, unable to move, while Norwood glided quietly away and left the room.
“Dear Kate, have you forgotten me all this time?” said Lady Hester, whom Kate now perceived was alone on the sofa, Midchekoff and Jekyl having retired into an adjoining gallery, where they walked slowly along, side by side, deep in conversation.
“You shouldn't have suffered Norwood to engross your attention in that manner, my dear. The Prince has been quite put out by it, and at such a moment, too, and how flushed you are! What has he been saying?”
“I can scarcely remember,” said Kate, confusedly.
“Well, it's of no consequence, dear, because I have got something to tell you that would speedily make you forget it. You know, Kate, how I always prophesied wonderful things for you, just as I did before for poor Georgina Elderton, and she married a Rajah afterwards, and died Begum of something ending in 'Bad.' Indeed, I might say it ended in bad for herself, poor dear, for I believe she was poisoned. But, to come back, I always said that you also would have astonishing luck. I told Sir Stafford so. The first day I saw you, 'She 'll be like Georgina,' I said. 'You 'll see that girl in a wonderful position one of these days.' It is not that men care for their wives more than formerly, I rather fancy the reverse, but they have got a most intense passion just now for beauty. Wealth and good blood were once the only requisites, but they are both disregarded now, in comparison with good looks. I suppose the fashion won't last, it would be very absurd if it should, but while it is the mode one ought to profit by it. Just as I am wearing all those horrid old brocades of my great-grand-aunt's, with odious flowers of crimson and yellow, now that the taste in dress is 'rococo,' but of course in a year or two people will recover their senses again, and pretty girls without portions be left for sub-alterns in the line, as Providence intended they should. Don't you think so, dear?”
The brief question at the end of this long rambling speech would possibly have puzzled Kate to reply to, had not Lady Hester been far too much occupied in her own speculations to care for a rejoinder.
“You'll hear people talk a deal of nonsense about unequal marriages, and they'll quote Heaven knows what instances of girls, generally Irish ones, picking up princes and royal dukes, and all ending unhappily. Don't believe a word of it, dearest; there 's never misery where there 's large fortune. The people who cry in velvet always shed rose-water tears, that don't hurt the skin or spoil the complexion. Not that I can say so of myself,” added she, with a deep sigh; “but I am a creature apart. I fervently trust nature does not often form similar ones. Buccellini told me that I had a fifth pair of nerves, I assure you he did. It was a very shocking thing, and probably he ought never to have mentioned it to me; but it perfectly explains the excessive sensibility of my whole nature, does n't it, dear?”
Kate smiled assent, and Lady Hester went on:
“Then, as to religion, my dear, I'm afraid, indeed, we all think too little about it. I 'm sure I 'm quite shocked at what I see in society. It was only the other night Lady Grace Morton kept her seat when the Cardinal was speaking to her. I apologized to him for it afterwards, and he said, with such a sweet smile, 'If these Protestants would only give us back our churches, we 'd forgive their keeping their chairs.' The mot was very pretty, in French, and well turned was n't it? Of course, then, you 'll make no obstacle about the Greek Church, which I believe is exactly like your own, only that the priest has a beard, which I think more becoming. It looks affectionate, too; it always gives one the idea of devotion, a girl changing her faith for her husband; and really, in this tiresome age we live in, a new religion is the only new thing one ever hears of. Your excellent family that sweet sister and the dear old papa will probably make a fuss about it; but you know, after all, how absurd that is, and if you were to marry a Chinese, there 's no saying what strange creatures you 'd have to pray to. You 'll have to go to Russia, but only for presentation; that over, the Prince will obtain a renewal of his permission to reside abroad; still, if you have to pass a winter at St. Petersburg, it will be far from disagreeable. The women are too fond of caviare and high play; but they dress just as well as in Paris, and wear better diamonds. Midchekoff's jewels are unequalled; and, now that I think of it, there 's one thing I 've set my heart on, and you must positively promise to give me, a little stiletto with an emerald hilt and handle. I have pined for it there 's no other word these three years. He wore it in London, and I have never had it out of my thoughts since. You can afford to be very generous, dearest. How I envy you that pleasure! and the delight you 'll feel in providing for poor papa and Mary no, Elizabeth, I mean how absurd! I should say Ellen. It was something about that tale of Elizabeth, the Exile of Siberia, was running in my mind. The Prince will do whatever you suggest, and, indeed, he has already hinted about your brother Frank joining the Russian service. He 'll have him named an officer in the Emperor's Guard. You must insist, too, upon La Rocca being your own settled upon yourself. They tell me it 's the sweetest spot in the world; and I 'll always live there when you don't want it. I mention this about the settlement, because there 's no saying how men will behave. I 'm sure I never could have anticipated such a return as I have met with from Sir Stafford. And then, you know, with a Russian, one cannot be too guarded. Don't you agree with me? Well, never mind, you 'll perhaps come round to my opinion later. But here comes the Prince, and it will be as well you should retire, dearest. I'll see you in your dressing-room, and tell you everything.”
