THE BARONESS BANMANN AGAIN.
A day or two after the meeting at Mr. Battle's office there came to
Lord George a letter from that gentleman suggesting that, as the Dean
had undertaken to come up to London again, and as he, Mr. Battle, might
not be ready with his advice at the end of a week, that day fortnight
might be fixed. To Lord George this delay was agreeable rather than
otherwise, as he was not specially anxious for the return of his
father-in-law, nor was he longing for action in this question as to his
brother's heir. But the Dean, when the lawyer's letter reached him, was
certain that Mr. Battle did not mean to lose the time simply in
thinking over the matter. Some preliminary enquiry would now be made,
even though no positive instructions had been given. He did not at all
regret this, but was sure that Lord George would be very angry if he
knew it. He wrote back to say that he would be in Munster Court on the
evening before the day appointed.
It was now May, and London was bright with all the exotic gaiety of the
season. The park was crowded with riders at one, and was almost
impassable at six. Dress was outvying dress, and equipage equipage. Men
and women, but principally women, seemed to be intent on finding out
new ways of scattering money. Tradesmen no doubt knew much of
defaulters, and heads of families might find themselves pressed for
means; but to the outside west-end eye looking at the outside west-end
world it seemed as though wealth was unlimited and money a drug. To
those who had known the thing for years, to young ladies who were now
entering on their seventh or eighth campaign, there was a feeling of
business about it all which, though it buoyed them up by its
excitement, robbed amusement of most of its pleasure. A ball cannot be
very agreeable in which you may not dance with the man you like and are
not asked by the man you want; at which you are forced to make a note
that that full-blown hope is futile, and that this little bud will
surely never come to flower. And then the toil of smiles, the pretence
at flirtation, the long-continued assumption of fictitious character,
the making of oneself bright to the bright, solemn to the solemn, and
romantic to the romantic, is work too hard for enjoyment. But our
heroine had no such work to do. She was very much admired and could
thoroughly enjoy the admiration. She had no task to perform. She was
not carrying out her profession by midnight labours. Who shall say
whether now and again a soft impalpable regret,--a regret not
recognised as such,--may not have stolen across her mind, telling her
that if she had seen all this before she was married instead of
afterwards, she might have found a brighter lot for herself? If it were
so, the only enduring effect of such a feeling was a renewal of that
oft-made resolution that she would be in love with her husband. The
ladies whom she knew had generally their carriages and riding horses.
She had only a brougham, and had that kept for her by the generosity of
her father. The Dean, when coming to town, had brought with him the
horse which she used to ride, and wished that it should remain. But
Lord George, with a husband's solicitude, and perhaps with something of
a poor man's proper dislike to expensive habits, had refused his
permission. She soon, too, learned to know the true sheen of diamonds,
the luxury of pearls, and the richness of rubies; whereas she herself
wore only the little ornaments which had come from the deanery. And as
she danced in spacious rooms and dined in noble halls, and was feted on
grand staircases, she remembered what a little place was the little
house in Munster Court, and that she was to stay there only for a few
weeks more before she was taken to the heavy dulness of Cross Hall. But
still she always came back to that old resolution. She was so
flattered, so courted, so petted and made much of, that she could not
but feel that had all this world been opened to her sooner her destiny
would probably have been different;--but then it might have been
different, and very much less happy. She still told herself that she
was sure that Lord George was all that he ought to be.
Two or three things did tease her certainly. She was very fond of
balls, but she soon found that Lord George disliked them as much, and
when present was always anxious to get home. She was a married woman,
and it was open to her to go alone; but that she did not like, nor
would he allow it. Sometimes she joined herself to other parties. Mrs.
Houghton was always ready to be her companion, and old Mrs. Montacute
Jones, who went everywhere, had taken a great liking to her. But there
were two antagonistic forces, her husband and herself, and of course
she had to yield to the stronger force. The thing might be managed
occasionally,--and the occasion was no doubt much the pleasanter
because it had to be so managed,--but there was always the feeling that
these bright glimpses of Paradise, these entrances into Elysium, were
not free to her as to other ladies. And then one day, or rather one
night, there came a great sorrow,--a sorrow which robbed these
terrestrial Paradises of half their brightness and more than half their
joy. One evening he told her that he did not like her to waltz. "Why?"
