THE BALL AT HOUGHTON.
The night arrived at last in which Lady Carset was to do the honors of
her own castle, and receive the highest and brightest of the land in
person. A range of boudoirs and saloons, connected with the state
drawing-room, were thrown together, and united in one splendid vista by
silken draperies and hot-house plants, which formed noble wreaths and
arches over each entrance, filling room after room with brightness and
fragrance.
The conservatories had been stripped that night, that their treasures of
rare exotics might brighten the splendor of those rooms, and soften the
ancestral grandeur of the vast entrance hall. They wound in massive
wreaths around the carved balustrades of that broad oaken
staircase--were duplicated over and over again in the height and breadth
of those noble mirrors. They formed a blooming border around the oaken
floors, black with age and bright with polish, of the dancing-rooms. The
gilded orchestras were interlaced with them, and, in every group of
plants or clustering wreath, jets of gas twinkled out like stars,
casting tremulous shadows from the leaves, and lending a richer color to
the blossoms.
When the first carriage load of guests came sweeping across the stone
terrace, Lady Carset left her dressing-room, and, leaning on the arm of
Lord Hope, took her place in the central drawing-room, with gentle
dignity, and stood, with the gaslight quivering around her, touching up
the richness of her purple garments with golden ripples of light, and
striking out rainbows from the great Carset diamonds, which held, and
gathered up the woven moonlight of her lace shawl on those dainty,
sloping shoulders and delicate bust, which had not known such ornaments
for years. A ripple of these noble jewels ran through the soft waves of
her hair, and held the tuft of Marchant feathers and lappets of gossamer
lace back from her left temple, whence they floated off gently into the
snow of her hair, scarcely whiter than it was. A lovelier representative
of the grandest aristocracy on earth, or a more dainty lady of the olden
times, had never, since its foundation, done the honors of Houghton
Castle. But the sweet old lady was already forced to exert all her
strength, that nothing should fall short of the old hospitality on this
the last fete she ever expected to give.
Lady Clara had followed her, half dancing, half floating down that broad
staircase, jerking blossoms from the plants as she went, and forming
them into a tiny bouquet for her grandmother. Her dress was just one
cloud of silvery whiteness. A little cluster of moss rose buds on the
left shoulder, and another in her belt, were all the ornaments she wore.
She had insisted, with almost passionate vehemence, that no mention of
her heirship should be made that night, and the old lady consented with
reluctance, but appeased her own impatience by a grand festival to all
her tenants and retainers in the park, where nothing had been omitted
which, in feudal times, was considered proper when the heirship of
Houghton was proclaimed. Still, in words, the old lady had kept
honorable silence, and no one, even from the grandeur of the
entertainment, had a right to more than guess that the general heirship
was settled on Lord Hope's daughter.
In fact, this entertainment was ostensibly given to Lord and Lady Hope,
and the old countess had taken up the sparkling weight of all those
Carset jewels, that all the world might know that they had come back
honorably into her own possession. It was a splendid and most delicate
way of acknowledging herself in the wrong.
Before the guests had commenced to arrive in any numbers, Lady Hope came
floating into the state drawing-room, with a noble cactus flower
sweeping backwards from the left side of her head, and resting upon the
massive braids of her hair, which curved upwards like a helmet, from her
neck almost to the forehead. Chains of large rubies encircled her neck
and arms, harmonizing with the cactus blossom, but forming a bold
contrast to the amber silk of her dress, which swept far back upon the
polished floor, and took the light as birds of Paradise fling off
sunshine from their plumage. A beautiful and right queenly personage was
Rachael Closs that night, as she moved across the floor and took her
place by the little countess, who looked up and smiled gently when she
saw that Lord Hope's wife appeared in the old family rubies, which she
had presented to her that morning.
One bright glance at Clara, another of sparkling triumph at Lord Hope,
and Rachael gave herself up to the brilliant duties that lay before her.
This night was to be the crowning success of her life.
The guests swept through the great entrance, and into the drawing-room
now, in crowds and groups. Music sounded from half a dozen gilded
orchestras, and the oaken floors of that old castle began to tremble
under the feet of many dancers, as they kept time to the music, and sent
out a soft undertone of conversation.
