As if the eclipse had not been a sufficient climax to the round of
_fetes_ got up for the express amusement of Mr Smythje, only a few
days--or, rather, nights--after, still another was inaugurated, to do
honour to this young British lion.
Unlike the eclipse, it was a terrestrial phenomenon--one of the most
popular of sublunary entertainments--a ball--a complimentary ball--Mr
Smythje the recipient of the compliment.
Montego Bay was to be the place; which, notwithstanding its
_provinciality_, had long been celebrated for its brilliant assemblies--
from the time that fandangoes were danced by the old Spanish
pork-butchers, down to that hour when Mr Montagu Smythje had
condescended to honour its _salons_ by the introduction of some very
fashionable steps from the world's metropolis.
The hall was to be a grand affair--one of the grandest ever given in the
Bay--and all Planterdom was expected to be present.
Of course, Kate Vaughan would be there; and so, too, the Custos himself.
Mr Smythje would be the hero of the night; and, as such, surrounded by
the fairest of the fair--hedged in by a galaxy of beautiful belles, and
beset by an army of matchmaking parents, all seeking success with as
much eagerness as Loftus Vaughan himself.
Under these circumstances, it would be but simple prudence that Kate
should be there to look after him: for the worthy Custos was not
unacquainted with the adage, that "the sweetest smelling flower is that
nearest the nose."
Mr Vaughan would have rejoiced at the opportunity thus offered, of
letting all the _monde_ of Jamaica know the relationship in which he
stood, and was likely to stand, to the distinguished individual to whom
the entertainment was dedicated. He had no doubt but that Kate would be
chosen as the conspicuous partner: for well knew he the condition of Mr
Smythje's mind upon that subject. To him the latter had made no secret
of his affections; and the cunning Custos, who had been all along warily
watching the development of the passion, now knew to a certainty that
the heart of Montagu's lord was not only smitten with his daughter, but
was irretrievably lost--so far as such a heart could suffer love's
perdition.
No doubt, then, Mr Vaughan would have looked forward to the Smythje
ball with pleasant anticipation--as likely to afford him a social
triumph--but for a little circumstance that had lately come to his
knowledge. It was the incident which had transpired on the Jumbe Rock--
the meeting between his daughter and nephew on the day of the eclipse.
The Custos had been the more particular in obtaining the details of that
interview from his presumptive son-in-law, on account of a suspicion
that had arisen in his mind as to the inclinings of his daughter's
heart. Something she had said--during the first days after Herbert's
_brusque_ dismissal from Mount Welcome--some sympathetic expressions she
had made use of--unguarded and overheard, had given rise to this
suspicion of her father.
He was sufficiently annoyed about Kate having met Herbert on the Jumbe
Rock; and believed it quite possible that the latter had come there in
the hope of encountering his cousin.
In Mount Welcome the name of Herbert Vaughan was no longer heard. Even
Kate--whether it was that she had grown more sage--for she had been
chided more than once for introducing it into the conversation--or
whether she had ceased to think of him--even she never pronounced his
name.
For all that, Mr Vaughan was still vexed with some lingering suspicion
that in that direction lurked danger; and this determined him to
prevent, as far as possible, any further interview between his daughter
and nephew.
After the encounter on the Jumbe Rock, he had taken his daughter to task
upon this subject; and, using the full stretch of parental authority,
compelled her to a solemn promise, that she was not again to speak to
her cousin, nor even acknowledge his presence!
It was a hard promise for the poor girl to make. Perhaps it would have
been still harder, had she known Herbert's disposition towards her.
There can be no doubt that her father, in extracting this promise, had
in view the event about to take place--the grand Smythje ball. There an
encounter between the cousins was not only possible, but probable; so
much so as to render Mr Vaughan apprehensive. Judith Jessuron was sure
to be present--perhaps the Jew himself; and Herbert, of course.
The nephew was now cordially disliked. Stung by the defiant speeches
which the young man had made on the day of his arrival, his uncle even
detested him: for the proud planter was himself too poor in spirit to
admire this quality in any one else.
The Custos had heard all about the hospitality which his neighbour was
extending to Herbert, and the kindnesses which the patron was lavishing
upon his protege. Though not a little mystified by what was going on,
he availed himself of the ordinary explanation--that it was done to vex
himself; and, if so, the stratagem of the Jew was proving perfectly
successful: for vexed was Mr Vaughan to his very heart's core.
The night of the Smythje ball came round in due course. The grand
ball-room of the Bay was decorated as became the occasion. Flags,
festoons, and devices hung around the walls; and over the doorway a
large transparency--supported by the loyal emblems of the Union Jack and
banner of Saint George, and surmounted by the colonial colours--
proclaimed, in letters of eighteen inches diameter:--
"Welcome to Smythje!"
The hour arrived; the band shortly after; close followed by strings of
carriages of every kind current in the Island, containing scores--ay,
hundreds of dancers. Twenty miles was nothing to go to a Jamaica ball.