And with this assurance Kate retired, with a head and heart as full as ever young lady's felt.
Kate was hastening to her room, when a short, quick step behind her made her turn round, and she saw Purvis endeavoring to overtake her.
“Oh! I have you at last,” said he, puffing for breath; “and what a ch-chase I 've had for it! I 've been in five rooms already, and nearly had a f-f-fight with that Frenchwoman of Lady Hester's. She 's a regular T-T-Tartar, she is, and almost boxed my ears for looking into a small case where my Lady's r-ringlets are kept ha! ha! ha! I saw them, though, two long and two short, and a pl-pl-plait for the back of the head. How she m-m-makes up at night!”
“I must say that you have the strangest mode of requiting hospitality,” said Kate, haughtily.
“It 's all very well to talk of hospi-hospi-hospi—” Here a fit of gaping brought on coughing, which, after a violent struggle, ended in the forced utterance of the last syllable of the word, but with such fatigue and exhaustion that he seemed scarcely able to continue; at last, however, he did resume. “It's all very well to talk of that, but we got in here by our own cl-cl-cleverness; at least by Zoe's.”
“Less good-natured persons would find another word for it, Mr. Purvis.”
“So they would. Haggerstone called it a Ricketty stratagem. No matter; we 're in ha! ha! ha! and he 's out. The pr-pr-proof of the pu-pu-pudding—”
“Will you excuse me, sir, if I say I must leave you?”
“Don't go, don't go; I've something very important to to tell you. And first, Zoe my sister Zoe wants to see you. The cook has been most im-im-impertinent to her. She says it was ginger she put in the maca-maca-roni, instead of P-P—Parmesan; all his truffles are only Piedmontese. That is n't all: don't be in such a h-hurry. They 've changed the wine, too. We had Ch-Ch-Chambertin yesterday, and they 've given us P-Pomard to-day. How is that to be borne?”
“I really see but one remedy for it, sir,” said Kate, scornfully.
“So Zoe said; that 's exactly her opinion. They must be sent away. Zoe knows a very ti-ti-tidy cook. He 's not a a top-sawyer, you know, but he can r-roast a bit of beef, and make a c-capital rice-pudding, and he 'll come for six dollars a month. Wouldn't that be a sa-saving? Zoe told him to c-call to-day, and speak to La-Lady Hester.”
“He will find that difficult, sir,” said Kate, dryly.
“And as for the b-butler, such a j-j-jackanapes I never saw; and Zoe would advise you to take little Pierrette, the fellow you see every day at the Pergola; he sells the tickets outside the door. He looks r-r-ragged enough now, but when he 's dressed—”
“You must see, sir,” interposed Kate, “that these are all details in which it would be both indelicate and impertinent for me to intrude an opinion about.”
“Not when you li-live in the house; not when you're dome-dome-domesticated with the family. We 're all in the same bo-boat now; and Zoe says somebody must steer it. Now Lizetta, Zoe's maid, would keep the k-keys herself.”
