THE VOICE OF COMING DOOM.
"They spake not a word.
But like dumb statues or breathless stones,
Stared on each other and looked deadly pale."
--SHAKSPEARE.
"Oh! positively, your ladyship is looking perfectly dazzling! I never,
no, _never_ saw anybody half so beautiful in my life! Oh, Lady Kate!
isn't she charming?" And little Miss Clara Jernyngham, in an outburst of
enthusiasm, earnestly clasped her little white hands, flashing with
jewels, together, and went off into a look of ecstasy wonderful to
behold.
Lady Kate McGregor, the proud, dark-eyed daughter of an impoverished
Scottish nobleman, smiled quietly as she replied:
"Lady Maude is always lovely, and like all brides, looks doubly so now.
How many of the gentlemen will envy Lord Villiers to-night!"
"Yes, indeed!" exclaimed Miss Clara, earnestly. "I am quite sure if I
was a man (which, thank the gods! I am not), I would be tempted to shoot
him, or do something else equally dreadful, for carrying off the
reigning belle! I really don't see how any man in his proper senses
could help falling in love with Maude. And yet there's brother George,
now, he takes it as coolly as--as--I don't know what." The usual fate of
Miss Clara's similes.
Had Miss Jernyngham's eyes not been so earnestly fixed on a certain
superb set of diamonds that lay on a dressing-table near, she might have
seen a sudden flush in the dark, handsome face of Lady Kate as she
spoke, and that the lace on her bosom fluttered perceptibly, as if with
the beating of the heart beneath.
"So Captain Jernyngham does not care?" said Lady Kate, in a voice not
quite steady.
"No," answered Miss Clara, her eyes dancing from the blinding river of
diamond-light on the table to a magnificent bridal veil lying near--"no;
which is a horrid proof of his insensibility. The fact is, George never
was in love in his life, and never will be, so far as I can see. He
will, most likely, die an old bachelor, if some rich heiress does not
take pity on him, marry him, and pay his debts, before long. Did you see
the Duke of B---- this evening, though, Lady Kate? What a dear old
creature it is! Going about shaking so, like a lot of _blanc mange_. I'm
going to marry him some day, for the family diamonds. Worth while, eh?"
"Miss Jernyngham is herself the best judge of that," coldly replied Lady
Kate, her handsome face growing proud and pale, as she listened to Miss
Clara's speech about her brother.
"Really, Lady Maude, it's my duty to tell you you are looking perfectly
bewildering to-night, as all brides should look. If Lord Villiers had
never been in love with you before, he must certainly have fallen into
that melancholy predicament this evening," said little Miss Clara,
dancing off on a new tack. "This orange wreath and bridal veil are
vastly becoming. I am sure no one would think you had been ill this
morning, to look at you now."
It was a pleasant scene on which the light of the rose-shaded chandelier
fell. The superbly-furnished dressing-room of Lady Maude Percy was all
ablaze with numberless little jets of flame, which the immense mirrors
magnified four-fold. Priceless jewels lay carelessly strewn about on the
inlaid dressing-table, mingling with rare bouquets, laces, gloves, and
tiny satin slippers, that would scarcely have fitted Cinderella herself.
Lady Kate McGregor, proud and stately, in white satin, and point-lace,
and pale, delicate pearls, stood leaning against the marble mantel, her
handsome eyes growing cold and scornful whenever they rested on Miss
Clara Jernyngham. That frivolous little lady, quite bewildering in the
same snowy robes, was all unconscious of those icy glances, as she
fluttered, like a butterfly over a rose, around another lady standing
before a full-length mirror, while her maid arranged the mist-like
bridal veil on her head, and set the orange wreath on her dark, shining
curls.
It was Lady Maude Percy; and this was her bridal eve. Peerlessly lovely
she looked as she stood there, with the light of a happy heart flushing
her rounded cheeks, swelling her white bosom, and flashing from her
dark, Syrian eyes. The bridal dress she wore was worth a duke's ransom.
It fell around her like a summer cloud, three glistening folds of
richest lace, so light, so gauzy, so brilliant, that it looked like a
flashing mist. Diamonds that blinded the eyes with their insufferable
light rose and fell on her white bosom with every tumultuous throb of
the heart beneath. Like a floating cloud fell over all the bridal veil,
and glittering above it rose the orange wreath of rarest jewels. There
was a streaming light in her magnificent eyes, a living, glowing flush
on her cheek, all unusual there; and little Miss Clara stood up and
clasped her hands as she gazed in speechless admiration.
It was one month after the interview recorded in the last chapter. Lord
Villiers, with a lover's impatience, would consent to wait no longer;
and as Lady Maude had not opposed him, this day had been fixed. The
marriage was to have taken place at St. George's, in the morning; but
early that eventful day the bride had been seized with so severe a
headache that she was unable to leave her room. Therefore, the ceremony
had been necessarily delayed until the evening, when the august bishop
of C---- himself was to come and perform the nuptial rite at the Percy
mansion. Some were inclined to look upon this interruption in the light
of an evil omen; but Lady Maude only smiled, and inwardly thought that,
as his bride, nothing on earth could ever darken her life more. How
little did she dream of the bitter cup of sorrow she was destined yet to
drain to the dregs! How little did she dream of the dark, scathing,
unresting revenge that hovered around her like a vulture waiting for its
prey!
