DESCRIBES, AMONG OTHER THINGS, HOW MY LADY TRAMPLED TRIUMPHANTLY AT LAST
I
“Beef, sir,” said Mr. Bunkle, laying a slice caressingly upon Sir John’s
plate, “cold roast-beef, sir, can be ate any’ow an’ anywhen, but sech
beef as this ’ere is best took plain and ungarnished ... though I wun’t
deny as a slice or so o’ b’iled-’am took therewith doan’t go oncommon
well, t’other actin’ upon which an’ bringing out the flavour o’ both,
sir, d’ye see! So shall us mak’ it beef-an’-’am, sir?”
“Assuredly!” answered Sir John, seating himself at the table.
“Sir ’Ector used t’ swear by my beef-an’-’am,’e did, but ’e doan’t tak’
’is breakfast ’ere no more ... a changed man ’e be, sir.”
“How so, Mr. Bunkle?”
“Well, ain’t you noticed ’is wig, sir?”
“Not particularly.”
“’As it combed an’ curled reg’lar nowadays, ’e do ... sich a ’appy,
careless gen’leman ’e used to be, but lately ... well, ’e was a-wearin’
’is second-best coat yesterday! Ah, a changed man be Sir ’Ector.” And Mr.
Bunkle nodded, winked and departed about his business.
His breakfast done, Sir John arose and, mindful of his promise to
Herminia, took his hat and sallied forth for the matrimonial “prompting”
of the devoted Sir Hector MacLean.
His reception was not propitious, for scarcely had he stepped across Sir
Hector’s threshold than that gentleman’s voice hailed him reproachfully:
“Whisht, man—y’r boots!”
“What of ’em, Hector?”
“Ye’ve never s’muckle as wiped ’em, John! D’ye no’ ken wha’ yon mat’s
for? Here’s Rose, sweet lass, slavin’ for an auld sojer-body’s comfort,
here’s Wully Tamson workin’ himsel’ tae skin an’ bane—when her eye is
upon him—an’ here’s ye’sel’, Johnnie, treading dust a’ aboot the floor! O
man, hae a leetle conseederation!”
Sir John, having carefully wiped his boots under Sir Hector’s strict
supervision, took occasion to glance round and behold the wonders
achieved, for indeed chaos had given place to comfort and a dainty
orderliness; it beamed and shone, it winked and twinkled in polished
brass and silver, it stirred gently in the curtains at open lattice, it
lay in the rugs upon raddled floor, it gleamed in the polished andirons
on the spotless hearth, and breathed in fragrance from the bowl of
flowers upon the mantel.
“’Tis marvellous what a woman can achieve, Hector!”
“Some women, John!”
“We be miserable creatures without ’em, Hector.”
“Aye, John, but woefu’ wretches wi’ ’em—generally.”
“Now, talking of Rose——”
“Man, she’s the exception! She’s like a beam o’ sunshine aboot the place
... sae neat, sae sweet ... an’ cook? Losh, Johnnie, she can roast
or boil sae savoury ’twould mak’ a man wish he were a camel wi’ twa
stomachs! An’ there’s Wully Tamson! Wully’s a changed man ... when fou,
whilk is no’ vera often, he gangs aroond wi’oot his boots an’ sleeps i’
the woodshed. I’ fegs, Wully Tamson is——”
“But we are talking of Rose.”
“Aye, John, an’ ’tis a gey lucky man ye’ll be tae win sic a wife! She’s a
walkin’ wonder!”
“Very true, Hector. And talking of wives, what of her aunt, the ... Mrs.
Saunders?”
“Aye, an’ what o’ her, Johnnie?”
“Well, is it not reasonable to suppose that the so great virtues of the
niece will be found intensified in the aunt?”
“An’ what then, John?”
“Why, then, seeing I woo the wondrous niece, why should not you woo the
more wonderful aunt?”
Sir Hector very nearly dropped his cherished pipe.
“Me, is it?” he exclaimed—“me woo a wumman? Me—wi’ ane leg i’ the ...
Losh, Johnnie man, are ye rin clean daft, whateffer?”
