Breaking Cover.
Miss Grace Lambert! Who was she? The programme, of course, told
nothing but her name, and when Miles Challoner turned to his companion
for the purpose of inquiring further, he saw that his brows were knit,
and his lips tightly clenched. Miles looked at Lord Sandilands in
surprise, but forbore to question him. It was evident that the people
in his immediate vicinity were equally unable to assuage his
curiosity, as they were all talking and chattering together, and
throwing glances towards the occupant of the platform, who stood
totally unmoved. Then Sir Purcell Arne, looking round with a
half-anxious, half-triumphant air, gave the customary three taps on
his desk, and with a wave of his baton led the orchestra into the
prelude. It was a simple English air--very simple--with a pathetic
_refrain_, and out from the harmonious _ensemble_ of the musicians
came a soft sweet bird-like voice, beginning mellowly and low, then
rising into a clear pure treble, a volume of lark-like utterance, a
continuous ripple of sound, such as is seldom heard in human voice.
Few notes had been uttered before their effect became visible on the
whole assemblage--amongst the foreigners first; on the back benches,
where were gathered the hirsute professionals honoured with the
_entrée_ to Lady Carabas' concerts, there was an immediate movement, a
simultaneous pricking of ears and elevation of eyebrows, culminating
into a general impossible-to-be-suppressed "A--h!" of intense delight.
Then the enthusiasm spread. Impressible young girls with the
_nil-admirari_ breeding scarcely yet habitual to them, looked timidly
towards their chaperones, as though pleading, "For Heaven's sake, let
us for one moment be natural, and give vent to the delight with which
this girl has inspired us." Said chaperones, with some faint
reminiscence of nature unbusked and unsteeled by conventionality,
sought relief in faintly tapping their kidded palms with their fans.
Old boys, dragged away from after-dinner maps, or cosy house-dinners
at the clubs, to do family duty, and expecting nothing but driest
musical classicalities, expressed their gratitude in strident
"bravas." Even the gilded youth of the period, surprised out of its
usual inanity into a feeble semblance of life and earnestness,
condescended to express its opinion of the singer, that she was not
"half bad, don't you know?" And its component members inquired of each
other, "who the devil is she?" On Lady Carabas' handsome face the
hard-set look of anxiety had softened into the blandest smile of
triumph; old Sir Purcell Arne's blond moustache bristled with delight;
and at the conclusion of the ballad, when the singer, rising to the
occasion, had sent a flood of melody surging through the room, now
dying away in softest trills and most harmonious cadences, the
enthusiasm could no longer be restrained, and amidst sonorous applause
breaking forth from every side, the amateur instrumentalists leading
the van, and Lady Carabas herself, regardless of appearances or of the
value of three-buttoned gloves, clapping her hands with the ardour of
the most zealous member of a professional _claque_,--Miss Grace
Lambert, perfectly composed, and with the slightest bow in recognition
of her triumph, laid her fingers daintily on Sir Purcell Arne's
tremblingly-proffered arm, and disappeared from public view. Ten
minutes' interval now, much needed. Impossible, after such a display,
to keep the coterie quiet, and it breaks up at once into twenty little
knots, all with the same refrain of praise, differently expressed:
"_Das ist aber'was Schönes!" "Tiens, tiens, Jules! v'là donc un
rossignol charmant!_" "That's what I call good singing, for an
Englishwoman, that is, Veluti! _Capisco, signor!_" "Tell you what it
is, old fella; since poor Bosio, you know, never heard anything like
that, don't you know?" "It's A1, don't you know?" Frank testimonies
these, from the male sex; chiming in with "Dearest Lady Carabas, O,
how I congratulate you! Where did you find such a treasure? Charmin',
quite charmin'; so ladylike, and all that kind of thing. Quite a
nice-looking person, too!" from the female portion of the audience.