“Pray remember, sir, this is Lady Hester Onslow's house.”
“Egad! it w-won't be long so, if she goes on as she's d-doing. Martha saw the meat-cart come in this morning, and I had a p-p-peep into the servants' hall when the fl-flunkeys were feeding, and such w-w-waste, such re-reckless—”
“Good-evening, Mr. Purvis; I cannot stay longer,” said Kate. And, before he could interpose a word, she hastened from the spot, and, passing rapidly up the stairs, gained her own room, leaving Purvis to bethink him over the mass of things he had not touched upon, and on which he had mainly intended to debate.
LET us go back a few hours in our history, and follow the short and burly figure which, emerging from the travelling-carriage in the courtyard of the palace, pushed his way through the noisy throng of duns, and entered the house.
“How are you, Proctor how is your master?” said he, as he threw off his great-coat, and unrolled a capacious muffler from his throat. “How is Sir Stafford?”
“Oh, Dr. Grounsell, glad you've come, sir. It will be a real pleasure to my master to see you again, sir.”
“How is he, man, how 's the gout?”
“Poorly, very poorly, sir. Things have gone badly here, doctor, since you left us,” said he, with a sigh.
“Yes, yes; I know it all; I have heard all about that. But his health tell me of his health.”
“Greatly broken, sir. No sleep o' nights without opium, and no real rest even with that.”
“And his spirits?”
“Broken too, sir. He's not what you remember him, sir, nor anything like it. No pleasant joke, sir, when anything goes amiss, as it used to be; no turning it off with a merry laugh! He 's fretful and impatient about the merest trifles, and he that never wanted attendance is now always complaining that he 's neglected, and deserted and forsaken by all the world.”
“Does the Captain come often to see and sit with him?”
“Every day, sir; but these visits do rather harm than good. Sir Stafford is vexed at what goes on in the house; and Master George, I don't know how it is, but he don't calm him down, and they have oftentimes angry words together; not but my master is frequently in the wrong, and taxes the young gentleman with what he can't help; for you see, sir, my Lady—”
“D—n! I mean, tell me about Sir Stafford; it is of him I want to hear. Does he read?”
“He makes me read to him every day, sir, all about the money-market and railroad shares; sometimes twice over, indeed; and when I ask if he would n't like to hear about what goes on in politics, he always says, 'No, Proctor, let's have the City article again.'”
“And his letters does n't he read them?”
“The Captain reads them for him, sir; and now and then writes the answers, for he can't hold a pen himself! Oh, you 'll not know him when you see him! He that was so large and fine a man, I lift him in and out of bed as if he were a baby.”
“Has he no acquaintance here?”
“None, sir.”
“Are there no inquiries after his health?”
“Yes, sir; there's plenty of people he used to give money to when he was up and about poor actors, and painters, and the like they come every day to know how he is. Some of them leave begging letters, which I never give him; but most go away without a word.”
“And his countrymen here are there none who ask after him?”
“No, sir. The only English we ever see visit my Lady, and never come to this side of the house at all.”
“Does Miss Dalton come to inquire for him?”
“Every morning and every night too, sir. I suppose it must be without my Lady's orders, or even knowledge; for once, when Sir Stafford was sitting up in his dressing-room, and I asked her if she would n't like to come in and sit a few minutes with him, she turned away without speaking; and I saw, from her manner, that she was crying.”
“What are all these people outside, who are they?”
“My Lady's tradespeople, sir. They've heard she's going for a few weeks to Como, and they 've come with all their bills, as if she was a runaway.”
“Go and tell them to leave this, send them away, Proctor. It would do your master great injury were he to overhear them. Say that everything shall be paid in a day or two; that Sir Stafford remains here, and is responsible for all.”
Proctor hastened out on his errand, and the doctor sat down and covered his face with his hands.
“Poor Stafford! is all your trustful affection come to this? Is it thus that your unbounded generosity, your noble hospitality, are requited?”