“She is a woman of refinement, Hector, and altogether charming, and as a
wife——”
“Whisht, man, ye fair mak’ me blush!”
“And you, Hector, are none so ill-looking—‘when fresh shaved,’ and your
wig combed and ironed. Thou’rt vigorous and strong as a bull——”
“Will ye no’ hae done, John!”
“And she a delightful creature with the very charmingest natural
complexion and adorable eyes. You must ha’ noticed ’em when peeping at
her.”
“Peeping!” gasped Sir Hector.
“Aye, over the wall.”
“John,” exclaimed Sir Hector, rising and drawing himself to his gigantic
height, “I may, peradventure, have ... chanced to cast a—a neighbourly
glance over the party-wall occasionally, but—peep, sir? I scorn the
imputation!”
“But i’ faith, Hector, I vow she is well worth peeping at.”
“Sir,” quoth Sir Hector, reaching hat and cane—“sir, a MacLean never
peeps!” Having said which, he clapped on his hat and stalked majestically
away.
II
“Heavens, Herminia, how can you?”
“What, aunt dear?”
“Sprawl there like any naughty nymph ... and your petticoats ...
so careless and bold ... showing the prideful perfection o’ your
proportions, the fullness o’ your forms ... like a graceless Greek
goddess on a vase ... so free! Get up, child, do!”
Herminia laughed and, pillowing head on clasped hands, stretched shapely
limbs voluptuously upon her grassy couch and stared up dreamily through
the leaves of the apple tree to the cloudless blue.
“Concern me, child!” exclaimed the Duchess, glancing apprehensively
towards the party-wall. “Suppose he should be prying as usual?”
“He would never see me, dear aunt! He hath eyes for no one and nothing
but you. And small wonder, for you are looking extreme well o’ late. You
grow younger every day, I swear y’ do ... that gown, now, becometh you
vastly!”
“Mm!” quoth the Duchess, eyeing her niece warily. “Why this fulsome
flattery, pray?”
“’Tis merest truth, aunt. And thou’rt looking thy best to-day, which is
well, for in half an hour I take thee to meet him.”
“Him, Herminia? Can you possibly mean—him?”
“Him, aunt.”
“That odious ogre——”
“That gentle giant, aunt.”
“I’ll not go, Herminia.”
“I suggest thy little laced cap with the blue ribbands, aunt.”
“I detest your hateful giant, minx!”
“Blue ribbands set off thy beauteous eyes to admiration, dear aunt!”
“I say I’ll not go.”
“And thy morocco shoes, aunt dear ... indeed, thou hast the littlest,
prettiest foot i’ the world!”
“I vow I’ll not stir one step to see your odious giant.”
“Then shall I carry thee, thou sweet atomy.”
The Duchess stamped, sat down and frowned, but when she spoke her voice
was surprisingly complaisant:
“My cap with the blue ribbands and my morocco shoes? So be it, thou
wilful wretch—go you and fetch ’em!”
Herminia yawned, stretched languorously and rose.
“Dearest my aunt,” quoth she, “when thou’rt happily espoused, forget not
’twas thy loving niece——”
“Tush, minx—begone!”
Herminia went; but scarcely had her stately form vanished within
the narrow doorway than the Duchess stealthily arose, caught up her
sun-bonnet and, opening the wicket gate in the garden wall, hasted away
down the leafy back-lane.
III
Sir John was observing his resplendent image in the mirror; full-skirted,
embroidered coat moulded his graceful slenderness to perfection; his
gold-buttoned, flowered waistcoat was a work of art, white satin
small-clothes and gold-clocked silk stockings offset a pair of shapely
legs; diamonds sparkled in shoe-buckles and cravat; the long, glossy
curls of his peruke fell in that precise abandon which was strictly _à la
mode_; and yet his delicate brows were wrinkled in disapprobation.
“They feel distinctly tightish, Bob!” he mourned. “I’ve grown damnably
robust and positively bucolic—horrific thought! Gad’s my life, I’m as
swarthy as a gipsy! Alack, Bob, where is now my romantic pallor? How
the devil may a man languish soulfully with a colour like a yokelly
ploughman? Vastly distressing, on my soul it is!”
“A patch, sir?” suggested the imperturbable one.
