CHAPTER XIII
THE honeymoon—a not uncommon experience—proved more or less of a disappointment to the wedded pair. The bride, dazed and confounded by her new status, and the change from a nobody to a personage, was shy and silent, and felt herself to be a mere lay figure in the hands of her maid—a sour-faced, phlegmatic person with an inflated idea of her own importance, and more or less incompetent.
Tucker had been engaged by Mrs. Fenchurch, to whom she was warmly recommended by an acquaintance; a deceitful lady who was only too delighted to be rid of her encumbrance.
The trousseau—also selected by Mrs. Fenchurch—was even less satisfactory than the maid; it was old-fashioned and dowdy; more suitable to a matron of fifty, than a girl of seventeen.
Unfortunately the weather on the Blue Lakes was wet, and it is pitiful to relate that after a fortnight his bride had begun to bore Blagdon; already he was tired of his experiment, Letty was so hopelessly young, timid, and ignorant; they had hardly any interests in common, and there was a difference of twenty long years yawning between their ages. Blagdon’s experience of life being wide and highly illustrated,whilst the girl had seen nothing of the world, beyond a school-room, and The Holt.
As for her beauty, here again was a grievance! The bride could not endure the admiration of her fellow guests; but shrank into corners, disappeared into lobbies, or slinked away to the seclusion of her private sitting-room. Her husband’s vast fortune made no appeal to Letty; lavish outlay of money, gorgeous suites of apartments, reserved railway carriages, and a retinue of servants, merely filled her with embarrassment and alarm, and she went in abject terror of her maid; Mrs. Blagdon was a tame, shrinking, remote sort of creature, who took nothing on herself, and yielded her husband a sort of childish and pathetic obedience. Hugo was naturally something of a bully, and the more the girl submitted to his orders and caprices, the more he encroached.
The happy pair stayed at Caddenabia on Como, and then moved on to Baveno on Maggiore; here they boated, went for drives, and enjoyed theirtête-à-têtemeals in solitary dignity, and here, alas! the sole company of his wife palled upon Blagdon. What topics had they in common? How could he talk to a girl who had never been to a play, or to a race meeting, had never read a naughty book, or heard even a whisper of notorious scandals? He soon found his way to the billiard and smoking-rooms, and during two hopelessly wet days, when there was a lack of English papers and appreciative society, his bad humour, undisguised and unashamed, was vented on his valet and Letty. Tothe hardened servant, a rating was as the proverbial water running off a duck’s back! but to the unaccustomed and trembling girl, it proved a terrible awakening. One evening, the condescending Miss Tucker was surprised to find her mistress crouched at her bedroom window the impersonation of misery and despair. “So they had had a falling out already! Well, itwasearly days.”
In spite of prolonged bathing of her eyes, and a justifiable amount of powder, there were still traces of recent trouble when the bride appeared at dinner. Fortunately the newspapers had arrived, and during the meal her husband—to the astonishment of polite Italian waiters—read them at intervals between the courses; whilst his companion sat opposite, with dry lips, and a deadly sickness at her heart.
The following morning Blagdon abruptly announced that “he had had enough of loafing, and it was time to set their faces towards home.” On their way thither, they stopped in Paris, and put up at the Hôtel Riche, and here, to Hugo’s joy, he encountered Sir Billy and Lady Slater, Mrs. Freddy Corbett, and Lord Robbie; a loud-voiced, cheery quartette, who were returning tardily from Monte Carlo. He presented them to his wife, and subsequently entertained them at a magnificent dinner, at which the bride presided.
Poor girl! she was hopelessly out of her element; although she did her utmost to conceal her embarrassment, and talk and identify herself with these, herfirst guests. For their part, the company were dumbfounded by her youth and simplicity, her shyness, and pathetic ignorance of Life.
Oh, she was pretty enough, they agreed; there was no mistake about her looks and air of breeding; but she was not the ‘right sort of wife for Blag!’ No, he had backed the wrong one this time, “made a bad cast,” said Lord Robbie to himself, and as he glanced from the host to the hostess, he seemed already to catch sight of an impending disaster.
Somehow the girl’s clothes were not right, her hair was badly dressed; what a contrast to Lola Corbett, in her marvellous French frock, with her glittering ornaments, and shameless shoulders. Lola was in great form: talking incessantly, gay, provoking, challenging. Of course,shewas made up: but she took the centre of the stage, and beside her brilliance and vivacity the timid bride looked positively washed out, and dowdy.
The hostess failed to understand most of the good stories, chaff, and repartee that circulated with the ’84 champagne. She felt hopelessly stupid and bewildered, when the company roared with laughter, and hammered and thumped on the table—for the point of the anecdote, or saying, had generally eluded her altogether. Once, an unmistakably plain tale brought a flood of scarlet into her face, and she looked so startled and so shocked, that a not easily embarrassed party felt momentarily abashed.