Lord Hope opened the ball with the elite of the elite. Lord Hilton led
Lady Clara into the same set, at which the old countess nodded her head
and smiled. She observed that the young nobleman bent his head, and
looking in the bright face of her grandchild, was talking earnestly to
her, at which the dear old lady smiled again, and put up her fan, that
no one might observe how pleased she was.
This was what Hilton was saying:
"And she would not come down, fearing to meet me? This is hard, Lady
Clara!"
"No," answered the girl, reaching out her hand for a ladies' chain, and
breaking from it in haste. "It is not altogether that; she says that it
is impossible to be of us--that her birth forbids it, and any attempt at
equality could only end in humiliation. I cannot persuade her out of
this idea: entreat as I would, she refused utterly to come down. Then I
got grandmamma to urge it, and she did it beautifully, but it was no
use; and there the poor darling sits all alone, hearing the music and
our voices, as prisoners in their cells listen to bird songs through
windows in the walls. It is cruel! Why can't people be born all alike,
and go up and down according to their own merits, I wonder?"
"That is an American idea. You must have picked it up there in your
infancy, Lady Clara."
"I should not wonder. Some day I mean to go back there and see what
social equality is like."
"Oh, you will find no place on earth where your title will be of so much
value, Lady Clara," said Hilton, laughing.
"Well, that is because the Americans respect history, and associate us
with the great deeds of mutual ancestors. It is the romance of tradition
that interests them; for they are great readers, these Americans, and
know more of us, as a people, than we do of ourselves. We represent the
warriors and the statesmen which they have clothed in the poetry of
great deeds. If the nobility of this day disappoints them it is our own
fault. When they learn that our greatness consists only in titles, we
shall have little homage merely for them."
"What a strange little creature you are!"
"Yes, rather. It is our turn now."
After a little there was another long pause in the dance. Then Hilton
went back to the subject nearest to his heart.
"You could not possibly persuade her to come down--not here, but into
some of the less public rooms?" he said.
"Impossible. She would not think of it."
"Cruel!"
"Yes, I think so; but then, I would do exactly the same thing."
"What makes you start so, Clara?"
"Don't you see? There is Mr. Closs going up to grandmamma, and papa
standing close by her. Why, Lord Hope is speaking to him! How good! how
kind! They are both smiling; now, now, do look on mamma Rachael's
face--she sees them, and happiness makes her splendid! He is coming this
way. Understand now, I shall dance with him just as often as I can, and
you are to help me if I get into any trouble. Thank Heaven, this set is
over!"
"You are complimentary," laughed Lord Hilton.
"So I am; but you don't mind it. Here he is. Let me introduce you before
he takes me off. Lord Hilton, Mr. Closs."
The next moment Clara was whirling through the room, with Hepworth
Closs' arm around her waist, and her hand on his shoulder. She kept her
word, and spent half her evening with him, managing to escape
observation as much as possible, and thus secured a few hours of supreme
happiness.
Lord Hope had received his brother-in-law with gentlemanly ease. How
could he help it, not being master at Houghton?
Besides, he was disposed to cast off all responsibility with regard to
his daughter's choice of a husband, and leave everything to the judgment
and pride of the old countess, who happened to like Closs, and was not
aware how much of that evening he spent with her grandchild.
Rachael was in ecstasies. She loved her brother dearly, and his apparent
reconciliation with her husband lifted the last cloud from her heart. It
seemed to her that night as if she had nothing to wish for.
The old countess stood to her post bravely, until after the supper-rooms
had been thrown open and the gay crowds had passed in and out again; but
when the dancing had recommenced and the conversation around her grew
brilliant and a little confusing, she turned suddenly pale, and would
have fallen, but that Lady Clara, who stood near, sprang forward and
threw both arms around her.
"She is better; she can walk now. I will go with her," cried the excited
young creature. "Papa, you shall help her up-stairs, then I will take
care of her," she added, seeing how helpless the old lady was.
Lord Hope almost carried the old lady up-stairs. Then Clara called aloud
for Caroline Brown, who came out from her chamber, and, between them,
they led the old countess into the tower-room.