she innocently asked. They were in the brougham, going home, and she
had been supremely happy at Mrs. Montacute Jones's house. Lord George
said that he could hardly explain the reason. He made rather a long
speech, in which he asked her whether she was not aware that many
married women did not waltz. "No," said she. "That is, of course, when
they get old they don't." "I am sure," said he, "that when I say I do
not like it, that will be enough." "Quite enough," she answered, "to
prevent my doing it, though not enough to satisfy me why it should not
be done." He said no more to her on the occasion, and so the matter was
considered to be settled. Then she remembered that her very last waltz
had been with Jack De Baron. Could it be that he was jealous? She was
well aware that she took great delight in waltzing with Captain De
Baron because he waltzed so well. But now that pleasure was over, and
for ever! Was it that her husband disliked waltzing, or that he
disliked Jack De Baron?
A few days after this Lady George was surprised by a visit from the
Baroness Banmann, the lady whom she had been taken to hear at the
Disabilities. Since that memorable evening she had seen Aunt Ju more
than once, and had asked how the cause of the female architects was
progressing; but she had never again met the Baroness. Aunt Ju had
apparently been disturbed by these questions. She had made no further
effort to make Lady George a proselyte by renewed attendances at the
Rights of Women Institute, and had seemed almost anxious to avoid the
subject. As Lady George's acquaintance with the Baroness had been owing
altogether to Aunt Ju she was now surprised that the German lady should
call upon her.
The German lady began a story with great impetuosity,--with so much
impetuosity that poor Mary could not understand half that was said to
her. But she did learn that the Baroness had in her own estimation been
very ill-treated, and that the ill-treatment had come mainly from the
hands of Aunt Ju and Lady Selina Protest. And it appeared at length
that the Baroness claimed to have been brought over from Bavaria with a
promise that she should have the exclusive privilege of using the hall
of the Disabilities on certain evenings, but that this privilege was
now denied to her. The Disabilities seemed to prefer her younger rival,
Miss Doctor Olivia Q. Fleabody, whom Mary now learned to be a person of
no good repute whatever, and by no means fit to address the masses of
Marylebone. But what did the Baroness want of her? What with the female
lecturer's lack of English pronunciation, what with her impetuosity,
and with Mary's own innocence on the matter, it was some time before
the younger lady did understand what the elder lady required. At last
eight tickets were brought out of her pocket, on looking at which Mary
began to understand that the Baroness had established a rival
Disabilities, very near the other, in Lisson Grove; and then at last,
but very gradually, she further understood that these were front-row
tickets, and were supposed to be worth 2_s._ 6_d._ each. But it was not
till after that, till further explanation had been made which must, she
feared, have been very painful to the Baroness, that she began to
perceive that she was expected to pay for the eight tickets on the
moment. She had a sovereign in her pocket, and was quite willing to
sacrifice it; but she hardly knew how to hand the coin bodily to a
Baroness. When she did do so, the Baroness very well knew how to put it
into her pocket. "You vill like to keep the entire eight?" asked the
Baroness. Mary thought that four might perhaps suffice for her own
wants;--whereupon the Baroness re-pocketed four, but of course did not
return the change.
But even then the Baroness had not completed her task. Aunt Ju had
evidently been false and treacherous, but might still be won back to
loyal honesty. So much Mary gradually perceived to be the drift of the
lady's mind. Lady Selina was hopeless. Lady Selina, whom the Baroness
intended to drag before all the judges in England, would do nothing
fair or honest; but Aunt Ju might yet be won. Would Lady George go with
the Baroness to Aunt Ju? The servant had unfortunately just announced
the brougham as being at the door. "Ah," said the Baroness, "it vould
be ten minutes, and vould be my salvation." Lady George did not at all
want to go to the house in Green Street. She had no great desire to
push her acquaintance with Aunt Ju, she particularly disliked the
younger Miss Mildmay, and she felt that she had no business to
interfere in this matter. But there is nothing which requires so much
experience to attain as the power of refusing. Almost before she had
made up her mind whether she would refuse or not the Baroness was in
the brougham with her, and the coachman had been desired to take them
to Green Street. Throughout the whole distance the Baroness was voluble
and unintelligible; but Lady George could hear the names of Selina
Protest and Olivia Q. Fleabody through the thunder of the lady's loud
complaints.
