MISS ROSE DARLING.
You all know that crowded seaport town on the other side the
water--Belport-on-the-Sea; and are therefore aware that its
educational establishments, good, bad, and indifferent, are numerous.
But I must ask you not to confound the one you are about to enter,
Madame de Nino's, with any of those others, no matter what their
merits may be. The small, select, and most costly establishment of
Madame de Nino was of the very highest standing; it was intended
solely for the reception of gentlemen's daughters--was really confined
to them; and no pupil could be admitted to it without an undeniable
introduction. It was perhaps the only French school to which anxious
parents could confide a daughter free from doubt on the score of her
associations: whatever her fellow-pupils might be in mind and manners,
they were sure to be of gentle birth.
On that very same day that took Mrs. Darling down to Alnwick Hall on
the visit to her widowed daughter, Madame de Nino's pupils were
gathered in the large schoolroom. Class was over for the day, and the
girls were tired enough. They hated Fridays. There was no dancing, no
drawing, no walking; nothing but hard unbroken learning, writing, and
practising.
Look at this class of elder girls, their ages varying from sixteen to
twenty, sitting on a bench at the first-class table. Those in the
middle sit very back, their spines crooked into a bow, those beyond
them on either side sit rather forward, and the two end girls are
turned, each sideways, an elbow on the desk; So that they form a
semicircle. They are gossiping away in English, which is against the
rules; but the teachers are also fatigued with the long and hot day,
and do not pay attention. The studying for prizes had begun, and
during that period the work was greatly augmented, both of pupils and
teachers.
Look well at the three middle girls. We shall have little to do with
the others, but a great deal with them. And they are noticeable
besides, for two of them are beautiful, but so unlike in their beauty.
The one is a very Hebe, with laughing blue eyes, brilliant complexion,
and a shower of golden curls; and she is Mrs. Darling's youngest
daughter, Rose. The other is Adeline de Castella, a name and face fit
for a romance in history. She is graceful, charming, with dark-brown
eyes and hair, and more exquisite features than were ever carved in
marble. The third is Mary Carr, quiet and ladylike, whose good sense
served to keep the wildness of Miss Rose Darling somewhat in check.
For Rose was one of the wildest girls that had ever kept alive Madame
de Nino's staid and most respectable school; wild, wilful, clever,
careless; and vain as a peacock.
Had Rose been of a more sedate disposition, less given to random ways,
Mrs. Darling might not have kept her at school so long, for Rose was
eighteen. She was dreadfully rebellious over it, and perhaps the
judiciousness of the measure, as a restriction, may be questioned.
Mrs. Darling, by way of soothing the pill, allowed Rose to visit much;
and when the girls came to this age Madame de Nino acquiesced in the
parents' wishes, but Rose went out more than any previous pupil had
ever been known to do. She had many friends sojourning in the town,
and was courted on her own account, being excessively liked by every
one.
Always in scrapes of one sort or another, or getting out of them, was
she: and she had her own way in the school, and _would_ have it.
One of Miss Rose Darling's propensities was to be continually falling
in love. Almost every time she went out, she would favour the envious
girls, on her return, with a description of some fresh cavalier who
had laid siege to her heart; for half her pleasure in the thing lay in
these boasts to her companions. The last idea of the kind had
prevailed longer than usual. A gentleman, whom she had only seen at
church or in their walks, was the new gallant. Rose did not know his
name, but he was very handsome, and she raved of him. The school
called him her _fiancé_; not in the least to Rose's displeasure.
On this evening, as you look at them, Rose is in a state of
semi-explosion, because one of the other girls, Miss Caroline Davis,
who had been fetched out that evening by her friends, was now telling
Rose that she had seen this gentleman as she was being conducted back
to Madame de Nino's.
"That comes of my being kept at school. Mamma ought to be punished.
You be quiet, Mary Carr! I shall talk against my mother if I like.
Where did you see him, Carry Davis?"
"In the Grand' Rue. He was strolling up it. My aunt bowed to him."
"I know he was watching for me! These horrid Friday evenings! I wish
the school could take scarlet fever, or something of that sort, and
then perhaps Madame might send us out every day! Your aunt must know
him. Davis, if she bowed: didn't you ask his name?"
"No, I forgot to ask it."
"What an idiot you are! If I don't learn it in a day or two I shall go
mad. He----"
"Hush!" whispered Caroline Davis. "See how those French are listening!
They'll go and tell Mademoiselle that we are speaking English. There's
a new pupil come in tonight," she added aloud, in the best French she
could call up.
"Not a pupil," dissented Adeline de Castella. "She used to be a pupil,
but is coming now on a sort of visit to Madame, during her mother's
absence in England. They have been travelling lately in Italy."
"Who is she?" asked Rose. "What's her name?"
"Eleanor Seymour. Her mother is the Honourable Mrs. Seymour; she was
the daughter of Lord Loftus," continued Adeline, who spoke English
perfectly, and understood our grades of rank as well as we do.
"Eleanor Seymour is one of the nicest girls I know; but I suppose she
will not be Eleanor Seymour very long, for she is engaged to Mr.
Marlborough."
"Who's Mr. Marlborough?" asked Rose again.
"I don't know him," said Adeline. "He is very rich, I believe; he is
staying at Belport."
"Le souper, mesdemoiselles," called out Mademoiselle Henriette, the
head-teacher.
As Adeline de Castella said, Eleanor's mother was the Honourable Mrs.
