TRIED AT THE OLD BAILEY.
"OH, Mrs. Guy, he is coming, after all! He is indeed!"
Blanche Heriot's joyful tones, as she read the contents of a short letter brought in by the evening post, aroused old Mrs. Guy, who was dozing over her knitting one Tuesday evening in the May twilight.
"Eh? What, my dear? Who do you say is coming?"
"Tom. He says he must stretch a point for once. He cannot let anyone else give me away."
"The Major is to give you away, Blanche."
"I know he intended to do so if Tom failed me. But Tom is my brother."
"Well, well, child; settle it amongst yourselves. I don't see that it matters one way or the other. There's a knock at the door! Dear me! It must be Lord Level."
"Lord Level cannot be back again before to-morrow. He is at Marshdale, you know," dissented Blanche. "I think it may be Tom. I hope it is Tom. He says here he shall be in town as soon as his letter."
"Mr. Strange," announced a servant, throwing wide the drawing-room door.
Charles Strange had only that morning returned from Paris, having crossed by the night mail. The legal business on which he and Mr. Brightman were just now so much occupied, involving serious matters for a client who lived in Paris, had kept Charles over there nearly all the spring. Blanche ran to his arms. She looked upon him as her brother, quite as much as she looked upon Tom.
"And so, Blanche, we are to lose you,"he said, when he had kissed her. "And within a day or two, I hear."
He knew very little of Blanche Heriot's approaching marriage, except that the bridegroom was Archibald, Lord Level. And that little he had heard from Mr. Brightman. Blanche did not write to him about it. She had written to tell him she was going to be married to Captain Cross: but when that marriage was summarily broken off by Major Carlen, Blanche felt a little ashamed, and did not send word to Charles.
"The day after to-morrow, at eleven o'clock in the morning," put in Mrs. Guy, in response to the last remark.
All his attention given to Blanche, Charles Strange really had not observed the old lady. He turned to regard her.
"You cannot have forgotten Mrs. Guy, Charles," said Blanche, noticing his doubtful look.
"I believe I had for the moment," he answered, in those pleasant, cordial tones that won him a way with everyone, as hewent up and shook the old lady heartily by both hands. "I heard you were staying here, Mrs. Guy, but I had forgotten it."
They sat down—Blanche and Charles near the open window, Mrs. Guy not moving from her low easy-chair on the hearthrug—and began to talk of the wedding.
"Tom is really coming up to give me away," said Blanche, showing him Captain Heriot's short note. "It isverygood of him, for he must be very busy: but Tom was always good. You are aware, Charles, I suppose, that the regiment is embarking for India? Major Carlen saw the announcement this morning in theTimes."
At that moment Charles Strange saw, or fancied he saw, a warning look telegraphed to him by Mrs. Guy: and, placing it in conjunction with Blanche's words, he fancied he must know its meaning.
"Yes, I heard the regiment was ordered out," he answered shortly; and turned the subject. "Will Lord Level be here tonight, Blanche? I should like to see him."
"No," she replied. "He went yesterday to Marshdale House, his place in Surrey, and will not return until to-morrow. I think you will like him, Charles."
"I hope you do," replied Charles involuntarily. "That is the chief consideration, Blanche."
He looked at her meaningly as he spoke, and it brought a blush to her face. What a lovely face it was—fair and pure, its blue eyes haughty as of yore, its golden hair brilliant and abundant! She wore a simple evening dress of white muslin, and a blue sash, an inexpensive necklace of twisted blue beads on her neck, no bracelets at all on her arms. She looked what she really was—an inexperienced school-girl. Lord Level's engagement ring on her finger, with its flashing diamonds, was the only ornament of value she had about her.
In the momentary silence that ensued, Blanche left her seat and went to stand at the open window.
"Oh," she exclaimed, an instant later, "Ido think this may be Tom! A cab has stopped here."
Charles Strange rose. Mrs. Guy lifted her finger, and he bent down to her. Blanche was still at the window.
"She does not know he has sold out," warningly breathed Mrs. Guy. "She knows nothing of his wild ways, or the fine market he has brought his eggs to, poor fellow. We have kept it from her."
Charles nodded; and the servant opened the door with another announcement.
"Captain Heriot." Blanche flew across the room and was locked in her brother's arms.
Poor Tom Heriot had indeed, as Mrs. Guy expressed it, with more force than elegance, brought his eggs to a fine market. It was some few months now since he sold out of the Army; and what he was doing and how he contrived to exist and flourish without money, his friends did not know. During the spring he had made his appearance in Paris to prefer an appeal for help toCharles, and Charles had answered it to the extent of his power.
Just as gay, just as light-hearted, just asdébonnaireas ever was Tom Heriot. To see him and to hear him as he sat this evening with them in Gloucester Place, you might have thought him as free from care as an Eton boy—as flourishing as a duke-royal. Little blame to Blanche that she suspected nothing of the existing state of things.
