A PARTY more silent than the trio occupying General Grant’s carriage
never drove from the door of Her Majesty’s theatre. Annie, delighted to
find herself once again in safety, leant back amidst cloaks and
cushions to recover as best she might the effects of the terror she
had undergone. Somewhat to her surprise and displeasure, Emily, without
uttering a word by way either of explanation or condolence, also threw
herself back among the cushions, and arranging a fold of her mantle
so as to conceal her face, appeared unconscious of the presence of her
companions. To this silent system they scrupulously adhered till they
reached Conduit Street, when Emily exclaimed in a quick, eager tone
of voice, “Where are they going? Tell him to drive to Berkeley Square
directly.”
Lewis, to whom this speech was addressed, let down the window and gave
the coachman the requisite order, and in less than five minutes the
carriage stopped at the house occupied for the season by the Countess
Portici. The servant let down the steps, and Lewis springing out,
assisted the Countess to alight; as she did so she turned her head, and
saying hurriedly, “Annie, I shall see you tomorrow,” entered the house,
and the door closed after her. Lewis resumed his place, and the carriage
drove away.
“I think she is very unkind not to have said she was sorry for having
missed me, and I’ll never go out with her again,” observed Annie
petulantly. “And Lord Bellefield, too,” she continued--for she had by
this time reached that stage of recovery when, tracing back her alarm
to its first causes, it became a relief to her to pour forth her wrongs,
and in Lewis she felt sure of a prudent and sympathising auditor--“it is
all his fault for deserting us in such a shameful way.”
“You are not perhaps aware that, meeting me accidentally, his lordship
despatched me to you as his substitute,” returned Lewis.
“Did he intend then to have come back himself, if you had been unable to
act as his deputy?” inquired Annie quickly.
“He told me it was impossible for him to do so,” was Lewis’s reply.
“Then if he had not happened to meet you by mere chance, he would have
left us to find our way to the carriage as best we could. How shameful!
just imagine what would have become of me if you had not arrived when
you did?--that dreadful man!--I believe I should have died of fright.”
She paused, then added, in her usual gentle, winning voice, “I must
again plague you with my thanks, Mr. Arundel; you are fated always to
render me services for which I am unable to make you any return; except
by my sincere friendship,” she continued timidly.
“And that is a reward for which a man might------” began Lewis
passionately. He was going to add, “gladly die,” but he checked himself
abruptly, and if Annie could at that moment have seen his face, she
would have been scared at the expression of despair by which it was
characterised, an expression changing instantly to a look of the
sternest resolution, as he continued, in a calm, grave voice, “I mean
that your uniform kindness and consideration have overpaid any trifling
service I may have been fortunate enough to render you.”
“Did Lord Bellefield give any reason for being unable to return to us?”
inquired Annie after a pause. Lewis replied in the negative, and Annie
resumed, “Papa will be waiting for us--he never goes to bed till I come
home. You must tell him all you know of what has occurred, Mr. Arundel;
and pray make him understand clearly how much my cousin is to blame in
the matter.”
“Of course, if General Grant questions me I must tell him exactly what I
have done and why I did it,” returned Lewis gravely; “but--may I indeed
use the privilege of a friend, and venture for once to advise you?”
“Oh yes, pray do,” rejoined Annie eagerly; “I shall be so much obliged
to you. I dare say I am going to do something very foolish.”
“From my acquaintance with your father’s high and chivalrous character,”
continued Lewis, “I feel sure that the facts with which I must make him
acquainted will incense him greatly against Lord Bellefield, and as the
General is, both from temperament and education, a man of action, his
resentment is almost certain to lead to some practical results. Now
just at present you are naturally and justly angry with your cousin; but
young ladies’ anger is seldom of a very vindictive description, yours
least of all so, and when, after frowning him into penitence, you have
graciously forgiven him, will not a serious rupture with the General be
a source of annoyance (to use no stronger word) both to you and to Lord
Bellefield? All that I would recommend,” continued Lewis, seeing that
Annie bent down her head and made no reply, “would be, not what the
lawyers term _suppressio veri_--I would not for the world have you
conceal anything; but much depends upon the spirit in which a tale is
told, and I am anxious to save you from the subsequent regret which
yielding to a momentary impulse of anger may cost you.”