Yes, Miss Mildmay was at home. Lady George gave her name to the
servant, and also especially requested that the Baroness Banmann might
be first announced. She had thought it over in the brougham, and had
determined that if possible it should appear that the Baroness had
brought her. Twice she repeated the name to the servant. When they
reached the drawing-room only the younger Miss Mildmay was present. She
sent the servant to her aunt, and received her two visitors very
demurely. With the Baroness, of whom probably she had heard quite
enough, she had no sympathies; and with Lady George she had her own
special ground of quarrel. Five or six very long minutes passed during
which little or nothing was said. The Baroness did not wish to expend
her eloquence on an unprofitable young lady, and Lady George could find
no subject for small talk. At last the door was opened and the servant
invited the Baroness to go downstairs. The Baroness had perhaps been
unfortunate, for at this very time Lady Selina Protest was down in the
dining-room discussing the affairs of the Institute with Aunt Ju. There
was a little difficulty in making the lady understand what was required
of her, but after a while she did follow the servant down to the
dining-room.
Lady George, as soon as the door was closed, felt that the blood
rushed to her face. She was conscious at the moment that Captain De
Baron had been this girl's lover, and that there were some who said
that it was because of her that he had deserted the girl. The girl had
already said words to her on the subject which had been very hard to
bear. She had constantly told herself that in this matter she was quite
innocent,--that her friendship with Jack was simple, pure friendship,
that she liked him because he laughed and talked and treated the world
lightly; that she rarely saw him except in the presence of his cousin,
and that everything was as it ought to be. And yet, when she found
herself alone with this Miss Mildmay, she was suffused with blushes and
uneasy. She felt that she ought to make some excuse for her visit. "I
hope," she said, "that your aunt will understand that I brought the
lady here only because she insisted on being brought." Miss Mildmay
bowed. "She came to me, and I really couldn't quite understand what she
had to say. But the brougham was there, and she would get into it. I am
afraid there has been some quarrel."
"I don't think that matters at all," said Miss Mildmay.
"Only your aunt might think it so impertinent of me! She took me to
that Institute once, you know."
"I don't know anything about the Institute. As for the German woman,
she is an impostor; but it doesn't matter. There are three of them
there now, and they can have it out together." Lady George didn't
understand whether her companion meant to blame her for coming, but was
quite sure, from the tone of the girl's voice and the look of her eyes,
that she meant to be uncivil. "I am surprised," continued Miss Mildmay,
"that you should come to this house at all."
"I hope your aunt will not think----"
"Never mind my aunt. The house is more my house than my aunt's. After
what you have done to me----"
"What have I done to you?" She could not help asking the question, and
yet she well knew the nature of the accusation. And she could not stop
the rushing of the tell-tale blood.
Augusta Mildmay was blushing too, but the blush on her face consisted
in two red spots beneath the eyes. The determination to say what she
was going to say had come upon her suddenly. She had not thought that
she was about to meet her rival. She had planned nothing; but now she
was determined. "What have you done?" she said. "You know very well
what you have done. Do you mean to tell me that you had never heard of
anything between me and Captain De Baron? Will you dare to tell me
that? Why don't you answer me, Lady George Germain?"
This was a question which she did not wish to answer, and one that did
not at all appertain to herself--which did not require any answer for
the clearing of herself; but yet it was now asked in such a manner
that she could not save herself from answering it. "I think I did hear
that you and he--knew each other."
"Knew each other! Don't be so mealy-mouthed. I don't mean to be
mealy-mouthed, I can tell you. You knew all about it. Adelaide had told
you. You knew that we were engaged."
"No," exclaimed Lady George; "she never told me that."
"She did. I know she did. She confessed to me that she had told you
so."
"But what if she had?"
"Of course he is nothing to you," said the young lady with a sneer.
"Nothing at all;--nothing on earth. How dare you ask such a question?
If Captain De Baron is engaged, I can't make him keep his engagements."
"You can make him break them."
"That is not true. I can make him do nothing of the kind. You have no
right to talk to me in this way, Miss Mildmay."
"Then I shall do it without a right. You have come between me and all
my happiness."
"You cannot know that I am a married woman," said Lady George, speaking
half in innocence and half in anger, almost out of breath with
confusion, "or you wouldn't speak like that."