“Two, Bob, one at my mouth—exactly here! Now t’other below my eye—so! Now
a dash o’ the gillyflower essence ... and now my lightest cloak to veil
me from the curious.”
IV
It was Mr. Unstead’s dun cow that did it, on this wise; chancing to meet
the small Duchess in the lane, this gentle ruminant had thrust forth
moist, inquiring muzzle and puffed in gusty fragrance, whereupon the
Duchess uttered a scream, a ladylike outcry small in volume as herself,
but a cry that was answered none the less very suddenly and to her own
gasping astonishment, for as she stood, crouched against the mossy wall,
staring fearfully at the dun cow’s perilous horns, she felt herself
caught up, lifted gently and set upon the broad coping of the wall,
whence she looked down to see the Ogre (in his second-best coat) gently
urge the inquisitive quadruped through an adjacent gate; which done, and
the gate secured, he returned and, uncovering bewigged head, favoured the
Duchess with a profound obeisance.
“Madam,” he began in his very choicest English, “I sincerely trust
that”—here, suddenly espying her Grace’s small and very pretty feet, Sir
Hector blinked and resolutely averted his eyes—“that ye’re no’ fashed
or byordinar’ afeart by reason o’ yon coo, mam. She’s an unco’ gentle
creature an’ wadna harm a babe, mam——”
“But I’m not a babe, sir!” she retorted, crossing her little feet
demurely and making the most of the pretty things—“far from it, sir! And
I detest cows ... especially in lanes! ... cows are so horribly horny!”
“Why, as to that, mam,” answered Sir Hector a little vaguely, his glance
upon her feet again, “cow’s horns are a dispensation o’ Providence....
Nature gave a cow horns——”
“To fright fearsome females, sir! And here sitteth one perilously perched
and full o’ fears lest she fall! Take her down, sir—instantly,” said the
Duchess.
Sir Hector glanced up and down the lane, looked at the little Duchess and
blenched.
“D’ye hear me, sir?” she demanded.
“Ou aye, Mrs. Saunders,” he answered. “Hae patience, mam.... Bide a
wee....” And he turned away; but scarce had he achieved two paces than
she summoned him back imperiously.
“How, sir,” cried she, “will ye leave me—desert me in this dreadful
situation? Heaven help me, ’twould seem I am fated to sit helplessly
aloft——”
“A ladder, mem.... I’ve a ladder in my garden.”
“Tush for your ladder, sir! To leave me here—so heartless and hateful!”
“Heartless, mam! No, no! By means o’ my ladder, y’ ken——”
“Ha’ done wi’ your ladder, sir!”
“But, losh, mam, hoo wull ye come doon wi’oot my ladder?”
“How did I get here, pray?”
“Leddy, ’twas a’ by the inspiration o’ the moment.”
“Then pray be ‘inspired’ again, sir.”
Sir Hector flushed, glanced at her little, helpless feet, her roguish
eyes, fumbled with his hat and dropped it; the little Duchess giggled.
Then Sir Hector took a deep breath and reached out his arms.
V
Sir John, giving hat and cloak to the placid Betty, glanced round the
small room.
“Pray tell your lady that Sir John Dering awaits her pleasure,” said
he, whereupon Betty curtsied, dimpled and withdrew, leaving him to
shoot his ruffles, adjust his laced jabot and glance into the mirror a
little anxiously, for now that the moment was at hand he was conscious
of a vague unease, a growing apprehension that plagued and puzzled him:
“How would she receive him?” Here was the question to which he found
no answer. Thus, for once unsure of himself, he shot ruffles, adjusted
cravat and glanced into the mirror all over again.
Then the door opened and she stood before him, a radiant vision,
magnificently gowned, a glorious creature deep-eyed, red-lipped, vivid
with youth and strength, a woman nobly shaped, assured and confident in
her beauty. Proudly she swept towards him, closing the door behind her
while he stared motionless and tongue-tied, overwhelmed by the majesty of
her.
“Madam!” he murmured at last. “Herminia!” and he bowed.