The grand barouche of Loftus Vaughan arrived with the rest, only
fashionably behind time, bringing the Custos himself, his truly
beautiful daughter, but, above all--as before all perhaps should have
been mentioned--the hero of the night.
"Welcome to Smythje!"
How his proud heart swelled with triumph under the magnificent ruffles
of his shirt, as he caught sight of the flattering transparency! How
conquering his smile, as he turned towards Kate Vaughan, to note the
effect which it could not fail to produce!
"Welcome to Smythje!" pealed from a hundred pairs of lips, as the
carriage drove up to the door; and then a loud cheer followed the words
of greeting; and then the distinguished stranger was ushered into the
hall-room; and, after remaining a few moments in a conspicuous
position--the cynosure of at least two hundred pairs of eyes--the great
man set the example by pairing off with a partner.
The hand struck up, and the dancing began.
It need scarce be said who was Smythje's first partner--Kate Vaughan, of
course. The Custos had taken care of that.
Smythje looked superb. Thoms had been at him all the afternoon. His
hay-coloured hair was in full curl--his whiskers in amplest bush--his
moustache crimped spirally at the points; and his cheek pinked with just
the slightest tinting of vermillion.
Arrived a little late, the Jewess had not appeared in the first set. In
the waltz she was conspicuous: not from her dress of rich purple
velvet--not from the splendid tiara of pearls that glistened against the
background of her glossy raven hair--not from the dazzling whiteness of
her teeth, that gleamed between lips like curved and parted
rose-leaves--not from the damask tinting of her cheeks; nor the liquid
light that flashed incessantly from her black, Israelitish eyes--not
from any of these was she conspicuous; but from all combined into one,
and composing a grand and imperious picture.
It was a picture upon which more than one eye gazed with admiration; and
more than one continued to gaze.
The partner of Judith was not unworthy to embrace such beauty.
She was in the arms of a young man, a stranger to most in the room; but
the glances bestowed upon him by bright eyes--some interrogative, some
furtive, some openly admiring--promised him an easy introduction to any
one he might fancy to know.
Not that this stranger appeared to be conceitedly conscious of the
graces which nature had so lavishly bestowed upon him; or even sensible
of the good fortune that had given him such a partner.
On the contrary, he was dancing with despondency in his look, and a
cloud upon his brow that even the exciting whirl of the waltz was
failing to dissipate!
The partner of Judith Jessuron was Herbert Vaughan.
A ball-room may be likened to a kaleidoscope: the personages are the
same, their relative positions constantly changing. Design it or not,
either during the dance or the interregnum--one time or another--you
will find yourself face to face, or side by side, with every individual
in the room.
So in the ball-room of Montego Bay came face to face two sets of
waltzers--Smythje and Kate, Herbert and Judith.
The situation arose as they were resting from the dizzy whirl of a
waltz.
Smythje bent profoundly towards the floor--Judith, with an imperious
sweep, returned the salutation--Herbert bowed to his cousin, with a
half-doubting, half-appealing glance; but the nod received in return was
so slight, so distant, that even the keen-eyed Custos, closely watching
every movement of the quartette, failed to perceive it!
Poor Kate! She knew that the paternal eye, severely set, was upon her.
She remembered that painful promise.
Not a word passed between the parties. Scarce a moment stood they
together. Herbert, stung by Kate's salutation--unexpectedly cold,
almost insultingly distant--warped his arm around the waist of his
willing partner, and spun off through the unobservant crowd.
Though often again upon that same night Smythje and Kate, Herbert and
the Jewess were respectively partners--so often as to lead to general
observation--never again did the four stand _vis-a-vis_ or side by side.
Whenever chance threatened to bring them together, design, or something
like it, stepped in to thwart the approximation!
Almost all the night did Herbert dance with the Jewess--no longer with
despondency in his look, but with the semblance of a gay and reckless
joy. Never had Judith received from the young Englishman such ardent
attention; and for the first time since their introduction to each other
did she feel conscious of something like a correspondence to her own
fierce love. For the moment her proud, cruel heart became dissolved to
a true feminine tenderness; and in the spiral undulations of the waltz,
as she coiled round the robust form of her partner, her cheek rested
upon his shoulder, as if laid there to expire in the agony of an
exquisite bliss.
She stayed not to question the cause of Herbert's devotedness. Her own
heart, blinded by love, and yearning for reciprocity, threw open its
portals to receive the passion without challenge or scrutiny--without
knowing whether it was real or only apparent.
A wild anguish would she have experienced at that moment, could she have
divined what was passing in Herbert's mind. Little did she suspect that
his devotedness to her was only a demonstration intended to act upon
another. Little dreamt she that real love for another was the cause and
origin of that counterfeit that was deceiving herself. Happily for her
heart's peace she knew not this.
Herbert alone knew it. As the kaleidoscope evolved the dazzling dancers
one after another, often did the face of Kate Vaughan flit before the
eyes of her cousin, and his before her eyes. On such occasions, the
glance hastily exchanged was one of defiant indifference: for both were
playing at piques! The cold salutation had given _him_ the cue,
ignorant as he was of its cause. _She_ had begun the game only a little
later--on observing the attitude of extreme contentment which Herbert
had assumed towards his companion. She knew not that it was studied.
