I RENEW AN ACQUAINTANCESHIP.
The next morning, and while I was still in bed drinking a cup of
chocolate, came Elmscott's servant to me, and under his guidance I set
forth to purchase such apparel as would enable me to cut a more
passable figure in the eyes of Countess Lukstein. Seldom, I think, had
the shopkeepers a customer so nice and difficult to please. Here the
wares were too plain and insignificant; there too gaudy and
pretentious, for while I was resolved to go no longer dressed like a
Quaker, I was in no way minded to ape the extravagance of my lord
Culverton. At last I determined upon a dozen suits, rich but of a
sober colour, and being measured for them, went from the tailor's to
the hosier's, shoemaker's, lace-merchant's, and I know not what other
tradesmen. Muslin jabots, Holland shirts, ruffles of Mechlin and point
de Venise, silk stockings, shoes with high red heels, which I needed
particularly, for I was of no great stature, laced gloves--I bought
enough, in truth, to make fine gentlemen of a company of soldiers.
Needless to say, when once my purchases were delivered at my lodging,
I let no long time slip by before I repeated my visit to the house in
Pall Mall. The Countess welcomed me with the same kindliness, so that
I returned again and again. She distinguished me besides by displaying
an especial interest not merely in my present comings and goings, but
in the past history of my uneventful days. Surely there is no flattery
in the world so potent and bewitching as the questions which a woman
puts to a man concerning those years of his life which were spent
before their paths had crossed. And if the history be dull as mine
was, a trivial, homely record of common acts and thoughts, why, then
the flattery is doubled. I know that it intoxicated me like a heady
wine, and I almost dared to hope that she grudged the time during
which we had been strangers.
Her bearing, indeed, towards me struck me as little short of
wonderful, for I observed that she evinced to the rest of her
courtiers and friends a certain pride and stateliness which, while it
sat gracefully upon her, tempered her courtesy with an unmistakable
reserve.
The summer was now at its height, and the Countess--or Ilga, as I had
come to style her in my thoughts--would be ever planning some new
excursion. One day it would be a water-party to view the orangery and
myrtelum of Sir Henry Capel at Kew; on another we would visit the new
camp at Hounslow, which in truth, with its mountebanks and booths,
resembled more nearly a country fair than a garrison of armed men; or
again on a third we would attend a coursing match in the fields behind
Montague House. In short, seldom a day passed but I saw her and had
talk with her; and if it was but for five minutes, well, the remaining
hours went by to the lilt of her voice like songs to the sweet
accompaniment of a viol.
One afternoon Elmscott walked down to my lodging, and carried me with
him to see a famous comedy by Mr. Farquhar which was that day repeated
by the Duke's players. The second act was begun by the time we got to
the theatre, and the house, in spite of the heat, very crowded. For
awhile I watched with some interest the packed company in the pit, the
orange-girls hawking their baskets amongst them, the masked women in
the upper boxes and the crowd of bloods upon the stage, who were
continually shifting their positions, bowing to ladies in the
side-boxes, ogling the actresses, and airing their persons and dress
to the great detriment of the spectacle. Amongst these latter
gentlemen I observed Lord Culverton combing the curls of his periwig
with a little ivory comb so that a white cloud of powder hung about
his head, and I was wondering how long his neighbours would put up
with his impertinence when Elmscott, who was standing beside me, gave
a start.
"So he has come back," said he. I followed the direction of his gaze,
and looked across the theatre. The Countess Lukstein and Mademoiselle
Durette had just entered one of the lower boxes; behind them in the
shadow was the figure of a man.
"Who is it?" I asked.
"An acquaintance of yours."
The man came forward as Elmscott spoke to the front of the box, and
seated himself by the side of Ilga. He was young, with a white face
and very deep-set eyes, and though his appearance was in some measure
familiar to me, I could neither remember his name nor the occasion of
our meeting.
"You have forgotten that night at the H. P.?" asked Elmscott.
In a flash I recollected.
"It is Marston," I said, and then after a pause: "And he knows the
Countess!"
"As well as you do; maybe better."
"Then how comes it I have never seen him with her before?"
"He left London conveniently before you came hither. We all thought
that he had received his dismissal. It rather looks as if we were out
of our reckoning, eh?"
Marston and the Countess were engaged in some absorbing talk with
their heads very close together, and a sharp pang of jealousy shot
through me.
"'Tis strange that she has never mentioned his name," I stammered.
