INTERFERENCE.
A Novel.
BY
B. M. CROKER,
AUTHOR OF
“PROPER PRIDE,” “PRETTY MISS NEVILLE,”
“A BIRD OF PASSAGE,” “DIANA BARRINGTON,”
“TWO MASTERS,” &c.
_IN THREE VOLUMES._
VOL. II.
London:
F. V. WHITE & CO.,
31, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C.
1891.
PRINTED BY
KELLY & CO., MIDDLE MILL, KINGSTON-ON-THAMES;
AND GATE STREET, LINCOLN’S INN FIELDS, W.C.
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I.--“INTERRUPTED” 1
II.--“FOXY JOE TELLS TALES” 34
III.--MRS. MACCABE HAS IT OUT WITH THE MAJOR 58
IV.--THE MAJOR RECEIVES HIS LAST TELEGRAM 79
V.--THE HOUR AND THE MAN 98
VI.--“THINE ONLY” 119
VII.--BELLE _VERSUS_ BETTY 134
VIII.--“YES, COMING” 162
IX.--FOXY JOE TELLS MORE TALES, AND ONE FALSEHOOD 177
X.--“THE BRIDE-ELECT” 190
XI.--“THE UNEXPECTED” 200
XII.--“‘SHE’ UNDERSTANDS ME” 226
INTERFERENCE.
CHAPTER I.
“INTERRUPTED.”
“It is a familiar beast to man, and signifies love.”
--MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
Betty had been unremitting in her attention to Miss Dopping all through
the winter, and her virtue was not to be her sole reward! The old lady
hired a pair of posters, and drove out to Noone in her mother’s green
chariot, and had a long private interview with Mrs. Redmond. She was
going to the Moores of Roskeen for a week, and they had asked her to
bring Betty.--It would be by no means Betty’s first visit to that part
of the world. She and Kathleen Moore were bosom friends; indeed she was
a great favourite with the whole family. But this visit would be a more
solemn occasion; as Miss Dopping represented to Mrs. Redmond, her young
friend was now eighteen, it was manifestly high time she came out; she
might make her _début_ at Lord Enniscorthy’s ball. She might go with
the Moores, and Miss Dopping herself would chaperone her, and provide
her dress! Mrs. Redmond hesitated. Ought not Betty to come out under
_her_ wing?
“Not at all, my good creature,” replied the other promptly. “You have
your own chick to look after” (“and a pretty old chick too,” she
remarked inwardly). “I’ve known Betty long before you ever heard of her
existence. She is my child. I owe her many a pleasant hour, and she
shall owe some pleasant hours to me.”
Miss Dopping was fully determined to carry her point, and when she took
her leave, Mrs. Redmond had given her a promise to “see about it,” and
let her know before post time next day.
Now promising to “see about it,” really meant consulting Belle. What
would she say to Betty’s coming out? Strange to say Belle bore the
news surprisingly well! It was true that she was a little jealous of
her cousin appearing with _éclat_ in the suite of the Moores, for the
Moores were great social magnates, and took but scant notice of Belle
and her mother. (They were strangers in a county where it takes ten
years at least to ingratiate yourself with the old residents.)
It was a triumphant fact that Lady Mary Moore had left cards at Noone,
thanks to Miss Dopping’s good offices, but a slight lowering of the
eyelids was the only salutation she ever vouchsafed to Bel and the
Dragon.
She had seen the former at a fancy ball, clothed in smiles and a little
tulle, and had taken a prejudice against her on the spot--the prejudice
of a prudent mother with two marriageable sons.
“Of course Betty must come out some time or other,” thought Belle as
she carefully considered the situation; and Miss Dopping and Maria
Finny had been making disagreeable speeches about her costumes, and
her occupations. For instance, Maria had said in her most aggressive
manner: “I suppose your mother is making a fine purse for Betty! We all
know she has two hundred a year of her own, and her dress and board
cannot cost thirty; indeed she is as good as two servants--and saves
that much.”
“What a kind interest you take in our concerns!” returned Belle, with
blazing eyes, and a quiver in her voice.
