CHAPTER X
HUGO BLAGDON was a well-known habitué of Monte Carlo, and he fled thither early in February to avoid an English spring, and escape from a personality that threatened to lure him into the noose of matrimony! His grandfather had been overseer in a coal mine, and his father, Laban, a clever man of ceaseless energy and enterprise, had, by his own efforts, risen to vast wealth. He was a typical Yorkshire tyke; hard-headed, hard-bitten, and plain of speech, standing squarely on his feet and his principles. When over fifty, he had disposed of his collieries to a syndicate, and looked about him for a country estate, and a suitable consort. At this time Sharsley, the ancient seat of the Scropes, happened to be in the market; the family had fallen on evil days, and the last representative was a thin, dignified old gentleman, with an empty purse and many spinster daughters. During tedious negotiations, the would-be purchaser made acquaintance with the Squire’s family, and when he took over the property, he also received the taper hand of the stateliest and slenderest of the Scrope sisters. Ill-natured gossips declared that in consequence of this arrangement, the canny Yorkshire-manhad obtained an abatement of ten thousand pounds on the price of the property—but envious people will say anything! Mrs. Blagdon’s aristocratic relations agreed that dearest Carrie, who was ‘getting on,’ had done remarkably well for herself; the bride was perfectly satisfied with her honest, stolid husband, and he for his part felt proud of his Carrie; she matched Sharsley, and naturally was far more at home there than himself. Mrs. Blagdon fulfilled her duties to admiration; an elegant, dignified figure, she sat at the head of his table, glorious and dazzling in the new Blagdon diamonds, entertaining her neighbours with gracious distinction. Moreover, she was most kind and thoughtful to her husband’s family, especially to his old aunt, Fanny Jane, who spoke broad Yorkshire, had not marched with the times, and preferred to dine at one o’clock—and in her bonnet.
Having figuratively emerged from coal to the surface, Laban Blagdon entered into country life with enthusiasm; he farmed, he supported the hounds and the Yeomanry, and sat on the Bench with commendable punctuality. His first-born was a girl. Four years later her brother arrived on this planet, amidst great rejoicings. Blagdon of Sharsley was immensely proud of his children; he had none of his father’s ideas of stern discipline, and was an extravagantly indulgent parent. In his opinion, nothing was too good for Connie and Hugo—the pair could do no wrong.
Possibly his partiality was due to the fact that they were true Blagdons; large-boned, and loud of voice, exhibiting no traces whatever of their mother’s ancestry. This poor lady did her utmost to influence them, exerting herself surprisingly for a Scrope, but somehow she never became familiar with her boy and girl, who emancipated themselves as soon as they had quitted the nursery. And their mother found it difficult to believe, that this rough, boisterous, undisciplined couple, were actually her own offspring. Had they been those of other people, she would have lifted her delicate hands, and declared them to be young savages!
Hugo was sent to a preparatory school, and then to Eton; he rode well, knew the points of a horse, was thoroughly at home in the stables, had a hearty laugh, a huge appetite, and his father thought him an uncommonly fine lad! As for Connie, she was the apple of Laban Blagdon’s eye; a bit of a hoyden, and no great beauty, but a girl who could stick on a horse, sing a good song, hold her own in talk, and what more did you want?
The year that Connie was presented to her sovereign her father died suddenly of apoplexy, and was widely and sincerely regretted; sound to the core, a just landlord and employer, a good friend, and a generous foe. His heir was at sixteen a well-grown youth, with a thick-set figure, a strong will, rather surly manners, and an exaggerated sense of his own importance. From Eton, he went (with great reluctance) to Oxford,and there his idleness and scrapes gained him a certain amount of notoriety.
As for his sister, she was launched in London Society, with considerable éclat by her mother’s aristocratic connections; Connie had no taste for balls or the usual round of gaiety, but developed an unexpected passion for racing! At Newmarket she encountered her affinity; a good-looking, graceless baronet, who had run through his patrimony on the turf, and did not bear an enviable reputation. However, in spite of all that her mother, relations, and trustees, could urge or threaten, Connie Blagdon insisted on marrying Teddy Rashleigh. She was, as her father had often declared, “a fine, strapping girl, who knew her own mind, with a handsome fortune pinned on to her skirtsâ€; and Sir Teddy was not indifferent to this agreeable fact.
