IN THE DRAWING-ROOM.
What was Laurence Alsager doing at Redmoor? He was beginning to ask
himself that question very frequently. And that question led to
another--why had he come down there at all? He had "done"
country-houses and their amusements and had tired of them years
before; he had not the slightest liking for any of the guests; he had
a vague dislike of the host. Why, then, had he come? He was a man who
rarely tried to deceive himself; and when he put this question
point-blank to himself the answer was, Why? Why, because you take a
certain interest in Lady Mitford--no, I allow that perfectly; nothing
dishonourable, nothing which at present could even be described as a
love-passion; but a certain interest. You think from all you have seen
that she is not merely very charming in her innocence and simplicity,
but really good; and you expect from certain signs which you detect,
and with the nature of which you are familiar, that she will have to
pass through a very perilous ordeal. It is obvious to you that in
society, as it is now constituted, a woman of Lady Mitford's personal
attractions and position must incur a very great deal of temptation.
This, of course, would be to a great extent avoided if she were secure
in the affections and certain of the attentions of her husband; but in
the present instance you are constrained to admit, contrary to the
opinion which you once publicly expressed, that Sir Charles Mitford is
a weak, silly, vain person, who has fallen a victim to the wiles of a
thoroughly heartless coquette, and who appears to be going from bad to
worse as rapidly as possible. So that your certain interest has
brought you down here to watch over the lady. Quixotic and
ultra-romantic, is it not? You do not mean it to be so, I know--I give
you full credit for that; but still that is the designation it would
probably receive from any of your friends. The truth is, that this--I
was almost going to call it parental, but we will say fraternal--this
fraternal regard for a very handsome woman is a novelty to you; and
hence your enjoyment of it. I said expressly a very handsome woman,
because I don't believe that the fraternal sentiment could possibly
blossom for an ugly one. Beware of it, my friend, if you please! it's
the trickiest, most treacherous elf, this fraternal friendship, that
exists; it goes on for a certain period perfectly steadily and
properly, and then one morning you find it has deserted you, and left
in its place a hot flaming riotous passion that scorches you into
tinder, makes you miserable, takes away your appetite, and, in fact,
possesses all the qualities which, at one time, you knew so well.
Such was the result of Laurence Alsager's self-examination, and he
fully admitted its truth. It was the interest which he took in Lady
Mitford that had induced him to visit Redmoor; it was the same feeling
which kept him lingering there. Then the interest must have increased;
for the necessity for his self-imposed task of protection and
supervision had certainly diminished. The actual fact which had
decided his coming was the announcement that Lord Dollamore was to be
among the guests. He had always had his own opinion of Lord
Dollamore's morality; and the way in which that nobleman had spoken of
Lady Mitford in the smoking-room of the Maecenas had jarred horribly
on Alsager's nerves. There was something too in Laura Hammond's look
and in the tone of her voice when she spoke of the probability of
Dollamore's being left constantly with the ladies, at which Laurence
had taken alarm. But Lord Dollamore seemed to be perfectly innocuous.
Laurence had watched him narrowly from the first, and, as in the
case of the drive to Egremont Priory, he seemed rather to avoid
than to seek opportunities of being in Lady Mitford's company
_en tête-à-tête_, and, judging from that and one or two other
instances, was apparently desirous of keeping in the background, and
of pushing Laurence forward. Could he--? No; he was a man utterly
without principle where women are concerned; but he would never
attempt such a game as that, more particularly if he, Laurence
Alsager, were involved in it. Certainly Sir Charles was going to the
bad more rapidly than Alsager had anticipated; but then it was to be
said for him that he clearly had fallen into able hands. There had
been few such adepts in the art of flirtation in Europe as Laura
Molyneux; and she seemed to have become even more fertile in resources
and skilful in their development since her marriage. Anything like the
manner in which she had flirted with Mitford during the first few
clays of her visit to Redmoor, Laurence, in all his experience, had
never seen; and he thought at the time of the Egremont Priory
expedition that things were coming rapidly to an end. Lady Mitford had
evidently noticed something that day, some _tendresse_ between her
husband and Mrs. Hammond, which had annoyed her very much; so much
that she had almost called her friends' attention to her disgust. But
the sweetness of her disposition had come to the rescue. Laurence
knew, as well as if he had been able to read her thoughts, all that
had passed in her mind during that drive in the pony-phaeton; he saw
how she had reasoned with herself, and how she had finally determined
that she had been hasty, inconsiderate, and in the wrong. He had seen
her, immediately on alighting, slip away to join her husband; and he
could fully understand that she had made silent atonement for what she
imagined to be an outburst of groundless jealousy.