When Charles rose to say "Good-night," Tom Heriot said it also, and they went away together.
"Charley, lad," said the latter, as the street-door closed behind them, "could you put me up at your place for two nights—until after this wedding is over?"
"To be sure I can. Leah will manage it."
"All right. I have sent a portmanteau there."
"You did not come up from Southampton to-day, Tom? Blanche thought you did."
"And I am much obliged to them forallowing her to think it. I would have staked my last five-pound note, if you'll believe me, Charley, that old Carlen had not as much good feeling in him. I am vegetating in London; have been for some time, Blanche's letter was forwarded to me by a comrade who lets me use his address."
"And what are you doing in London?" asked Charles.
"Hiding my 'diminished head,' old fellow," answered Tom, with a laugh. No matter how serious the subject, he could not be serious over it.
"How much longer do you mean to stand here?" continued Charles—for the Captain (people still gave him his title) had not moved from the door.
"Till an empty cab goes by."
"We don't want a cab this fine night, Tom. Let us walk. Look how bright the moon is up there."
"Ay; my lady's especially bright tonight. Rather too much so for people who prefer the shade. How you stare,Charley! Fact is, I feel safer inside a cab just now than parading the open streets."
"Afraid of being taken for debt?" whispered Charles.
"Worse than that," said Tom laconically.
"Worse than that!" repeated Charles. "Why, what do you mean?"
"Oh, nothing," and Tom Heriot laughed again. "Except that I am in the deuce's own mess, and can't easily get out of it. There's a cab! Here, driver! In with you, Charley."
And on the following Thursday, when his sister's marriage with Lord Level took place, who so gay, who so free from care, who so attractive as Tom Heriot?—when giving her away. Lord Level had never before seen his future brother-in-law (orhalfbrother-in-law, as the more correct term would be), and was agreeably taken with him. A random young fellow, no doubt, given to playing the mischief with his own prospects, but athorough gentleman, and a very prepossessing one.
"And this is my other brother—I have always called him so," whispered Blanche to her newly-made husband, as she presented Charles Strange to him on their return from church to Gloucester Place. Lord Level shook hands heartily; and Charles, who had been prejudiced against his lordship, of whom tales were told, took rather a liking to the tall, fine man of commanding presence, of handsome face and easy, genial manners.
After the breakfast, to which very few guests were bidden, and at which Mrs. Guy presided, as well as her nerves permitted, at one end of the table and Major Carlen at the other, Lord and Lady Level departed for Dover on their way to the Continent.
And in less than a week after the wedding, poor Thomas Heriot, who could not do an unkind action, who never had been anyone's enemy in the whole world, and never would be anyone's, except his own, was taken into custody on a criminal charge.
The blow came upon Charles Strange as a clap of thunder. That Tom was in a mess of some kind he knew well; nay, in half a dozen messes most likely; but he never glanced at anything so terrible as this. Tom had fenced with his questions during the day or two he stayed in Essex Street, and laughed them off. What the precise charge was, Charles could not learn at the first moment. Some people said felony, some whispered forgery. By dint of much exertion and inquiry, he at last knew that it was connected with "Bills."
Certain bills had been put into circulation by Thomas Heriot, and there was something wrong about them. At least, about one of them; since it bore the signature of a man who had never seen the bill.
"I am as innocent of it as a child unborn," protested Thomas Heriot to Charles, more solemnly in earnest than he had ever been heard to speak. "True, I got the bills discounted: accommodation bills, you understand, and they were to have been providedfor; but that any good name had beenforgedto one of them, I neither knew nor dreamt of."
"Yet you knew the good name was there?"
"But I thought it had been genuinely obtained."
This was at the first interview Charles held with him in prison. "Whence did you get the bills?" Charles continued.
"They were handed to me by Anstey. He is the true culprit in all this, Charles, and he is slinking out of it, and will get off scot-free. People warned me against the fellow; said he was making a cat's-paw of me; and by Jove it's true! I could not see it then, but my eyes are open now. He only made use of me for his own purposes. He had all, or nearly all, the money."
And this was just the truth of the business. The man Anstey, a gentleman once, but living by his wits for many years past, had got hold of light-headed, careless Tom Heriot, cajoled him of his friendship, andusedhim. Anstey escaped completely "scot-free," and Tom suffered.
Tom was guilty in the eyes of the law; and the law only takes cognizance of its own hard requirements. After examination, he was committed for trial. Charles Strange was nearly wild with distress; Mr. Brightman was much concerned; Arthur Lake (who was now called to the Bar) would have moved heaven and earth in the cause. Away went Charles to Mr. Serjeant Stillingfar: and that renowned special pleader and good-hearted man threw his best energies into the cause.