Her skill in coquetry, although sufficient for the pretence of
indifference, was not deep enough to discern it in him; and both were
now behaving as if each believed the love of the other beyond all hope.
Before abandoning the ball-room, this belief--erroneous as it might be
on both sides--received further confirmation. A circumstance arose that
strengthened it to a full and perfect conviction.
From the gossip of a crowded ball-room many a secret may be learnt. In
those late hours, when the supper champagne has untied the tongue, and
dancers begin to fancy each other deaf, he who silently threads his way
or stands still among the crowd, may catch many a sentence not intended
to be overheard, and often least of all by himself. Many an involuntary
eavesdropper has fallen into this catastrophe. At least two instances
occurred at the Smythje hall; and to the two individuals in whom,
perhaps, we are most interested--Herbert and Kate Vaughan.
Herbert for a moment was alone. Judith, not that she had tired of her
partner, but perhaps only to save appearances, was dancing with another.
It was not Smythje, whom all the evening she had studiously avoided.
She remembered the incident on the Jumbe Rock; and feared that dancing
with him might conduct to a similar disposition of partners as that
which had occurred on the day of the eclipse.
It was not flirtation in any way. On that night Judith had no need.
Confident in her success with Herbert, she was contented; and cared not
to do anything that might hazard a rupture of the blissful chain she
believed she had woven around him.
Herbert was standing alone in the crowd. Two young planters were near
him, engaged in conversation. They had mixed their liquor, and
therefore talked loud.
Herbert could not help hearing what they talked of; and, having heard,
could not help heeding it. He was interested in the subject, though not
from its singularity; for it was the common topic of the ball-room, and
had been throughout the night. The theme was Smythje; and coupled with
his name was that of Kate Vaughan.
On hearing these names, Herbert was no longer an involuntary listener.
He strained his ears to catch every word. He had not heard the
beginning of the dialogue, but the introduction was easily inferred.
"When is it to come off?" inquired the least knowing of the planters,
from him who was imparting the information.
"No time fixed yet," was the reply; "at least, none has been mentioned.
Soon, I suppose."
"There'll be a grand spread upon the occasion--breakfast, dinner,
supper, and ball, no doubt?"
"Sure to be all that. The Custos is not the man to let the ceremony
pass without all the _eclat_."
"Honeymoon tour afterwards?"
"Of course. He takes her to London. I believe they are to reside
there. Mr Smythje don't much relish our colonial life: he misses the
opera. A pity: since it'll make one beautiful woman less in the
Island!"
"Well, all I've got to say is, that Loff Vaughan has sold his nigger
well."
"Oh, for shame! to use such a word in speaking of the beautiful--the
accomplished Miss Vaughan. Come, Thorndyke! I'm shocked at you."
Thorndyke, by the expression, had hazarded the punching of his head--not
by his companion, but by a stranger who stood near.
Herbert curbed his indignation. Kate cared not for him! Perhaps she
would not have accepted him even as her champion!
Almost at that same moment Kate, too, was listening to a dialogue
painfully analogous. Smythje could not dance all the night with her.
Too many claimed the honour of his partnership; and for a set or two she
had been forsaken by him--left under the guardianship of the watchful
Custos.
"Who can he be?" inquired one of two gentle gossips within earshot of
Kate.
"A young Englishman, I have heard: a relative of Vaughans of Mount
Welcome; though, for some reason, not acknowledged by the Custos."
"That bold girl appears willing enough to acknowledge him. Who is she?"
"A Miss Jessuron. She is the daughter of the old Jew penn-keeper, who
used to deal largely in blacks."
"Faugh! she is behaving as if she belonged to a--"
The last word was whispered, and Kate did not hear it.
"True enough!" asserted the other; "but, as they are engaged, that, I
take it, is nobody's business but their own. He's a stranger in the
Island; and don't know much about certain people's position, I suppose.
A pity! He seems a nice sort of a young fellow; but as he makes his
bed, so let him lie. Ha! ha! If report speaks true of Miss Judith
Jessuron, he'll find no bed of roses there. Ha! ha! ha!"
What causes merriment to one may make another miserable. This was true
of the words last spoken. From the speaker and her companion they
elicited a laugh--from Kate Vaughan they drew a sigh, deep and sad.
She left the ball with a bleeding heart.
"Lost! lost for ever!" murmured she, as she laid her cheek upon a
sleepless pillow.
"Won!" triumphantly exclaimed Judith Jessuron, flinging her majestic
form on a couch. "Herbert Vaughan is mine!"
"Lost! lost for ever!" soliloquised Herbert, as he closed the door of
his solitary sleeping-room.
"Won!" cried the victorious Smythje, entering his elegant bed-chamber,
and, in the fervour of his enthusiasm, dropping his metropolitan
_patois_. "Kate Vaughan is mine!"
Volume Two, Chapter XVII.