SOUVENT FEMME VARIE.
No; Laurence Alsager was certainly not best pleased at all he heard
about Mrs. Hammond. Mrs. Hammond, a pretty little woman, coming to
call upon you--great Heaven! Is that the way that that oaf Mitford
talked of her who two years ago was Laura Molyneux, the mere mention
of whose name caused Alsager to thrill to his finger-tips; and whose
low _trainante_ voice, long steady passionate glances, and rippling
shoulders could have led him to destruction? Drove her chestnuts well,
eh? Yes, by Jove! there were few women could touch her either in
riding or driving, and--Laurence laughed grimly to himself as he
strode along. What was it Dollamore had said about Mitford's readiness
to go to the bad, to shake a loose leg, to enjoy those advantages of
health, wealth, and position which had before been denied to him? Why,
here was the very woman to ensnare him, to act as his evil genius, the
very counter-charm of Lady Mitford's quietude and girlish grace; a
woman of the world, bright, sharp, active, and alert; with plenty of
_savoir fair_, an enormous talent for flirtation, and not the smallest
scrap of heart to throw into the balance against any of her whims. No,
by George, not a scrap. Laurence bethought him of a certain December
morning in Kensington Gardens, and the whole scene rose vividly before
him. The trees all stripped and bare, and stridently clanging in the
bitter wind; the thick dun clouds hanging over the horizon; the
greatcoated park-keeper stamping vigorously over the gravel, and
banging himself with his arms with vague notions of generating
calorie; and he himself pacing up and down by Laura Molyneux's side.
The arguments he had used, the very phrases which he had employed to
induce her to reconsider the determination then announced to him, were
ringing in his ears. He recollected how he had humbled himself, how he
had implored her to reconsider her decision, how even he had begged
for time, and how he had been met with one stern pitiless refusal; and
how he had gone away to weep bitter tears of mortified pride, and
rejected love, and savage disappointment; and how she had stepped into
the neat little brougham waiting for her at the gate, and been whirled
off to accept the hand and heart of Mr. Percy Hammond, a retired
civil-servant from India, a widower with one daughter, who had shaken
the pagoda-tree to some purpose and returned to England with a
colossal fortune.
That was the then finale of the intimacy between Laura Molyneux and
Laurence Alsager. In the course of the next week he started on his
tour; in the course of the next month St. George's, Hanover Square,
was the scene of her marriage,--a bishop welding the chains. And now
two years had elapsed, and he was back in London, pretty much the same
as if he had never left it; and she was asking whether he had
returned, and he had begun to feel a great interest in Lady Mitford;
and Sir Charles Mitford evidently thought Mrs. Hammond a most
delightful person, and every thing was _à tort et à travers_, as it
has been, is, and always shall be, in the great world of London.
_Nil admirari_ is the motto on which your precocious youth piques
himself; but which is adopted in all due seriousness and sobriety by
the calm student of life. Who wonders at anything?--at the peevishness
of your wife; at the ingratitude of the child for whom you have
pinched and slaved; at the treachery of the one familiar friend; at
the enormous legacy left you by the uncle whose last words to you were
that you were a jackanapes, and, so far as he was concerned, should be
a beggar? The man of the world is surprised at nothing; he is not
_l'homme blasé_ of the caricaturist; he is not an atom astonished at
finding nothing in anything; on the contrary, he finds plenty of
novelty in every variety of life; but nothing which may happen to him
excites the smallest wonderment on his part. So that when Colonel
Alsager walked into the Guards club to dinner, and received from the
hall-porter a small note with an address in a handwriting perfectly
familiar to him, he was not in the least surprised.
But he looked at the note, and twisted it between his fingers, and
even put it into his waistcoat pocket, as he walked up to the table
whereon stood the framed _menu_, and left it there while he walked
round and spoke to two or three men who were already at dinner; and it
was not until he was comfortably seated at his little table, and had
eaten a few mouthfuls of soup, that he took it from his pocket,
leisurely opened it, and bringing the candle within range, began to
read it. Even then he paused for a moment, recollecting with what
heart-throbs of anxiety and sensations of acute delight he used to
read the previous epistles from the same source; then, as with an
effort, he set himself to its perusal.
It was very short.
"I shall be at home to-morrow at three, and hope to see you. I hear
all sorts of rumours, which you alone can solve. _Chi non sa niente
non dubita di niente!_ It will be for you to read the riddle. L."
He smiled outright as, after reading it and restoring it to his
pocket, he said to himself, "The old story; she always made a mystery
when there was no other excitement; but I'll go, for all that."
During his wildest times, Laurence had always been a punctual man; and
even the irregular manner of his life during the two last years had
not altered him in this respect. On the next afternoon, as the clock
was striking three, he presented himself at Mrs. Hammond's door, and
was immediately admitted and shown into her presence.