All in vain. At the trial, which shortly came on at the Old Bailey, Mr. Serjeant Stillingfar exerted his quiet but most telling eloquence uselessly. He might as well have wasted it on the empty air. Though indeed it did effect something, causing the sentence pronounced upon the unfortunate prisoner to be more lenient than it otherwise would have been. Thomas Heriot was sentenced to be transported for seven years.
Transportation beyond the seas was still in force then. And Thomas Heriot, with a cargo of greater or lesser criminals, was shipped on board the transportVengeance, to be conveyed to Botany Bay.
It seemed to have taken up such a little space of time! Very little, compared with the greatness of the trouble. June had hardly come in when Tom was first taken; and theVengeancesailed the beginning of August.
If Mrs. Guy had lamented beforehand the market that poor Tom Heriot had "brought his eggs to," what did she think of it now?
One evening in October a nondescript sort of vehicle, the German makers of which could alone know the name, arrived at a small village not far from the banks of the Rhine, clattering into the yard of the only inn the place contained. A gentleman and lady descended from it, and a parley ensued with the hostess, more protracted than it might have been, in consequence of thetravellers' imperfect German, and her own imperfect French. Could madame accommodate them for the night, was the substance of their demand.
"Well—yes," was madame's not very assured answer: "if they could put up with a small bedroom."
"How small?"
She opened the door of—it was certainly not a room, though it might be slightly larger than a boot-closet; madame called it a cabinet-de-toilette. It was on the ground-floor, looking into the yard, and contained a bed, into which one person might have crept, provided he bargained with himself not to turn; but two people, never. Three of her beds were taken up with a milor and miladi Anglais, and their attendants.
Mrs. Ravensworth—a young wife—turned to her husband, and spoke in English. "Arnold, what can we do? We cannot go on in the dark, with such roads as these."
"My love, I see only one thing forit: you must sleep here, and I must sit up."
Madame interrupted; it appeared she added a small stock of English to her other acquirements. "Oh, but dat meeseraable for monsieur: he steef in legs for morning."
"And stiff in arms too," laughed Arnold Ravensworth. "Do try and find us a larger bedroom."
"Perhaps the miladi Anglaise might give up one of her rooms for dis one," debated the hostess, bustling away to ask.
She returned, followed by an unmistakable Englishwoman, fine both in dress and speech. Wasshethe miladi? She talked enough for one: vowing she would never give up her room to promiscuous travellers, who prowled about with noavant courier, taking their own chance of rooms and beds; and casting, as she spoke, annihilating glances at the benighted wanderers.
"Is anything the matter, Timms?" inquired a gentle voice in the background.
Mr. Ravensworth turned round quickly,for its tones struck upon his remembrance. There stood Blanche, Lady Level; and their hands simultaneously met in surprise and pleasure.
"Oh, this is unexpected!" she exclaimed. "I never should have thought of seeing you in this remote place. Are you alone?"
He drew his wife to his side. "I need not say who she is, Lady Level."
"Are you married, then?"
"Ask Mary."
It was an unnecessary question, seeing her there with him, and Lady Level felt it to be so, and smiled. Timms came forward with an elaborate apology and a string of curtseys, and hoped her room would be found good enough to be honoured by any friends of my lady's.
Lady Level's delight at seeing them seemed as unrestrained as a child's. Exiles from their native land can alone tell that to meet with home faces in a remote spot is grateful as the long-denied water to the traveller in the Eastern desert. And weare writing of days when to travel abroad was the exception, rather than the rule. "There is only one private sitting-room in the whole house, and that is mine, so you must perforce make it yours as well," cried Lady Level, as she laughingly led the way to it. "And oh! what a charming break it will be to my loneliness! Last night I cried till bedtime."
"Is not Lord Level with you?" inquired Mr. Ravensworth.
"Lord Level is in England. While they are getting Timms' room ready, will you come into mine?" she added to Mrs. Ravensworth.
"How long have you been married?" was Lady Level's first question as they entered it.
"Only last Tuesday week."
"Are you happy?"
"Oh yes."
"I knew your husband long before you did," added Lady Level. "Did he ever tell you so? Did he ever tell you whatgood friends we were? Closer friends, I think, than he and his cousin Cecilia. He used to come to White Littleham Rectory, and we girls there made much of him."
"Yes, he has often told me."
Mrs. Ravensworth was arranging her hair at the glass, and Lady Level held the light for her and looked on. The description given of her by Blanche to her father was a very good one. A pale, gentle girl, with nice eyes, dark, inexpressively soft and attractive. "I shall like you very much," suddenly exclaimed Lady Level. "I think you are very pretty—I mean, you have the sort of face I like to look at." Praise that brought a blush to the cheeks of Mrs. Ravensworth.