“Tell me plainly what it is you think my father would do?” inquired
Annie abruptly.
“I think--pardon me if I speak too freely--I think the General would
resolve to break off the engagement which Mr. Leicester long since
informed me existed between yourself and Lord Bellefield; and it was to
save you the pain such a resolve might cost you that I ventured to offer
you my advice.”
“You are mistaken,” replied his companion hurriedly; “such an
arrangement as that to which you refer may have been, perhaps still
is, contemplated; but the idea has always been distasteful to me, and
anything which would preclude the possibility of further reference to
it would be to me a subject of rejoicing rather than of regret You may
think it strange in me to speak thus openly to you; but I am sure my
confidence is not misplaced, and--and I am most anxious my father should
understand clearly the insult (for I consider it no less) my cousin has
to-night offered me.”
Whether the information thus communicated was a source of pain or
pleasure to her auditor, we must leave the reader to conjecture for
himself, as when Lewis next spoke his manner was calm and grave as ever.
“There is one possibility,” he said, “of which you must not entirely
lose sight: there may have been some urgent necessity for Lord
Belle-field’s presence elsewhere--some sufficient reason for his
apparent neglect, which he will only have to mention in order alike to
disarm your indignation and that of General Grant.”
“Really, my cousin appears to have secured a most able advocate,”
returned Annie, with the slightest possible shade of annoyance
perceivable in her tone. “I was scarcely prepared to find you so zealous
in his cause.”
Lewis’s face grew dark as he replied in a low, earnest voice, “While I
live, Lord Bellefield shall always meet with the strictest justice at my
hands! Justice!” he continued bitterly, “it is a god-like principle, and
sculptors have symbolised it well--the blinded brow, to show the stern
singleness of heart; the scales, to weigh the merits of the case; and
the keen sword, the agent of a sudden and full retribution.”
He spoke in a tone of such deep and concentrated feeling, that Annie, as
she listened to his words, trembled involuntarily. With the keenness of
a woman’s instinct she appreciated the intensity of the feeling and the
power of the will that was, for the time, able to control it. For the
time!--in that phrase lay the secret of her prescient, terror.
Lewis was too much engrossed by the strength of his own emotions to
perceive the alarm he had excited; nor was it till they reached the
corner of Park Crescent that he again spoke--
“How did you contrive to become separated from the Countess Portici?”
he inquired. “You were absolutely alone amongst those people--were you
not?--when I came up.”
Scarcely had Annie informed him of the circumstances which led to her
desertion when the carriage stopped.
“The General wishes to see you before you retire for the night, Miss
Grant,” insinuated the aristocratic butler, as, leaning on Lewis’s arm,
Annie entered the paternal mansion.
“Where is my father?” she inquired hastily--“in the library?” Receiving
an affirmative answer, she continued, turning to Lewis: “You must come
with me; remember your promise!--I by no means consider myself safe till
this interview is over.”
Lewis smiled assent; his unnatural stiffness of manner seemed to have
disappeared like magic the moment their _tête-à-tête_ was over, and
Annie again restored to the protection of her own home.
The General appeared in high good humour. “You are late, you dissipated
puss!” he said as Annie entered. “Ah! Mr. Arundel,” he continued, “I did
not know you had been of the party. What have you done with Emily and
Bellefield, Annie?”
