WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN.
They had been luxuriating for about four weeks in the art treasures
collected in the Eternal City. Their eyes feasted on so much of
loveliness in gazing upon living marbles and speaking forms on canvas
that Vaura was often moved to a feeling akin to pain as she thought:
"Oh, the pity of it; the pity of it, that the gods among men, living,
breathing men, who created these soul-stiring things should be
themselves dead!"
On returning from a long ride one morning Vaura and Lionel found a gay
party of callers chatting with Lady Esmondet; amongst them was Vaura's
old friend, Robert Douglas. The Duchess of Wyesdale was also there;
come with the avowed purpose of calling upon Lady Esmondet and making
the acquaintance of Miss Vernon, but in reality to see Captain
Trevalyon, whom she had watched for in vain, having expected him to
call since the day they had met on the Corso. But "he cometh not," she
said, was still the burden of her song, so she determined to "beard
the lion in his den," though she would be obliged by so doing to
become acquainted with Miss Vernon, and she was one of those women
who, invariably envious of a more beautiful sister, keep them at arms'
length. She could not but own to herself how beautiful Vaura was. The
men raved of her, and she, the faded little dowager duchess, disliked
her accordingly. She had already outstayed the bounds of politeness,
but being determined to gain her point said, languidly, to her
hostess:
"I really must trespass upon your kindness a little longer, dear Lady
Esmondet, I wish so much to meet Miss Vernon."
So that, as it was late when Vaura and Lionel returned, it came to
pass that Saunders met her mistress at the hall door with a request
from Lady Esmondet that she would come immediately to the morning-room
without waiting to change her habit. So Vaura entered, gay, radiant,
and with a fresh bloom upon her cheek, engendered partly by gentle
caresses of the invigorating air, partly by the warmth in the looks
and words of the handsome man by her side.
She made her way in answer to a look from her god-mother at once to
her side, where the introduction took place.
"Her complexion is very well got up," thought the _petite_ faded
Duchess, as she bowed carelessly, and who had used tints and washes
ever since her sixteenth year. "I wonder whose wash she wears," and
with a conventional word or two she turned with _empressement_ to
Lionel, greeting him warmly, as Vaura crossed the room to where her
old playmate sat, giving only a passing word to acquaintances.
Lady Esmondet thought, as she glanced at the Duchess of Wyesdale,
roused almost to animation in her reception of Captain Trevalyon,
"Lionel is the magnet that has drawn her here; she has not forgotten
her old penchant for him."
On seeing his hostess disengaged a young Frenchman, wearing the red
ribbon of the Legion of Honour, won by a brave act in the Franco-
German war, stepped to her side; he held in his hand a volume he had
been admiring,--views of the lovely lake scenery of the British Isles.
They were soon discanting warmly upon their respective beauties, and
became so interested that Lady Esmondet scarcely noticed that she was
bidding adieu to the fashionable butterflies who had been killing time
in her presence for the last hour or two. At last they are all gone
with the exception of the Duchess, who has risen to make her exit, and
Robert Douglas, who is remaining to luncheon. The Duchess is just
saying to Lionel:
"Oh, you are _sure_ to be here, and you won't refuse _me_, I _know_;
I'd rather be Juliet to your Romeo in my tableaux than--. But, oh,
dear, the others have heard us, and I did so hope it would have been a
little secret between _us_, you know."
And Lady Wyesdale affected a childish look of terror as she turned to
her hostess, saying:
"You won't think us very dreadful, Lady Esmondet?"
"Oh, dear, no; there's nothing dreadful in a pictured love scene."
But in reality she felt annoyed that this silly woman should pretend
to an understanding between Captain Trevalyon and herself.
"And you won't tell Miss Vernon," she continued, beseechingly, "I want
her to be surprised."
Vaura and Rev. Robert had joined the group as Captain Trevalyon was
saying, laughingly,
"I cannot promise you, Lady Wyesdale, I am in Lady Esmondet's hands;
if, as I expect the 12th of January sees her at Haughton Hall, I
cannot possibly be with you, unless my photo in the garb you wish will
suit."