The old earl, her father, who was somewhat old-fashioned in his notions,
and liked ancient customs kept up, had determined his daughter's bridal
should be celebrated by the grandest ball of the season.
"I don't like this new-fangled way young people nowadays have, of
getting married in the morning, coming home for a hasty breakfast, and
then tearing off, post-haste, for France, or Germany, or somewhere, as
if they wanted change of scene to reconcile them to what they have
done," said the old gentleman, in strict confidence, to Lord De Courcy.
"It wasn't so in my time. Then we had all our friends assembled, and
enjoyed ourselves together over a bottle or two of old wine until
morning. Ah! those were the days." And the old earl heaved a deep sigh,
and looked ruefully at his gouty foot.
Resolving, therefore, to keep up those halcyon days at all hazards, the
great saloons of the stately hall were thrown open, and now they were
filled with the _elite_ of the city, all waiting impatiently for the
coming of the bride.
Lord Hugh De Courcy, suave, stately, courteous, and bland, was there,
conversing with the father of the bride, and two or three of the most
distinguished politicians of the day--his eyes now and then wandering
from the faces of his friends, to rest proudly on the handsome form of
his son, who, in the absence of Lady Maude, was the cynosure of all
eyes, the "observed of all observers."
The venerable and high-salaried bishop, attended by several other
"journeyman soul-savers," as Captain George Jernyngham irreverently
called them, was there, too, in full pontificals, all ready, and waiting
to tie the Gordian knot.
The rooms were filled with the low hum of conversation. There were
waving of fans, and flirting of bouquets, and dropping of handkerchiefs,
and rustling silks and satins, and flashing of jewels, and turning of
many bright, impatient eyes towards the door where the bride and her
attendants were presently expected to make their appearance. Ladies
coquetted, and flirted, and turned masculine heads with brilliant smiles
and entrancing glances, and gentlemen bowed and complimented, and talked
all sorts of nonsense, just like gentlemen in general, and all things
went "merry as a marriage-bell."
Standing by themselves, as when we first saw them, were Lord Ernest
Villiers and his friend, Captain Jernyngham, of the Guards.
Handsome, stately, and noble, Lord Villiers always looked; but more so
now than ever. What man does not look well when happy, faultless in
costume, and about to be married to the woman he loves?
Captain Jernyngham, first groomsman, etc., was also looking remarkably
well--a fact of which the young gentleman himself was well aware; and
lounging in his usual listless attitude against a marble column, he
languidly admired his aristocratically small foot in its shining boot.
"There are some men born to good luck, just as others are born to be
hanged"--he was saying, with the air of a man delivering an
oration--"born with a silver spoon in their mouths, to use a common, but
rather incredible figure of speech. You, _mi lor_ Villiers, are one of
them; you were born above the power of Fortune--consequently, the
toadying jade shows you a face all smiles, and gives the cold shoulder
to poor devils like me, who really stand in need of her good graces.
This world's a humbug! Virtuous poverty, illustrated in the person of
Captain George Jernyngham, is snubbed and sent to Coventry, while
potent, rich, and depraved youths like you are borne along on beds of
roses. Yes, I repeat it, the world's a humbug! society's a nuisance!
friendship's a word of two syllables found in dictionaries, nowhere
else! and cigars, kid gloves and pale ale are the only things worth
living for. There's an 'opinion as is an opinion.'"
"Oh, come now, Jernyngham! things are by no means so desperate as you
would have me believe," said Lord Villiers, laughing. "Young,
good-looking, and adored by the ladies, what more would you have?"
"Well, there is a vulgar prejudice existing in favor of bread and
butter, and neither of the three items mentioned will exactly supply me
with that useful article. I intend trying the matrimonial dodge, some
day, if I can pick up anything under fifty, with three or four thousand
a year, who wants a nice youth to spend it for her."
"Love, of course, being out of the question."
"Love!" said the guardsman, contemptuously. "I lost all faith in that
article since I was fourteen years old, when I fell in love with our
cook, a young lady of six-and-thirty. My father forbade the banns; she
ran off with a hump-backed chimney-sweep, and I awoke to the unpleasant
consciousness that 'Love's young dream' was all bosh."
"And you have been heart whole ever since?"
"Well, I rather think so. I have felt a peculiar sensation under my
vest-pocket now and then, when Kate McGregor's black eyes met mine. But
pshaw! where's the use of talking? She's as poor as a church-mouse, and
so am I; and, unless we should set up a chandler-shop, there would be a
paragraph in the _Times_ headed: 'Melancholy death by starvation. The
bodies of an unfortune couple were found yesterday in the attic of a
rickety, six-story house, and the coroner's inquest returned a verdict
of "Death for want of something to eat." The unfortunate man was dressed
in a pair of spurs and a military shako--having pawned the rest of his
clothing, and held in his hand the jugular bone of a red herring
half-devoured.' Not any, thank you!"