An extraordinary change had come over Mitford within the last few
days. Before the picnic, and at the picnic, he had been enthralled,
_entêté_, eagerly waiting for Mrs. Hammond's every look, every word,
and scarcely able to behave with decency to anybody else. Since then
he had acted quite differently. Had his conscience smitten him for
neglecting his wife? No; Laurence did not believe in sudden
conscience-smites with such men as Sir Charles Mitford; and he had
further noticed that though there was no open flirtation, there was
plenty of eye-telegraphy of a very peculiar and significant kind. They
had come to some understanding evidently, for Mrs. Hammond now seldom
addressed her conversation to her host, but kept her hand in by
practising on the susceptible heart of Major Winton, or by coquetting
with some of the officers who were invariably to be found dining at
Redmoor. She had tried to _réchauffer_ a little of the old story with
Laurence, but had encountered something so much more marked than mere
disinclination, that she suspended operations at once.
However, be this as it might, the necessity for Alsager's stay at
Redmoor, even judged by his own peculiar notions, was at an end. The
Dollamore question never had been mooted; the Hammond difficulty
seemed entirely in abeyance. What further need was there for him to
keep watch and ward over the Redmoor household? He could be back in
town as soon as they could, go where they might; _something_ would
occur during the season, he thought, and he might as well be there on
guard; but that was a matter of only a few hours from wherever he
might happen to be.
Whither should he go, then? Not back to London--that was impossible.
The week or two he had passed there had thoroughly sickened him of
London for some time to come. Paris? No, he thought not! The _bals
d'opéra_ would be on then,--Frisotte and Rigolette, Celestine and
Mogador, Brididi and the Reine Pomaré--O yes, he knew it all; it was a
very long time since those exercitations of the _cancan_, rebuked by
the _sergents-de-ville_ in a low grumble of "_Pas si fort! pas si
fort! point du télégraphe!_" had afforded him the slightest pleasure.
Leicestershire? No, though he had purchased Sir Launcelot, and from
merely that short experience of him at Acton, felt sure that he would
"show them the way"--no, not Leicestershire this year, he thought, nor
anywhere else, unless he went down to Knockholt to see his father.
Yes, by Jove! he ought to have done that long since, and now he would
do it at once.
He settled this in his own mind as he was dressing for dinner about a
week after the winter picnic. Settled it not without long deliberation
and a little sleep, for he began to give the matter his careful
consideration after returning from a long day's shooting; and it was
not until he had steamed and lathered himself in a warm bath, had
pulled the little sofa in front of the fire, and was contemplating his
evening clothes neatly arranged on an adjacent chair, that he began to
consider the question. His deliberation involved the putting up of his
feet on the sofa, and that proceeding caused him at once to drop
helplessly off to sleep, only to be roused by the loud clanging of the
second dinner-bell.
An addition accrued to the dinner-party that day, in the persons of
Sir Thomas Hayter, a country neighbour, his wife and daughter. Sir
Thomas was a hearty old Tory country squire, who during his one season
in London had been captivated by and had married her ladyship; at the
time of her marriage a _passée_ beauty, now a thin chip of an old
woman, still affecting girlish airs. Miss Hayter was a fine, fresh,
dashing, exuberant girl, inclined to flirting, and fulfilling her
inclination thoroughly. They infused a little new life into the party;
for though Sir Thomas did not talk a great deal, he listened to
everything that was said, and threw in an occasional "Ha! dear me!"
