"A GREAT BATTLE."
"But 'twas a famous victory."
_Southey._
IT is perhaps needless to mention that Mrs. Creery made it her
business, and considered it her duty, to circulate the intelligence
that she had received about Mr. Lisle without unnecessary delay. She
read portions of the letter referring to him, in "strict confidence,"
to every one she could get hold of, and the missive was nearly worn
out from constant folding and unfolding. If any one ventured to impugn
her testimony, she would lay her hand upon her pocket with a dramatic
gesture, and say,—
"That's nonsense! I've got it all here in black and white. I always
knew that there was a screw loose about that man. Perhaps you will all
be guided by _me_ another time! I'm an excellent judge of character, as
my sister, Lady Grubb, declares. She always says, 'You cannot go far
wrong if you listen to Eliza'—that's me," pointing to her breast bone
with a plump forefinger. Then she would produce the billet and, after
much clearing of throat, commence to read what she already knew by
heart.
"'You ask me if I can tell you anything about a Mr. Lisle, a mysterious
person who has lately come to the Andamans; very dark, age over thirty,
slight in figure, shabby and idle, close about himself, and with a
curious, deliberate way of speaking; supposed to have been in the army,
and to have come from Bengal. Christian name unknown, initial letter
G.'"
(It sounded exactly like a description in a police notice.)
"'My dear Mrs. Creery, I know him well, and he may well be close about
himself and his affairs'"—here it was Mrs. Creery's cue to pause and
smack her lips with unction. "'If he is the person you so accurately
describe, he is a Captain Lisle, a black sheep who was turned out of a
regiment in Bengal on account of some very shady transactions on the
turf.'"—"He told me himself he was fond of riding," Mrs. Creery would
supplement, as if this fact clenched the business. "'He was bankrupt,
and had a fearful notoriety in every way. No woman who respected
herself would be seen speaking to him! The Andamans, no doubt, suit him
very well at present, and offer him a new field for his energies, and
a harbour of refuge at the same time. Do not let any one cash a cheque
for him, and warn all the young ladies in the settlement that he is a
_married_ man!'"
"There," Mrs. Creery would conclude, with a toss of her topee, "what do
you think of that?"
"Mr. Lisle is not here to speak for himself," ventured Helen on one
occasion. "_Les absents ont toujours tort._"
It was new to see Helen adopt an insurrectionary attitude. Mrs. Creery
stared.
"Nonsense—stuff and nonsense," angrily. "And let me tell you, Helen
Denis, that it is not at all maidenly or modest for a young girl like
you to be taking up the cudgels for a notorious reprobate like this
Lisle."
"I'm sure he is not a reprobate, and I'm certain you are mistaken,"
rejoined Helen bravely.
Here the elder lady flamed out, and thumped her umbrella violently on
the ground, and cried in her highest key,—
"Then why did he go away? He knew that I had heard about him, for I
told him so to his face. I never say behind a person's back what I
won't say to their face." (Oh! Mrs. Creery, Mrs. Creery!) "And it is a
very remarkable coincidence, that in less than twelve hours, he was out
of the place! How do you account for that, eh?"
She paused for breath, and once more proceeded triumphantly,—
"He will never show here again, believe me; and, after all, I am
thankful to say he has done no great harm! As far as _I_ know he ran
no bills in the bazaar, and certainly neither you nor Lizzie Caggett
lost your hearts to him!"
Helen became very pale, her lips quivered, and she was unable to reply
for a moment. Then she said,—
"At any rate, I believe in him, Mrs. Creery,—and always will; deeds
are better than words. Have you forgotten the wreck?"
"Forgotten it?" she screamed. "Am I ever likely to get it out of my
head? Only for my calling myself hoarse, you and Mr. Lisle would both
have been murdered in that hole of a cabin! You know I told you not to
go down, and you would, and see what you got by it."
There was not the slightest use in arguing with this lady, who not
only imposed upon others, but also upon herself: she had a distorted
mind, that idealized everything connected with her own actions, and
deprecated, and belittled, the deeds of other people! The only persons
who had _not_ heard the horrible tale about Mr. Lisle were the Durands
and the general; the latter was a singularly astute gentleman, and
never lost a certain habit of cool military promptitude, even when in
retreat. Each time Mrs. Creery had exhibited symptoms of extracting a
letter from her pocket, he had escaped! The Durands were Mr. Lisle's
friends,—a fact that lowered them many fathoms in Mrs. Creery's
estimation, and were consequently the very last to hear of the scandal!