The landlady sent them in the best supper she could command at the hour; mutton chops, served German fashion, and soup, which Lady Level's man-servant, Sanders, who waited on them, persisted in calling the potash—and very watery potash it was, flavoured with cabbage. When the mealwas over, and the cloth removed, they drew round the fire.
"Do you ever see papa?" Lady Level inquired of Mr. Ravensworth.
"Now and then. Not often. He has let his house again in Gloucester Place, and Mrs. Guy has gone back to the Channel Islands."
"Oh yes, I know all that," replied Blanche.
"The last time I saw Major Carlen he spoke of you—said that you and Lord Level were making a protracted stay abroad."
"Protracted!" Blanche returned bitterly; "yes, it is protracted. I long to be back in England, with a longing that has now grown into a disease. You have heard of themal du paysthat sometimes attacks the Swiss when they are away from their native land; I think that same malady has attacked me."
"But why?" asked Mr. Ravensworth, looking at her.
"I hardly know," she said, with some hesitation. "I had never been out ofEngland before, and everything was strange to me. We went to Switzerland first, then on to Italy, then back again. The longer we stayed away from England, the greater grew my yearning for it. In Savoy I was ill; yes, I was indeed; we were at Chambéry; so ill as to require medical advice. It was on the mind, the doctor said. He was a nice old man, and told Lord Level that I was pining for my native country."
"Then, of course, you left for home at once?"
"We left soon, but we travelled like snails; halting days at one place, and days at another. Oh, I was so sick of it! And the places were all dull and retired, as this is; not those usually frequented by the English. At last we arrived here; to stay also, it appeared. When I asked why we did not go on, he said he was waiting for letters from home."
As Lady Level spoke she appeared to be lost in the past—an expression that youmay have observed in old people when they are telling you tales of their youth. Her eyes were fixed on vacancy, and it was evident that she saw nothing of the objects around her, only the time gone by. She appeared to be anything but happy.
"Something up between my lord and my lady," thought Mr. Ravensworth. "Had your husband to wait long for the expected letters?" he asked aloud.
"I do not know: several came for him. One morning he had one that summoned him to England without the loss of a moment, and he said there was not time for me to be ready to accompany him. I prayed to go with him. I said Timms could come on afterwards with the luggage. It was of no use."
"Would he not take you?" exclaimed Mrs. Ravensworth, her eyes full of the astonishment her lips would not express.
Blanche shook her head. "No. He was quite angry with me; said I did not understand my position—that noblemen'swives could not travel in that unceremonious manner. I was on the point of telling him that I wished, to my heart, I had never been a nobleman's wife. Why did he marry me, unless he could look upon me as a companion and friend?" abruptly continued Lady Level, perhaps forgetting that she was not alone. "He treats me as a child."
What answer could be made to this?
"When do you expect him back again?" asked Mr. Ravensworth, after a pause.
"How do I know?" flashed Lady Level, her tone proving how inexpressibly sore was the subject. "He said he should return for me in a few days, but nearly three weeks have gone by, and I am still here. They have seemed to me like three months. I shall be ill if it goes on much longer."
"Of course you hear from him?"
"Oh yes, I hear from him. A few lines at a time, saying he will come for me as soon as he possibly can, and that I must not be impatient. I wanted to go over alone, andhe returned me such an answer, asking what I meant by wishing to travel with servants only at my age. I shall do something desperate if I am left here another week."
"As you once did at White Littleham when they forbade your going to a concert, thinking you were too ill!" laughed Mr. Ravensworth.
"Dressed myself up in my best frock, and surprised them in the room. I had ten pages of Italian translation for that escapade."
"Do you like Italy?" he inquired, after a pause.
"No, I hate it!" And the animus in Lady Level's answer was so intense that the husband and wife exchanged stolen glances.Somethingmust be out of gear.
"What parts of Italy did you stay in?"
"Chiefly at Pisa—that is not far from Florence, you know; and a few days at Florence. Lord Level took a villa at Pisa for a month—and why he did so I could not tell, for it was not the season when theEnglish frequent it: no one, so to say, was there. We made the acquaintance of a Mrs. Page Reid, who had the next villa to ours."
"That was pleasant for you—if you liked her."
"But I did not like her," returned Lady Level, her delicate cheeks flushing. "That is, I did and I did not. She was a very pleasant woman, always ready to help us in any way; but she told dreadful tales of people—making one suspect things that otherwise would never have entered the imagination. Lord Level liked her at first, and ended by disliking her."
"Got up a flirtation with her," thought Mr. Ravensworth. But in that he was mistaken. And so they talked on.
It appeared that the mail passed through the village at night time; and the following morning a letter lay on the breakfast-table for Lady Level.
My Dear Blanche,—I have met with a slight accident, and must again postponecoming to you for a few days. I dare say it will not detain me very long. Rely upon it I shall be with you as soon as I possibly can be.—Ever affectionately yours,Level.