with great vigour and effect, while Lady Hayter chirped away to Sir
Charles Mitford, asking him about all sorts of London people of whom
he had never heard, and quite bewildering him with her volubility. She
succeeded better with Mr. Hammond, whose health was fast improving in
the soft Devon air, and who, in spite of the strongly-expressed
opinion of his wife, had come down to dinner that day. He was seated
next to Lady Hayter; and shortly after dinner commenced, he found out
that he had known her before her marriage, when she was Miss
Fitzgibbon; "used to have the pleasure of meeting you at the
Silvesters' in South Audley Street;" and then they entered upon a very
long conversation about the acquaintances of their youth, while all
the time each was stealing covert glances at the other, and wondering
how it was possible--she, that that cadaverous, parchment-faced, bent
invalid could be the handsome boy who in those days had just come up
from Haileybury, and was going to India with such good prospects; he,
that the old woman with the palpably-dyed purple hair, the scraggy
neck, and the resplendent teeth--the gold springs of which were so
very visible--could have been Emily Fitzgibbon, about whose beauty
every one was raving in '25. Miss Hayter too was very happy; she was
immensely taken by Laurence Alsager, next to whom she was seated. She
had heard of him often; and two years before, when she was in London,
he had been pointed out to her at the Opera; and she, then a young
lady of seventeen, had gone home and written about him in her diary,
and drawn portraits of him in her blotting-book, and thought him the
handsomest creature in the world. She told him this, not of course in
so many words, but with that charming quiet way of paying a compliment
which some well-bred women possess; and she had also heard of the
catastrophe with the ponies at Acton, and of his gallant conduct.
"For it was very gallant, you know, Colonel Alsager; any one could see
that, even through that ridiculous newspaper report; and it was a
splendid jump too. I was talking about it the other day to my cousin
Fred Rivers, who knows you, I think; and he said he'd seen the place,
and Mr. ----, I forget his name; the head man up there--said it was as
fine a thing as ever was done in Leicestershire; and Fred said he
thought so too; 'bar none,' he said, in that sporting way, don't you
know, which he has of talking."
"You make a great deal too much of it, Miss Hayter," said Laurence,
smiling; "I've seen Fred Rivers take many such jumps himself, for a
better horseman never crossed country."
"Ah, yes, during a run, I daresay; but this was in cold blood, wasn't
it?--not that I wonder at your doing anything for Lady Mitford. Isn't
she lovely? I declare I never saw such a perfect face in my life."
Alsager was about to answer, when Major Maxse spoke from the other
side of the table, "Oh, by the way, Colonel Alsager, what Miss Hayter
was saying reminds me that you ought not to have driven that day we
went to Egremont; you should have gone on horseback. There's a very
neat country if you do but know it."
"Did you _drive_ over, Colonel Alsager?" asked Miss Hayter in
astonishment.
"Yes; I drove Lady Mitford in her pony-phaeton." ("Oh!" in a subdued
tone from Miss Hayter.) "Sir Charles was the only one who rode."
"And Mrs. Hammond,--I beg your pardon, and Mrs. Hammond!" said Major
Winton, the first words he had spoken since he sat down to dinner. "I
too was on horseback, but I can scarcely be said to have ridden. But,
coming back, they went away splendidly. I never saw anything better
than the manner in which the first fence was cleared by them both. I
daresay it was as good all over the course; but they got away after
the first, and we never saw any more of them."
And Major Winton sipped his first glass of post-prandial claret with
great gusto. He had paid off Mrs. Hammond for using him on the
picnic-day, and throwing him off when she no longer required him. It
was to be presumed, however, that Mrs. Hammond had not heard this
remark; at least she gave no signs of having done so, being occupied in
conversation with Captain Bligh. Sir Charles Mitford grew very red;
Miss Hayter looked round, enjoying the fun; and an awkward pause
ensued, broken by old Sir Thomas Hayter.
"Didn't I hear you say you were over at Egremont the other day,
Mitford?"
"Yes, Sir Thomas; we went over there, and had a kind of winter
picnic."
"You didn't see anything of Torn Boscastle, I suppose?"
"No; we only went to the ruins, and lunched in the keep. Besides, I
don't know him."
"Ah! you wouldn't have seen him if you had known him. He keeps quite
to himself just now."