"Of course he will say so before them," thought the Duchess, aloud,
she says tapping him on the arm with her cardcase, "Come to my box at
the Theatre to-night, I want to consult you about something, since
dear Harold died," and a corner of her handkerchief went to her eyes,
"I often feel so alone."
"Thanks, I shall wait upon you as early as possible; to-night I go to
the Quirinal."
"So sorry," and making her adieux she added "I cannot have you."
"Yes, Emmanuel is Victor to-night," said Vaura gaily.
The butler announced luncheon, and Priest Robert gave his arm to Miss
Vernon, saying:
"And that is a woman! how are we of the clergy ever going to waken a
throb of life into the soul of such!"
"Were you in the pulpit at this moment, Robert, I am inclined to think
you would discourse as St. Paul on idle-wandering-about-from-house-to-
house-women; he was severe on my sisterhood,"
"They were not your sisterhood, you have no part with such."
"There would be a double lecture from St. Paul," said Lionel as he
took the end of the table, "could he enter the Russell Club, Regent
Street some day what a Babel of tongues, what tid-bits of gossip would
electrify him."
"Yes," said Robert Douglas, "a men and women's club would scarcely
agree with his views of what our human nature should live for."
"I hear it is extremely difficult for a pretty woman to become a
member of Eve's she is as a rule black-balled; so a fair face does not
always win," said Lionel.
"I think it would be extremely stupid to belong to an exclusively
women's club; so much of gossip would kill me," said Lady Esmondet.
"I don't know," said Vaura, "whether either of you gentlemen are aware
of how by a clever _ruse_ our gay friend Mrs. Eustace Wingfield,
notwithstanding her good looks, became a member of Eve's. She told my
godmother and I of it soon after the occurrence."
"I have never heard of it," said Robert Douglas.
"Pray tell us," said Lionel.
"'Tis a long story," said Vaura, "in fact a three-volume one, but you
shall only have a page or two. Between the President of Eve's the Hon.
Miss Silverthorne and Mrs. Eustace Wingfield, there is an old feud
dating from their school days."
While at school Mrs. Eustace, then May Raynor, was the very
incarnation of fun and mischief, Silverthorne being extremely plain
and severe in style. The Wingfield estate bordered on the school
property. Eustace, prospective heir to his uncle, often ran down from
London, much to the dismay of the lady principal, for he was no end of
a flirt. May Raynor's pretty face attracted him from the first, but
Silverthorne had a soft spot in her heart for him. Jealous of May she
reported her to the principal; for revenge Wingfield cast languishing
glances at Silverthorne in church. She never having had a lover
actually informed the principal that, when he came to her to sue for
her hand, she, as her guardian, was to say him yea. On May being
married and out of the school-room, to her adored, she, Silverthorne,
vowed revenge, if ever in her power, so that, when two seasons ago,
Mr. Wingfield bet May a box, during _la_ Bernhardt _saison_, against
an embroidered dressing gown that she would be black-balled at Eve's,
on Mrs. Clayton proposing her, the president, looking black, declared,
on its being put to the vote on the following afternoon, she should
have her two black balls, Mrs. Clayton informed May. "Now, what shall,
be my card," exclaimed May, "for my bet shall be won. I have it," and
staining her face yellow with green glasses and unbecoming attire, she
attended a woman's right meeting at which her enemy was chairman.
Seated immediately in front of the platform, Miss Silverthorne gloated
over her changed looks. She was made a member. Her enemy saying to
Mrs. Clayton, "How hideous she has become; how he will hate her!"
"What a green-eyed monster is jealousy," said Reverend Robert.
"But our gay friend won her bet and a stare at the Bernhardt, in spite
of everything," laughed Trevalyon.
"But I fancy gay Mrs. Wingfield would not often be found at 'Eves;'
such an army of plain women would be too many for her," said reverend
Douglas.