Mrs. Blagdon did not care for champagne, she preferred lemonade! had never been to a music-hall, orsmoked in her life. This much Lord Robbie gathered, as they rose and led the way into the grand lounge, with its dazzling illuminations, mighty palms, and seductive seats; its admirable orchestra and festive company.
Here, the party soon discovered a comfortable corner, and whilst the men selected cigars and liqueurs and discussed an important handicap, the two lady guests sank into deep fauteuils—one on either side of their hostess, and began, with clever probing questions, to examine her respecting her tour, her plans, her tastes, whilst all the time they surveyed her with hard and critical eyes. Nothing escaped their inspection, from the little mean aigrette in her ill-dressed hair, to the tip of her satin shoe.
Round her slender throat was a diamond collet, its emerald pendants presenting a charming contrast with a snow-white neck. Mrs. Corbett instantly recognised her long and vainly coveted ornament, and her glance gleamed. So here, was the Monte Carlo necklace, by rights her possession, bestowed on this little milk-and-water school miss! and she instantly made up her mind to retrieve the treasure, on an appropriate opportunity.
And if her husband’s friends were disappointed in his bride, it was no less true, that they had made an unpleasant impression on her. She shrank in secret consternation from the men’s bold glances, questioning eyes, and reckless talk; and from these two painted women—with their insufferable patronage, and familiarity.
“Of course, we must call you Letty,” had been one of Lady Slater’s first announcements. “I am Tatty, Mrs. Corbett is Lola. You see we are suchveryold pals of your husband’s, we couldn’t call him Hugo, and you Mrs. Blagdon, could we?”
What strange eyes they had! blacked all round, and so piercing and defiant; and how they reeked of some heavy Oriental perfume. As for their splendid gowns, it made Letty nervous to contemplate the fragile shoulder straps, that held the corsage from slipping into space.
Mrs. Corbett wore a wonderful flame-coloured garment, touched with glimpses of gold tissue, and pale blue chiffon; a diamond bow sparkled in her dark hair, and a long chain of pearls dangled to her waist. Lady Slater affected a more massive style; lounging in a Bergére, with a cigarette between her lips and her knees crossed, she gave a generous exhibition of pink silk stocking, with black ‘clocks’ and a pair of fairly large gold shoes. There had been a good deal of chaff about Lady Slater’s stockings; it appeared that she had recently won a dozen pair, in a bet with Lord Robbie.
Turning to Letty she explained:
“The bet was about you, my dear! though I’m not going to tell you what itwas,” and she gave a loud and disconcerting ‘Ha! ha! ha!’
“But of course you’ll tellme, Tatty,” began Mrs. Corbett. “Good Lord! what’s this?” and she sat erect. “Upon my word! Do you see?”
They looked; a tall, bold, amazingly handsome woman had entered, accompanied by two men; and paused in dramatic prominence as if to challenge attention. The effect was arresting. This new arrival was ablaze with diamonds—an audacious nudity but partly concealed by ropes of pearls. Her dress was exactly similar to the one worn by Mrs. Corbett.
“My hat!” exclaimed Lord Robbie.
“Who is she?” whispered Letty.
“Amora, the actress, the most notorious woman in Paris. I say, Lola,” turning to her with a grin, “here’s yourtwin!”
At this moment, Amora, impersonation of wealth and wickedness, swept by, casting as she passed, a glance of withering scorn upon her duplicate; their eyes met with a shock, and blazed as two flames.
“Tartare told me on her oath that mine was the exclusive model,” began Mrs. Corbett, a little breathlessly, as soon as she had recovered her composure. She still looked alarmingly furious as she added, “I paid her three thousand francs for this rag, and she has gone and made a copy for that devil!” In her excitement she had raised her voice—people were staring; as Blagdon and Sir Billy turned about, she paused, and muttered to herself in a manner that boded ill for Madame Tartare!
Lady Slater now rose and beckoned to Hugo.
“Come over to this settee,” she said; “there is just room for two little people—and have a flirtation withme.”
Blagdon assented obediently, and as she seated herself she continued:
“It was only an excuse to tell you that I think your little girl is just too sweet for anything!”
He nodded with stolid complacency.
“But she wants a lot of what we sporting folk call ‘handling.’ She’s a bit nervous at the post—and a shocking bad starter.”
Again Blagdon nodded, but on this occasion without complacence.
“The child has lovely eyes—eyes like some beautiful wild filly, that is ready to bolt. She is as pretty as a picture, but she is too young! My dear man, why doesn’t she get a woman who can do her hair? And wheredidshe pick up those early Victorian garments? She doesn’t give herself half a chance!”
Blagdon glared into the artistically painted face of his companion.