“Emily is safely at home,” was the reply; “she would not come further
than Berkeley Square. As to my cousin Bellefield, he must answer for
himself, if he is not irrecoverably lost; he chose to leave us to take
care of ourselves. We have had an adventure, and I should have died of
fright if Mr. Arundel had not come to my assistance like one of the good
genii in the ‘Arabian Nights’ Entertainments.’ But I must go to bed, or
Aunt Martha will be implacable; she always examines Lisette on oath as
to the precise moment at which she finally leaves my room. Mr. Arundel
will tell you the whole history much better than I can--so good-night!”
and casting a glance, half arch, half imploring, but wholly
irresistible, at Lewis, she glided out of the apartment, and was gone
ere the General had sufficiently “come at” the meaning of her speech to
attempt to detain her.
Fixing his eyes on Lewis with a look of sublime perplexity, which
bordered closely on the ludicrous, he exclaimed, “Pray, what is the
meaning of all this, Mr. Arundel? Can you explain to what my daughter
alluded?”
Thus called upon, Lewis was forced to narrate the adventures of the
evening, with the details of which the reader has been already made
acquainted.
The General heard him attentively, though his brow grew dark as he
proceeded. He listened in silence, however, till Lewis began to describe
the scene in the crush-room at the Opera-house, when he became so much
excited that he sprang from his seat and began pacing the apartment with
impatient strides. At the mention of Sir Gilbert Vivian’s impertinent
behaviour he exclaimed--
“A scoundrel! I remember when he was broke upon parade for insolence to
his commanding officer. I hope you knocked him down, sir!”
“I felt strangely tempted to do so,” replied Lewis, “but he had several
of his friends with him, so that I should have been certain to get into
a disagreeable squabble; and in that case what would have become of Miss
Grant?”
“Very true, sir, very true,” returned the General hastily; “next to
courage, coolness in action is the greatest attribute in a soldier--that
is to say, in a gentleman--and I honour your forbearance for such a
cause. Shake hands, sir!” and suiting the action to the word, General
Grant crossed the room, and seizing Lewis by the hand, shook it warmly.
At this unusual display of feeling Lewis’s pale cheek flushed, and he
continued his narration to the point when he handed Sir Gilbert Vivian
his card. Here he paused, and continued in an embarrassed tone of voice:
“I dare say he will take no notice of this--but if he should--of course
I am aware that the affair must be left entirely in your hands, and that
it is Lord Bellefield’s privilege to--to defend--that is, to chastise
any insult offered to Miss Grant; but as you have so kindly signified
your approval of my conduct in the affair hitherto--if you could reward
me by allowing me to go out with this scoundrel----?”
This was a request so thoroughly after the General’s own heart, that,
as he listened to it, his little, bright eyes danced and sparkled with
satisfaction, which he had much difficulty not to express in words; but
his moral obligations, as a disciplinarian and the father of a
family, came across him, and he replied: “Duelling is a practice alike
subversive of military discipline, and contrary to the dictates of
religion; it is one, therefore, against which I have always--that is,
for many years past--felt obliged to set my face. Until Lord Bellefield
shall have afforded me some perfectly satisfactory explanation of his
extraordinary conduct, his intercourse with this household must entirely
cease; a man who could thus neglect his trust is the last person to whom
I should dream of committing the honour of--ahem!--my family. As to this
Sir Gilbert Vivian, from what I have heard of him, he is beneath the
notice of a gentleman--quite a contemptible character; the fact of his
annoying my daughter proves this. If it were not so, I vow to Heaven I’d
have the fellow out myself on Monday morning.” And finishing with this
consistent remark his tirade against duelling, the General resumed his
peripatetic exercise, much to the detriment of the library carpet.
When Lewis had completed his recital, his auditor again “took the
chair,” and leaning his head on his hand, remained pondering the matter
for some minutes in silence. At length he said, “Did Lord Bellefield
give you any possible clue to the reason why he could not return to the
Opera-house?”
“He said nothing, sir, to throw any light upon the matter; but when
I accidentally met him, as I have already mentioned, he appeared much
agitated, his features were unusually pale, and characterised by an
expression--I should almost say of horror.”
“Have you any knowledge of the house he was leaving? Why do you
hesitate?”