At first, the happy pair travelled about from one race meeting to another, enjoying an atmosphere of continual and stimulating excitement. In winter, they went abroad, returning in time for the first Spring Meeting. After a few years of a gay and rambling existence, came much harassing anxiety, rumours of serious troubles about racing and gambling debts; these rumours were followed by the sudden death of Sir Teddy Rashleigh. An overdose of sulphonal, taken by mistake (his creditors had their own opinions as to the ‘mistake’), and his widow found herself at the age of twenty-eight, with the miserable remains of a large fortune, and alienated from all her friends.During her married life, she had acquired extravagant and reckless tastes, gambled, betted, and plunged—and oh, how she hated poverty!
Fortunately, she and her brother had always been chums, and he now came so generously to her assistance, that most of her world believed Lady Rashleigh to be not only a gay, but wealthy widow. She was loud, good-natured, and plain; a big woman, with high, square shoulders, quantities of coarse brown hair (dyed red), a broad, shrewd face, redeemed by a set of flashing white teeth. Men called her “a rare good sort, and as clever as they make them,†meaning that Lady Rashleigh, knew her world thoroughly, and contrived, whilst keeping on bowing terms with Mrs. Grundy, to enjoy a remarkably festive time.
Meanwhile Hugo, his own master for many years, had been engaged in sowing wild oats, and seeing life. His mother had taken her departure from Sharsley; this severance had been a heart-breaking business, but Hugo’s manners and customs, and Hugo’s associates, were altogether too much for that delicate, decorous, and mid-Victorian matron. Instead of family prayers, and breakfast at nine o’clock, Hugo’s lady guests appeared at midday. They smoked, talked slang, discussed the latest odds, the latest scandals, and more or less ignored their old-fashioned hostess; the men were even worse: a gambling, hard-drinking, horsy crew; so Mrs. Blagdon went away to Cannes, and established herself in a splendid villa, far aloof from her unsatisfactory and unfilial children.
Sharsley, thus abandoned, was consigned to the care of a tall, dashing housekeeper, known as Mrs. Bates, who wore rich silk gowns, expensive jewellery, rouged heavily, and knew all about the best brands of champagne. To do her justice, she was a capable and active person, thoroughly experienced in the management of servants, had a tongue like a whip-lash, and understood the art of getting work out of her subordinates—whilst she looked on. Two or three times a year there were house-parties for shooting and hunting, and on these occasions Lady Rashleigh, who, needless to add, had always kept on the best of terms with her brother, was the jolly, easy-going hostess; a totally different châtelaine to her frigid mother, and not easily surprised, daunted, or shocked. Few were aware that Connie had a very small income, (though her extravagant tastes were well-known,) and it was important that she should stand well with Hugo. He paid the rent of her London flat, her hotel bills when she accompanied him abroad, made her presents of frocks and furs, and was altogether a really generous brother. For her part, she listened to his grievances with sympathetic interest, cultivated his particular friends, gave charming little dinners and suppers, and was ever ready to play chaperon, buffer, or confidante.
Blagdon had naturally a wide circle of acquaintances, and was a good deal spoiled by the flattery which is habitually offered to an open-handed bachelor with the income of a prince. He had a special coterie of associates, known to envious scoffers as the ‘pack.’Chief in importance was Lord Robert Cheyne (first cousin to Blagdon on the Scrope side); this hard-riding, round-backed little gentleman, had bright, twinkling brown eyes, and a forehead so lofty that it seemed to stretch half-way across his poll—and imparted a worshipful, sedate, and middle-aged appearance,—flatly contradicted by his lordship’s character and years. He had a kind heart, a dull brain, and a lean purse, and believed Cousin Hugo, “who gave him lots of shootin’ and huntin’,†to be a rare good sportin’ sort, and one of the best!
Next, the Baron Van Krab, a fair, well-set-up man of forty, a Britisher of Dutch extraction, and not unknown in the City. Captain Herdby, a retired cavalryman, handsome, well bred, well groomed, somewhat mysterious as to his antecedents, but knowing (or pretending to know) the great world, and ready to ride, dine, shoot, dance, or fill any gap at a moment’s notice. Sir Thomas and Lady Slater, ‘Foxy and Shocky’ as they were nicknamed; he being a little man with a bright, cunning eye, a bushy red moustache, and the legs of a jockey; a conspicuous patron of the turf; his wife, also devoted to racing, was a tall, showy-looking woman, with a large mouth, magnificent teeth, and an ever-ready laugh. She made an imposing figure in evening dress, told the most outrageous stories, and had an insatiable appetite for gossip and presents. But Mr. Blagdon’s most particular friend was Mrs. Fred Corbett, an attractive free-lance, with a willowyform, and a pair of wonderful amber eyes; a glittering creature, all frivolity, extravagance, and selfishness, separated from her husband, (who, it was said, had some vague occupation in the Argentine,) and Connie Rashleigh’schère amie.