About a fortnight after the departure of the _Scotia_, the general
gave one of his usual large dinner-parties; every one in Ross was
invited, and about twenty-four sat down to the table. When the meal
was over, and the ladies had pulled a few crackers, and sipped their
glass of claret, they all filed off into the drawing-room in answer
to Mrs. Creery's rather dramatic signal, and there they looked over
photographs, noted the alterations in each other's dresses, drank
coffee, and conversed in groups. In due time the conversation turned
upon that ever fertile topic, "Mr. Lisle," and Mrs. Graham, who was
seated beside Mrs. Durand, little knowing what she was doing, fired
the first shot, by regretting very much "that Mr. Lisle had turned
out to be such a dreadful character, so utterly different from what
he seemed." Encouraged by one or two cleverly-put questions from her
neighbour, she unfolded the whole story. Meantime, Mrs. Durand sat and
listened, in rigid silence, her lips pressed firmly together, her hands
tightly locked in her pale-blue satin lap. When the recital had come
to an end, she turned her grave eyes on her companion, and said in her
most impressive manner,—
"_How_ do you know this?"
"Oh, it's well known, it's all over the place. Mrs. Creery had a
letter," glancing over to where that lady reclined in a comfortable
chair, with a serene expression on her face, and a gently-nodding
diadem.
"Mrs. Creery," said Mrs. Durand, raising her voice, which was
singularly clear and penetrating, "pray what is this story that you
have been telling every one about Mr. Lisle?"
This warlike invocation awoke the good lady from her doze, and, like
a battle-steed, she lifted her head, and, as it were, sniffed the
conflict from afar!
"I've been telling nothing but the truth, Mrs. Durand"—rousing herself
at once to an upright position—"and you are most welcome to _hear_ it,
though he _is_ a friend of yours," and she tossed her diadem as much as
to say "Come on!"
"Thank you! Then will you be so very kind as to repeat what you have
heard," returned Mrs. Durand with a freezing politeness that made the
other ladies look at each other significantly. There was going to be a
fight, and they felt a thrill of mingled delight and apprehension at
the prospect.
Bold Mrs. Durand was the only woman in the island who had never veiled
her crest to Mrs. Creery. She was now about to challenge her to single
combat—yes, they all saw it in her face!
"I always knew that there was something very wrong about that man,"
began the elder lady in her usual formula, and figuratively placing her
lance in rest. "People who have nothing to hide, are never ashamed to
speak of their concerns, but no one ever got a word out of Mr. Lisle,
and I am sure he received every encouragement to be open! He was in the
army, he admitted _that_ against his will, and that was all. He never
deceived _me_;—I knew he was without any resources, I—knew he was out
at elbows, I knew——"
"Pray spare us your opinion, and tell us what _facts_ you have to go
upon," interrupted Mrs. Durand, calmly cutting short this flow of
denunciation.
"I have a letter from a friend at Simla," unconsciously seeking her
pocket, "a letter," she retorted proudly, "which you can _read_,
saying that he was cashiered for conduct unbecoming an officer and a
gentleman, that he is a bankrupt, and a swindler, and a married man,"
as if this last enormity crowned all.
"It is not true—not a word of it!" replied Mrs. Durand, as coolly as
if she were merely saying, "How do you do?"
"Not true! nonsense; is he not dark, aged over thirty, name Lisle?
did he not hang about the settlement for six months living on his
wits? Of course it is true," rejoined the elder lady, with an air that
proclaimed that she had not merely crushed, but pulverized, her foe!
"Lisle is not an uncommon name, and I know that my friend is not the
original of your flattering little sketch."
"But I tell you that he _is_! I can prove it; I have it all in black
and white!" cried Mrs. Creery furiously—her temper had now gone by
the board. Who was this Mrs. Durand that she should dare to contradict
her? She saw that they were face to face in the lists, and that the
other ladies were eager spectators of the tourney; it was not merely
a dispute over Mr. Lisle, it was a struggle for the social throne,
whoever conquered now would be mistress of the realm. This woman must
be browbeaten, silenced, and figuratively slain!
"I have it all in writing, and pray what can _you_ bring against that?"
she demanded imperiously.
"Simply my word, which I hope will stand good," returned the other
firmly.
Mrs. Creery laughed derisively, and tossed her head and then replied,—
"Words go for nothing!"
This was rude—it was more than rude, it was insulting!
"Am I to understand that you do not believe mine?" said Mrs. Durand,
making a noble effort to keep her temper.
"Oh," ignoring the question, "I have never doubted that _you_ could
tell us more about Mr. Lisle than most people, and a woman will say
anything for a man—a man who is a friend," returned the other lady
with terrible significance.
This was hard-hitting with a vengeance, still Mrs. Durand never quailed.
"Shall I tell you who Mr. Lisle really is? I did not intend to mention
it, as he begged me to be silent."
(Here Mrs. Creery's smile was really worth going a quarter of a mile to
see.)
"I have known him for many years; he is an old friend of mine, and of
my brothers."
"Oh, of your brothers!" interrupted her antagonist, looking up at the
ceiling with a derisive laugh and an adequate expression of incredulity.
"I am not specially addressing myself to _you_, Mrs. Creery," exclaimed
Mrs. Durand at white heat, but still retaining wonderful command of her
temper. "My brothers were at Eton with him," she continued, looking
towards her other listeners. "He is the second son of Lord Lingard and
the Honourable Gilbert Lisle."