“I will tell you frankly, General Grant,” returned Lewis, drawing
himself up and meeting the General’s scrutinising glance with a clear,
steadfast gaze. “For some time past Lord Bellefield and I have not been
on good terms together. Since I have lived beneath your roof he is the
only person who has treated me ungenerously, or caused me to feel the
full bitterness of my dependent situation. Respect for you, and a sense
of my own position, have prevented my resenting his lordship’s conduct
as under other circumstances I might have done, but enough has passed
between us to prove that we regard each other with no very friendly
feeling.”
“I was not at all aware of this--you should have told me this sooner,
Mr. Arundel. I allow no one to be treated discourteously in my house,”
interrupted the General hastily.
“I should not have mentioned the fact now, sir,” replied Lewis calmly,
“had I not been anxious to explain to you why it is in the highest
degree repugnant to me to be forced by circumstances to appear as Lord
Bellefield’s accuser, and thus lay myself open to the suspicion of being
actuated by malicious motives.”
“No one who knew you would imagine that, sir,” returned the General;
“but the truth should always be spoken regardless of consequences, and
you must yourself perceive how important it is that I should form a just
estimate of Lord Bellefield’s conduct in this affair.”
Lewis paused a moment in reflection, and then replied, “The part I have
taken in this business was none of my own seeking, nor do I see that I
am bound by any obligation of honour to withhold from you the only other
fact of which I am aware in regard to the matter. I do happen to know
the character of the house which Lord Bellefield was leaving, for as
I walked down to the Palaeontological Society this afternoon with my
friend Richard Frere, he pointed it out to me as a gaming-house of some
notoriety.”
The expression of the General’s face, when he became aware of this
uncomfortable little fact, grew so stern, that a distressed artist,
wishing to paint some Roman father sacrificing his son, would have given
all the small change he might have happened to have about him at
the time for one glimpse of that inflexible countenance. Suggestive,
however, of evil as was this circumstance, the whole affair appeared
wrapped in such a veil of mystery that neither General Grant nor Lewis
could, as they that night lay awake revolving the matter in their
anxious minds, arrive at any satisfactory hypothesis by which to account
for Lord Bellefield’s extraordinary behaviour. The following paragraph,
which appeared in several of the Sunday papers, and was recopied in the
“Morning Post” of Monday, was the first thing that tended to enlighten
them; it was headed “appalling suicide.
“As our columns were going to press we received intelligence of one of
the most awful catastrophes which it has ever been our melancholy duty
to record; we refer to the untimely decease of Captain Mellerton,
of the----th foot, who perished by his own hand in a notorious
gambling-house not far from Charing Cross. As far as we have been able
to ascertain the facts of the case, the unfortunate young gentleman, who
was adjutant of the----th, lost a considerable sum of money (it is said
£12,000) to Lord B--f--d, a nobleman of sporting notoriety, at the
first Newmarket meeting. Being unable to meet so large a call upon his
finances, he was induced in an evil hour to speculate with some of the
regimental money committed to his charge, intending to replace it by the
sale of an estate in Yorkshire; and having thus satisfied the demands of
his noble creditor, he was on Saturday last unexpectedly called upon
to send in his regimental accounts. In this extremity we have heard
it rumoured that he was induced to apply to Lord B--f--d, as the only
person on whom he had the slightest claim; but if we have not been
misinformed, the appeal was vain, and urged to desperation by this
failure of his last hope, the unfortunate young man repaired to the
gaming-house in which the rash act was committed, played deeply, and
when fortune again declared against him, drew a loaded pistol from his
breast, and before the bystanders were aware of his design, terminated
his existence by blowing out his brains. Captain Mellerton was the
eldest son of the Honourable H. Mellerton, of Harrowby Park, Beds., and
was shortly to be married to Miss A------ D----------, daughter of Sir
---------- D----------, the wedding-day being fixed immediately after
the commencement of the recess.”