"Not so strange now that Hugh Marston has returned. Had he been no
more than the discarded suitor we imagined him, then yes--you might
expect her to boast to you of his devotion. 'Tis a way women have. But
it seems rather that you are rivals."
Rivals! The word was like a white light flashed upon my memories. I
recalled Marston's half-forgotten prophecy. Was this the contest, I
wondered, which he had foretold in the chill dawn at the tavern? Were
we to come to grips with Ilga for the victor's prize? On the heels of
the thought a swift fear slipped through my veins like ice. He had
foretold more than the struggle; he had forecast its outcome and
result.
It was, I think, at this moment that I first understood all that the
Countess Lukstein meant to me. I leaned forward over the edge of the
box, and set my eyes upon her face. I noted little of its young
beauty, little of its wonderful purity of outline; but I seemed to see
more clearly than ever before the woman that lurked behind it, and I
felt a new strength, a new courage, a new life, flow out from her to
me, and lift my heart. My very sinews braced and tightened about my
limbs. If Marston and I were to fight for Ilga, it should be hand to
hand, and foot to foot, in the deadliest determination.
Meanwhile she still spoke earnestly with her companion. Of a sudden,
however, she raised her eyes from him, and glanced across towards us.
I was still leaning forward, a conspicuous mark, and I saw her face
change. She gave an abrupt start of surprise; there appeared to me
something of uneasiness in the movement She looked apprehensively at
Marston, and back again at me; then she turned away from him, and sat
with downcast head plucking with nervous fingers at the fan which lay
on the ledge before her, and shooting furtive glances in our
direction.
Elmscott, for some reason, began to chuckle.
"Let us make our compliments to the Countess!" he said.
We walked round the circle of the theatre. At the door of the box I
stopped him.
"Marston heard nothing from you of my journey to Sir Julian Harnwood?"
I asked.
"Not a word! He knows you were travelling to Bristol; so much you said
yourself. But for my part, I have never breathed a word of the matter
to a living soul." And we went in. The Countess held out her hand to
me with a conscious timidity.
"You are not angered?" she said, in a low voice.
The mere thought that she should take such heed of what I might feel,
made my pulses leap with joy. She seemed to recognise, as I should
never have dared to do myself, that I had a right to be jealous, and
her words almost granted me a claim upon her conduct. For answer I
bent over her hand and kissed it, and behind me again I heard Elmscott
chuckling.
Hugh Marston had risen from his chair as we entered, and stood looking
at me curiously.
"You have not met Mr. Marston," she said. "I must make my two best
friends acquainted."
I would that she had omitted that word "best," the more especially
since she laid some emphasis upon it. It undid some portion of her
previous work, and set us both upon a level in her estimation.
"We have met before," said Marston, and he bowed coldly.
"Indeed? I had not heard of that."
Marston recounted to her the story of the gambling-match, but she
listened with no apparent attention, fixing her eyes upon the stage.
"I fancied, Mr. Buckler, you had no taste for cards or dice," she said
carelessly, when he had done.
"Mr. Buckler in truth only stayed there on compulsion," replied
Marston. "He came from Leyden in a great fluster without any money in
his pockets, and so must needs wait upon his cousin's pleasure before
he could borrow a horse to help him on his way."
I threw a glance of appeal towards Elmscott, and he broke in quickly:
"'Twas Lord Culverton lent him the horse, after all."
But the next moment the Countess herself, to my great relief, brought
the conversation to an end.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" she said abruptly, with a show of impatience.
"I fear me I am as yet so far out of the fashion as to feel some
slight interest in the unravelling of the play, and I find it
difficult to catch what the players say."
After that there was no more to be said, and we sat watching the stage
with what amusement we might, or conversing in the discreetest of
whispers. For my part I remembered that Ilga had shown no great
interest in the comedy while she was alone with Marston, and I began
to wonder whether our intrusion had angered her. It was impossible for
me to see her face, since she held up a hand on the side next to me
and so screened her cheek.
Suddenly, however, she cried:
"Oh, there's Lord Culverton!" and she bowed to him with marked
affability.
Now Culverton had ranged himself in full view with an eye ever turned
upon our box, so that it seemed somewhat strange she had not observed
him till now. He swept the boards with his hat, and looking about the
theatre, his face one gratified smirk, as who should say, "'Tis an
every-day affair with me," immediately left his station, and
disappearing behind the scenery, made his way into the box. The
Countess received him graciously, and kept him behind her chair,
asking many questions concerning the players, and laughing heartily at
the pleasantries and innuendos with which he described them. It seemed
to me, however, that there was more scandal than wit in his anecdotes,
and, marvelling that she should take delight in them, I turned away
and let my eyes wander idly about the boxes.