“As you say, she is too young,” he growled savagely; “give her time—in twenty years she’ll be up to all the tricks of the trade!”
Hugo was secretly furious with his old associates; they had not shown half enough enthusiasm; with regard to his bride, their congratulations had been tepid. He had expected them to figuratively prostrate themselves, and worship the girl he had delighted to honour; and as for the outer world, he anticipated that they would crane their necks, or even mount on chairs (as in the case of a renowned beauty) in order to catch sight of the famous Mrs. Blagdon!
He stared over at Letty, seated a little aloof from Lola and Lord Robbie,—who had now been joined by two vivacious ladies, and a man resembling a brigand chief. Yes, she certainlywasa bit out of the picture, among these well-dressed, well-corseted, animated women; there was no liqueur glass by her, no cigarette between her lips, her hands were tightly clasped in her lap, and she looked for all her lovely face, forlorn and badly dressed,—the picture of conscious insignificance. Her attitude, too, not lounging in careless ease, but cramped up, with her feet tucked under her chair, suggested a fear of mice. There were no mice in this magnificent lounge. The truth he could divine. Letty was afraid of her guests—a pretty condition for a hostess!
Lady Slater’s criticisms were not thrown away; for the following day, the amazed and indignant Tucker received her wages and hercongé. Mrs. Corbett had, for her part, kindly undertaken to find a good French maid, also to help Letty to select several really fashionable hats and gowns.
“For goodness’ sake get her something she can be seen in,” urged Blagdon; “frocks that will make all the neighbours open their eyes—le dernier cri—and that sort of thing, real smart. Money no object!”
As the atelier of Madame Tartare was close to their hotel, the two ladies proceeded thither on foot. They were received by a dignified man-servant, and conducted up a great staircase into a lofty suite of rooms, carpeted with moss-green Axminster, and lined with longmirrors and presses. After a moment’s delay, Madame appeared, a middle-aged woman with a clever face and a marvellously fitting gown: all gracious exclamations and gestures of welcome, until she realised that her chère Madame Corbett had come not in peace, but in war!
As Letty listened to her companion’s denunciations, she felt terrified; never had she assisted at such a scene, or beheld anyone make such an absolute surrender to fury. What a frantic temper, who could withstand it? How could anyone cope with such violent vituperation, such frenzied threats? She felt half inclined to creep out of sight, and hide herself in one of the great wardrobes.
Meanwhile Mrs. Corbett figuratively brandishing the copied gown, raged and stormed: in voluble French she rent the discomfited dressmaker, who presently finding spirit and speech, in ten times more fluent language, poured forth her plausible apologies. The uproar was such, that milliners andmannequinsassembled at a discreet distance, in order to hear and to see.
“Tiens! c’était Madame Cor—bett—quelle femme!”
After a time the battle waned, the fury of the customer abated. She had gained her point, thegown was to be taken back!
Deceitful Tartare, believing Madame had departed for England, had ventured to make several copies of what was termed “La Robe Odalisque.”
When peace was proclaimed, having recoveredbreath and composure, the victor commanded a display of hats and gowns; these were promptly and politely exhibited, and three costumes were selected by Mrs. Corbett—whose taste was for the flamboyant and bizarre. She also set aside several hats and a tea-gown; and before Letty could protest, or interfere, she found herself fitted out in what ecstatic Madame declared to be ‘tous ce qu’il y a de plus ravissante et plus chic!’ and added that as the young lady had ‘a stock figure,’ all the robes would be ready in a few hours.
Now that his wife was provided with a suitable maid, and smart outfit, Blagdon saw no reason to postpone his journey, and he and Letty (wearing a most amazing toque) took their departure for London.
As the train moved away from the platform of ‘Le Nord,’ Lady Slater turned to her companion, and repeated:
“See us at Sharsley for the hunting—youbethe will! My dear Lola, you have made the poor child a figure of fun—that toque is the sort of thing a lunatic would make—and wear!”
“Well, yes, it’s a littleoutré—one of Tartare’s latest,” and she laughed maliciously.
“I wonder Letty did not kick!”
“Oh, she’s only a child—a simpleton!”
“And looks pretty in anything—that’s theworstof her, eh?”
“Her looks are a matter of opinion,” declared Mrs. Corbett stiffly. “I can’t say thatIadmire chocolate-box profiles; and I can tell you one thing—though youmay have seen it for yourself, my clever Tatty—our beloved Blag isdeadlysick of the girl already.”
“Ah, well, poor thing, I can’t help feeling sorry for her; she’s too heavily handicapped.”
“Bah!” exclaimed Mrs. Corbett, “she’s out of her place altogether. She ought to have married an evangelical curate.”
“Not up to form, eh?” suggested her ladyship, then muttered, “and anyway,youintend to ride her off the course,” and with this prudently suppressed opinion, she led the way out of the station.