Seymour and the daughter of Lord Loftus. Being this, Mrs. Seymour held
her head higher, and was allowed to do it, than any one else in the
Anglo-French watering-place, and prided herself on her "blood." It
sometimes happens that where this "blood" predominates, other
requisites are in scarcity; and it was so with Mrs. Seymour. She was
so poor that she hardly knew how to live: her aristocratic relatives
helped her out, and they had paid Eleanor's heavy school bills, and so
she got along somehow. Her husband, Captain Seymour, dead this many a
year ago, had been of even higher connections than herself; also poor.
Lord Loftus had never forgiven his daughter for marrying the
portionless young officer; and to be even with her, erased her name
from his will. She was a tall, faded lady now, with a hooked nose and
supercilious grey eyes.
When Eleanor left school--as accomplished a young lady as ever Madame
de Nino's far-famed establishment turned out--she went on a visit to
her aristocratic relatives on both sides, and then travelled to Italy
and other places with her mother. This spring they had returned,
having been away two years, and settled down in the old place. The
tattlers said (and if you want tattle in perfection, go to any of
these idle continental watering-places) that Eleanor would never get
the opportunity of changing away the name of Seymour: men of rank
would not be very likely to seek one situated as she was, and Mrs.
Seymour would never allow Eleanor to marry any other. The battle was
soon to come.
There came into Belport one day, on his road to Paris, a good-looking
young fellow named George Marlborough. Mrs. Seymour was introduced to
him at the house of a friend, and though she bowed (figuratively) to
his personal attractions, she turned up her haughty nose afterwards
when alone with Eleanor, and spoke of him contemptuously. One of the
rich commoners of England, indeed! she slightingly said; she hated
commoners, especially these rich ones, for they were apt to forget the
broad gulf that lay between them and the aristocracy. The old
Marlborough, Mr. George's father, had begun life as a clerk or a
servant--she could not tell which, neither did it matter--and had
plodded on, until he was the proprietor of an extensive trade, and of
great wealth. Iron works, or coal works; or it might be cotton works;
something down in the North, she believed; and this George, the eldest
son, had been brought up to be an iron man too--if it was iron. She
desired Eleanor to be very distant with him, if they met again: he had
seemed inclined to talk to her.
Now poor Eleanor Seymour found this difficult to obey. Mr. George
Marlborough remained in the town instead of going on to Paris, and was
continually meeting Eleanor. She, poor girl, had not inherited her
mother's exclusive notions; labour as Mrs. Seymour would, she had
never been able to beat them into her; and Eleanor grew to like
these meetings just as much as Mr. Marlborough did. It was the old
tale--they fell in love with each other.
Mrs. Seymour, when the news was broken to her, lifted her haughty
eyelids on George Marlborough, and expressed a belief that the world
was coming to an end. It might not have been disclosed to her quite so
soon, but that she was about to depart for England on a lengthened
visit to an elder sister, from whom she cherished expectations, during
which absence Eleanor was to be the guest of Madame de Nino. Mr.
Marlborough, who had never once been admitted within Mrs. Seymour's
house, took the opportunity of asking for an interview one evening
that he had walked from the pier in attendance on them, by Eleanor's
side. With a slight gesture of surprise, a movement of her drooping
eyelids, the lady led the way to the drawing-room, and Eleanor escaped
upstairs.
She sat in her own room, listening. About ten minutes elapsed--it
seemed to Eleanor as many hours--and then the drawing-room bell was
rung. Not loud and fast, as though her mother were in anger, but
quietly. The next moment she heard Mr. Marlborough's step, as he was
shown out of the house. Was he rejected? Eleanor thought so.
The bell rang sharply now, and a summons came for Eleanor. She
trembled from head to foot as she went down.
"Eleanor!" began her mother, in her sternest tone, "you knew of this
application to me?"
Eleanor could not deny it. She burst into frightened, agitated tears.
"The disgrace of having encouraged the addresses of an iron man! It is
iron: he made no scruple of avowing it. Indeed, you may well cry! Look
at his people--all iron too: do you think they are fit to mate with
ours? His father was nothing but a working man, and has made himself
what he is by actual labour, and the son didn't blush when he said it
to me! Besides--I hope I may be forgiven for plotting and planning for
you--but I have always hoped that you would become the wife of John
Seymour."
"_His_ wife," sobbed Eleanor. "Oh, mamma, John Seymour's nobody."
"Nobody!" echoed the indignant lady. "Lord John Seymour nobody!"
"But I don't like him, mother."
"Ugh!" growled Mrs. Seymour. "Listen. I have not accepted the
proposals of this Mr. Marlborough; but I have not rejected them. I
must say he seems liberal enough and rich enough; proposing I don't
know what in the way of settlements: but these low-born people are
often lavish. So now, if you have made up your mind to abandon your
rank and your order, and every good that makes life valuable, and to
enter a family who don't possess as much as a crest, you must do so.
Mr. Marlborough obligingly assured me your happiness was centred in
him."
Ah, what mattered the contempt of the tone, while that sweet feeling
of joy diffused itself through Eleanor's heart?
"No reply now," continued Mrs. Seymour, sternly. "The decision lies
with you; but I will not have you speak in haste. Take the night to
reflect on the advantages you enjoy in your unblemished descent;
reflect well before you take any step to sully it. Tomorrow you can
announce your answer."
You need not ask what Eleanor's answer was. And so, when she entered
on her visit at Madame de Nino's, she was an engaged girl; and the
engagement was already known to the world.
Miss Seymour requested that she might be treated entirely as a pupil.