Captain George stroked his mustache complacently, while Lord Villiers
laughed.
"A pleasant picture that! Well, I shouldn't wonder if it's what 'love in
a cottage' often comes to."
A servant approached at this moment, and whispered something to Lord
Villiers.
"The ladies are waiting, Jernyngham," he said hastily. "Call Howard, and
come along."
He hastened out to the lofty hall, and at the foot of the grand
staircase he was joined by Jernyngham and Howard, the second groomsman,
Lord De Courcy, Earl Percy and a few other intimate family friends.
The bride and her attendants had already left her "maiden bower," and
Lady Maude was met at the foot of the stairs by Lord Villiers, who drew
her arm within his, and whispered, in a thrilling voice:
"My bride! my wife! my queen! my beautiful Maude! never so beautiful as
now! Mine, mine forever!"
"Yes, yours forever!" she softly and earnestly said, looking up in his
face with a joy too intense for smiles.
There was no time for further speech. Captain Jernyngham had drawn the
willing hand of the proud Kate within his arm, and felt his heart throb
in a most unaccountable manner beneath her light touch. Young Howard
took possession of our gay Miss Clara, whose whole heart and soul was
bent on the conquest she was about to make of that "dear, old thing,"
the Duke of B----, and the bridal _cortege_ passed into the grand,
flower-strewn saloon.
The company parted on either side as they advanced, and under the
battery of many hundred eyes they approached the bishop. Book in hand,
that reverend personage stood, patiently awaiting their coming, and
looked approvingly over his spectacles at the beautiful bride and
handsome, stately bridegroom as they stood up before him.
And then, amid the profoundest silence, the marriage ceremony was begun.
You might have heard a pin drop, so deep was the stillness that
reigned--as every one held their breath to catch each word of that most
interesting of rites--doubly interesting to ladies. Of the three
standing before him, one heart was beating with a joy too deep and
intense for words to tell. Lady Kate's handsome eyes stole quick glances
now and then at the gay, young guardsman, as she thought, with a
thrilling heart, how much she could love him, but for the humiliation of
loving unsought. Little Miss Clara, with her head poised on one side,
and her finger on her lip, was building a castle in Spain, where she saw
herself blazing with "family diamonds," and addressed as "Duchess of
B----." As for the gentlemen, I don't intend describing their
sensation--never having been a gentleman myself (more's the pity!) but
will leave it to the imagination of my readers.
The last "I will" had been uttered; and amid that breathless silence
Ernest Seyton, Viscount Villiers, and Maude Percy were pronounced man
and wife.
There was an instant's pause, and the guests were about to press forward
to offer their congratulations, when pealing through the silence came an
unseen voice, in clear, bell-like tones that thrilled every heart, with
the words:
"An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and a life for a life! My
curse, and the curse of Heaven rest on all of the house of De Courcy!"
Blanched with wonder, horror and consternation, every face was turned in
the direction whence the voice came; but nothing was to be seen. So
sudden, so unlooked for was this awful interruption; so terrific was
that deep, hollow voice, that the shrieks they would have uttered were
frozen to the lips of the terrified women. And while they still stood
speechless, horror-struck, gazing in silence, the deep, direful voice
pealed again through the silent apartment like the knell of doom.
"As the rich man who stole the one ewe-lamb was accursed, so also be all
who bear the name of De Courcy! May their bridal robes turn to
funeral-palls! may their hours of rejoicing end in blackest misery!
Blighted be their lives! doomed be all they love--hated by earth, and
accursed by Heaven!"
The voice ceased. A wild shriek resounded through the room and the bride
fell fainting on the ground.
In an instant all was confusion. Ladies shrieked and screamed; servants
came rushing in; gentlemen, pale and horror-struck, hurried hither and
thither in wildest confusion. All was uproar and dismay. Lord Villiers,
with his senseless bride in his arms, was struggling to force his way
from the room; and then high above the din resounded the clear,
commanding voice of Earl De Courcy:
"Let all be quiet! There is no danger! Secure the doors, and look for
the intruder. This is the trick of some evil-minded person to create a
sensation."
His words broke the spell of superstitious terror that bound them. Every
one flew to obey--guests, servants and all. Each room was
searched--every corner and crevice was examined. If a pin had been lost,
it must have been found; but they searched in vain. The owner of the
mysterious voice could not be discovered.
Looking in each other's faces, white with wonder, they gave up the
fruitless search, and returned to the saloon.
Like a flock of frightened birds, the ladies, pale with mortal
apprehension, were huddled together--not daring even to speak. In brief,
awe-struck whispers the result was told; and then, chill with
apprehension, the guests began rapidly to disperse. And in less than an
hour the stately house of Maude Percy was wrapt in silence, solitude and
gloom. The bride, surrounded by her attendants, lay still unconscious,
while all over London the news was spreading of the appalling
termination of the wedding.