“Robert’s brother--half-brother, I mean--the Duke, is a cripple, you
know, and he is _toqué_ on one point, too--their blue blood. He will
never marry, but he can cut Robert off with almost the bare title if he
displeases him.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Torquilstone’s mother was one of the housemaids, the old Duke married
her before he was twenty-one, and she fortunately joined her beery
ancestors a year or so afterwards, and then, much later, he married
Robert’s mother, Lady Ethelrida Fitz Walter--there is sixteen years
between them--Robert and Torquilstone, I mean.”
“Then what is he _toqué_ about blue blood for, with a _tache_ like
that?” I asked.
“That is just it. He thinks it is such a disgrace, that even if he were
not a humpback, he says he would never marry to transmit this stain to
the future Torquilstones--and if Robert ever marries anyone without a
pedigree enough to satisfy an Austrian prince, he will disown him, and
leave every _sou_ to charity.”
“Poor Lord Robert!” I said, but I felt my cheeks burn.
“Yes, is it not tiresome for him? So, of course, he cannot marry until
his brother’s death; there is almost no one in England suitable.”
“It is not so sad after all,” I said, “there is always the delicious
_rôle_ of the ‘married woman’s pet’ open to him, isn’t there?” and I
laughed.
“Little cat!” but she wasn’t angry.
“I told you I only scratched when I was scratched first,” I said, as I
went out of the room.
The angels had started for their walk, and Véronique had to come with
me at first to find them. We were walking fast down the path beyond
Stanhope Gate, seeing their blue velvet pelisses in the distance, when
we met Mr. Carruthers.
He stopped, and turned with me.
“Evangeline, I was so angry with you yesterday,” he said, “I very
nearly left London, and abandoned you to your fate, but now that I have
seen you again----” he paused.
“You think Paris is a long way off!” I said innocently.
“What have they been telling you?” he said, sternly, but he was not
quite comfortable.
“They have been saying it is a fine November, and the Stock Exchange
is no place to play in, and if it were not for bridge, they would all
commit suicide! That is what we talk of at Park Street.”
“You know very well what I mean. What have they been telling you about
me?”
“Nothing, except that there is a charming French lady, who adores you,
and whom you are devoted to--and I am so sympathetic--I like French
women, they put on their hats so nicely.”
“What ridiculous gossip--I don’t think Park Street is the place for you
to stay. I thought you had more mind than to chatter like this.”
“I suit myself to my company!” I laughed, and waited for Véronique,
who had stopped respectfully behind--she came up reluctantly. She
disapproves of all English unconventionality, but she feels it her duty
to encourage Mr. Carruthers.
Should she run on, and stop the young ladies? she suggested, pointing
to the angels in front.
“Yes, do,” said Mr. Carruthers, and before I could prevent her, she was
off.
Traitress! She was thinking of her own comfortable quarters at
Branches, I know!
The sharp, fresh air, got into my head. I felt gay, and without care.
I said heaps of things to Mr. Carruthers, just as I had once before to
Malcolm, only this was much more fun, because Mr. Carruthers isn’t a
red-haired Scotchman, and can see things.
It seemed a day of meetings, for when we got down to the end, we
encountered Lord Robert, walking leisurely in our direction. He looked
as black as night when he caught sight of us.
“Hello, Bob!” said Mr. Carruthers, cheerfully. “Ages since I saw
you--will you come and dine to-night? I have a box for this winter
opera that is on, and I am trying to persuade Miss Travers to come. She
says Lady Verningham is not engaged to-night, she knows, and we might
dine quietly, and all go, don’t you think so?”
Lord Robert said he would, but he added, “Miss Travers would never come
out before; she said she was in too deep mourning.” He seemed aggrieved.
“I am going to sit in the back of the box, and no one will see me,” I
said, “and I do love music so.”
“We had better let Lady Verningham know at once then,” said Mr.
Carruthers.
Lord Robert announced he was going there now, and would tell her.
I knew that! The blue tea-gown, with the pink roses, and the lace cap,
and the bad cold were not for nothing. (I wish I had not written this,
it is spiteful of me, and I am not spiteful as a rule. It must be the
east wind.)
_Thursday night, Nov. 24th._
“Now that you have embarked upon this,” Lady Ver said, when I ventured
into her sitting-room, hearing no voices, about six o’clock (Mr.
Carruthers had left me at the door, at the end of our walk, and I had
been with the angels at tea ever since), “Now that you have embarked
upon this opera, I say, you will have to dine at Willis’s with us. I
won’t be in when Charlie arrives from Paris. A windy day, like to-day,
his temper is sure to be impossible.”
“Very well,” I said.
Of what use after all for an adventuress like me to have sensitive
feelings.
“And I am leaving this house at a quarter to seven. I wish you to know,
Evangeline, pet!” she called after me, as I flew off to dress.
As a rule Lady Ver takes a good hour to make herself into the
attractive darling she is in the evening--she has not to do much,
because she is lovely by nature; but she potters, and squabbles with
Welby, to divert herself, I suppose.