My Dear Blanche,—I have met with a slight accident, and must again postponecoming to you for a few days. I dare say it will not detain me very long. Rely upon it I shall be with you as soon as I possibly can be.—Ever affectionately yours,Level.
"Short and sweet!" exclaimed Blanche, in her bitter disappointment, as she read the note at the window. "Arnold, when you and your wife leave to-morrow, what will become of me, alone here? If——"
Suddenly, as Lady Level spoke the last word, she started, and began to creep away from the window, as if fearing to be seen.
"Arnold! Arnold! who do you think is out there?" she exclaimed in a timid whisper.
"Why, who?" in astonishment. "Not Lord Level?"
"It is Captain Cross," she said with a shiver. "I would rather meet the whole world than him. My behaviour to him was—was not right; and I have felt ashamed of myself ever since."
Mr. Ravensworth looked out from thewindow. Captain Cross, seated on the bench in the inn yard, was solacing himself with a cigar.
"I would not meet him for the world! I would not let him see me: he might make a scene. I shall stay in my rooms all day. Why does my husband leave me to such chances as these?"
That Captain Cross had not been well used was certain; but the fault lay with Major Carlen, not with Blanche. Mr. Ravensworth spoke.
"Take my advice, Lady Level. Do not place yourself in Captain Cross's way, but do not run from him. I believe him to be a gentleman; and, if so, he will not say or do anything to annoy you. I will take care he does not, as long as I remain here."
In the course of the morning Captain Cross and Arnold Ravensworth met. "I find Lady Level's here!" the Captain abruptly exclaimed. "Are you staying with her?"
"I and my wife arrived here only lastnight, and were surprised to meet Lady Level."
"Where'she?" asked Captain Cross.
"In England."
"He in England and she here, and only six months married! Estranged, I suppose. Well, what else could she expect? People mostly reap what they sow."
Arnold Ravensworth laughed good-humouredly.Hewas not going to give a hint of the state of affairs that he suspected himself.
"You are prejudiced, Cross. Miss Heriot was not to blame for what happened. She was a child: and they did with her as they pleased."
"A child! Old enough to engage herself to one man, and to marry another," retorted Captain Cross, in a burst of angry feeling. "And Level, of all people!"—with sarcastic scorn. "Why does he leave her in Germany whilst he stays gallivanting in England? What do you say? Met with an accident, andcan'tcome for her?That'shistale, I suppose. You may repeat it to the Marines, old boy; it won't do for me.Iknow Level; knew him of old."
Lady Level was as good as her word: she did not stir out of her rooms all day. On the following morning when Mr. Ravensworth came out of his chamber, he saw, from the corridor window, a travelling-carriage in the yard, packed. By the coat-of-arms he knew it for Lord Level's. Timms moved towards him in a flutter of delight.
"Oh, if you please, sir, breakfast is on the table, and my lady is waiting there, ready dressed. We are going to England, sir."
"Has Lord Level come?"
"No, sir: we are going with you. My lady gave orders, last night, to pack up for home. It is the happiest day I've known, sir, since I set foot in these barbarious countries."
Lady Level met him at the door of the breakfast-room; "ready dressed," as Timmsexpressed it, for travelling, even to her bonnet.
"Do you really mean to go with us?" he exclaimed.
"Yes," was her decisive reply. "That is, you must go with me. Stay here longer, I will not. I tell you, Arnold, I am sick to death of it. If Lord Level is ill and unable to come for me, I am glad to embrace the opportunity of travelling under your protection: he can't grumble at that. Besides——"
"Besides what?" asked Mr. Ravensworth, for she suddenly stopped.
"I do not choose to remain at an inn in which Captain Cross has taken up his abode: neither would my husband wish me to do so. After you and Mrs. Ravensworth left me last night, I sat over the wood fire, thinking these things over, and made my mind up. If I have not sufficient money for the journey, and I don't think I have, I must apply to you, Arnold."
Whether Mr. Ravensworth approved ordisapproved of the decision, he had no power to alter it. Or, rather, whether Lord Level would approve of it. After a hasty breakfast, they went down to the carriage, which had already its array of five horses harnessed to it; Sanders and Timms perched side-by-side in their seat aloft. The two ladies were helped in by Mr. Ravensworth. Captain Cross leaned against the outer wall of thesalle-à-manger, watching the departure. He approached Mr. Ravensworth.
"Am I driving her ladyship off?"
"Lady Level is going to England with us, to join her husband. I told you he had met with an accident."
"A merry meeting to them!" was the sarcastic rejoinder. And, as the carriage drove out of the inn-yard, Captain Cross deliberately lifted his hat to Lady Level: but lifted it, she thought, in mockery.
THE VINE-COVERED COTTAGE AT PISA.