She asked even to join the classes, laughingly saying to Madame de
Nino that it would rub up what she had forgotten. She took her place
in the schoolroom accordingly. Rose Darling saw a pale girl, with dark
hair and a sweet countenance; and Rose criticized her mercilessly, as
she did every one. Another of the schoolgirls, named Emma Mowbray, a
surly, envious girl, whom no one liked, made ill-natured remarks on
Eleanor. Miss Seymour certainly presented a contrast to some of them,
with her beautifully arranged hair, her flowing muslin dress, and her
delicate hands. Schoolgirls, as a whole, are careless of their
appearance _in_ school; and, as a rule, they have red hands. Madame de
Nino's pupils were no exception. Rose was vain, and therefore always
well-dressed; Adeline de Castella was always well-dressed; but Emma
Mowbray and others were not. Emma's hands, too, were red and coarse,
and more so than even those of the careless schoolgirls. Adeline's
were naturally beautiful; and Rose took so much care of hers, wearing
gloves in bed in winter, with some mysterious pomade inside.
Rose made little acquaintance with Eleanor that day. She, Rose, went
out to tea in the afternoon, and came back very cross: for she had not
once set eyes on her _fiancé_. The story was told to Eleanor Seymour;
who sympathized with her of course, having a lover of her own.
The next day was Sunday. The French girls were conducted at ten
o'clock to mass; the English would leave the house as usual for church
a quarter before eleven. Rose was dressed and waiting long before; her
impatience on Sunday mornings was great. Rose was in mourning, and a
source of secret chagrin that fact was, for she liked gay clothes
better than sombre ones.
"And so would you be worrying if you had some one waiting for you at
the church as I have," retorted Rose, in answer to a remark on her
restless impatience, which had been proffered to Miss Seymour by Emma
Mowbray.
"Waiting for you?" returned Eleanor, looking at Rose, but not
understanding.
"She means her lover, Miss Seymour," said Emma Mowbray.
"Yes, I do; and I don't care if I avow it," cried Rose, her face
glowing. "I know he loves me. He never takes his eyes off me in
church, and every glance speaks of love."
"He looks up at the other schools as much as he looks at ours," said
Emma Mowbray, who could rarely speak without a sneer. "Besides, he
only returns the glances you give him: love or no love, he would be a
sorry gallant not to do that."
"Last Thursday," cried Rose, unmindful of the reproof, "he smiled and
took off his hat to me as the school passed him in the street."
"But little Annette Duval said she saw you nod to him first!" said
Charlotte Singleton, the archdeacon's daughter.
"Annette Duval's a miserable little story-teller. I'll box her ears
when she comes in from mass. The fact is, Miss Seymour," added Rose,
turning to the stranger who had come amidst them, "the girls here are
all jealous of me, and Emma Mowbray doubly jealous. He is one of the
divinest fellows that ever walked upon the earth. You should see his
eyes and his auburn hair."
"With a tinge of red in it," put in Emma Mowbray.
"Well; you must point him out to me," said Eleanor, and then hastened
to change the conversation, for she had an instinctive dread of any
sort of quarrelling, and disliked ill-nature. Emma Mowbray had not
favourably impressed her: Rose had, in spite of her vanity and her
random avowals. "You are in mourning, Miss Darling?"
"Yes, for my eldest sister's husband, Mr. Carleton St. John. But I
have a new white bonnet, you see, though he has not been dead many
weeks: and I don't care whether mamma finds it out or not. I told the
milliner she need not specify in the bill whether the bonnet was white
or black. Oh dear! where is Mademoiselle Clarisse?"
Mademoiselle Clarisse, the teacher who took them to church (and who
took also a book hidden under her own arm to read surreptitiously
during the sermon, not a word of which discourse could her French ears
understand) came at last. As the school took its seats in the gallery
of the church, the few who were in Rose's secret looked down with
interest, for the gentleman in question was then coming up the middle
aisle, accompanied by a lady and a little girl.
"There he is!" whispered Rose to Eleanor, next to whom she sat, and
her voice was as one glow of exultation, and her cheeks flushed
crimson. "Going into the pew below. There: he is handing in the little
girl. Do you see?"
"Yes," replied Eleanor. "What of him?"
"It is he. He whom the girls tease me about, my _fiancé_, as they call
him, I trust my future husband. That he loves me, I am positive."
Eleanor answered nothing. Her face was as red as Rose's just then; but
Rose was too much occupied with something else to notice it. The
gentleman--who was really a handsome young man--was looking up at the
gallery, and a bright smile of recognition, meant for one of them,
shone on his face. Rose naturally took it to herself.
"Did you see that? _did_ you see that?" she whispered right and left.
"Emma Mowbray, who took first notice now?"
The service began. At its conclusion Rose pushed unceremoniously out
of the pew, and the rest followed her, in spite of precedent, for the
schools waited until last; and in spite of Mademoiselle Clarisse. But,
on the previous Sunday, Rose had been too late to see him: he had left
the church. On this, as the event proved, she was too early, for he
had not come out; and Mademoiselle Clarisse, who was in a terrible
humour with them for their rudeness, marched them home at a quick
pace.
"If ever truth and faith were in man, I know they are in him!" raved
Rose, when they got home, and were in the dressing-room. "He'll make
the best husband in the world."
"You have not got him yet," cried Emma Mowbray.
"Bah! Did you see the look and smile he gave me? Did _you_ see it,
Miss Seymour?--and I don't suppose you are prejudiced against me as
these others are. There was true love in that smile, if ever I saw
love. That ugly Mademoiselle Clarisse, to have dragged us on so! I
wish she had been taken with apoplexy on the steps! He---- Where's
Miss Seymour gone to?" broke off Rose, for Eleanor had quitted the
dressing-room without taking off her things.
"I heard her say she was invited to dine at Mrs. Marlborough's,"
answered Mary Carr.
"I say! there's the dinner-bell. Make haste, all of you! I wonder they
don't ring it before we get home!"