She had vanished, and Miles Challoner remained mute and dazed. Of
beauty he had always had a keen appreciation--that is, beauty as he
understood it--showing itself in tolerable regularity of feature, in
grace and aristocratic _tournure_. Red-and-white women, were they
duchesses or dairymaids--and it must be owned that when Nature alone
is depended upon they are generally the latter--found no favour in
Miles's eyes. He used to say he liked a "bred"-looking woman; and here
was one who, so far as appearance went, might have been a Plantagenet.
And her voice--good Heavens!--was there ever heard anything so
completely enthralling! The blood yet danced in his veins with the
delight excited when that low tremulous utterance, gradually rising
into trills of lark-like melody, first stole upon his ear. No wonder
that all in the room were talking loudly in her praise. All? No. Rapt
in his own delight, Miles had forgotten to speak to Lord Sandilands,
to whom he partly owed the pleasure he had just experienced, and he
turned to repair his neglect.
Lord Sandilands was sitting "quiet as a stone." He had recovered his
gloves, and his long shapely white hands were tightly clasped together
on his knee. Despite the tight clasp, the hands twitched nervously,
and on the old man's well-cut features Miles noticed a worn pinched
look, such as he had never before observed. Lord Sandilands' eyes,
too, were downcast, and he did not raise them even when Miles
addressed him.
"Was there ever anything so charming as that young lady?"
"She has a very sweet voice."
"Sweet! it is perfectly entrancing! I had no idea such sounds could be
produced by human throat; and then her appearance so thoroughly
ladylike, and such an exquisite profile! Why, even you, who go in so
strictly for the classical, must have been satisfied with the
profile!"
"I scarcely observed her."
"Scarcely observed her! Why, my dear old friend, that is very unlike
your usual habit when a pretty woman is in question, unless, indeed,
you were so enthralled by her voice that you cared for nothing else."
"Ye-es; that was it, I suppose--I--"
The conversation was interrupted by the return of the other guests,
who, summoned by Sir Purcell Arne's preliminary taps, came back to
their seats to hear the rest of the concert. All rustle and talk and
chatter still. "Never was anything like it. I'm sure I can't tell
where you pick up these wonderful people, dear Lady Carabas. And what
comes next, dear Lady Carabas? O, now we're to have Mr. Wisk's
operetta--for the first time; never was played anywhere before. You
know Ferdinand Wisk? clever creature! there he is, comin' to conduct
it himself. Sh-h!"
That clever creature, Mr. Ferdinand Wisk, who was supposed to be a
scion of the aristocracy, but whose real mission in life seemed to be
to devote himself to the affairs, public and private, of every member
of the musical world, English or foreign, advanced rapidly through the
room, and took the baton which Sir Purcell handed to him amidst
general applause. Mr. Wisk's operetta needs but little mention here;
it was bright and sparkling, and would have been more original if the
overture had not been cribbed from Auber, and the concerted pieces
from Offenbach; but as it was, it did remarkably well, affording
opportunities for two young ladies and two young gentlemen to sing
very much out of tune; for the funny man of the company to convulse
the audience with his drolleries; and for the audience generally to
repay themselves for their silence during Miss Grace Lambert's ballad,
by chatting without stint. Perhaps the only two persons in the room
who did not avail themselves of this opportunity were Lord Sandilands
and Miles Challoner. The former, having glanced at the programme, and
noticed that Miss Lambert's name did not appear again therein, made a
half-muttered apology to Lady Carabas about the "heat," and left the
room very shortly after the commencement of Mr. Wisk's performance;
while the latter could not shake off the spell which held him, and
which, during all the comic gentleman's funniments and all the others'
bad singing, gave but Grace Lambert's voice to his ears, her face and
figure to his eyes.