THATArchibald, Lord Level, had been a gay man, fond of pleasure, fond of talking nonsense to pretty women, the world knew well: and perhaps, world-fashion, admired him none the less for it. But his wife did not know it. When Blanche Heriot became Blanche Level she was little more than an innocent child, entirely unversed in the world's false ways. She esteemed her husband; ay, and loved him, in a measure, and she was happy for a time.
It is true that while they were staying in Switzerland a longing for home came overher. They had halted in Paris for nearly a fortnight on their outward route. Some very nice people whom Lord Level knew were there; they were delighted with the fair young bride, and she was delighted with them. Blanche was taken about everywhere, no one being more anxious for her amusement than Lord Level himself. But one morning, in the very midst of numerous projected expeditions, he suddenly told Blanche that they must continue their journey that day.
"Oh, Archibald!" she had answered in a sort of dismay. "Why, it is this very afternoon that we were going to Fontainebleau!"
"My dear, you shall see Fontainebleau the next time we are in Paris," he said. "I have a reason for wishing to go on at once."
And they went on. Blanche was far too good and dutiful a wife to oppose her own will to her husband's, or to grumble. They went straight on to Switzerland—travelling in their own carriage—but instead of settlinghimself in one of those pretty dwellings on the banks of Geneva's lake, as he had talked of to Blanche, Lord Level avoided Geneva altogether, and chose a fearfully dull little village as their place of abode. Very lovely as to scenery, it is true; but quite unfrequented by travellers. It was there that Blanche first began to long for home.
Next, they went on to Italy, posting straight to Pisa, and there Lord Level took a pretty villa for a month in the suburbs of the town. Pisa itself was deserted: it was hot weather; and Blanche did not think it had many attractions. Lord Level, however, seemed to find pleasure in it. He knew Pisa well, having stayed at it in days gone by. He made Blanche familiar with the neighbourhood; together they admired and wondered at the Leaning Tower, in its green plain, backed by distant mountains; but he also went out and about a good deal alone.
One English dame of fashion was sojourningin the place—a widow, Mrs. Page Reid. She occupied the next villa to theirs, and called upon them; and she and Lady Level grew tolerably intimate. She was a talkative, gay woman of thirty—and beside her Blanche seemed like a timid schoolgirl.
One evening, when dinner was over, Lord Level strolled out—as he often did—leaving his wife with Mrs. Page Reid, who had dined with them. The two ladies talked together, and sang a song or two; and so whiled away the time.
"Let us go out for a stroll, too!" exclaimed Mrs. Page Reid, speaking on a momentary impulse, when she found the time growing monotonous.
Blanche readily agreed. It was a most lovely night; the moon bright and silvery in the Italian sky. Putting on some fleecy shawls, the ladies went down the solitary road, and turned by-and-by into a narrow lane that looked like a grove of evergreens. Soon they came to a pretty dwelling-place on the left, half villa, half cottage. Vinesgrew up its trellised walls, flowers and shrubs crowded around it.
"A charming little spot!" cried Mrs. Page Reid, as they halted to peep through the hedge of myrtles that clustered on each side the low entrance-gate. "And two people are sitting there—lovers, I dare say," she added, "telling their vows under the moonbeams."
In front of the vine-wreathed window, on a bench overhung by the branches of the trailing shrubs, the laurels and the myrtles, sat two young people. The girl was tall, slender, graceful; her dark eyes had a flashing fire even in the moonlight; her cheeks wore a rose-red flush.
"How pretty she is!" whispered Blanche. "Look at her long gold earrings! And he—— Oh!"
"What's the matter?" cried Mrs. Page Reid, the tone of the last word startling her.
"It is my husband."
"Nonsense!" began Mrs. Page Reid.But after one doubting, disbelieving look, she saw that it was so. Catching Blanche's hand, she drew her forcibly away, and when they had gained the highroad, burst into a long, low laugh.
"Don't think about it, dear," she said to Blanche. "It's nothing. The best of husbands like to amuse themselves behind our backs."
"Perhaps he was—was—inquiring the way—or something," hazarded Blanche, whose breath was coming rather faster than usual.
Mrs. Page Reid nearly choked. "Oh, to be sure!" she cried, when she could speak.
"You don't think so? You think it was—something else?"
"You are only a little goose, my dear, in the ways of the world," rejoined Mrs. Page Reid. "Where's the man that does not like to talk with a pretty woman? Lord Level, of all others, does."
"Hedoes?"
"Well, he used to do so. Of course he has mended his manners. And the women, mind you, liked to talk to him. But don't take up the notion, please, that by saying that I insinuate any unorthodox talking," added Mrs. Page Reid as an after-thought, when she caught a look at Lady Level's tell-tale countenance.
"I shall ask Lord Level——"
"Ask nothing," impressively spoke the elder lady, cutting short the words. "Say nothing to your husband. Take my advice, Lady Level, for it is good. There is no mortal sin a wife can commit so repugnant in her husband's eyes as that of spying upon his actions. It would make him detest her in the end."