"What's the matter? is he ill?"
"No, not ill in body, you know. What's that we used to learn in the
Latin grammar--'_magis quam corpore, aegrotat_'--his mind, you know."
"That's bad; what has brought that about?"
"Well, you see, he's got a son, a wild extravagant fellow, who has run
through I can't tell how much money, which poor Tom could very ill
afford, as we all know; and the last thing the vagabond did was to get
hold of his father's cheque-book, and forge his name to a terrible
amount."
Had Sir Thomas been a gentleman of quick perception--a charge which
had never been brought against him--he would have been very much
astonished at the effect of his anecdote. Sir Charles Mitford turned
deadly white. Colonel Alsager frowned heavily, and glanced towards
Lady Mitford, who, pale as her husband, looked as if she were about to
faint; Lord Dollamore glanced sharply at Sir Thomas Hayter, to see
whether he had spoken innocently or with malice prepense. Mrs. Hammond
was the only one who seemed to keep her wits thoroughly about her. She
glanced at Lady Mitford, and then pushing her chair back sharply, as
though obeying a signal from her hostess, rose from the table,
followed of course by all the other ladies.
After their departure, and so soon as the door closed behind them,
Lord Dollamore addressed himself to Sir Thomas, asking him if he had
heard the report that the Whig Ministry intended to impose a new duty
on cider--a subject which he knew would engross the old gentleman's
attention, to the exclusion of Tom Boscastle and every one else. And,
as Lord Dollamore said afterwards, it was an illimitable subject, for
he himself invented the report as a herring across the scent; but
under old Hayter's fostering care it grew into a perfect
Frankensteinian monster. While they were talking, Sir Charles Mitford
filled a bumper of claret, and after swallowing half of it, looked
round the table to see the extent of the calamity. Then, for the first
time, he acknowledged to himself how right the girl Lizzie Ponsford
had been in what she had said. Dollamore evidently knew the story, and
Alsager--perhaps Hammond, who was leaning back in his chair, enjoying
his Madeira; but he could tell in an instant, by the expression of
their faces, that none of the others had heard it. Another link had
been forged this evening in the chain of his attachment to that
charming Mrs. Hammond! how nobly she had behaved! Poor Georgie had
lost her bead of course, and had very nearly made a mess of it by
fainting, or screaming, or something; but that other woman did just
exactly the right thing at the right time. And all for him! He was
more infatuated with her than ever. He wondered whether he should ever
have the chance of telling her so. He wondered how Butler was
progressing in his mission.
By the time the gentlemen arrived in the drawing-room, all trace of
the little awkwardness at the dessert-table had passed away. Indeed,
Miss Hayter was the only one of all the ladies who had noticed
Georgic's uneasiness, and she had not attributed it to its right
cause. Now Lady Mitford was looking as serenely lovely as ever,
listening to Mrs. Charteris warbling away at the piano; and she looked
at her husband with such loving solicitude as he entered the room,
that he could not refrain from going up to her, smiling kindly, and
pressing her hand, as he whispered, "All right! quite blown over."
Then Sir Charles went in search of Mrs. Hammond. She was sitting in a
low chair near the fire, with a little table bearing a shaded lamp
close by her hand, and was amusing herself by turning over an album of
prints. She never gave herself the smallest trouble when left alone
with women; she did not care what they thought of her, and, save under
peculiar circumstances, she made no effort to please them. She wished
to stand well with Lady Mitford, but she considered she had done
enough to that end for one day by executing the masterly retreat from
the dinner-table. So she sat there idly under the shade of the lamp,
and Sir Charles Mitford thought he had never seen her to such
advantage. Her rounded figure showed to perfection in her
violet-velvet dress trimmed with soft white lace; her head reclined
lazily on the back of her chair, and her eyes rested with calm
indifference on the pages of the album--indifference which was
succeeded by bright vivacity as she raised them and marked her host's
approach.
He dropped quietly into a chair close by hers and said, "You have
increased my debt of gratitude to you a thousand-fold."
"Have I?" she replied; "it has been very easily increased. So easily
that I don't know how it has been done."