When Hugo arrived at Monte Carlo, he found the two ladies already installed at the Hermitage, the Baron and the Slaters were at the Paris.
The great man was naturally hailed with sincere and fervent joy, and, for his part, he was not indifferent to the adulation of his little court; he enjoyed listening to their spicy gossip, delicate and highly seasoned flatteries, whilst he steeped himself in sunshine and luxury. He gave his circle dinners and luncheons, yes and loans; lavished flowers and attentions on his sister and Lola Corbett, and was altogether in unusual good-humour, and as the guests put it, ‘great form.’
By the end of a fortnight, Monte and his associates had begun to pall on Blagdon; even the rooms had lost their fascination. The Baron had bet him a hundred pounds on pigeon-shooting—and won. Foxy Slater had put him on an outsider and let him in heavily, and the Slaters and Connie talked racing or roulette by the hour, and bored him to death.
As for Lola, she made awful play with her eyes, said poisonous things of other women, and was losing her looks! It was just at this critical period, that Letty Glyn was once more introduced to his attention. A casual remark from an utter stranger, threw, so tospeak, this beautiful, innocent, unhappy girl, into Blagdon’s arms.
The gay season at Monte had reached high water, and he daily came across acquaintances. Lounging one morning against the parapet below the Casino with Colonel Roland—a man who belonged to his club—they idly watched the gay world go by. Here were men and women of all nations, and reputations; the most famous names in Europe were pacing that sunny promenade. The two noted and remarked on various familiar faces—princesses, duchesses, dancers, statesmen, actors, authors, and flocks of ordinary, and extraordinary, birds of passage.
“Full-dress parade,†said Roland, chucking away the end of an excellent cigar. “They are all very well—fine feathers make fine birds!—but if you askme, there isn’t a woman here can touch that little Miss What’s-her-name that was at the Brakesby Hunt Ball; she could give every one of ’em a stone and a beating. Yesâ€â€”with a nudge—“and I sawyoudancing with her, you dog! Oh, you have an eye in your head, and know what’s what. Of course, she is very young, and does not realise her own value, yet—but if she had half a chance, her beauty would be—be—†casting about for a simile, “famous, the talk of England!â€
Blagdon looked hard at his friend, and drawled indifferently—
“Think so?â€
“Sure; and now I’m off to golf. Ta, ta; seeyou at dinner!†and he walked away. Blagdon remained; he selected and lit another cigar, and settled himself to meditate. Roland was a good judge; he had knocked about a bit. But the girl as he had last seen her!
“That,†argued common sense, “was merely the shabby dress and shoes that had choked him off. Yes, and her cold red hands. All her aunt’s fault—stingy old devil! At the ball, she was well turned out—and what a difference! And, by George! he could afford to dress his wife properly. A beauty that would be famous, Mrs. Hugo Blagdon—!â€
Once more his thoughts were concentrated on Thornby—thoughts which subsequently simmered in his brain for days. Little did Mrs. Corbett suspect them. Her extravagance was increasing, she was a true daughter of the horse leech, and her ceaseless cry was “Give, give!†Every morning before they went into the Rooms, she would take a little turn with Blagdon, conduct him to the shops, and gaze pathetically into a milliner’s, go into raptures over a fifty-pound cloak or gown, then pilot her companion to theGalerieCharles III, and a certain jeweller’s, where she gloated over one particular necklace. She would gaze at this, and then at her escort, and sigh, and sigh; but in spite of these seductive arts, for once in his life Blagdon proved invulnerable. Little did his companion guess, when he strolled about looking into windows, and criticising their contents, that all the time he was thinking how well such an ornament, or hat or frock, would becomesomeone else!—a little girl in a remote old village, in far-away England. If Letty Glyn had frocks and jewels, she would cut them all out. He had given tons of pretty things to the greedy woman beside him, and paid tribute in not a few staggering dressmaker’s bills. Yes, he was aware that Lola was dying for the emerald necklace—but he was not to be drawn!