When Proctor returned, he proceeded to detail, for the doctor's information, the various events which had occurred during his absence. With most, Grounsell was already acquainted, and listened to the particulars without surprise or emotion.
“So it is, so it is,” muttered he to himself; “there may be more cant of virtue, a greater share of hypocrisy in our English morals, but, assuredly, these things do not happen with us as we see them here. There would seem a something enervating in the very air of the land, that a man like him should have sunk down into this besotted apathy! When can I see him, Proctor?”
“He 's dozing just now, sir; but about midnight he wakes up and asks for his draught. If that won't be too late for you—”
“Too late for me! Why, what else have I travelled for, night and day, without intermission? Be cautious, however, about how you announce me. Perhaps it would be better I should see the Captain first.”
“You 'll scarcely find him at home, sir, at this hour; he generally comes in between three and four.”
“Show me to his room. I 'll write a few lines for him in case we don't meet.”
Proctor accompanied the doctor across the courtyard, and, guiding him up a small stair, reached the terrace off which George Onslow's apartment opened. The window-shutters of the room were not closed, nor the curtains drawn; and in the bright light of several candles that shone within, Grounsell saw two figures seated at a table, and busily engaged in examining the details of a case of pistols which lay before them.
“That will do, Proctor,” said Grounsell; “you may leave me now. I'll be with you at twelve.” And thus saying, he gently pushed him towards the door of the terrace, which he closed and bolted after him, and then noiselessly returned to his former place.
There were few things less congenial to Grounsell's nature than playing the spy. It was a part he thoroughly detested, nor did he think that it admitted of defence or palliation; still, the whole habit of his mind through life had impressed him with a disparaging opinion of himself. The limited sphere of his duties, the humble routine of his daily walk, and the very few friendships he had inspired, all tended to increase this impression, till at last he looked upon himself as one who could only be useful by the sacrifice of personal feeling and the abnegation of all self-esteem; and thus he would have declined to know another man for what he deemed of no consequence in himself. His fault was not thinking too well of others, but thinking too meanly of himself.
The scene before him now was enough to suggest deep anxiety. Notes and letters littered the floor and the table; the embers of a large fire of papers lay on the hearth; open drawers and boxes stood on every side; all betokening preparation, the object of which the pistol-case sufficiently indicated. As they sat with their backs to the window, Grounsell could not recognize the figures; but the voice of one proclaimed him to be George Onslow.
“And where is this place on the way to Arezzo?” asked he.
“No; on the opposite side of the city, off the high-road to Bologna. It is a little park, surrounding a summer palace of the Grand Duke, they call Pratolino,” said the other. “They all agree that it is the best spot to be found; no molestation, nor interference of any kind; and a capital breakfast of fresh trout to be had at the inn.”
“An interesting consideration for such as have good appetites,” said Onslow, laughing.
“I never saw a Frenchman who had not, on such an occasion,” rejoined the other, snapping the pistol as he spoke. “I like these straight stocks; you are almost always certain of your man, with a stiff arm and a low aim.”
“I don't know that I 've forgotten anything, Norwood,” said Onslow, rising and pacing the room with folded arms.
“You 've written to the governor?”
“Yes; and mentioned those acceptances,” said Onslow, with a sneering severity that the other never seemed to notice. “You're quite safe, whatever happens.”
“Hang it, man, I wasn't thinking of that; curse the money, it never entered my thoughts.”
“My father will pay it,” said George, dryly, and continued his walk.
“As you have alluded to it, I hope you spoke of it as a loan, anything like a play transaction suggests a mess of scandal and stories.”
“I have called it a debt, and that is quite sufficient.”
“All right whatever you like. And now about this girl. Do you intend to let this mystery continue, or do you think that, under the circumstances, Lady Hester should still retain her as a friend and companion?”
“I know of nothing to her disparagement, nor have I yet met one who does. That there are circumstances which she does not deem fitting to entrust to my keeping is no just cause of allegation against her.”