However, to-night, with the terror upon her of a husband fresh from
a rough Channel passage, going to arrive at seven o’clock, she was
actually dressed and down in the hall when I got there, punctually at
6.45, and in the twinkle of an eye we were rolling in the electric to
Willis’s. I have only been there once before, and that to lunch in Mrs.
Carruthers’ days with some of the Ambassadors, and it does feel gay
going to a restaurant at night. I felt more excited than ever in my
life, and such a situation, too.
Lord Robert--_fruit défendu!_ and Mr. Carruthers _empressé_, and to be
kept in bounds!
More than enough to fill the hands of a maiden of sixteen, fresh from a
convent, as old Count Someroff used to say when he wanted to express a
really difficult piece of work.
They were waiting for us just inside the door, and again I noticed that
they were both lovely creatures, and both exceptionally distinguished
looking.
Lady Ver nodded to a lot of people before we took our seats in a nice
little corner. She must have an agreeable time with so many friends.
She said something which sounds so true in one of our talks, and I
thought of it then.
“It is wiser to marry the life you like, because, after a little, the
man doesn’t matter.” She has evidently done that--but I wish it could
be possible to have both--the Man and the Life!--Well! Well!
One has to sit rather close on those sofas, and as Lord Robert was not
the host, he was put by me. The other two at a right angle to us.
I felt exquisitely gay--in spite of having an almost high black dress
on, and not even any violets!
It was dreadfully difficult not to speak nicely to my neighbour, his
directness and simplicity are so engaging, but I did try hard to
concentrate myself on Christopher, and leave him alone--only I don’t
know why--the sense of his being so near me made me feel--I don’t
quite know what. However, I hardly spoke to him, Lady Ver shall never
say I did not play fair, though insensibly even she herself drew me
into a friendly conversation, and then Lord Robert looked like a happy
schoolboy.
We had a delightful time.
Mr. Carruthers is a perfect host. He has all the smooth and exquisite
manners of the old diplomats, without their false teeth and things. I
wish I were in love with him--or even I wish something inside me would
only let me feel it was my duty to marry him; but it jumps up at me
every time I want to talk to myself about it, and says “Absolutely
impossible.”
When it came to starting for the opera, “Mr. Carruthers will take you
in his brougham, Evangeline,” Lady Ver said, “and I will be protected
by Robert. Come along, Robert!” as he hesitated.
“Oh, I say, Lady Ver!” he said, “I would love to come with you--but
won’t it look rather odd for Miss Evangeline to arrive alone with
Christopher. Consider his character!”
Lady Ver darted a glance of flame at him, and got into the electric;
while Christopher, without hesitation, handed me into his brougham.
Lord Robert and I were two puppets, a part I do not like playing.
I was angry altogether. She would not have dared to have left me to
go like this, if I had been any one who mattered. Mr. Carruthers got
in, and tucked his sable rug round me. I never spoke a word for a long
time, and Covent Garden is not far off, I told myself. I I can’t say
why I had a sense of _malaise_.
There was a strange look in his face, as a great lamp threw alight on
it. “Evangeline,” he said, in a voice I have not yet heard, “when are
you going to finish playing with me--I am growing to love you, you
know.”
“I am very sorry to hear it,” I said, gently. “I don’t want you to--oh!
please _don’t_!” as he took my hand. “I--I--if you only knew how I
_hate_ being touched!”
He leant back, and looked at me. There is something which goes to the
head a little about being in a brougham with nice fur rugs, alone with
some one at night. The lights flashing in at the windows, and that
faint scent of a very good cigar. I felt fearfully excited. If it had
been Lord Robert, I believe--well----
He leant over very close to me. It seemed in another moment he would
kiss me--and what could I do then--I couldn’t scream, or jump out in
Leicester Square, could I?
“Why do you call me Evangeline?” I said, by way of putting him off. “I
never said you might.”
“Foolish child--I shall call you what I please. You drive me mad--I
don’t know what you were born for. Do you always have this effect on
people?”
“What effect?” I said, to gain time; we had got nearly into Long Acre.
“An effect that causes one to lose all discretion. I feel I would give
my soul to hold you in my arms.”
I told him I did not think it was at all nice or respectful of him to
talk so. That I found such love revolting.
“You tell me in your sane moments I am most unsuitable to you--you try
to keep away from me, and then, when you get close, you begin to talk
this stuff! I think it is an insult!” I said, angry and disdainful.
“When I arouse devotion and tenderness in some one, then I shall
listen, but to you and to this--never!”
“Go on!” he said. “Even in the dim light you look beautiful when cross.”
“I am not cross,” I answered. “Only absolutely disgusted.”
By that time, thank goodness, we had got into the stream of carriages
close to the Opera House. Mr. Carruthers, however, seemed hardly to
notice this.
“Darling,” he said, “I will try not to annoy you, but you are so
fearfully provoking. I tell you truly, no man would find it easy to
keep cool with you.”
“Oh! I don’t know what it is being cool or not cool!” I said, wearily.