"Don't you? Then your natural talent is wonderful. I should think
there were few better or more useful stratagems in warfare than the
diversion of the enemy's attention from your weak point."
"Oh," she said, "that is not worth remembering; certainly not
worth mentioning again. I am so glad," she added, dropping her
voice, "to see you by my side again. I have gone through all kinds of
self-examination, imagining that I had in some way offended you; going
over in my own mind all that I had said or done since that delicious
ride home from Egremont, and I could not tax myself with having
wittingly given you any cause for offence. But you seemed to avoid me,
to shrink from me, and I cannot tell you how I felt it."
Voice very low here, looks downcast, and general depression.
"Don't speak in that way," said Sir Charles in the same tone; "you
don't understand my position. I could explain, and I will some time or
other when I have the chance; not now, because--Yes, you are quite
right, Mrs. Hammond, Sir Thomas is a thorough specimen of the good old
English--"
"Very sorry to interrupt so pleasant a talk, specially when on so
charming a subject as Sir Thomas Hayter," said Lord Dollamore,
approaching; "but I come as a deputation from the general company to
beg that Mrs. Hammond will sing to us."
"Mrs. Hammond would be charmed," said that lady; "but to-night she is
out of voice, and really cannot."
"Do, Mrs. Hammond; as a matter of mere charity, do," said Lord
Dollamore. "That delightful person Mrs. Charteris,--most delightful,
and kind, and all that,--has been trilling away every evening until
one is absolutely sick of her thin little voice. Do, for pity's sake,
change the note, and let us have a little of your contralto. Do."
"You're very polite, Lord Dollamore; and 'as a matter of mere charity'
I should be delighted to help you, but really I am out of voice and
cannot. Stay; the old rule in convivial societies was, or I am
mistaken, that one should sing or find a substitute. Now I think
I can do the latter. Miss Hammond's companion, governess, what you
will,--Miss Gillespie,--sings charmingly. If Lady Mitford will permit
me, I will send for her."
Georgie, appealed to, was only too well pleased to secure such an aid
to the evening's entertainment; so a message was sent to Miss
Gillespie, and she was requested to "bring some songs;" Miss Hayter
filling up the interval by playing, sufficiently brilliantly, a
_pot-pourri_ of dance-music.
Towards the end of this performance the door opened and Miss Gillespie
entered. All eyes were instantly turned towards her, and--in the case
of all the men at least--the casual glance grew into a lengthened
gaze. She was a very striking-looking woman, with her sallow cheeks,
her large eyes, her brown hair rolling in crisp waves on her
forehead. She was dressed in a tight-fitting brown-silk dress with
handsomely-worked collar and sleeves, and in her hand she carried a
roll of music, of which Lord Dollamore stepped forward to relieve her;
but she thanked him with a slight bow and sat down on the chair close
to the door, still retaining her roll of music in her hand.
When Miss Hayter had ceased playing, Lady Mitford crossed the room and
shook hands with Miss Gillespie, offered her refreshment, thanked her
very sweetly for the promptitude with which she had acceded to their
request, and told her that Mrs. Hammond had already raised their
expectation very high. Then Sir Charles Mitford came up somewhat
stiffly, and offered his arm to Miss Gillespie and led her to the
piano; and there, just removing her gloves, and without the smallest
hesitation or affectation, she sat down, and with scarcely any prelude
plunged at once into that most delightful of melodies, "Che faró senza
Eurydice," from Glück's _Ofeo_. Ah, what a voice! clear, bell-like,
thrilling, touching not merely the tympanum of the ear, but acting on
the nerves and on the spinal vertebrae. What melody in it! what
wondrous power! and as she poured out the refrain, "Eurydice,
Eurydice!" what deep passionate tenderness! The company sat
spell-bound; Lord Dollamore, an accomplished musician himself, and one
who had heard the best music everywhere, sat nursing his knee and
drinking-in every note. Laurence Alsager, rapt in admiration, had even
been guilty of the discourtesy of turning his back on Miss Hayter,
whose chatter began to annoy him, and was beating time with his head
and hand. Tom Charteris had crept behind his wife, who, far too good a
little woman to feel professional jealousy, was completely delighted;
and the big tears were rolling down Lady Mitford's face. She was still
a child, you see, and had not gone through the Clanronald furnace,
where all tears are dried up for ever.