"Psha!" exclaimed Miss Mildmay. "It is nothing to me whether you are
married or single. I care nothing though you have twenty lovers if you
do not interfere with me."
"It is a falsehood," said Lady George, who was now standing. "I have no
lover. It is a wicked falsehood."
"I care nothing for wickedness or falseness either. Will you promise me
if I hold my tongue that you will have nothing further to say to
Captain De Baron?"
"No; I will promise nothing. I should be ashamed of myself to make such
a promise."
"Then I shall go to Lord George. I do not want to make mischief, but I
am not going to be treated in this way. How would you like it? When I
tell you that the man is engaged to me why cannot you leave him alone?"
"I do leave him alone," said Mary, stamping her foot.
"You do everything you can to cheat me of him. I shall tell Lord
George."
"You may tell whom you like," said Mary, rushing to the bell-handle and
pulling it with all her might. "You have insulted me, and I will never
speak to you again." Then she burst out crying, and hurried to the
door. "Will you--get me--my--carriage?" she said to the man through her
sobs. As she descended the stairs she remembered that she had brought
the German baroness with her, and that the German baroness would
probably expect to be taken away again. But when she reached the hall
the door of the dining-room burst open, and the German baroness
appeared. It was evident that two scenes had been going on in the same
house at the same moment. Through the door the Baroness came first,
waving her hands above her head. Behind her was Aunt Ju, advancing with
imploring gesture. And behind Aunt Ju might be seen Lady Selina Protest
standing in mute dignity. "It is all a got up cheating and a fraud,"
said the Baroness: "and I vill have justice,--English justice." The
servant was standing with the front door open, and the Baroness went
straight into Lady George's brougham, as though it had been her own.
"Oh, Lady George," said Aunt Ju, "what are you to do with her?" But
Lady George was so taken up with her own trouble that she could hardly
think of the other matter. She had to say something. "Perhaps I had
better go with her. Good-bye." And then she followed the Baroness. "I
did not tink dere was such robbery with ladies," said the Baroness. But
the footman was asking for directions for the coachman. Whither was he
to go? "I do not care," said the Baroness. Lady George asked her in a
whisper whether she would be taken home. "Anywhere," said the Baroness.
In the meantime the footman was still standing, and Aunt Ju could be
seen in the hall through the open door of the house. During the whole
time our poor Mary's heart was crushed by the accusations which had
been made against her upstairs. "Home," said Mary in despair. To have
the Baroness in Munster Court would be dreadful; but anything was
better than standing in Green Street with the servant at the carriage
window.
Then the Baroness began her story. Lady Selina Protest had utterly
refused to do her justice, and Aunt Ju was weak enough to be domineered
by Lady Selina. That, as far as Mary understood anything about it, was
the gist of the story. But she did not try to understand anything about
it. During the drive her mind was intent on forming some plan by which
she might be able to get rid of her companion without asking her into
her house. She had paid her sovereign, and surely the Baroness had no
right to demand more of her. When she reached Munster Court her plan
was in some sort framed. "And now, madam," she said, "where shall I
tell my servant to take you?" The Baroness looked very suppliant. "If
you vas not busy I should so like just one half-hour of conversation."
Mary nearly yielded. For a moment she hesitated as though she were
going to put up her hand and help the lady out. But then the memory of
her own unhappiness steeled her heart, and the feeling grew strong
within her that this nasty woman was imposing on her,--and she refused.
"I am afraid, madam," she said, "that my time is altogether occupied."
"Then let him take me to 10, Alexandrina Row, Maida Vale," said the
Baroness, throwing herself sulkily back into the carriage. Lady George
gave the direction to the astounded coachman,--for Maida Vale was a
long way off,--and succeeded in reaching her own drawing-room alone.
What was she to do? The only course in which there seemed to be safety
was in telling all to her husband. If she did not, it would probably be
told by the cruel lips of that odious woman. But yet, how was she to
tell it? It was not as though everything in this matter was quite
pleasant between her and him. Lady Susanna had accused her of flirting
with the man, and that she had told to him. And in her heart of hearts
she believed that the waltzing had been stopped because she had waltzed
with Jack De Baron. Nothing could be more unjust, nothing more cruel;
but still there were the facts. And then the sympathy between her and
her husband was so imperfect. She was ever trying to be in love with
him, but had never yet succeeded in telling even herself that she had
succeeded.