"Oh! no," said Vaura, taking his arm back to the sunlit morning-room,
"she only goes occasionally to throw a white ball for a pretty woman."
"I have sometimes come across her with Wingfield at the 'Abermarle';
she likes a little bass mixed with the treble of her life," said
Trevalyon.
"She is right," said Vaura, "one would grow weary of continually
piping to the same key."
"Isabel tells me they are very gay at Haughton," said Reverend Robert.
"Incessant revelry seems to be a necessity in the life of Madame,"
said Lady Esmondet.
"Tastes differ, god-mother dear, the wild game of life that suits her
palate would suit ours as badly, as (what she would consider) our tame
game would suit her," saying which she joined Lionel, a little apart
at a table strewn with music which he wished her to select from.
"Do you believe in presentiments _cara mia_?"
"Yes; but I am wondrously content and don't want eyen to think of
presentiments."
"I don't either, _ma chere_," he said, a little sadly, leaning his
elbows on the table, his head for a moment upon them, "but I have one
now that the Fates are putting black threads on their distaff for me."
"Don't look so sorrowful or you will affect me."
"Did you and I live in Pagan times, _ma belle_, I should be tempted to
offer incense at their shrine, so pleasing, that their black threads
would give place to gold and silver."
"Your incense would be flattery; they are but women, what would they
more," she said smilingly.
"There are women, and woman," he said absently, the grave look still
in the eyes resting on her face.
"There is something more than usual troubling you; share it with me,
do, and then you know you will only have half to bear," and for one
moment her soft hand is on his arm, her eyes full of sympathy on his
face.
"It is only a presentiment, _ma belle_," and his hand is laid on hers.
But now there is a tap at the door, and his servant says:
"Telegram from England, sir."
"My presentiment," he says, in same low tone.
"Face it bravely, it is not, I trust, bad news."
"It is," he says gravely, "for I must leave you."
Vaura turned pale, and Lady Esmondet said:
"No bad news I hope, Lionel?"
"Yes, dear friend, it is from Judith, and states that "Uncle Vincent
is no better and wishes to see me," but she does not say at once, or
if there be any danger."
"I am sorry, Sir Vincent is no better, but every cloud has its silver
lining; you may not really be obliged to go; he may rally," she said
kindly.
"Yes, that is true, I shall telegraph my cousin to know if I must go
at once; if not, you will be leaving Italy so soon we may yet journey
together."
"I hope so," continued Lady Esmondet.
"But 'tis hard for her," said Vaura, "a stranger in a strange land;
can I do anything for her, write some of our friends to call upon her,
anything, only tell me, the Claytons, are kind," and she is beside him
in a moment.
"You are very thoughtful, but Judith is extremely self-reliant."
"Do not give way to depression, Trevalyon," said Reverend Douglas;
"our paths cannot all be those of pleasantness."
"Don't go, Robert, I want you to dine with us at seven; only the
Marchmonts."
"Thank you, Lady Esmondet, I shall be with you, but for the present,
_au revoir_ as I have even-song."
"I am grieved at this," said Lionel sadly, "for something tells me I
shall have to go; I have known very little of Uncle Vincent; you are
aware, dear Lady Alice, that he and my poor father were not friendly;
my cousin is independent; and as I said before self-reliant to the
last degree."
"It will not be so hard for her in that case," said Lady Esmondet.
"I am selfish enough to regret we have anyone to dinner, if I am
obliged to leave you on to-morrow."
"I was just thinking so," said Lady Esmondet, "our evenings together
have been perfect, but alas for changes; and Vaura, dear, the landau
is at the door, you know we arranged for a drive."
"Yes, I remember, but let it wait."
"We may not have another opportunity, Lionel, for private converse;
you will write; and Vaura and I shall (D.V.) be at London on the 4th
or 5th; and shall meet you again at Haughton Hall."
