IN WHICH DAME FORTUNE PLAYS OFF HER GRIM
JOKE UPON LIONEL HAMMERTON.
“Let me congratulate you, George,” were the first words which Lionel
addressed to his brother; “let me congratulate you upon your marriage
with the prettiest of charming women.”
“Thank you, thank you,” said the Earl, taking Lionel’s hand; “rather
unexpected, eh?--never thought I should marry, eh, Lionel?”
“No, I certainly did not,” said Lionel.
“The confirmed old bachelor, who could not be bored with a wife,
eh?--the lazy old fellow, too selfish to marry, eh?” said his lordship,
laughing aloud and rubbing his hands. “Did the wonderful news bring you
home?”
“No; I heard for the first time of your marriage, at Brazencrook. When
I left India I hardly knew why I left; but I think I shall be able to
tell you all about it in due time.”
“Well, no matter; you know you are always welcome, Lionel--always; my
home is yours, dear boy.”
“I know that, my dear George,” said Lionel, who again took his
brother’s proffered hand, and shook it heartily.
“You will find your old room in the old place,” said the Earl. “No
change there, except perhaps a little extra decoration. When you are
ready, come to me in the library, and you shall have an introduction to
your sister-in-law.”
“Delighted to renew the lady’s acquaintance in her new and
distinguished position,” said Lionel, leaving his brother smiling and
nodding at the foot of the principal staircase.
The old room was in the old place, at the end of the picture gallery,
and Lionel found no change there for the worse. He found Morris there
unpacking his portmanteaus; and he joked with the old fellow, and
asked him when he would be married. Morris thought the jest rather
grim, and said it was certainly time for him to think about it, now
that his lordship had taken a wife.
“Her ladyship is pretty, Morris, is she not?” said Lionel, taking off
his coat and throwing the window up.
“Very pretty, and as amiable as can be, too,” said Morris.
“That’s a good thing; what time do we lunch, Morris?”
“Two o’clock, sir,” said the servant.
“Ah, it is one now,” said Lionel, looking at his watch. “I shall have
time to dress and have ten minutes’ walk to collect my faculties for an
introduction to her ladyship, your mistress.”
“Yes, sir,” said Morris, depositing waistcoats and trousers, and
hanging up coats and caps and swords in the ample wardrobe; “shall I
ring for hot water, sir?”
“No, thank you, Morris; the news has made me hot. Never mind undoing
that leather case.”
“All right, sir,” said Morris. “You are looking a good deal bronzed
with the sun, but glad to see you so well. Anything else I can do, sir?”
“No, thank you, Morris,” said Lionel, taking no notice of the
servitor’s remark about his brown face, but wondering how Arthur
Phillips had taken his disappointment. “Somehow I never thought the
poor fellow had the slightest chance of marrying Phœbe. Poor Arthur!
Such a sentimental fellow, too, he was; it would almost break his
heart I should think; I will hunt him up to-morrow. Fancy George, Earl
Verner, my whimsical, apathetic, luxurious, moping brother, falling
in love with that pretty face at Barton, and marrying it! Wonders
will never cease! I suppose he must have seen her on one of his calls
on Tallant about those humbugging shares. Some people believe in the
exercise of a sort of electrical sympathy influencing friends at the
longest distances. Did that worry me in India? A stroke of fate, I
suspect, in the whole thing. Well, we shall see.”
Thus rambled on the current of Lionel’s thoughts as he washed and
dressed and gave his toilette sundry extra touches in view of the
new society which now graced the castle. What a terrible shock of
disappointment and surprise awaited him! It seemed as though fortune
were playing off some grim joke upon him.
As she passed through the principal drawing-room on her way to the
library, the Countess saw her brother-in-law walking towards the lake.