"But I was not spying. We saw it by accident."
"All the same. Let it pass from your mind as though it had never been."
Blanche was dubious.Ifthere was no harm, why should she not speak of it?—and she could not think there was harm.And if therewas—why, she would not have breathed it to him for the world. Dismissing the subject, she and Mrs. Page Reid sat down to a quiet game at cards. When Lord Level came in, their visitor said good-night.
Blanche sat on in silence and torment. Should she speak, or should she not? Lord Level seemed buried in a reverie.
"Archibald," she presently began.
"Yes," he answered, rousing himself.
"I—we—I and Mrs. Page Reid went out for a little walk in the moonlight. And——"
"Well, my dear?"
"We saw you," Blanche was wishing to say; but somehow her courage failed her. Her breath was short, her throat was beating.
"And it was very pleasant," she went on. "As warm and light as day."
"Just so," said Lord Level. "But the night air is treacherous, apt to bring fever. Do not go out again in it, love."
So her effort to speak had failed. And the silence only caused her to think the more. Blanche Level would have given her best diamond earrings to know who that person was in the gold ones.
An evening or two further on, when she was quite alone, Lord Level having again strolled out, she threw on the same fleecy shawl and betook herself down the road to the cottage in the grove—the cottage that looked like a pretty bower in the evergreens. And—yes——
Well, it was a strange thing—a startling thing; startling, anyway, to poor Blanche Level's heart; but there, on the self-same bench, side by side, sat Lord Level and the Italian girl. Her face looked more beautiful than before to the young wife's jealous eyes; the gold earrings glittered and sparkled in the moonlight. He and she were conversing in a low, earnest voice, and Lord Level was smoking a cigar.
Blanche stood rooted to the spot, shivering a little as she peered through the myrtlehedge, but never moving. Presently the young woman lifted her head, called out "Si," and went indoors, evidently in answer to a summons.
"Nina," sang out Lord Level. "Nina"—raising his voice higher—"I have left my cigar-case on the table; bring it to me when you come out again."
He spoke in English. The next minute the girl returned, cigar-case in hand. She took her place by his side, as before, and they fell to talking again.
Lady Level drew away. She went home with flagging steps and a bitterly rebellious heart.
Not to her husband would she speak; her haughty lips were sealed to him—and should be ever, she resolved in her new pain. But she gave a hint the next day of what she had again seen to Mrs. Page Reid.
That lady only laughed. To her mind it was altogether a rich joke. Not only the affair itself, but Blanche's ideas upon it.
"My dear Lady Level," she rejoined, "asI said before, you are very ignorant of the ways of the world. I assure you our husbands like to chatter to others as well as to us. Nothing wrong, of course, you understand; the mistake is, if we so misconstrue it. Lord Level is a very attractive man, you know, and has had all sorts of escapades."
"I never knew that he had had them."
"Well, it is hardly likely he would tell you of them before you were his wife. He will tell you fast enough some day."
"Won't you tell me some of them now?"
Blanche was speaking very equably, as if worldly wisdom had come to her all at once; and Mrs. Page Reid began to ransack her memory for this, that, or the other that she might have heard of Lord Level. As tales of scandal never lose by carrying, she probably converted mole-hills into mountains; most assuredly so to Blanche's mind. Anyway, she had better have held her tongue.
From that time, what with one doubt and another, Lady Level's regard for herlord was changed. Her feeling towards him became most bitter. Resentment?—indignation?—neither is an adequate word for it.
At the week's end they left Pisa, for the month was up, and travelled back by easy stages to Savoy. Blanche wanted to go direct to England, but Lord Level objected: he said she had not yet seen enough of Switzerland. It was in Savoy that her illness came on—the mal du pays, as they called it. When she grew better, they started towards home; travelling slowly and halting at every available spot. That his wife's manner had changed to him, Lord Level could only perceive, but he had no suspicion of its cause. He put it down to her anger at his keeping her so long away from England.
The morning after they arrived at the inn in Germany (of which mention has been made) Lord Level received a letter, which seemed to disturb him. It was forwarded to him by a banker in Paris, to whom at present all his letters were addressed. TellingBlanche that it contained news of some matter of business upon which he must start for London without delay, he departed; declining to listen to her prayer that she might accompany him, but promising to return for her shortly. It was at that inn that Arnold Ravensworth and his wife found Lady Level: and it was with them she journeyed to England.
And here we must give a few words to Lord Level himself. He crossed the Channel by the night mail to Dover, and reached London soon after daybreak. In the course of the day he called at his bankers', Messrs. Coutts and Co., to inquire for letters: orders having now been given by him to Paris to forward them to London. One only awaited him, which had only just then come in.