A silence ensued, during which you might have heard a pin drop; Mrs.
Creery's face became of a dull beetroot colour, and her eyes looked as
if they were about to take leave of their sockets.
"And what brought him masquerading here?" she panted forth at last.
"He was not masquerading, he came in his own name," returned Mrs.
Durand with calm decision. "He left the service on coming in for a
large property, and spends most of his time travelling about; he is
fond"—addressing herself specially to the other ladies, and rather
wondering at Helen Denis's scarlet cheeks—"of exploring out-of-the-way
places. I believe he has been to Siberia and Central America. The
Andamans were a novelty; he came for a few weeks and stayed for a few
months because he liked the fishing and boating and the unconventional
life."
"And who is the other Lisle?"
"Some distant connection, I believe; every family has its black sheep."
"Why did he not let us know his position?" gasped Mrs. Creery.
"Because he thinks it of so little importance; he wished, I conclude,
to stand on his own merits, and to be valued for himself alone. He
found his proper level here, did he not, Mrs. Creery? He lived in the
palace of truth for once!" and she laughed significantly—undoubtedly
turn-about is fair play, it was her turn now.
"I must say that I wonder what he saw in the Andamans," exclaimed Mrs.
Graham at last.
"One attraction, no doubt, was, because he could go away whenever he
liked; another, that he was left to himself—no one ran after him!" and
Mrs. Durand laughed again. "In London he is made so much of, as every
one knows he is wealthy and a bachelor, and that his eldest brother has
only one lung! Besides all these advantages, he is extremely popular,
and is beset by invitations to shoot, to dance, to dine, to yacht, from
year's end to year's end. Well, he got a complete holiday from all that
kind of thing _here_!"
Then she recollected that in castigating Mrs. Creery and Miss Caggett
she was including totally innocent people—people who had always been
civil to the Honourable Gilbert Lisle, such as Mrs. Graham, Mrs. Home,
Miss Denis, and others, and she added,—
"All the same, I should tell you that he enjoyed his stay here
immensely, he told me so, and that he would always have a kindly
recollection of Port Blair, and of the friends he had made in the
settlement."
(Mrs. Durand, thought Helen, does not know everything; she evidently
is not aware that he is coming back.) The speaker paused at the word
settlement, for she had made the discovery that most of the gentlemen
had entered and were standing in the background while she had been, as
it were, addressing the house. A general impression had been gathered
about Mr. Lisle also, as Captain Rodney whispered to Dr. Malone, that
"Mrs. Creery had evidently had what she would be all the better for,
viz., a rare good setting down."
Infatuated Mrs. Creery! deposed, and humbled potentate, if there was
one thing that was even nearer to her heart than Nip, it was the owner
of a _title_.
She could hardly grasp any tangible idea just at present, she
was so completely dazed. It was as if Mrs. Durand had let off a
catherine-wheel in her face.
Mr. Lisle an Honourable! Mr. Lisle immensely rich! Mr. Lisle, whom she
had offered to pay for his photographs, whom she had never met without
severely snubbing. And all the time he was the son of a lord, and she
had unconsciously lost a matchless opportunity of cementing a lifelong
friendship with one of the aristocracy. Alas, for poor Mrs. Creery, her
mind was chaos!
After the storm there ensued the proverbial calm; the piano was opened,
and people tried to look at ease, and to pretend, forsooth, that they
were not thinking of the recent grand engagement, but it was all a
hollow sham.
Helen, if it had been in her power, would have endowed that brave
woman, Mrs. Durand, with a Victoria Cross for valour, and, indeed,
every lady present secretly offered her a personal meed of admiration
and gratitude. She had slain their dragon, who would never more dare
to rear her head and tyrannize over the present or vilify the absent.
Surely there should be some kind of domestic decoration accorded to
those who arm themselves with moral courage, and go forth and rescue
the reputation of their friends.
Miss Caggett sat in the background, looking unusually grave and gloomy,
no doubt thinking with remorseful stings of _her_ lost opportunities.
Dr. Malone grinned and nodded, and rubbed his rather large bony hands
ecstatically, and whispered to Captain Rodney that "_he_ had always had
a notion that Lisle the photographer was a prince in disguise!"
As for Mrs. Creery, as before mentioned, that truculent lady was
absolutely shattered; she resembled an ill constructed automaton who
had been knocked down and then set up limply in a chair, or a woman in
a dream—and that a bad one. After a while she spoke in a strangely
subdued voice, and said,—
"General, I don't feel very well; that coffee of yours has given me a
terrible headache. If you will send for my jampan, I'll just go quietly
home."
Thus she withdrew, with a pitiable remnant of her former dignity, her
host escorting her politely to the entrance, and placing her in her
chair with faint regrets. Every one knew perfectly well, that it was
_not_ the General's coffee that had routed Mrs. Creery, it was she
whose beautiful contralto was now filling the drawing-room as her late
antagonist tottered down the steps—it was that valiant lady, Mrs.
Durand!