It was a fine manly figure, in a loose morning costume that set off
the broad shoulders and the stalwart limbs to perfection. How she had
loved that man! How she had listened for his footsteps and trembled
at his voice! She dared not think of the past; she would not think
of it, she would crush it out of memory. She clenched her fair white
hand as she made the vow, clenched it in an agony of resolve until her
fingers pained her; and she went in unto her husband crushing out that
forbidden, that cruel memory!
“Well, my darling, have you seen the Indian?” said his lordship, when,
the Countess entered the library. “I declare the fellow is as brown as
a gipsy.”
“I saw him from the window going towards the lake. There he is,” she
said, looking in that direction, “returning now.”
As she said so, Morris knocked at the door and entered with Lord
Cornington’s card. He was walking in the picture gallery, and wished to
see Lord Verner on particular business.
“I will come to him at once,” said his lordship. “Excuse me for ten
minutes, my dear; Cornington has called about the Darfield property;
I have put him off too long already; I will return as quickly as
possible.”
In the hall Lord Verner met his brother, and the Countess could hear
him say, “You will find my wife in the library, Lionel; your own
introduction will be sufficient: amuse her with an account of your
voyage until I return.”
The next moment Lionel entered the room. Amy pressed her hand upon her
heart and summoned up all her courage and fortitude. He looked at her
for a moment, and then with a sudden gleam of joy upon his face he
rushed towards her. Amy stepped back a few paces and coldly extended
her hand.
“Why, what is this, Amy?” said the Indian officer. “Surely some joke,
some jest to increase my present happiness at sight of you.”
“I do not understand you,” said the Countess, in real astonishment; for
she had dismissed from her mind the possibility of Lionel’s ignorance
of Mr. Tallant’s death and the discovery of Mrs. Somerton’s fraud.
“You are here to surprise me, to punish me for my neglect by a gracious
condescension; you have forgiven me, but I am to suffer for leaving you
so strangely. I see it all, dear, dear Amy.”
“Sir, is this the language which you address to your brother’s wife,”
said Amy, with a glow of indignation and alarm in her face.
“What do you mean? What is this? Pray be candid with me and forgive
me. Surely the jest has gone far enough; your looks alarm me,” said
Lionel, in a passion of appeal.
“There is no jest in this business,” said Amy. “I fear you do not
know all. Before Mr. Tallant died it was discovered that I, whom you
knew as Amy Somerton, was his daughter, and that the lady you knew as
Miss Tallant was, in truth, the bailiff’s daughter. I was Christopher
Tallant’s heiress, and I am now your brother’s wife, the Countess of
Verner.”
Lionel sunk into a chair and covered his face with his hands as Amy, in
a clear, firm voice, spoke these words. And this was what he had come
from India to learn. Was he in some hideous dream? He looked up only to
be the more convinced that he was a victim to cruel fate.
“And now, Mr. Hammerton, if you ever loved Amy Somerton, respect her as
your brother’s wife; and if you value his happiness or mine, guard as
a sacred secret the memory of that love which you once professed for
her. Now is the time to prove the sincerity of a passion which you
once professed, and which was the joy of that poor girl, until neglect
and indifference stepped between her and hope, and gave her hand to
another. For my sake, for your own, for your brother’s, leave this
house as soon as possible; whilst you do remain, blot out that memory
of the past--crush it out as I have crushed it--and never let Earl
Verner’s peace be disturbed even by a suspicion of anything more than
a mere acquaintanceship between yourself and his wife. As you fulfil
these my wishes, so shall I gauge your love.”