To supper now, foreigners first,--making great running and leaving
everyone else far behind; leaping on to edibles and dashing at
potables with such vigour as to cause one to think they had not dined,
as indeed many of them had not. And now, more congratulation amongst
visitors, more "Did you evers?" a perfect whirlwind of "Don't you
knows?" and "only to think of dear Lady Carabas being so fortunate,
and such a wonderful acquisition even to _her_ set!" Ferdinand Wisk, a
little depressed at being thrown into the background by the superior
attractions of Miss Lambert; and the funny man of the company feeling
himself not sufficiently appreciated, and thirsting for Miss Lambert's
blood--both, however, consoled by old Piccolo, the fashionable
music-master, who is popularly supposed to have been allied with Auber
and Offenbach in writing Mr. Wisk's operetta, and who tells them that
Miss Lambert's triumph is a mere _succès d'estime_, and that she will
"go out like that--pouf!" Piccolo snapping his fingers and blowing out
an imaginary candle in explanation. Foreigners having been fed, and a
proper quantity of champagne and seltzer-water having been duly drunk,
it enters into the minds of some of the younger guests that dancing
would be a pleasant pastime for the remainder of the night, such
exercise being sometimes permitted at the concerts, when Lady Carabas
is in specially good temper, which is the case to-night apparently,
for servants are instructed to clear the concert-room, a band is
improvised, and the floor is soon covered with whirling couples.
On these dancers Miles Challoner stood gazing with an abstracted air.
At the conclusion of the concert he had moved with the rest, and on
passing Lady Carabas had addressed to her a few words of compliment on
the success of her evening; words which, although Miles did not remark
it, were pleasantly received, for though Lady Carabas had come to that
time of life when she was called an "old thing" by very young ladies,
the epithet having "dear" or "horrid," according to the speaker's
tastes, attached to it, she still delighted in the admiration of men
if they were clever or handsome, and purred under their praises with
ineffable satisfaction. Whether Miles Challoner was clever, Lady
Carabas had yet to learn; but she knew that he was undeniably
handsome, and that he was a credit to her evening. Many other people
in the rooms had thought so too; and though strange faces were more
frequently seen at Carabas House than in any other frequented by the
same set, Miles's tall figure and frank face had excited a certain
amount of languid curiosity, and the "new importation," as he was
called by people who had been twice to the house, made a very
favourable first impression.
He was not the least conscious of it, though, nor, had he been, would
he have particularly cared. When Lord Sandilands' brougham drew up
under the portico of Carabas House, when Miles, after climbing up the
staircase,--a unit in the throng of pretty women and distinguished
men,-was presented to Lady Carabas, the young man felt that he was
entering on a new and entrancing sphere of life, in which he was
henceforth to move; and his thoughts, in the little time he allowed
himself for thinking, were of a roseate hue. He had sufficient money
to live easily with those people amongst whom Lord Sandilands'
introduction would give him position, and place him at his ease.
Emerging from the dull country-squire life to which he at first had
imagined himself relegated, he should now mix on excellent footing
with that society which he had always thought of with envy, but never
thoroughly comprehended. In a word, when Sir Purcell Arne left the
room for the purpose of fetching the new singer, there was not in
England, perhaps, at that moment, a more thoroughly happy young man
than Miles Challoner. But ever since Grace Lambert's voice had fallen
on his ear, he had been a different man. As he listened to her, as he
gazed upon her handsome face and elegant figure, he sat enthralled,
spell-bound by her charm. And when she had gone, her voice remained
ringing in his ears, her face and figure remained before his eyes,
while a total change--to him entirely unaccountable--had come over his
thoughts. What had sent his mind wandering back to the early days of
his childhood? What had suddenly brought to his recollection his
brother Geoffrey as he last saw him, a bright, bold, daring boy,
persistent in carrying through whatever might be uppermost in his
mind, and undeterred by fear of his tutor, or even of his stern
father? He had just decided with delight upon the course of life which
he would pursue in future; but now he wondered whether he had decided
rightly, Ought he not, in his position as head of the Challoner
family, to live down at the old place, as all his forefathers, save
his uncle Howard, who was universally hated, had done? Was it not his
bounden duty to be there, ready, when called upon, to give advice and
assistance to his tenantry and poorer neighbours? And that thought of
Geoffrey! Ought he not, even in spite of all his father had said, to
have taken some steps to trace his brother's career from the time of
his leaving home, at all events to endeavour to ascertain the reason
of the fatal sentence of banishment which had been pronounced against
him? Ought he not--and then he found himself wondering what connection
Miss Grace Lambert's voice and face had with these thoughts, and then
he roused himself from the reverie into which he had fallen, and
things material took their proper shapes and forms to his eyes: he
returned from the dim past to the bright present--from the play-room
at Rowley Court to the ball-room of Carabas House.