“You are very honorable to say so, George; but I must confess it is more than she deserves at your hands.”
“How do you mean?”
“That she means to take the Russian, that's all.”
“Well, and why not? Would not such a match be a brilliant one for a girl of much higher rank and pretension?”
“What's the use of all this fencing, man?” said Norwood, half angrily, “I know better how matters stand. Do you remember the night you lost so heavily at Macao? Well, I was lying stretched on the sofa, yonder, by the light of the fire only, when the door opened, and she stepped gently in.”
“What, Kate Dalton?”
“Yes, Kate Dalton. Oh! impossible, if you like deny it as much as you please, but she has not equal hardihood, that I can tell you; and if she had, here is the proof that could condemn her, this fragment of her lace flounce was caught in the door as she banged it in her escape; and this very evening I compared it with the dress in question; ay, and showed her the rent from which it came.”
Twice did George compel Norwood to repeat over this story; and then sat down, overwhelmed with sorrow and shame.
“You swear to me, then, Onslow, that you never saw her here, never knew of her coming?” said he, after a long silence between them.
“Never, I swear!” said the other, solemnly.
“Then, some other is the fortunate man, that's all. How good if it should turn out to be Jekyl!” And he laughed heartily at the absurdity of the conceit.
“No more of this,” said Onslow, passionately. “The tone of the society we live in here would seem to warrant any or every imputation, even on those whose lives are spotless; and I know of no greater degradation than the facility of our belief in them. In this instance, however, my conscience is at ease; and I reject, with contempt, the possibility of a stain upon that girl's honor.”
“The sentiment does more credit to your chivalry than your shrewdness, George,” said the Viscount, sarcastically.
“But as you are about to stake your life on the issue, I cannot impugn your sincerity.”
A hasty movement of George towards the window here alarmed Grounsell, and he noiselessly withdrew, and descended the stairs again.
“A precious mess of trouble do I find ready for me,” muttered he, as he passed across the courtyard. “Debt, duelling, and sickness, such are the pleasures that welcome me; and these not the worst, perhaps, if the causes of them were to be made known!”
“My Lady has just heard of your arrival, doctor, and begs you will have the kindness to step up to her room,” said Proctor, coming to meet him.
“I 'm tired, I 'm fatigued. Say I 'm in bed,” said Grounsell, angrily.
“Her maid has just seen you, sir,” suggested Proctor, mildly.
“No matter; give the answer I tell you; or stay perhaps it would be better to see her. Yes, Proctor, show me the way.” And muttering to himself, “The meeting will not be a whit pleasanter for her than me,” he followed the servant up the stairs.
Well habituated to Lady Hester's extravagant and costly tastes, Grounsell was yet unprepared for the gorgeous decorations and splendid ornaments of the chambers through which he passed, and he stopped from time to time in amazement to contemplate a magnificence which was probably rather heightened than diminished by the uncertain light of the candles the servant carried. He peered at the china vases; he passed his hand across the malachite and jasper tables; he narrowly inspected the rich mosaics, as though doubtful of their being genuine; and then, with a deep sigh, almost deep enough to be a groan, he moved on in sadness. A bust of Kate Dalton the work of a great sculptor, and an admirable likeness caught his eye, and he gazed at it with signs of strong emotion. There was much beauty in it, and of a character all her own; but still the cold marble had caught up, in traits sterner than those of life, the ambitious bearing of the head and the proud elevation of the brow.
“And she has become this already!” said he, half aloud. “Oh, how unlike poor Nelly's model! how different from the simple and beauteous innocence of those saint-like features!”
“My Lady will see you, sir,” said Celestine, breaking in upon his musings. And he followed her into the chamber, where, seated in a deeply cushioned chair, Lady Hester reclined, dressed in all the perfection of an elegant deshabille.