“Sir!” said she, and sank down in billowing, gracious curtsy; but, alas!
as she arose her voluminous draperies caught up a three-legged stool; in
freeing herself of this, her panniers swept a china ornament crashing to
the floor; in turning to scowl at the fragments, over went the little
table, and, startled by its fall, she caught high heel in embroidered
skirt and would have fallen but for Sir John’s ready aid.
“Faith, my lady,” he laughed, “we creatures of art be sadly out o’ place
among these homely things! Better my gentle Rose in her simple tire, thy
rustical John in his homespun——”
“Loose me!” she cried passionately, and he was amazed to see he clasped a
raging fury. “Let me go!” she repeated. Mutely he obeyed, and she fronted
him, pale with anger and mortified pride.
“Nay, Herminia,” he pleaded, “be it satin or merest rags, thou and
only thou art she I love!” And he would have taken her hands, but she
retreated with superb gesture and, catching the folds of her gown on the
arm of a chair, ripped it irretrievably. At this final catastrophe she
halted between laughter and tears, but, meeting his look, chose the third
alternative.
“Sir, you ... laugh at me, I think?”
“With thee, rather, my lady,” he answered; “for, O Herminia, an ordinary
cottage cramps and cannot hold us ’twould seem, nay, the whole wide world
were scarce great enough for such love as ours.”
“I pray you speak for yourself, Sir John.”
“Then hear me, Herminia, though verily my love transcends all speech and
thought, for ’tis of Infinity itself. With thee beside me life should
become more worthy for thy sake ... without thee ’twere an emptiness,
and death a lovely thing. Marry me, Herminia; see here upon my knees I
supplicate.”
For a long moment Herminia was speechless because of her heart’s
tumultuous beating, her cheeks aglow, her eyes very tender beneath their
drooping lashes; but from Sir John, thus kneeling in his new humility,
her glance wandered to the shattered china ornament, the overturned
chair, the jagged rent in her gown, and from her parted lips trilled
sudden laughter, and, or ever she might check it, Sir John was upon his
feet, viewing her beneath wrinkling brows, coldly curious.
“Ah, my Lady Barrasdaile,” said he softly, “in this sorry world are to
be found miserable wretches who, to vent their puny spite, will foully
desecrate the holiest of holies.... My love was a holy thing, and you,
for your foolish pride’s sake, would make a mock of it. Here, madam, I
read the grand culmination o’ your empty vengeance. Well, so be it. But
I tell you that ‘the Wicked Dering’ at his worst could never sink to
such depths as yours——” At this she turned and would have left him, but
his out-thrust arm stayed her. “One moment longer, madam!” he commanded.
“Your vengeance is complete, but ... my bitterest scorn goeth with you
now and——”
“Your scorn!” she cried in choking voice; and, seizing his arm that still
barred her escape, she wrenched and twisted it in furious hands until he
winced with the pain of it. “Your scorn!” she panted. “You whose hands
are red with blood!”
“God’s love, madam!” quoth he between pallid lips. “And was it you indeed
who with her own body would ha’ shielded me from an assassin’s stroke?”
“And is it you would remember a moment of hysteria?” she retorted
passionately.
Sir John recoiled.
“Hysteria?” he stammered. “Hysteria? And was it so, indeed? Nay—nay,
madam, what mean ye?”
“That the irresistible Sir John Dering hath met one woman at the least
who doth not succumb to his wiles and blandishments.”
“Unworthy!” he exclaimed. “Oh, base and most unworthy!”
But now, the door open at last, she fled from him and up the narrow
stair.... And after some while Sir John took hat and cloak and stumbled
forth into the golden afternoon, but for him it might have been blackest
midnight.
Her Grace of Connington, returning at last by way of the wicket gate,
stole into the little house, her bright eyes a little brighter even than
usual; but in the act of laying off her sun-bonnet, paused, arrested
by a sound from the chamber overhead, and, running up the stair with
surprising agility, discovered my Lady Herminia face down upon the floor
among the ruin of her crumpled finery.
“Why, Herminia ... dear child!” she cried. “O my love ... my precious
soul—what is it?”
“Aunt,” sobbed my lady without lifting her woeful head, “O aunt ... I’ve
trampled him ... triumphantly ... at last!”