When I glanced again at my companions I perceived that though
Culverton was still chattering in Countess Lukstein's ear, her gaze
was bent upon me with the same scrutiny which I had noticed on the
evening that we sat together in her balcony. It was as though she was
taking curious stock of my person and weighing me in some balance of
her thoughts. I fancied that she was contrasting me with Marston, and
gained some confirmation of the fancy in that she coloured slightly,
and said hastily, with a nod at the stage:
"What think you of the sentiment, Mr. Buckler?"
"Madame," I replied, "for once I am in the fashion, for I gave no heed
to it."
I had been, in truth, thinking of her lucky intervention in Marston's
narrative, for by her impatience she had prevented him from telling
either the date of the gambling-match or the name of the town which I
was in such great hurry to reach. Not that I had any solid reason to
fear she would discover me on that account, for many a man might have
ridden from London to Bristol at the time of the assizes and had
naught to do with Sir Julian Harnwood. But I had so begun to dread the
possibility of her aversion and hatred, that my imagination found a
motive to suspicion lurking in the simplest of remarks.
"'Twas that a man would venture more for his friend than for his
mistress," she explained. "What think you of it?"
"Why, that the worthy author has never been in love."
"You believe that?" she laughed.
"'Twixt friend and friend a man's first thought is of himself. Shame
on us that it should be so; but, alas! my own experience has proved
it. It needs, I fear me, a woman's fingers to tune him to the true
note of sacrifice."
"And has your own experience proved that too?" she asked with some
hesitation, looking down on the ground, and twisting a foot to and fro
upon its heel.
"Not so," I answered in a meaning whisper. "I wait for the woman's
fingers and the occasion of the sacrifice."
She shot a shy glance sideways at me, and, as though by accident, her
hand fell lightly upon mine. I believed, indeed, that 'twas no more
than an accident until she said quietly: "The occasion may come, too."
She rose from her chair.
"The play begins to weary me," she continued aloud. "Besides, Mr.
Buckler convinces me the playwright has never been in love, and 'tis
an unpardonable fault in an author."
Marston and myself started forward to escort her to her carriage. The
Countess looked from one to the other of us as though in doubt, and we
stood glaring across her. Elmscott commenced to chuckle again in a way
that was indescribably irritating and silly.
"If Lord Culverton will honour me," suggested the Countess.
The little man was overwhelmed with the favour accorded to him, and
with a peacock air of triumph led her from the box.
"Tis a monkey, a damned monkey!" said Marston, looking after him.
The phrase seemed to me a very accurate description of the fop, and I
assented to it with great cordiality. For a little Marston sat
sullenly watching the play, and then picking up his hat and cloak,
departed without a word. His precipitate retreat only made my cousin
laugh the more heartily; but I chose to make no remark upon this
merriment, believing that Elmscott indulged it chiefly to provoke me
to question him. I knew full well the sort of gibe that was burning on
his tongue, and presently imitating Marston's example, I left him to
amuse himself.
In the portico of the theatre Marston was waiting. A thick fog had
fallen with the evening, and snatching a torch from one of the
link-boys who stood gathered within the light of the entrance, he
beckoned to me to follow him, and stepped quickly across the square
into a deserted alley. There he waited for me to come up with him,
holding the torch above his head so that the brown glare of the flame
was reflected in his eyes.
"So," he said, "luck sets us on opposite sides of the table again, Mr.
Buckler. But the game has not begun. You have still time to draw
back."
For the moment his words and vehement manner fairly staggered me. I
had not expected from him so frank an avowal of rivalry.
"The stakes are high," he went on, pressing his advantage, "and call
for a player of more experience than you."
"None the less," said I, meeting his gaze squarely, "I play my hand."
Instantly his manner changed. He looked at me silently for a second,
and then with a calmness which intimidated me far more than his
passion:
"Are you wise? Are you wise?" he asked slowly. "Think! What will the
loser keep?"
"What will the winner gain?"
We stood measuring each other for the space of a minute in the flare
of the torch. Then he dropped it on the ground, and stamped out the
sparks with his heel. 'Twas too dark for me to see his face, but I
heard his voice at my elbow very smooth and soft, and I knew that he
was stooping by my side.
"You will find this the very worst day's work," he said, "to which
ever you set your hand;" and I heard his footsteps ring hollow down
the street. He had certainly won the first trick in the game, for he
left me to pay the link-boy.