He was apparently a little too punctual; for a tall young woman,
looking half lady, half nursery-governess, was standing by her and
listening respectfully. Mrs. Hammond rose at the announcement of the
Colonel's name, and coming forward, pressed his cold motionless hand
with a tight grasp.
"Pray excuse me for one instant, Colonel Alsager," said she; "the
doctors have said that we were all wrong in leaving Florence; that
it's impossible Mr. Hammond can remain in London during this awful
weather, and that he must go at once to Torquay. So I'm sending Miss
Gillespie down there to get a house for us, and arrange matters before
we go down.--Now, Ruth," turning to her, "I don't think there's any
more to say. Not facing the sea, recollect, and a six-stall stable and
double coach-house. You know all about the rest,--bed-rooms, and those
sort of things,--and so goodbye."
Miss Gillespie touched lightly the outstretched tips of Mrs. Hammond's
fingers, bowed gracefully to Laurence, and departed.
Mrs. Hammond watched the door close again, and obviously ill at ease,
turned to Laurence, and said: "Miss Gillespie is the most invaluable
person. She came at first as governess to Miss Hammond; but she has
really made herself so useful to me, that I don't know what I should
do without her. Housekeepers and all regular servants are so stupid;
and I hate trouble so."
She stopped, and there was a dead silence. Mrs. Hammond coloured, and
said: "Have you nothing to say, Colonel Alsager?"
"On the subject of Miss Gillespie, nothing. If you sent for me to
expatiate to me on Miss Gillespie's virtues, I am sorry; for my time
could have been better employed."
"Than in coming to see me? You did not think so once."
"Then we didn't talk about Miss Gillespie. Your note said that you had
heard rumours, or riddles, which you wanted me to explain. What have
you heard?"
"In a word, nothing. I wrote the first thing that came into my mind
because I wanted to see you, Laurence Alsager. Because I have hungered
to see you for two years; to hear your voice, to--You were at Vienna?
at Ischl? and at Trieste?"
"I was at all three--some little time at each."
"You saw the _Times_ occasionally on your travels?"
"While I remained in Europe, frequently. O yes, Laura, I received all
your letters at the places you mention; and I saw the advertisement in
the _Times_, under the signature and with the ciphers by which we used
to correspond in the old days."
"And why did you take no notice?"
"Because my love for you was gone and dead; because I was tired of
being dragged about and shown-off, and made to display the abject
state of docility to which you had reduced me. I told you all this
that January morning in Kensington Gardens; I said to you, 'Let us
finish this scheming and hiding; let our engagement be announced, and
let us be married in the spring.' And you apparently assented; and
went home and wrote me that letter which I have now, and shall keep to
my dying day, declaring that you had been compelled to accept an offer
from Mr. Hammond."
"You knew, Laurence, that my mother insisted on it."
"I knew you said so, Mrs. Hammond.--When I was acquainted with Mrs.
Molyneux she was not much accustomed to having any influence with her
daughter. Then I went away; but at first not out of the reach of that
London jargon which permeates wherever Englishmen congregate. I heard
of your marriage, of your first season, of the Richmond _fête_ given
for you by the Russian Prince, Tchernigow. I heard of you that autumn
as being the reigning belle of Baden, where Tchernigow must have been
at the same time, as I recollect reading in _Galignani_ of his
breaking the bank. Before I went to the East I heard of you in a
score of other places; your name always connected with somebody else's
name--always '_la belle Hammond, et puis_--' I never choose to be one
in a regiment; besides--"
"Besides what?"
"Well, my time for that sort of thing was past and gone; I was too old
for it; I had gone through the phase of existence which Tchernigow and
the others were then enjoying. I had offered you a steadfast honest
love, and you had rejected it. When I heard of the Tchernigow
alliance, and the various other _passe-temps_, I must say I felt
enormously grateful for the unpleasantness you had spared me."
"I cannot say your tour has improved you, Colonel Alsager," said Mrs.
Hammond calmly, though with a red spot burning on either cheek. "In
the old days you were considered the pink of chivalry, and would have
had your tongue cut out before you would have hinted a sneer at a
woman. You refuse to believe my story of compulsion in my marriage;
but it is true--as true as is the fact that I rebelled then and there,
and, having sold myself, determined to have as much enjoyment of life
as was compatible with the sale."
"I never denied it, Mrs. Hammond; I simply told you what I had heard."
"Then tell me something more, Laurence Alsager," said Mrs. Hammond,
flushing brilliantly, and looking him, for the first time during their
interview, straight in the face; "is it to be war between us two, or
what?"
She looked splendidly beautiful just at that moment. She was a
bright-looking little woman, with deep-gray eyes and long dark lashes,
shining chestnut hair, a _retroussé_ nose, a wanton mouth, and a
perfect, trim, tight, rounded small figure. As she threw out this
verbal challenge, her eyes flashed, she sat erect, and every fibre
within her seemed quivering with emotion.
