THE FATES SPIN WITH THREADS OF BLACK.
We now return to Captain Trevalyon, as he leaves the residence of Mrs.
Tompkins, No. ---- Eaton Square. He quickly seats himself in his
dogcart, still standing at the door. When grasping the reins from his
servant drives rapidly to Park Lane and the town house of his friend,
the Lady Esmondet, who loves him well, as all women do who have his
friendship; and with whom, now that he has left the army, he spends
(during the season) much of his time. But now his thoroughbreds, King
and Prance, have sped so quickly through Belgravia that their
destination is reached.
"Just as I feared, Fate is against me," he thought, glancing at the
house; "nothing has delayed them, they are off, I have again missed
her."
Aloud he says to his servant: "Sims, go to the door and enquire if
Lady Esmondet has really gone; if so, has she left any message for
me."
"Yes, sir."
Returning, he hands a letter to his master, saying:
"Her ladyship left this with the housekeeper for you, sir, and Grimes
says, sir, they waited 'til the last minute for you, sir."
Not delaying to peruse the written words of his friend, he drove with
all speed to the Great Northern Station, only to learn that the train
had left on time at midnight, when, turning his horses' heads once
more, and for his hotel, he has soon reached the "Langham." On gaining
his own apartments his great dog Mars gives a whine of satisfaction at
the return of his master, who, throwing himself wearily into a
favourite chair, while the smoke from his cigar curls upwards, takes
from his pocket the delicate epistle with the perfume of violets upon
it, and which reads as follows:
"Lionel, _mon cher ami_, I feel it in my heart to scold you. How is
it you are not with us? The Claxtons will hear of no further delay.
So while they get into travelling gear, must have a one-sided
leave-taking with you, as we must needs leave Park Lane without a
hand-clasp. Vaura, always lovely, is more bewitching than ever
tonight, as she talked earnestly to Travers Guy Cyril, you will
remember him. She looked not unlike Guido's Beatrice; (I don't mean
the daubs one sees, but Guido's own), the same soul-full eyes,
Grecian nose, and lovely full curved lips. Guy, always melancholy,
Vaura, always sympathetic, the reflection of his sad eyes lent to
hers a deep tenderness; that he loves her hopelessly, poor fellow,
is only too evident, he bid us adieu for a New York trip, thence, he
seemed to think, no one cared. And so, lives are parted; one is
inclined to quarrel with Fate at times; she bids you to the "Towers"
and elsewhere; Vaura and self to the Scotch Lakes, afterwards to
gay Brighton. I would you were with us, _cher_ Lionel, but your
long-deferred visit to your place is an absolute necessity, so, much
as one regrets the moves of the 'miscreator circumstance,' one must
submit. And now for a note from Dame Grundy, with our gay friend, Mrs.
Eustace Wingfield, as mouthpiece. 'Posey Wyesdale openly affirms that
when she again plumes herself in colours you will play Benedict;
moreover, that 'tis for her sake you are a bachelor.' Mrs. W.
laughingly commented thereon, saying, 'If astonishment could
resuscitate a corpse, the Duke would be an unbidden guest.' Poor
darling, I shall miss his kindly face in our Scottish tour. I should
like to see you range yourself, _cher ami_, but your hands are too
full of tricks to play a losing game. Apropos to your wish to see me
again at God's altar, again to link my fate, my life, with another.
_Listen, for I know you will not betray me._ In my youth I loved, in
my prime I love the same man; my dead husband comes in between; my
love does not know he has my heart; nor did he when a girl. I, at the
command of stern parents; said him nay; he of whom I speak is the
kind, unselfish, warm-hearted, trusting Eric, Colonel Haughton. I
write this as I cannot speak of it, and so that you will understand my
resolve to remain single; also, Vaura tells me that on her arrival
from Paris on this afternoon, her uncle informed her that he has made
an offer of marriage to the wealthy Mrs. Tompkins. Vaura is full of
regrets, as from what our friends say, his choice is extremely
_outre_. For myself I shall try and be content. And now adieu to the
subject, the pain at my heart will be more keen, my smile (for a time)
forced, that is all. 'Tis well that our life teaches us to wear a
mask. Adieu, the bustle of departure in the hall bids me hasten.