That afternoon Madame de Nino conducted the girls to church herself. A
truly good Catholic, as she was, she was no bigot, and now and then
sat in the English church. The young ladies did not thank her. They
were obliged to be on church-behaviour then: there could be no
inattention with her; no staring about, however divine might be the
male part of the congregation; no rushing out early or stopping late,
according to their own pleasure. Rose's lover was not there, and Rose
fidgeted on her seat; but just as the service began, the lady and
little girl they had noticed in the morning came up the aisle, and he
followed by the side of Eleanor Seymour. The girls did not dare to
bend forward to look at Rose, Madame being there. The tip of her
pretty nose, all that could be seen of her, was very pale.
"The forward creature! the deceitful good-for-nothing!" broke from
Rose Darling's lips when they got home. "You girls have called me
bold, but look at that brazen Eleanor Seymour! She never saw him until
this morning: I pointed him out to her in church for the first time;
and she must go and make acquaintance with him in this barefaced
manner! As sure as she lives, I'll expose her to Madame de Nino! A
girl like that would contaminate the school! If our friends knew we
were exposed to her companionship, they'd remove----"
Rose's passionate words were cut short by the entrance of Madame
herself, who came in to give some instructions to the teachers, for
she was going out for the evening. Rose, too angry to weigh her words
or their possible consequences, went up to Madame, and said something
in a fast, confused tone. Madame de Nino, a portly, dark-eyed, kind
woman, concluded her directions, and then turned to Rose, who was a
favoured pupil.
"What do you say, Mademoiselle Rose? Did I see the gentleman who was
at church with Miss Seymour? Yes; a very prepossessing young man. I
spoke with him today when they came for her."
A moment's puzzled wonder, and then a frightful thought took hold of
Rose.
"Do you know him, Madame?" she gasped. "Who is he?"
"Young Mr. Marlborough. Mademoiselle Eleanor is betrothed to him."
Madame left the room. And the girls sat breathless with astonishment,
scarcely daring to steal a glance at Rose Darling's white and stony
features.
The weeks went on to the sultry days of August, and most of the girls
were studying away might and main for the prizes. A day-pupil had
temporarily entered the school, Anna Marlborough, the youngest of the
Marlborough family, and the only one who had come abroad with her
mother. It was not Madame de Nino's habit to admit day-pupils, but she
had made an exception in favour of this child, who was to be in the
town but a few weeks.
Will it be credited that Rose Darling was still pursuing her
preposterous flirtation with George Marlborough, in the face of the
discovery that he was engaged to Eleanor Seymour? But there was
something to be urged in her favour, though you are no doubt surprised
to hear me say it. Had a jury been trying Rose, they might have
returned a verdict, "Guilty, with extenuating circumstances." Rose
seemed bewitched. There is no doubt that a real, an ardent passion for
George Marlborough had arisen in her heart, filling its every crevice;
and she regarded Eleanor (she could not help it) with a fierce,
jealous rivalry. But the girl, with all her random folly, was no fool;
and but for certain events that arose, might have remained as
quiescent as she could, until her ill-starred love died out.
It did not, and could not, contribute to any good resolutions she
might have had strength and sense to form, to find herself on intimate
terms with Mr. Marlborough, a frequent visitor to his house. _That_
mistake was, in the first instance, Eleanor Seymour's. Eleanor had
been commissioned by Mrs. Marlborough to invite three or four of the
young ladies to accompany her there to dinner; something was said in
the school about her not _daring_ to ask Rose; and Eleanor invited
Rose forthwith. Rose went. It had been more prudent had she stayed at
home: but Rose was not one of the prudent sort: and the temptation was
irresistible. Mrs. Marlborough was charmed with her, and so was
George. Whether the gentleman detected Rose's feelings for himself,
and was flattered, or whether he had no objection to a flirtation with
a pretty girl, although engaged to another, certain it was he paid
Rose considerable attention, and laughed and joked with her much.
_Joked_ with her. It was all done on his part in the spirit of joking,
as Eleanor Seymour might have seen; but joking sometimes leads to
something more. Messages from one to the other, begun in folly, often
passed; and Anna Marlborough, a giddy girl of twelve, was the
go-between. Just upon this, Rose's brother, Captain Darling, came to
Belport; he soon struck up a friendship with Mr. Marlborough, and here
was another link in Rose's chain. She would meet the two young men in
the street, and leave the ranks, in defiance of rules, ostensibly to
shake hands with Frank, really to talk nonsense with Mr. Marlborough.
Even Eleanor Seymour, when out with the school, would conform to its
rules and only bow and smile as he passed. Not so Rose. The girls
would have gone the length of the street, two sometimes, before she
caught them up, panting and flushed and looking radiant, and boasting
of what George had said to her. It was of no use the teachers
remonstrating and forbidding; do it she would, and do it she did.
This was what may be called the open, harmless stage of the affair.
But it was to go on to another.
There was a large party given one night at a Scotch laird's, Sir Sandy
Maxwell, and Miss Seymour and Rose were invited. You may be aware,
perhaps, that it is the custom in French schools, generally speaking,
for the pupils to visit or not, according to the directions left by
the parents. This had been accorded to Rose by Mrs. Darling; and
Eleanor Seymour was not as a schoolgirl--therefore Madame de Nino,
though openly expressing her disapprobation of these large parties
while young ladies were pursuing their studies, did not refuse. Emma
Mowbray offered a bet to the school that Mr. Marlborough would dance
more dances with Rose than with Eleanor; and so eager were the girls
to hear the result, that those in the large _dortoir_ kept awake until
they came home. It had struck one o'clock, and Madame was up in arms;
she had only given them to half-past eleven, and they had kept the
coach waiting all that time, while Madame's own maid, old Félicité,
was inside it. After all, there was nothing to hear, for Mr.