Laurence marked her expression, and for an instant softened, as the
recollection of the old days, when he had seen her thus wilfully
petulant only to make more marked the subsidence into placidity and
devotion, rose before him; but it faded rapidly away, had utterly
vanished before, no less in reply to her peering gaze than to her
words, he said, "No, not war; neighbours who have been so nearly
allied should never quarrel. Let us take another strategic phrase, and
say that we will preserve an armed neutrality."
"And that means--?"
"Well, in our case that means that neither shall interfere with the
other's plans, of whatever kind, without due warning. That once given
and disregarded, there will be war to the knife; for I think under
present circumstances neither will be inclined to spare the other."
"Your anticipations are of a singularly sombre character, Colonel
Alsager. I think that--ah!" she exclaimed, suddenly clapping her
hands, "I see it all! my eyes are opened, and the whole map lies
patent before me."
"What has caused this happy restoration of sight?"
"Remembering a story which was told me a day or two ago by a little
bird. The story of a _preux chevalier_ and a lady in distress; of a
romantic adventure and a terrific leap; of plunging hoofs and
fainting-fits, and all the necessary ingredients of such a scene. _Je
vous en félicité, Monsieur le Colonel_."
Laurence's brow grew very dark as he said, "You are too clever a
woman to give a leg-up to a manifestly limping story, however much it
might temporarily serve your purpose. Of that story as it stands,
turned, twisted, perverted as it may be, nothing can be made. The
scandal-mongers don't know what they have taken in hand. They might as
well try to shake the Rock of Gibraltar as that lady's good name."
Mrs. Hammond laughed a short bitter laugh and said, "You have even
lost that grand virtue which you possessed--the power of concealing
your emotions. With the gravity, you have attained the simplicity of
the Oriental; and you now--"
She was interrupted by the servant's throwing open the door and
announcing, "Sir Charles Mitford."
That gentleman entered immediately on the announcement of his name,
with a certain air of _empressement_ which vanished so soon as he saw
Colonel Alsager's broad back. Laura Hammond prided herself on never
having been taken unawares. When speaking to Alsager her face had been
curling with sneers, her voice harsh and strident; but before Sir
Charles Mitford had crossed the threshold, she had wreathed her mouth
in smiles, and as she shook hands with him, though aloud she only
uttered the ordinary commonplaces, in a lower tone she said, "I
thought you would come to-day."
Alsager heard her say it. That was a singular property of his--that
gift of hearing anything that might be said, no matter in how large a
party, or how earnestly he might be supposed to be talking. It had
saved his life once; and he had assiduously cultivated it ever since.
Mitford heard it too, but thickly. He had not had as much experience
in the cadences of the _demi-voix_ as Laurence.
"How are you, Alsager? We seem to be always tumbling over each other
now, don't we? and the oftener the better, I say.--How d'ye do, Mrs.
Hammond? I say, what's all this that you've been saying to my wife?"
Laurence started, and then reverted to the album which lay on his
knees. Mrs. Hammond saw the start, and the means adopted for hiding
it, and smiled quietly.
"I don't know what I said in particular to Lady Mitford; nothing to
frighten her, I hope," said Mrs. Hammond; "I was congratulating myself
that she and I had got on so very well together."
"O yes, so you did, of course," said Sir Charles,--"sisters, and all
that kind of thing. But I mean what you said to her about leaving
town."
"Oh, that's perfectly correct. Mr. Hammond has seen Sir Charles Dumfunk
and Dr. Wadd, and they both concur in saying that he ought not to have
left Florence until the spring; and that he must leave London
forthwith."
"And they have recommended Torquay as the best place for him; at least
so my wife tells me."
"Quite right; and in obedience to their commands I have sent Miss
Gillespie off this very day to take a house, and make all necessary
arrangements."
"Who's Miss Gillespie?"
"My-well, I don't know what. I believe _factotum_ is the Latin word
for it. She's Miss Hammond's governess (my stepdaughter, you know),
and my general adviser and manager. I don't know what I should do
without her, as I told Colonel Alsager, who, by the way, did not pay
much attention."
Laurence grinned a polite grin, but said never a word.
"She was with me in the pony-carriage the first day Mr. Bertram
introduced you to me, Sir Charles. Ah, but she had her veil down, I
recollect; and she asked all about you afterwards."
"Very civil of her to take any interest in me," said Sir Charles. "I
recollect a veiled person in the pony-carriage; but not a bit of
interest did I take in her. All that concentrated elsewhere, and that
sort of thing;" and he smiled at Mrs. Hammond in a manner that made
Laurence's stern face grow sterner than ever.