Grounsell was, assuredly, not the man to be most taken by such attractions, yet he could not remain entirely insensible to them; and he felt a most awkward sense of admiration as he surveyed her. With all a woman's quickness, her Ladyship saw the effect she had produced, and languidly extending her hand, she vouchsafed the nearest approach to a smile with which she had ever favored him. As if suddenly recalling all his old antipathies and prejudices, Grounsell was himself in a moment, and, scarcely touching the taper and jewelled fingers, he bowed ceremoniously and took his seat at a little distance off.
“This is a very unexpected pleasure indeed,” sighed Lady Hester; “you only arrived to-night?”
“Half an hour ago, madam; and but for your Ladyship's summons I should have been in bed.”
“How do you find Sir Stafford looking poorly, I fear?”
“I haven't yet seen him, madam, but I am prepared for a great change.”
“I fear so,” sighed she, plaintively; “George says, quite a break up; and Buccellini calls it 'Gotta Affievolita,' and says it is very fatal with elderly people.”
“The vulgar phrase of a 'broken heart' is more expressive, madam, and perhaps quite as pathological.”
Lady Hester drew proudly up, and seemed preparing herself for a coming encounter. They were old antagonists, and well knew each other's mode of attack. On the present occasion, however, Grounsell did not seek a contest, and was satisfied by a single shot at the enemy, as if trying the range of his gun.
“You will probably advise a change of air and scene, Dr. Grounsell,” said she, calmly, and as though inviting pacific intercourse.
“It is precisely what I have come for, madam,” answered he, in a short, dry voice. “Sir Stafford's affairs require his immediate return to England. The vicissitudes that attend on great commercial enterprises threaten him with large very large losses.”
Lady Hester fell back in her chair, and this time, at least, her pale cheek and her powerless attitude were not feigned nor counterfeited; but Grounsell merely handed her a smelling-bottle from the table, and went on:
“The exact extent of his liabilities cannot be ascertained at once, but they must be considerable. He will be fortunate if there remain to him one fourth of his property.”
Lady Hester's head fell heavily back, and she fainted away.
The doctor rose, and sprinkled her forehead with water, and then patiently sat down with his finger on her wrist to watch the returning tide of circulation. Assured at length of her restored consciousness, he went on:
“A small establishment, strict economy, a watchful supervision of every domestic arrangement, together with the proceeds of the sale of all the useless trumpery by which he is at present surrounded, will do much; but he must be seconded, madam, seconded and aided, not thwarted and opposed. George can exchange into a regiment in India; the proper steps have been already taken for that purpose.”
“Have you been thoughtful enough, sir, in your general care of this family, to engage a small house for us at Brighton?”
“I have seen one at Ramsgate, madam,” replied he, dryly; “but the rent is more than we ought to give.”
“Are we so very poor as that, sir?” said she, sarcastically, laying emphasis on the pronoun.
“Many excellent and worthy persons, madam, contrive to live respectably on less.”
“Is Miss Onslow to go out as a governess, doctor? I am afraid you have forgotten her share in these transactions?”
“I have a letter from her in my pocket, madam, which would show that she herself is not guilty of this forgetfulness, wherein she makes the very proposition you allude to.”
“And me? Have you no sphere of self-denial and duty have you no degrading station, nor menial servitude, adapted to my habits?”
“I know of none, madam,” said Grounsell, sternly. “Varnish will no more make a picture than fine manners prove a substitute for skill or industry.”
“This is really too much, sir,” said she, rising, her face now crimson with anger; “and even if all you have said prove true, reverse of fortune can bring no heavier infliction than the prospect of your intimacy and obtrusive counsels.”
“You may not need them, madam. In adversity,” said Grounsell, with a smile, “healthy stomachs get on very well without bitters.” And so saying, he bowed and left the room.
For a few moments Lady Hester sat overwhelmed by the tidings she had just heard, and then, suddenly rising, she rang the bell for her maid.
“Send Miss Dalton to me, Celestine; say I wish to speak to her immediately,” said she. “This may be the last time we shall speak to each other ere we invert our positions,” muttered she to herself. And in the working of her features might be read all the agony of the reflection.