“Evangeline,” she said, “promise me you won’t be a fool----”
“I--won’t be a fool,” I said.
Then she kissed me, and was off, and a few moments after I also started
for Claridge’s.
I have a very nice little suite right up at the top, and if only it
were respectable for me, and I could afford it, I could live here very
comfortably by myself for a long time.
At a quarter to two I was ringing the bell at 200, Carlton House
Terrace, Lady Merrenden’s House--with a strange feeling of excitement
and interest. Of course it must have been because once she had been
engaged to papa. In the second thoughts take to flash I remembered Lord
Robert’s words when I talked of coming to London alone at Branches; how
he would bring me here, and how she would be kind to me until I could
“hunt round.”
Oh! it came to me with a sudden stab. He was leaning over Lady Ver in
the northern train by now.
Such a stately beautiful hall it is--when the doors open--with a fine
staircase going each way, and full of splendid pictures, and the whole
atmosphere pervaded with an air of refinement and calm.
The footmen are tall, and not too young, and even at this time of the
year have powdered hair.
Lady Merrenden was upstairs in the small drawing-room, and she rose to
meet me, a book in her hand, when I was announced.
Her manners are so beautiful in her own home; gracious, and not the
least patronizing.
“I am so glad to see you,” she said. “I hope you won’t be bored, but I
have not asked any one to meet you--only my nephew, Torquilstone, is
coming--he is a great sufferer, poor fellow, and numbers of faces worry
him, at times.”
I said I was delighted to see her alone. No look more kind could be
expressed in a human countenance than is expressed in hers. She has
the same exceptional appearance of breeding that Lord Robert has, tiny
ears, and wrists, and head--even dressed as a charwoman, Lady Merrenden
would look like a great lady.
Very soon we were talking without the least restraint; she did not
speak of people, or of very deep things, but it gave one the impression
of an elevated mind, and a knowledge of books, and wide thoughts. Oh! I
could love her so easily.
We had been talking for nearly a quarter of an hour--she had
incidentally asked me where I was staying now, and had not seemed
surprised or shocked when I said Claridge’s, and by myself.
All she said was: “What a lonely little girl! but I daresay it is very
restful sometimes to be by oneself, only you must let your friends come
and see you, won’t you.”
“I don’t think I have any friends,” I said. “You see I have been out so
little--but if you would come and see me--oh! I should be so grateful.”
“Then you must count me as one of your rare friends!” she said.
Nothing could be so rare, or so sweet, as her smile. Fancy papa
throwing over this angel for Mrs. Carruthers!! Men are certainly
unaccountable creatures.
I said I would be too honoured to have her for a friend--and she took
my hand.
“You bring back the long ago,” she said. “My name is Evangeline, too.
Sophia Evangeline--and I sometimes think you may have been called so
in remembrance of me.”
What a strange, powerful factor Love must be! Here these two women,
Mrs. Carruthers and Lady Merrenden--the very opposites of each
other--had evidently both adored papa, and both, according to their
natures, had taken an interest in me, in consequence, the child of
a third woman, who had superseded them both! Papa must have been
extraordinarily fascinating for, to the day of her death, Mrs.
Carruthers had his miniature on her table, with a fresh rose beside
it--his memory the only soft spot, it seemed, in her hard heart.
And this sweet lady’s eyes melted in tenderness when she spoke of the
long ago--although she does not know me well enough yet to say anything
further. To me papa’s picture is nothing so very wonderful, just a
good-looking young guardsman, with eyes shaped like mine, only gray,
and light curly hair. He must have had “a way with him” as the servants
say.
At that moment the Duke of Torquilstone came in. Oh, such a sad sight!
A poor hump-backed man, with a strong face and head, and a soured,
suspicious, cynical expression. He would evidently have been very tall,
but for his deformity, a hump stands out on his back, almost like Mr.
Punch. He can’t be much over forty, but he looks far older, his hair is
quite gray.
Not a line, or an expression in him reminded me of Lord Robert, I am
glad to say.
Lady Merrenden introduced us, and Lord Merrenden came in then, too, and
we all went down to luncheon.
It was a rather small table, so we were all near one another, and could
talk.
The dining-room is immense.
“I always have this little table when we are such a small party,” Lady
Merrenden said. “It is more cosy, and one does not feel so isolated.”
How I agreed with her.
The Duke looked at me searchingly often, with his shrewd little eyes.
One could not say if it was with approval, or disapproval.
Lord Merrenden talked about politics, and the questions of the day, he
has a courteous manner, and all their voices are soft and refined. And
nothing could have been more smooth and silent than the service.
The luncheon was very simple, and very good, but not half the numbers
of rich dishes like at Branches, or Lady Ver’s.
There was only one bowl of violets on the table, but the bowl was
gold, and a beautiful shape, and the violets nearly as big as pansies.
My eyes wandered to the pictures--Gainsborough’s, and Reynolds’, and
Romney’s--of stately men and women.
“You met my other nephew, Lord Robert, did you not?” Lady Merrenden
said, presently. “He told me he had gone to Branches, where I believe
you lived.”
“Yes,” I said, and oh! it is too humiliating to write, I felt my cheeks
get crimson at the mention of Lord Robert’s name. What could she have
thought? Can anything be so young ladylike and ridiculous.
“He came to the Opera with us the night before last,” I continued. “Mr.
Carruthers had a box, and Lady Verningham and I went with them.” Then
recollecting how odd this must sound in my deep mourning, I added, “I
am so fond of music.”
“So is Robert,” she said. “I am sure he must have been pleased to meet
a kindred spirit there.”
Sweet, charming, kind lady! If she only knew what emotions were really
agitating us in that box that night--I fear the actual love of music
was the least of them!
The Duke, during this conversation, and from the beginning mention
of Lord Robert’s name, never took his eyes off my face--it was
very disconcerting; his look was clearer now, and it was certainly
disapproving.
We had coffee upstairs, out of such exquisite Dresden cups, and then
Lord Merrenden showed me some miniatures. Finally it happened that the
Duke and I were left alone for a minute looking out of a window on to
the Mall.
His eyes pierced me through and through--well at all events my nose and
my ears and my wrists are as fine as Lady Merrenden’s--poor mamma’s
odd mother does not show in me on the outside--thank goodness. He did
not say much, only commonplaces about the view. I felt afraid of him,
and rather depressed. I am sure he dislikes me.
“May I not drive you somewhere?” my kind hostess asked. “Or, if you
have nowhere in particular to go, will you come with me?”
I said I should be delighted. An ache of loneliness was creeping over
me. I wanted to put off as long as possible getting back to the hotel.
I wanted to distract my thoughts from dwelling upon to-morrow, and what
I was going to say to Christopher. To-morrow that seems the end of the
world.
She has beautiful horses, Lady Merrenden, and the whole turn-out,
except she herself, is as smart as can be. She really looks a little
frumpish out of doors, and perhaps that is why papa went on to Mrs.
Carruthers. Goodness and dearness like this do not suit male creatures
as well as caprice, it seems.
She was so good to me, and talked in the nicest way. I quite forgot I
was a homeless wanderer, and arrived at Claridge’s about half past
four in almost good spirits.
“You won’t forget I am to be one of your friends,” Lady Merrenden said,
as I bid her good-bye.
“Indeed I won’t,” I replied, and she drove off, smiling at me.