As Lord Level read it, he gave utterance to a word of vexation. For it told him that the matter of business upon which he had hurried over was put off for a week: and he found that he might just as well have remained in Germany.
The first thought that crossed his mind was—should he return to his wife? But it was hardly worth while doing so. So he took rooms in Holles Street, at a comfortable house where he had lodged before, and looked up friends and acquaintances at his club. But he did not let that first day pass without calling on Charles Strange.
The afternoon was drawing to an end in Essex Street, and Charles was in his own private room, all his faculties given to a deed, when Lord Level was shown in. It was for Charles he asked, not for Mr. Brightman.
"What an awful business this is!" began his lordship, when greetings had passed.
Charles lifted his hands in dismay. No need to ask to whom the remark applied: or to mention poor Tom Heriot by name.
"Couldnothingbe done, Mr. Strange?" demanded the peer in his coldest and haughtiest tones. "Were therenomeans that could have been taken to avert exposure?"
"Yes, I think there might have been,but for Tom's own careless folly: and that's the most galling part of it," returned Charles. "Had he only made a confidant of me beforehand, we should have had a try for it. If I could not have found the money myself, Mr. Brightman would have done so."
"You need only have applied to me," said Lord Level. "I should not have cared how much I paid—to prevent exposure."
"But in his carelessness, you see, he never applied to anyone; he allowed the blow to fall upon him, and then it was too late——"
"Was he a fool?" interjected Lord Level.
"There is this excuse for his not speaking: he did not know that things were so bad, or that the people would proceed to extremities."
The peer drew in his haughty lips. "Did he tell you that pretty fable?"
"Believe this much, Lord Level: what Tomsaid, hethought. Anyone more reprehensibly light and heedless I do not know, but he is incapable of falsehood. And in saying that he did not expect so grave acharge, or believe there were any grounds on which it could be made, I am sure he spoke only the truth. He was drawn in by one Anstey, and——"
"I read the reports of the trial," interrupted Lord Level. "Do not be at the pain of going over the details again."
"Well, the true culprit was Anstey; there's no doubt of that. But, like most cunning rogues, he was able to escape consequences himself, and throw them upon Tom. I am sure, Lord Level, that Tom Heriot no more knew the bill was forged than I knew it. He knew well enough there was something shady about it; about that and others which had been previously in circulation, and had been met when they came to maturity. This one bill was different. Of course there's all the difference between shady bills of accommodation, and a bill that has a responsible man's name to it, which he never signed himself."
"But what on earth possessed Heriot to allow himself to be drawn into such toils?"
"Ah, there it is. His carelessness. He has been reprehensibly careless all his life. And now he has paid for it. All's over."
"He is already on his passage out in the convict shipVengeance, is he not?" said Lord Level, with suppressed rage.
"Yes: ever since early in August," shuddered Charles. "How does Blanche bear it?"
"Blanche does not know it."
"Not know it!"
"No. As yet I have managed to keep it from her. I dread its reaching her, and that's the truth. It is a fearful disgrace. She is fond of him, and would feel it keenly."
"But I cannot understand how it can have been kept from her."
"Well, it has been. Why, she does not even know that he sold out! She thinks he embarked with the regiment for India last May! We had been in Paris about ten days—after our marriage, you know—when one morning, happening to take up theTimes, I saw in it the account of his apprehension and first examination. Theyhad his name in as large as life—Thomas Heriot. 'Some gross calumny,' I thought; 'Blanche must not hear of this:' and I gave orders for continuing our journey that same day. However, I soon found that it was not a calumny: other examinations took place, and he was committed for trial. I kept my wife away from all places likely to be frequented by the English, lest a word should be dropped to her: and as yet, as I tell you, she knows nothing of it. She is very angry with me in her heart, I can see, for taking her to secluded places, and for keeping her away from England so long, but this has been my sole motive. I want the thought of it to die out of people's minds before I bring her home."
"She is not with you, then?"
"She is in Germany. I had to hasten over here upon a matter of business, and shall return for her when it is finished. I have taken my old rooms in Holles Street for a week. You must look me up there."
"I will," said Charles.
Mr. Brightman came in then, and the trouble was gone over again. Lord Level felt it keenly; there could be no doubt of that. He inquired of the older and more experienced lawyer whether there was any chance of bringing Anstey to a reckoning, so that he might be punished; and as to any expense, great or small, that might be incurred in the process, his lordship added, he would give carte blanche for that with greater delight than he had given money for anything in his whole life.
Charles could not help liking him. With all his pride and his imputed faults, few people could help liking Lord Level.
Meanwhile, as may have been gathered in the last chapter, Lord Level was detained in England longer than he had thought for. Lady Level grew impatient and more impatient at the delay: and then, taking the reins into her own hands, she crossed the Channel with Mr. and Mrs. Arnold Ravensworth.