It was getting rather late now for the outer world and common people
in general, but not for Carabas House, where the meaning of the word
was unknown. The great hall-porter in his younger and slimmer days
must have served his apprenticeship as boots at a railway hotel, the
only position in which he could have acquired his faculty of
sleeplessness. Men constantly spent what they were pleased to call the
early part of the evening at Carabas House, went on to other balls
which they "saw out," and returned, certain to find "someone left."
The latest lounger at Pratt's, the most devoted attendant at the
Raleigh, knew that during the season he should always be able to get
his glass of sherry and seltzer in Beaumanoir-square, no matter what
time of night it might be. The linkman, whose light had long since
paled its ineffectual fire and gone out, seldom left before the
milkman arrived, and the pair interchanged confidence about the house
and its owners, as is the custom of such people.
The dancing was not quite so animated as when Miles had last looked at
it. Careful men who called themselves seven-and-twenty, and who were
really five-and-thirty, mindful of all the outing they had before them
during the season, had gone home to bed. Those who remained were very
young men, and very determined girls, whose wearing _chaperones_ sat
blinking round the room, or solaced themselves with stabbing each
other, and tearing to pieces the reputation of their common friends,
on the landing. But Lady Carabas was not with these; she was standing
at the far end of the room, surrounded by half-a-dozen men, with whom
she was holding an animated conversation. One of them, to whom she
appeared to pay particular attention, had his back turned to Miles,
but seemed to be young and of a slight wiry figure. Miles noticed this
man specially, partly from the evident enjoyment which Lady Carabas
took in his conversation, and partly from a peculiarity in his
appearance, so far as it could be gathered from a back-view, in the
horsey cut of his clothes, and the slang attitude, rounded shoulders,
and hands plunged deep into his trousers-pockets, in which he stood
conversing with his hostess. Miles had not noticed this gentleman
before, and was wondering who he was, when a valsing couple, looking
tired and out of breath, stopped immediately in front of him.
"That was a grand spin," said the gentleman; "the room's splendid just
now. Got rid of all those awful people who can't dance a bit, don't
you know? and do nothing but get in your way. You're in great feather
to-night, Miss Grenville."
"Thanks very much," said the young lady, "a compliment from you is
quite the most charming thing possible; perhaps because it's so rare,
Mr. Ashleigh."
"'Gad, I don't know!" replied the gentleman, who was two-and-twenty
years of age, and who might have been two-and-sixty for calm
self-possession and _savoir faire_, "I'm rather a good hand at saying
nice things, I think."
"When you don't mean them, perhaps?"
"No, no. Now you're down upon me too sharp, Miss Grenville; 'pon my
word you are; and I can never say anything, nice or not nice, at this
time of night. Let's finish the _valse_."
"I'm afraid I must not stay any longer, Mr. Ashleigh! Really, it's
quite too cruel to poor mamma; and we've two dances to-morrow night
that we must go to. Besides, Lady Carabas is dying to get rid of us."
"Don't look as if she was, does she, Miss Grenville? Laughing away;
look at her. Wonderful woman, Lady Carabas!"
"Who is the gentleman she is talking to?"
"That? O, that's a man that's everywhere about."
"I'm as wise as I was before. What is his name? where does he come
from?"
"His name! 'pon my word, Miss Grenville, I forget. I'll go and ask
him, if you like. Ah, I know he's a great friend of Ticehurst's. You
know Ticehurst?"
"I have met Lord Ticehurst."
"Met him! O ah, yes; always know what ladies mean when they say
they've 'met' anybody; mean they hate 'em. Well, if you don't like
Ticehurst, I don't think you'd like that man; they're very much alike,
specially Pompey, don't you know? Bad egg, and that kind of thing."