"Well, but about Torquay," continued Sir Charles. "I thought at first
it was a tremendous nuisance your having to go out of town; but now
I've got an idea which does not seem so bad. Town's horribly slow, you
know, utterly empty; one does not know what to do with oneself; and so
I've been suggesting to Georgie why not go down to Redmoor--our
country place in Devon, you know--close to Torquay,--and one could
fill the house with pleasant people, and you could come over from
Torquay, and it would be very jolly indeed."
He said it in an off-hand manner, but he nevertheless looked earnestly
up into Mrs. Hammond's face, and Laurence Alsager's expression grew
sterner than ever.
Mrs. Hammond returned Sir Charles's glance, and said, "That would be
thoroughly delightful! I was looking forward with horror, I confess,
to a sojourn at Torquay. Those dreadful people in respirators always
creeping about, and the stupid dinner-parties, where the talk is
always about the doctor, and the quarter in which the wind is. But
with you and Lady Mitford in the neighbourhood it would be quite
another thing."
"O yes, and we'd get some jolly people down there.--Alsager, you'd
come?"
"I don't think I'd come, and I'm anything but a jolly person. I must
go to my father's at once."
"Gad, Alsager, you seem to keep your father always ready to bring
forward whenever you want to be misanthropical. You were to have gone
to him a week ago."
"Circumstances alter cases," said Mrs. Hammond with a short laugh;
"and Colonel Alsager finds London more tolerable than he expected. Is
it not so, Colonel?"
"'Very tolerable, and not to be endured,' as Dogberry says, since I am
about to leave it," said Laurence. ("She would like to draw me into a
semi-confidence on that subject; but she sha'n't," thought he.)
"No; but really, Alsager, do try and come, there's a good fellow; you
can hold over your father until you want an excuse for not going to
some place where you'll be bored. Now we won't bore you; we'll take
down a rattling good team Tom Charteris and his wife--she plays and
sings, and all that kind of thing, capitally; and Mrs. Masters, who's
quiet to ride or drive--I don't mean that exactly, but she's available
in two ways,--as a widow she can chaperon, and she's quite young and
pretty enough to flirt on her own hook; and the Tyrrells--nice girls
those; and Bligh and Winton,--Oh, and Dollamore! I'll ask Dollamore;
he'd be just the man for such a party."
"O yes, you must have Lord Dollamore," said Mrs. Hammond; "he has such
a delightfully dry way of saying unpleasant things about everybody;
and as he never shoots or hunts, he is a perfect treasure in a country
house, and devotes himself to the ladies." She shot one hasty glance
at Laurence as she said this, which he duly perceived.
"O yes," said Sir Charles, "Dollamore's sure to come. And you,
Alsager,--come, you've changed your mind?"
"Upon my word, the temptation you offer me is so great, that I'm
unable to resist it. Yes, I'll come."
"I thought you would," said Sir Charles carelessly.
"I knew you would," said Mrs. Hammond in an undertone; then aloud,
"What, going, Colonel Alsager? Goodbye; I'm so pleased to have seen
you; and looking so well too, after the climate, and all the things
you've gone through."
Laurence shook hands with Mitford and departed.
Yes, there was not much doubt about it: Sir Charles was tolerably well
"on" in that quarter. An old poacher makes the best gamekeeper,
because he knows the tricks and dodges of his old profession; and
there was not one single move of Sir Charles Mitford's during the
entire conversation which Laurence Alsager did not recognize as having
been used by himself in bygone days. He knew the value of every look,
knew the meaning of each inflexion of the voice; and appreciated to
its full the motive-power which had induced the baronet suddenly to
long for the country house at Redmoor, and to become disgusted with
the dreariness of London. Determined to sit him out too, wasn't he?
Lord! how often he, Laurence, had determinedly sat out bores for the
sake of getting ten words, one hand-clasp, from Laura after they were
gone! Yes, Mitford was getting on, certainly; making the running more
quickly even than Dollamore had prophesied. Dollamore! ah, that
reminded him: Dollamore was to be asked down to Redmoor. That, and the
manner in which Mrs. Hammond had spoken of him and his visit, had
decided Laurence in accepting Mitford's invitation. There could not be
anything between them which--no; Dollamore could never have made a
_confidante_ of Laura and imparted to her--O no! Laura had not too
much conscience in any case where her own passion or even her own whim
was concerned; but she would shrink from meddling in an affair of that
kind. And as for Lord Dollamore, he was essentially a man of _petits
soins_, the exercise of which always laid those who practised them
open to misunderstanding. He had a habit of hinting and insinuating
also, which was unpleasant, but not very noxious. As people said, his
bark was probably worse than his bite, and--
And at all events Laurence was very glad that he had accepted the
invitation, and that he would be there to watch in person over
anything that might happen.