Trusting you will find your tenants more satisfied (for 'tis their
comfort we must think of to-day), and I really believe under Simpson
they will not grumble. Farewell. Vaura has just appeared at the door
to bid me come. I asked her if she had any message for you, 'Tell
him,' she said laughingly,' to think of me sometimes if he has time,
and then perhaps he himself will travel by the same road his thought
has gone before, for I should dearly love to see him again,' For
myself, do not forget me, for I feel particularly lonely to-night;
Eric lost, and you not here. Ah, well, the cards have been against me,
that is all; join us somewhere when you can; _au revoir_."
"ALICE ESMONDET,
"Park Lane, 15th June, 1877.
"CAPT. TREVALYON,
"The Langham, London City."
"Jove! how sorry I am" he exclaimed thoughtfully as he finished
reading, then puffing his cigar, now vigorously then allowing it to
die out, he thought silently. "Detained on this afternoon by Simpson,
my new steward. Then my club dinner having guests I could not go to
Park lane, afterwards the crush at the Delamere's when I missed them
in the crowd, then the preremptory summons to Eaton Square when I
went, thinking it would be to Haughton's interest. Yes, the Fates are
decidedly against me, and that gay little message from Vaura Vernon. I
shall conquer destiny and meet them somewhere next autumn. And Alice
Esmondet! confessing a tender passion for Haughton. She would have
been just the woman for him. How dull of him not to see it; but for a
soldier and a society man he knows less of the women than any man of
my acquaintance. Now for a man who has, I may say, forsworn matrimony,
I take pride in my knowledge of the sex, the sweetest bit of humanity
we have. I wonder what manner of remembrance Vaura has of me, if
merely as an old-time friend of her uncle and herself. I have not seen
her, I may say, since, as a young officer, I went to the Hall as to my
home, a returned 'hero of Delhi,' in newspaper parlance. She was the
loveliest little child--woman at that time, I had ever seen. Jove! how
fast one's thoughts travel backward eight years. I remember Haughton
Hall was heavily mortgaged and my friend at Baden-Baden getting deeper
in debt; the life of a country squire palled upon him, when at his
father's death he returned at his mother's wish as heir; pity he was
obliged to leave the army. The outcome is this marriage for gold to
redeem the place from the Jews, lost for distraction's, sake. However,
a-something occurred on my yielding to dear little Vaura's wish to go
and induce him to return, and he has been a saved man ever since,
giving up the dice from the time of his hurried return in consequence
of a telegram he received before I reached him; I don't know what the
motive power was, as he did not confide and, as a matter of course, I
did not force his confidence. The Hall is still in debt but he manages
to keep the Jews quiet and to make a decent living out of a few
tenants. The lovely Vaura has her mother's portion. 'Tis an ill wind
that blows nobody good, and his becoming a slave of the ring will be
for my good as the old place will again be open and Vaura Vernon, the
woman now, will again grace it by her presence, and until she marries,
lend a new brightness, a new distraction to my life. Jove! now I come
to think of it she will surely marry next season, and I shall not have
her long; with her face, form, colouring, eyes and the sweet syren
voice that the men are raving of, some one of them will make her say
him yea; then the spice of originality about her is refreshing, also
having had so much of the companionship of Lady Esmondet, she is a
woman of common-sense and of the world, no mere conventional doll. Had
Haughton not been blind and have married my friend what a paradise the
Hall would have been to me? Until Vaura married I must always remember
that contingency. 'Tis absurd of dear Lady Esmondet wishing me to
range myself, she knows my resolve not to wed is as earnest as though
I was in the garb of a monk. I feel bothered and unsettled; how I wish
I had been at Park Lane to-night; a trip to the Highlands would have
been the very tonic I require. Sir Andrew Clarke could not prescribe
better, but it is too late now, its a horrible bore to go up to
Northumberland and the 'Towers' alone, though when one has had as much
trouble with one's tenants as I, one must victimise oneself, I
suppose. 'Tis a grand old place, picturing as it does the feudal
times, if only it were not so desolate. I wonder what Lady Esmondet or
Vaura would think of it, how lovely she would look standing in the
Tower windows with the fresh air blowing her beautiful hair and her
gown close about her; but I forget it is late, and I am dreaming, her
hair will be confined in some womanly fashion and she is not for me,
no, Mars, you and I are lonely wanderers," and the dog is patted, the
lights are out while the weary man throws himself on his couch to pass
a restless night with heavy sleep at sunrise.