Marlborough had not made his appearance at the party.
Class was not over the next morning until very late; it always was
late just before giving the prizes. It was the third Thursday in
August, the _sorti_ day, and three of the girls were going with
Eleanor to dine at Mrs. Marlborough's: Rose, Mary Carr, and Adeline de
Castella. The invitations were left to Miss Seymour, and she always
fixed on Rose, in a sort of bravado, but she never once chose Emma
Mowbray; and this gave that young lady considerable offence, as was
known to the school. They were to partake of the usual dinner at
school by way of luncheon, the Marlboroughs not dining until six.
While the cloth was being laid, the girls dispersed about, some in the
courtyard, some in the garden, all in the shade, for it was very
sultry. There was certainly something more than common the matter with
Rose: she appeared half-crazy with joy.
"It is because she's going out," remarked Mary Carr to Eleanor.
"Is it, though!" put in Emma Mowbray; "that's only a little item in
the cause. She has just had a love-letter from Mr. Marlborough."
Eleanor Seymour's cheek changed.
"Don't talk absurdities," said Mary Carr to the Mowbray girl.
"Absurdities!" she retorted, moving away. "If I can, I'll convince
you."
A minute or two, and she came back with a letter in her hand--an open
letter, addressed in George Marlborough's hand to Rose--and handed it
to Mary Carr.
"Am I to read it?" asked the latter.
"If you choose. It is _pro bono publico_, Rose says." And Miss Carr
read the letter aloud.
"My Dearest,
"You must have been surprised not to see me at Sir Sandy's. I was
dressing to come, when a message arrived for me from the Hôtel du
Nord; poor Priestley had met with a sad accident to his hand from the
bursting of a gun. I have been sitting up with him until now, four
o'clock a.m., but I write this to you before I sleep, for you have a
right now to my every thought, to know every movement. You dine here
today, my fair _fiancée_ also; but I wish you were coming alone.
"Ever yours only,
"George Marlborough."
Was there any mistake in the letter? Mary Carr had often heard of
such. _Could_ it have been written to Rose? Alas, yes! it was all too
plain. The writing was George Marlborough's; the address, "Miss Rose
Darling, En Ville," was his; and the seal, "G.M.," was his also. Mary
rose, and stood before Eleanor, shielding her from observation, as she
beckoned to Anna Marlborough: while Emma Mowbray looked defiant, and
asked whether they would believe her next time.
The child was dancing about the courtyard. She was young, and the
school made her a sort of plaything: she came dancing up to Miss Carr.
"Now, Anna, I have something to ask you; and if you equivocate by
so much as a word, I will acquaint Madame de Nino that there's a
letter-carrier in the school; you would be expelled that same hour.
Did you bring a note here from your brother this morning?"
"Yes, I did," stammered Anna. "Don't tell of me, please."
"I'll not tell, if you speak the truth. To whom did you bring it?"
"To Miss Darling."
"Did he send it to _her?_ What did he say when he gave it to you?"
"He told me to give it into her own hands when nobody was by, and to
give his love with it," answered Anna. "Oh, pray don't tell of me,
Miss Carr! It's nothing much more than usual; he often sends his love
by me to Miss Darling."
"Was _this_ the letter you brought?" holding out the one she still
retained in her hand.
"Yes, it was that. I'll never do it again," continued Anna, growing
frightened, and bursting into tears.
Which caused Miss Mowbray to rate her for a "little fool;" and Anna
ran away, glad to be released. Close upon that, up dashed Rose in
agitation, having discovered the loss of her note. The note had not
been declared by Rose to be _pro bono public_, and Emma Mowbray had
dishonourably abstracted it from her apron pocket. Rose got possession
of it again, but she was in a great passion with Emma Mowbray: in
fact, with them all.
And poor Eleanor Seymour! She was white as marble when Mary turned to
her. Sitting there, on the old wooden bench, so outwardly calm and
still, she had heard the whole. Clasping Mary Carr's hands with a
painful pressure, she burst into an uncontrollable fit of weeping, and
glided in at the porch-door to gain the staircase. "Make any excuse
for me at the dinner-table, Mary," she whispered.
_Need_ you be told that that letter was really written to Eleanor? The
words "fair _fiancée_" in it alone related to Rose, and Mr.
Marlborough had penned them in laughing allusion to the joke in the
school. The plot was Emma Mowbray's, a little bit of revenge on
Eleanor and Rose, both of whom she envied and disliked. She had made
Anna her tool. The child, at her prompting, wrote a letter to Rose,
and got her brother to direct and seal it; and Emma Mowbray opened the
two envelopes cleverly by means of passing a penknife under the seals,
and substituted the one note for the other. Thus Eleanor's letter was
conveyed to Rose; the other Emma Mowbray burnt; and she promised a
whole _charrette_ full of good things to Anna to keep her counsel.
Being a mischief-loving little damsel, Miss Anna did so; though she
was nearly frightened out of it by Miss Carr.
This may sound very shallow, very weak, but I assure you the
circumstances took place just as they are described. Had George
Marlborough only put Eleanor's _name_ in the note, the trick could not
have been played. But he did not do so. And neither Rose nor Eleanor
suspected for a moment that there was anything about the note not
genuine; or that it had not been written to Rose.