"Yes, I shall meet you there," he answered thoughtfully; "my plans are
not yet matured, but I want you to be _certain_ to telegraph me of
your return; I shall meet you at London."
"Fate is cruel to send you away, and at Christmas, but I am forgetting
your poor uncle," said Vaura kindly.
"I shall telegraph of our return without fail, Lionel; and now about
yours to your cousin, had you not best run away and attend to it, we
shall only take a short drive, and be here as soon as you."
"Come with us," said Vaura, "it will save time."
"So it will, and to kill the time I feel that is left to me with you,
would be a Sacrilege."
"What route do you take, Lionel?" enquired his friend.
"You are aware I have a commission for Clayton, at Florence, so must
first go thither, thence to Bologna, then to Turin, Paris, Calais,
Dover and London."
"Shall I ring for Somers, godmother dear, to bring your cloak and
bonnet, while I go and don my wraps?"
"Thank you, yes."
Trevalyon, now going quickly to do his friend's side, said:
"I have but a moment, but I want you to know that this mischief is
brewing for me at the Hall, and it has rapidly fermented; 'society,'
tasting of its bubbles."
"I was sure of it, Lionel, and it is the brew of that woman and Major
Delrose."
"Yes; and their aim is so to damage my reputation that I cannot gain
the woman, and the only one I have ever longed for as my own loved
wife."
"Heaven grant that there machiavelian manoevres may end in failure."
Here the sweet face and small white plush bonnet, scarlet strings and
feathers appear at the door, so a truce to confidentials.
"I shall be so lonely if Fate takes me out of your life even for a
short time," and Vaura's hand is tightly clasped as he assists her
into the landau.
"We shall be lonely also."
"I hope so."
"I must say our lives have been very complete at the villa," said Lady
Esmondet; "our cup of content has been full."
"To the brim;" and his eyes turn at last from Vaura's face as he says,
"you had better drop me here, at the telegraph office while you turn
into the Corso," and stepping from the landau, lifting his hat he was
gone.
"I wonder," said Vaura, "should poor Sir Vincent die, if Miss
Trevalyon will return to New York."
"I am sure of it; Lionel tells me his cousin dislikes English life as
much as she likes that of her ain countree."
Vaura fell into a reverie; after some moments, waking to herself,
said:
"I did not show you the interesting epistle I received from Mrs.
Haughton, in which she says, 'society' hath it that Capt. Trevalyon
rejoices in a 'hidden wife.'"
"A pure invention got up to hurt him."
"But why?" she asked with assumed carelessness.
"Because he is not at a certain woman's feet, she has joined herself
with black Delrose, his enemy of years, is my surmise, and I think the
_denouement_ will prove me correct."
"Poor dear uncle; his life is not an idyl."
"His mistake, Vaura, _ma chere_, is a weight of care to me, that I try
in vain to shake off;" and something very like a tear glistened as she
spoke.
The friends were unusually silent in the drive home. Arrived there
they separated to dress for dinner; Vaura threw herself on her lounge
to rest and think. "Poor, uncle Eric, what a woman he has put on the
shackles of matrimony for; and now her attempt to injure our friend;
poor Lion, my heart is full of pity for you and you do not know it,
because you cannot speak until the "difficulty" is overcome; ah! me,
what a world of lies it is, for that this 'hidden wife,' is a myth,
and an inspiration from Lucifer to Madame, I am quite sure of. But
alas! should their be one grain of truth in the bushel of lies, and
that he cannot prove to 'society's' satisfaction that 'twas only a
grain of youthful folly, that his manhood in its nobility had nothing
to do with it. If he cannot do this, then he will never ask me to be
anything more to him than what I shall always be, his friend; poor
darling, what with his father's grief at his misguided mother's
frailty, he has drank deep of the waters of bitterness; the unruly
member set in motion by scandal, envy, hatred, or malice as motive
power, is more to be dreaded as agent of evil, than dynamite in any
form. But I must ring for Saunders and dress for dinner."