"You are enigmatic, but sufficiently expressive, Mr. Ashleigh. I think
I comprehend you, at least. But if he is that kind of person, why is
he admitted here?"
"Dear Miss Grenville, it's exactly because he is that kind of person
that they're glad to see him here. He's somebody in his line, don't
you know; though it's a bad line. His name, which I forget, is always
mentioned in _Bell_ and the sporting-papers, and that kind of thing;
and he's a--what do you call it--notoriety on the turf. By Jove! Coote
is just going to make those fellows leave off. Do let's finish the
_valse_."
The couple whirled away to the last bars of the music; and Miles, who
had perforce overheard this conversation, glanced across the room at
the subject of it, who was still standing with his face averted,
talking to Lady Carabas. "A pleasant man that, if all my dancing
friend said of him is true," said Miles to himself. "I wonder what
Lord Sandilands would think of him? Pshaw! he'd take it like a man of
the world; and--eh? there is the old gentleman, making his way over
here; where can he have been all the evening?"
Whatever doubts Miles Challoner may have felt as to the line of
conduct which Lord Sandilands would adopt towards the gentleman on
whom Miles had bestowed so much observation, they were destined to be
speedily set at rest. As Lord Sandilands passed the group at the other
end of the room, Lady Carabas beckoned to him; and by the way in which
he and the unknown bowed to each other, Miles easily divined that the
ceremony of introduction had taken place. With a half-smile at the
incongruity just perpetrated, Miles was making his way across the
room, when a servant came up to him and said: "I beg your pardon, sir,
are you Mr. Lloyd?" Miles had scarcely time to reply in the negative,
when the groom of the chambers, a very solemn-looking personage, who
was passing at the moment, and who heard the inquiry, said, "That is
Mr. Lloyd talking to her ladyship, James. What is wanted?"
"Only Lord Ticehurst, sir, told me to tell Mr. Lloyd he couldn't wait
any longer;" and the man proceeded on his mission. Meanwhile Lady
Carabas' quick eye had spied Miles approaching, and she advanced to
meet him. "Mr. Challoner," said she, with a gracious smile, "I'm
afraid you've had a horribly dull evening; been dreadfully bored, and
all that kind of thing. O, don't deny it; I'm sure of it. But the fact
is I thought Lord Sandilands would tell you who people were, and
introduce you, and all that; and now I find he has been poked away in
the library all night, looking at some horrid old political
caricatures. Ridiculous of him, I tell him, to strain his eyes over
such nonsense. He looks quite pale and worn. You must come and help me
to scold him. By the way, I must introduce you to a very charming
friend of mine, who fortunately is still here.--Mr. Lloyd," touching
him--with her fan, "let me introduce Mr. Challoner."
The young man addressed wheeled round when he felt the touch on his
arm, and before the last words were uttered he confronted Miles
Challoner as Lady Carabas pronounced the name; and at that instant the
light died out of his small and sunken blue eyes, his cheeks became
colourless, and his thin lips closed tightly under his long fair
moustache. Simultaneously a bright scarlet flush overspread Miles
Challoner's face. Both then bowed slightly, but neither spoke; and
immediately afterwards Miles turned sharply on his heel, and wishing
Lady Carabas a formal "good-night," hurried from the room.
"My dear boy," said Lord Sandilands--they were in the brougham going
home--"you must pardon my saying that your treatment of Mr.--Mr. Lloyd
was _brusque_ to a degree. Supposing him even to be a highly
objectionable person, the fact that you were introduced to him by Lady
Carabas should have assured him a--well, a more gracious reception, to
say the least of it. You--why, what the deuce is the matter, Miles?
you're dead-white, and your hand shakes?"
"Nothing, dear old friend. I shall be all right again directly. That
man--was I rude to him? I scarcely knew what I said or did. That man
is one whom it was my father's most urgent wish I should never meet or
know."