She left him as she said this, and when he raised his head he looked
for her in vain. The twin brothers in the “Comedy” were not in a
greater maze of bewilderment than was Lionel Hammerton. Though the
light broke in upon his mind during that cold resolute explanation,
it seemed like an ugly dream. He was like a man paralysed by a sudden
blow of misfortune, against which he struggled ineffectually. To fall
from the sunniest height of anticipated bliss into a Stygian gulf of
misery like this, was enough to unnerve a stronger man than Lionel
Hammerton. Pride, self-love, hope, fortune, happiness--all were struck
down when most they should have flourished. It had flashed upon him,
at first sight of Amy, that her friend, the Countess, had confessed
all with regard to his (Lionel’s) love, and that his generous brother
had concocted a delightful plot to surprise him. But for Amy’s fixed,
cold look, he would have been at her feet imploring her forgiveness,
and blessing her for coming there, that he might not lose a moment in
asking her to be his wife. And now she had slipped from him for ever,
and Fate mocked him with her as his sister-in-law! Was it true? Was
there hope yet? He would go out and walk; there was virtue in fresh
air. He took up his hat, and went forth into the old ruin; he clambered
up the rotten stone steps, and stood upon the moss-grown battlements,
where men-at-arms had defended the garrison hundreds of years before;
he looked round upon the glorious scene, mellowed with a thousand
tints of autumn; he watched the blue wreaths of smoke, mounting up in
tall ethereal columns from the old hall chimneys; he saw those purple
hills in the distance, beyond which he first met Amy Somerton. Then he
remembered the enumeration of her wishes so recently expressed--wishes
that were a command to him--a command by the observance of which she
would gauge his love.
“She shall have no reason to complain,” he thought, as he came back
again to the hall. “There may be some cruel plot of punishment for my
neglect at the bottom of all this; it is a slight hope, a weak plank in
the ocean of my disappointment, but I will cling to it for this day at
least.”
“Why did you run away?” said his lordship, when Lionel returned. “Did
the Countess frighten you? We are waiting for luncheon. Cornington
dines with us; he has just taken her ladyship in--come along, come
along!”
And the brothers, arm-in-arm, entered the luncheon-room, where Lord
Cornington was just handing Lady Verner to her seat.
The Countess never looked better than she did this morning, and she
led the conversation in her best manner; her racy, humorous repartee
reminded the Earl of his first introduction to her at Barton Hall. Lord
Cornington thought her one of the most brilliant women he had ever met.
Lionel Hammerton watched her, and replied to her sallies now and then
with undisguised astonishment. Lord Verner was delighted with his wife,
proud of her wit, proud of her beauty, proud of himself that she was
his wife.
None of them saw that weary, haggard look which Amy saw an hour
afterwards in the glass, when she had retired to her room. She was a
fine actress, and she knew it; but the effort now was a severe strain
upon her nervous system. She had hoped until yesterday that she would
not be called upon to act again for a long time to come. Gratitude
and respect had been ripening into love for her husband; but she
would never be herself so long as Lionel Hammerton remained. She was
beset with fear and alarm; fear lest her husband should discover the
love that had once existed between herself and his brother; fear
arising from her own conscience, burthened with the knowledge of the
revenge she had sought and obtained; alarm lest she should fall in the
estimation of her husband. This was the greatest fear of all; the idea
of losing one jot of that love and admiration which he had lavished
upon her, was torture. Her own fidelity and truth were safe; she never
for a moment doubted her strength to maintain her own self-respect
as Earl Verner’s wife; but there was a wretched spell upon her, with
Hammerton in the house, which made his presence a torment far greater
than she could have dreamed of. All those first passionate feelings of
triumph and revenge which had supported her during that time of Lord
Verner’s courtship, had vanished long since, and now she only prayed
for peace.
When the soft mellow gong, which announced dinner, resounded through
the halls and corridors of Montem Castle, Lord Verner, who had been
sitting with his wife in her own room, brought an excuse for her
absence. She was not at all well this evening, he said, and so Lord
Cornington and Lionel Hammerton and the Earl dined together, and Lord
Cornington re-echoed Earl Verner’s hope that her ladyship might come
down to tea. Meanwhile Lady Verner wrote to her dear friend Phœbe,
begging of her to come and stay a few days with her at Montem, and
telling her that Arthur Phillips should have an invitation to dinner as
long as her stay lasted.