They went to dinner at Mrs. Marlborough's--Eleanor with her beating
heart of resentment and her outraged love, Rose radiant with happiness
and beauty. The evening did not mend matters, but rather added very
much to the broil. May the word be forgiven?--I was thinking of the
French one. Eleanor, cold, haughty, contemptuous, was almost insulting
to Mr. Marlborough; and Rose, it is to be feared, let him see, that
evening, where her best love was given. He took more than one
opportunity of asking Eleanor how he had offended her, but he could
get no answer. If she had only given him a clue to it, how much
trouble and misery would have been saved! but the very _asking_ on his
part seemed to Eleanor only adding insult to injury. You see they were
all at cross-purposes, and just for the want of a little word of
explanation.
From that hour there was no peace, no mutual understanding between
Eleanor and Mr. Marlborough. He repeatedly sought an explanation of
the sudden change in her behaviour, sometimes by letter, sometimes in
words. She never would give an answer to either. She returned his
letters in blank envelopes, or tore them to pieces before the
messenger's eyes; she refused to see him if he called; she haughtily
held aloof from him when they met. Mrs. Marlborough saw that something
was wrong, but as neither of them made her their confidant, she did
not interfere, and she supposed it to be only a lovers' quarrel. She
had not known Eleanor long, having come to Belport only the week
before that Sunday Rose first saw her at church. Rose alone seemed in
a state of happiness, of ecstatic delight; and Anna now carried no end
of notes and messages to and fro, and kept it secret from the school.
Rose had committed one great folly--she had written to Mr. Marlborough
after the receipt of that first letter. But then, it must be always
remembered that no suspicion had yet crossed her mind that it was not
_written to her_ and meant for her. Rose fully believed--let it be her
excuse--that Mr. Marlborough had transferred his affections from
Eleanor to herself: the school believed it. Whether she really hoped
she should succeed in supplanting Eleanor in the offer of marriage, in
becoming afterwards his wife, cannot be told. The girls thought she
did, and they were sharp observers. At any rate, Rose now deemed the
field as legitimately open to her, as it was to Eleanor.
The day for awarding the prizes was a great day. The girls were
attired in white, with blue sashes and blue neck-ribbons; and the
hairdresser arrived very early in the morning to get done in time. A
large company arrived by invitation; and just before the hour for
going in, some of the girls saw Rose in the garden talking to a
gentleman. Madéleine de Gassicourt, usually so short-sighted, espied
her out.
"It must be her brodare wid her," cried Madeleine, who was not in the
secret. "She will derange her hair before we do go in."
Emma Mowbray peered through the trees. It was no "brodare," but Mr.
Marlborough. He was bending down to Rose; she appeared to be crying,
and he held her hand in his as he talked to her earnestly. Emma
Mowbray glanced round at Eleanor, who was at the window, and saw it
all. She was very pale and still, her lips compressed.
But Rose's stolen interview could have lasted only a few fleeting
minutes. The hands of the clock were then pointing towards two, and as
the hour struck she was amongst them, and they were being marshalled
for the entrance to the prize-room. It was a pleasing sight when they
went in, making their reverences to the assembled visitors. Two pretty
young English girls walked first--sisters; and certainly the two
prettiest of the elders walked last; Rose Darling and Adeline de
Castella; both beautiful, but so unlike in their beauty. Adeline
gained nine prizes; Rose only two. But Rose had been studying for
another sort of prize.
The holidays succeeded--dull and quiet. Of the elder girls, Adeline,
Rose, and Mary Carr alone remained, and there was, of course, Miss
Seymour. Mrs. Marlborough was leaving the town; George was not.
Eleanor, who seemed to be visibly declining, would not go out
anywhere, so she did not meet him; but Rose, always out, met him
constantly.
One afternoon, when Eleanor was growing paler day by day, a bit of
folded paper was brought to her in the schoolroom. She opened it, and
saw a few words in pencil--
"I am now waiting in the salon. You have been denied to me as usual;
yet, Eleanor, let me entreat you to grant me, for this once, an
interview. I leave by the boat for London tonight, but if I can see
you now, my voyage may not be necessary. By the love we once bore each
other, I beseech you, Eleanor, come.--G. M."
Eleanor read it, tore the paper deliberately in two, and handed the
pieces to Clotilde. "Give that to the gentleman," she haughtily said.
"There is no other answer."
Rose followed the maid from the room. "Clotilde," she whispered, "who
is in the salon?"
"The handsome monsieur that was going to marry himself, as people
said, with Mademoiselle Seymour," was the servant's rejoinder.
"Give me the answer," said Rose, taking the torn pieces from her hand.
"I want to send a message to Madame, his mother, and will deliver
this. I say, Clotilde, don't tell Madame that he's here."
The unsuspicious servant went about her business; and Miss Rose
tripped to the salon, and stayed as long as she dared.
That same evening Eleanor Seymour was giving Mary Carr a description
of Rome; they were seated in a corner of the small class-room; and
Adeline de Castella corrected her when she was wrong, for _she_ knew
Rome well. Mademoiselle Josephine (Mam'selle Fifine, the school called
her in general), the only teacher remaining, was at her table in front
of the window, writing letters. When it grew too dark to see, she
closed her desk, turned round, and suddenly, as if surprised not to
see her with the others, asked where Rose was.
The young ladies did not know. Rose had been upstairs in the bedroom
since the afternoon. She came down for collation, and went up again
directly.
Mam'selle Fifine began to scold; she was the crossest of all the
teachers, except Mam'selle Clarisse. It was not likely Miss Rose was
stopping upstairs in the dark; she must have got a light, which, as
Mesdemoiselles knew well, was contrary to rules. And she told Miss
Carr to go and desire her to come down.
Mary Carr rose with a yawn; they had been sitting there long, and she
felt cramped. "Who will go with me?" she asked.