“I am tired of every one, even as tiny a thing as Malcolm Montgomerie
gets odd like this!”
He leant back and laughed, and then said angrily, “Impertinence! I will
wring his neck!”
“Thank heaven we have arrived!” I exclaimed, as we drove under the
portico. I gave a great sigh of relief.
Really, men are very trying and tiresome, and if I shall always have to
put up with these scenes through having red hair, I almost wish it were
mouse coloured, like Cicely Parker’s. Mrs. Carruthers often said, “You
need not suppose, Evangeline, that you are going to have a quiet life
with your colouring--the only thing one can hope for is that you will
screw on your head.”
Lady Ver and Lord Robert were already in the hall waiting for us, but
the second I saw them I knew she had been saying something to Lord
Robert, his face so gay and _debonnaire_ all through dinner, now looked
set and stern, and he took not the slightest notice of me as we walked
to the box, the big one next the stage on the pit tier.
Lady Ver appeared triumphant; her eyes were shining with big blacks in
the middle, and such bright spots of pink in her cheeks, she looked
lovely; and I can’t think why, but I suddenly felt I hated her. It
was horrid of me, for she was so kind, and settled me in the corner
behind the curtain, where I could see and not be seen, rather far back,
while she and Lord Robert were quite in the front. It was “Carmen”--the
opera. I have never seen it before.
Music has such an effect--every note seems to touch some emotion in me.
I feel wicked, or good, or exalted, or--or---- Oh, some queer feeling
that I don’t know what it is--a kind of electric current down my back,
and as if, as if I would like to love some one, and have them to kiss
me. Oh! it sounds perfectly dreadful what I have written--but I can’t
help it--that is what some music does to me, and I said always I should
tell the truth here.
From the very beginning note to the end I was feeling--feeling. Oh,
how I understand her--Carmen!--_fruit défendu_ attracted her so--the
beautiful, wicked, fascinating snake. I also wanted to dance, and to
move like that, and I unconsciously quivered perhaps. I was cold as
ice, and fearfully excited. The back of Lord Robert’s beautifully set
head impeded my view at times. How exquisitely groomed he is, and one
could see at a glance _his_ mother had not been a housemaid. I never
have seen anything look so well bred as he does.
Lady Ver was talking to him in a cooing, low voice, after the first
act, and the second act, and indeed even when the third act had begun.
He seemed much more _empressé_ with her than he generally does. It--it
hurt me--that and the music and the dancing, and Mr. Carruthers
whispering passionate little words at intervals, even though I paid no
attention to them, but altogether I, too, felt a kind of madness.
Suddenly Lord Robert turned round, and for five seconds looked at me.
His lovely expressive blue eyes, swimming with wrath and reproach,
and--oh, how it hurt me!--contempt! Christopher was leaning over the
back of my chair, quite close, in a devoted attitude.
Lord Robert did not speak, but if a look could wither, I must have
turned into a dead oak leaf. It awoke some devil in me. What had _I_
done to be annihilated so! _I_ was playing perfectly fair--keeping my
word to Lady Ver, and oh! I felt as if it were breaking my heart.
But that look of Lord Robert’s! It drove me to distraction, and every
instinct to be wicked and attractive that I possess came up in me. I
leant over to Lady Ver, so that I must be close to him, and I said
little things to her, never one word to him, but I moved my seat,
making it certain the corner of his eye must catch sight of me, and
I allowed my shoulders to undulate the faintest bit to that Spanish
music. Oh, I can dance as Carmen too! Mrs. Carruthers had me taught
every time we went to Paris, she loved to see it herself.
I could hear Christopher breathing very quickly. “My God!” he
whispered. “A man would go to hell for you.”
Lord Robert got up abruptly and went out of the box.
Then it was as if Don Jose’s dagger plunged into my heart, not
Carmen’s. That sounds high flown, but I mean it--a sudden sick, cold
sensation, as if everything was numb. Lady Ver turned round pettishly
to Christopher. “What on earth is the matter with Robert?” she said.
“There is a Persian proverb which asserts a devil slips in between two
winds,” said Christopher; “perhaps that is what has happened in this
box to-night.”
Lady Ver laughed harshly, and I sat there still as death. And all the
time the music and the movement on the stage went on. I am glad she is
murdered in the end, glad----! Only I would like to have seen the blood
gush out. I am fierce--fierce--sometimes.
300, PARK STREET,
_Friday morning, Nov. 25th._
I KNOW just the meaning of dust and ashes--for that is what I felt I
had had for breakfast this morning, the day after “Carmen.”
Lady Ver had given orders she was not to be disturbed, so I did not
go near her, and crept down to the dining-room, quite forgetting the
master of the house had arrived. There he was--a strange, tall, lean
man with fair hair, and sad, cross, brown eyes, and a nose inclined to
pink at the tip--a look of indigestion about him, I feel sure. He was
sitting in front of a “Daily Telegraph” propped up on the tea-pot, and
some cold, untasted sole on his plate.