When the song was ended, there came a volley of applause such as is
seldom heard in drawing-rooms, and far different from the usual
languid "Thank you," which crowns the failure of the amateur. Miss
Gillespie looked round elated, as though the sound was pleasant and
not unfamiliar to her, and was about to rise from her seat, when
Laurence Alsager, who was nearest the piano, advanced, and begged she
would remain--he was sure he spoke in the name of all present. So Miss
Gillespie, after looking him hard in the face, made him a little bow,
and remained at the piano, this time starting off into one of Louis
Puget's charming French ballads, "Ta main," which she sung with as
much fire and _chic_ as if she had never quitted Paris.
At the conclusion of the second song, Lady Mitford came across to the
piano to thank the singer, and she was followed by Mrs. Charteris and
Mrs. Masters. Mrs. Charteris was in the highest delight--a feeling;
not at all decreased when Miss Gillespie assured her that she had
frequently listened to her, Mrs. Charteris's, singing, and had often
envied that lady her correct musical education. Mrs. Masters said her
little complimentary say about the song, but was principally taken up
by Miss Gillespie's costume. She was one of those women who never see
anything new worn by any other woman without taking private mental
notes of its every detail; thus setting at defiance any attempted
extension of the Patent laws in regard to female apparel. So, with her
eyes devouring Miss Gillespie's dress, Mrs. Masters said to her "Yes,
so charming that Glück! so full of depth and power!--(Wonderfully good
silk; stands by itself like a board!)--And the little French
_chansonnette_, so sparkling and melodious, and--(O yes, certainly
French I should think! no English house could--) may I ask you where
you got that collar and those cuffs, Miss--Miss Asplin? They are most
peculiar!"
"My name is Gillespie, madam; and the collar and cuffs I worked
myself." After which Mrs. Masters bowed, and went back to her seat.
During this examination Laurence Alsager, who had seated himself next
to Miss Hayter, in the neighbourhood of the piano, was conscious that
Miss Gillespie's looks constantly strayed towards him. It is very odd.
There was nothing coquettish in the regard, he knew every one in that
category of glances of old; but these were strangely earnest looks,
always averted when she found they were remarked. While they were full
upon him, Miss Hayter, in reply to something he had said about his
delight in ferns, expressed a hope that they would see him at her
father's place, the Arme Wood, where there was a splendid fernery.
Laurence, in reply, thanked her, and said how happy he would have been
to go, but that he feared it would be impossible, as he intended to
leave Redmoor in a day or two. He must be a dutiful son, and visit his
father, whom he had not seen since his return to England. As he said
this Miss Gillespie's eyes were full on him.
They were very singular eyes, he thought, as he undressed himself
lazily before the fire in his bed-room. Very singular eyes; so large,
and dark, and speaking. What on earth made the woman look at him so
perpetually! He was growing too old to inspire love at first sight, he
felt, smiling grimly as he inspected himself in the looking-glass;
besides, she was not the style of woman for any such folly. How
magnificently she sung! what depth and pathos there was in her voice!
"Eurydice, Eurydice!"--those notes were enough to go through any man's
soul; those notes were enough to--hallo, what's this?
He had strolled across to the dressing-table, and taken up a small
sealed Dote, addressed in a thin fine female hand to Colonel Alsager.
He broke the seal and read:
"I heard you talk of leaving Redmoor. If not impossible I pray you to
stay. Your presence will be a check upon two people, who, liberated
from that, will go headlong to ruin, _dragging down a third in their
fall_. For the welfare of this third person both you and I are
solicitous. But it seems probable that my sphere of usefulness is
ended; so all devolves upon you. Remember this, and for her sake, stay
on."
"Ah!" said Laurence Alsager when he had perused this mysterious note
for the second time--"there's no doubt that my anonymous correspondent
is the handsome woman with the eyes and voice. What she means I'll
find out in the morning."