Both the young ladies responded, and all three stumbled up the dark
staircase together. They found no light in the bedrooms, and could see
nothing of Rose. Thinking it possible she might have fallen asleep on
one of the beds, Adeline ran down and got a candle from one of the
servants.
There was no Rose; but on her bed lay a sealed note, addressed to Miss
Carr;--
"Dear Mary,
"I know you have been against me for some time. Miss Seymour and I
were rivals--equals on a fair ground; you would have helped _her_ on,
though it left me to a broken heart. I believe it has been a
neck-and-neck race between us, but I have won. I hope mamma will
reconcile herself to the step I am taking; I always longed to make a
runaway marriage, it is so romantic; and if Frank flies out about it,
I shan't care, for I shan't hear him. When next you see me I shall be
"Rose Marlborough."
"Look to Miss Seymour!" broke from the quivering lips of Adeline de
Castella. And it was timely spoken, for Eleanor was fainting. Scarcely
had she revived, when Mam'selle Fifine came up, angry at the delay.
The note they did not dare to show; but were obliged to confess to the
absence of Rose, saying, _tout bonnement_, as Adeline called it, that
they could not find her.
Rose not to be found! Madame de Nino was dining out, and Mam'selle
Fifine was terrified out of her sober senses. In the midst of the
hubbub that ensued, Julie, the head fille-de-chambre, put her head in
at the door, and said, "The Honourable Mrs. Seymour."
At a time of less commotion they would have burst out laughing. Julie
had been nurse in a nobleman's family in England; she had there become
familiar with British titles, and was as fond of using them as she was
of using her English. One day Ethel Daw's mother came to see her; a
very fine lady, all flounces, and feathers, and gold chains. It was
Julie's luck to show her to the salon; and she came to the schoolroom
afterwards, flung open the door, and called out, "Mrs. Daw, Esquire."
Julie did not hear the last of that. The girls called her ever after
Squire Daw.
"The Honourable Mrs. Seymour."
With a sharp cry Eleanor started up, and flew into her mother's arms,
sobbing convulsively.
"Oh, mamma, take me home! take me home!"
Mrs. Seymour was thunderstruck, not only at Eleanor's cry of pain, but
at the change in her appearance. She had just returned from London.
Mary Carr disclosed a little of the truth. She thought it best; and,
indeed, was unable to evade the keen questioning of Mrs. Seymour. But
Rose's note, with the information it contained, was buried in silence
still. Mrs. Seymour took her daughter home at once; and there Eleanor
told the whole--that Rose had really gone away with Mr. Marlborough.
Mrs. Seymour folded her aristocratic hands, and distinctly desired
that no further allusion to it should ever pass her daughter's lips,
as it would not her own. It was a retribution on them, she said, for
having trusted an "iron man."
Meanwhile, Adeline de Castella and Mary Carr kept their own counsel
through sheer obligation: as they had not declared all they knew at
once, they dared not declare it now. And Madame de Nino verily
believed Rose had been spirited away to the skies.
It was three days afterwards. Mrs. Seymour sat in her drawing-room,
the green Venetian shutters partially closed, and the blinds down, for
Eleanor lay on the sofa quite prostrated. Mrs. Seymour was in a state
of as much indignation as was consistent with her high birth and her
proclaimed assertion that they were "well rid of him;" for, in spite
of the "iron" drawback, she had grown to hug to her heart the prospect
of this most desirable establishment for Eleanor.
Suddenly the door opened, and the iron man himself walked in. Eleanor
struggled up from the sofa, and Mrs. Seymour rose in hauteur, all the
blood of the Loftuses flashing from her light grey eyes. Then ensued a
contest; each side struggling for the mastership; Mrs. Seymour
refusing to hold commune with him, and Mr. Marlborough insisting upon
being heard.
He had gone to England three days ago in search of her, he said; he
then found she had left for France, and he had followed her. His
object was to request that she would lay her commands on Eleanor to
afford him an explanation. Eleanor had been his promised wife; and
without offence on his part, without any known cause, her behaviour
had suddenly changed to him. In vain he had sought an explanation of
her; she would afford him none; and his only resource was to appeal to
Mrs. Seymour. If Eleanor refused to fulfil her engagement with him, he
could not insist upon it; but he must insist upon knowing the reason
for the change: to that he had a right.
"You had better leave the room quietly, sir," said Mrs. Seymour in
frigid tones. "It will not be pleasant to you if I call my servants."
"I will not leave it without an explanation," he replied. "Mrs.
Seymour, you cannot refuse it; if Eleanor will not give it me in
courtesy, I repeat that I must demand it as a right. Eleanor's conduct
at the time seemed to imply that there was some cause of complaint
against me. What was it? I declare to you solemnly that I was
unconscious of it; that I was innocent of offence against her."
His words and manner were painfully earnest and truthful, and Mrs.
Seymour hesitated.
"Has there been any mistake, Eleanor?" she hesitated, appealing to her
daughter.
"Oh, let me know what it is," he implored, before Eleanor could speak.
"Whatever it may be--mistake--cause--reality--let me know it."
"Well, sir," cried Mrs. Seymour, making a sudden resolution, "I will
first ask you what you have done with that unfortunate young lady,
whom you took away from her sheltering roof and her duties, three days
ago?"
"I took no young lady away," replied Mr. Marlborough.
"What have you done with Miss Darling?"
"Not anything."
"You did not induce her to elope with you? You did not take her to
London?"
"Indeed, no. I saw Miss Darling on the port the evening I went away,
and left her there. She was with her brother. But this is no
explanation, Mrs. Seymour. Eleanor," he added, walking up, and
standing before her, "I once again appeal to you. What was the cause
of your first and sudden coldness?"
"Speak out, Eleanor," said her mother. "I know almost as little as Mr.
Marlborough, but I now think the matter should be cleared up, that we
may come at the truth. There must be a strange mystery somewhere."
Eleanor pressed her thin hands upon her side in agitation. She could
only speak in a whisper, in uneven sentences: and she told of the
love-letter written to Rose the day following the dance at Sir Sandy
Maxwell's.
"It was written to you, Eleanor," said Mr. Marlborough.
"I read that note," she answered, gasping for breath. "It was written
to Rose."
"It was written to you, Eleanor. I have never written a loving note,
as that was, to Rose Darling in my life; on my sacred word of honour."
"You have written several notes to Rose!"
"True; since; but never loving ones: they might all have been posted
up on the schoolroom walls, and even Madame de Nino herself could not
have found fault with them. If this note was given to Rose, Anna must
have changed the envelopes. I remember directing one for her to Miss
Darling that morning. Eleanor," he gravely said, "I fear you have been
running your head against a chimera."
"Rose loves you," she whispered, her heart and voice alike softening.
"No; nonsense!"--but for all his denial there was a glow of
consciousness on Mr. Marlborough's countenance. "Eleanor, I honestly
believe that you have been listening to the folly talked by those
schoolgirls, and taken it for gospel. Rose Darling is very pretty, and
likes to be admired; and if I have been thrown a good deal with her,
who threw me? You, Eleanor, by your coldness and avoidance of me. I
don't deny that I have talked lightly and gaily with Rose, never
seriously; I don't deny that----" I have kissed her, he was going to
add in his candour, but thought it might be as well to leave that out
before Mrs. Seymour. "But my love and my allegiance have never swerved
from _you_, Eleanor."
She burst into happy tears. Mrs. Seymour cut them short sternly.
"Eleanor, this note that you talk of, left by Miss Darling on her bed
the other night, must have been meant as a hoax upon you and the two
credulous young ladies, your companions. I did think it a most strange
thing that a young lady of position should be guilty of anything so
vulgar as an elopement. Not but that it was excessively bad to make it
the subject even of a jest."
"I suppose it must have been," sobbed Eleanor. "And it seemed so
earnest!"
Mr. Marlborough could have disclosed _how_ earnest, had he chosen. In
that interview in the salon with Rose, when he told her he was going
away, he learnt how much she loved him. In the anguish of parting,
Rose dropped words that sufficiently enlightened him--if he had not
been enlightened before. He passed it all off as a jest; he said
something to the effect that he had better take her with him to
Gretna, all in jest, in simple folly: and he spoke in this light
manner for Rose's sake: he would not suffer her to think she had
betrayed her secret. What, then, was his astonishment when, in coming
out of the permit office at night on the port, preparatory to stepping
on board the boat, to see Rose! _She had taken his words seriously_.
What he would have done to save the boat in his dilemma--for he must
inevitably have lost it while he escorted Rose back to Madame de
Nino's--he did not know; but at that moment who should come up but
Captain Darling. He gave the young lady into her brother's charge,
with a half-word of explanation; and he never supposed but that Rose
had been safely lodged at school within the hour. But Mr. Marlborough
was a man who could keep his counsel on these particulars, even to
Eleanor, and he did keep it.
"Let this be a warning to your wedded life, Eleanor," observed Mrs.
Seymour. "Never have any concealments from your husband. Had you
frankly spoken to Mr. Marlborough of that first misdirected letter,
which seems to have been the primary cause of all the mischief, the
affair would have been cleared up at once."
"It's enough to make a man swear he will never use another envelope,"
exclaimed Mr. Marlborough, with his old happy smile of love. "But you
need not have doubted me, Eleanor."
Meanwhile, where _was_ Rose? Madame de Nino, in the eleventh stage of
desperation and perplexity, sent ten times a day to Captain Darling's
lodgings; but he had disappeared also. Mam'selle Fifine, who of course
came in for the blame, alternately sobbed and scolded aloud; and
Adeline and Mary Carr felt sick with the weight of the secret they
were keeping. This state of things, stormy within doors as the weather
was without, lasted for three days, and then Rose returned, escorted
by her brother.
But what a shocking plight she was in! Drenched with rain and
sea-water; clothes soaked and clinging round her; quite prostrated
with three days' sea-sickness; lying half-dead all that time in a
rolling fishing-smack, the wind blowing great guns and she nearly dead
with fright; nothing to eat and drink on board but salt herrings and
sour beer, even supposing she could have eaten at all!--no wonder Rose
forgot her good manners and told her brother he was a brute for taking
her. Rose had happened to put on her best things, too: a white chip
bonnet and pearl-grey damask dress. You should have seen them when she
came in!
So it was quite a mistake. Miss Carr and Adeline found, a trick, no
doubt, played them purposely by Rose, and there had been no elopement
at all, or thought of one: nothing but a three-days' cruise round the
coast with her brother, in the fishing-smack of some honest, rough,
hard-working sailors! Captain Darling made a thousand apologies to
Madame de Nino when he brought her home--the object that Rose
presented upon his handing her out of the coach!--and laid it all to
the fault of that treacherous wind; which had kept them at sea three
days, when he had only contemplated treating her to a little excursion
of an hour for the good of her health.
Madame was appeased at length. But Mam'selle Fifine is sore upon the
point to this day. As she justly observed, there must have been
something out of the common amiss with that particular fishing-boat.
Granted the rough wind; but other boats made the port fast enough, so
why not that one? Rose could or would give no explanation, and was as
sullen as a bear for a whole month.
And ere that month had well run its course, news came down from Paris
of the marriage of George Marlborough and Miss Seymour.