“I do,” replied Maria with fearless frankness, “and it’s your interest
to know that every one in the place is talking of the shabby way that
Betty is dressed; they say she wears your cast-off dresses, but I
cannot believe _that_, for I’ve seen you in things that I daren’t offer
to a beggar woman.”
Belle had made a mental note of this conversation. It would never do
to have people gossiping, or to be supposed to ill-use Betty, who was
a popular favourite--that would be very bad policy; unpleasant hints
might come to George’s ears, and it was essential that he should only
hear complimentary remarks about Noone. Betty, if she went to Roskeen,
would be staying in his neighbourhood; possibly he would be at Roskeen
itself! She would be able to report on his doings, and tell her if
he was flirting with anyone! Unsophisticated Betty should be her spy
in the land. Moreover the ball would be no expense. Miss Dopping had
guaranteed that; her cousin could never be her rival, no matter how she
was dressed. And after revolving all these matters in her mind, she
came to the gracious conclusion that “Betty might go.”
Happy Betty! who had never suspected that her fate was trembling in
the balance, was all gay chatter and high spirits, as she and her
adviser laid their heads together, to choose a gown from patterns, and
Belle (who could be most generous and unselfish at other people’s
expense) selected a most _recherché_ and elegant white ball dress, not
forgetting such important details as shoes, and fan, and gloves. She
even offered to endow her beaming relative with some of her own less
becoming belongings.
“There’s my grey dress would fit you, with very little alteration, and
you can have my red bonnet if you like.”
“No, no,” returned Betty hastily, “I shall do very well; you know the
Moores don’t dress much, and I have my new serge, and my black lace for
the evenings, and you can re-trim my brown hat.”
These two respectable frocks were the immediate result of Maria Finny’s
warning; her conversation (considerably watered down) had been repeated
to Mrs. Redmond, with this insignificant issue.
“They do dress,” repeated Belle, “and there is that little American
heiress there. She is certain to be a swell. I wonder if she will set
her cap at George Holroyd; or Kathleen Moore may take his fancy! Mind
you write and let me know if he makes love to any of the girls over
there. Now _promise_ me this, Betty!” she urged impressively.
“But I am only going for a week,” objected Betty, “and you will see him
at the ball yourself.”
“Well, at any rate promise to write and tell me all the news.”
“I don’t suppose there will be much news, but of course I shall write
you if you wish, though I hate writing letters.”
A few days later, Betty was driving down Ballingoole, seated beside
Miss Dopping in the old green chariot; they were on their way to
Roskeen, a distance of fifteen miles.
Roskeen was a fine country place, kept up in suitable style, thanks to
Lady Mary’s comfortable fortune in the Three per Cents; the shooting
was well preserved, the stables were full, the house luxuriously
furnished in a modern fashion. Soft Persian carpets covered the
floors, velvet portières draped the doors, the walls were lined with
fine paintings, there was a music-room, a billiard-room, a winter
garden, and a French cook! and there was never an instant’s hesitation
in people’s minds about accepting an invitation to Roskeen. Betty
faithfully fulfilled her promise. A few days after her departure, her
anxious cousin received the following letter:--
“MY DEAR BELLE,--We arrived on Monday in time for dinner, and are
the only people staying here, besides Sir James and Lady Lucas, Mr.
Holroyd and Miss Pink, the American girl; she is engaged to a cousin
at home, and is going to be married when she has enough of travelling
and seeing the world. She has been all round the globe once with her
brother, and says she had a perfectly splendid time, and she feels
as if she would like to go again. She is slight, plain, and dark,
and plays and sings beautifully and talks a great deal; her tongue
and fingers are always busy and she has the energy of half-a-dozen.
I like her, so does everyone. We are very busy getting up _tableaux
vivants_. Fred is at home on leave, and more conceited than ever. Miss
Pink has taken him in hand. She told him to his face that she called
him _very_ ugly, and that one of his eyes was certainly larger than
the other! Ghosty is almost quite well, but still wears his arm in a
sling. I think Kathleen is much admired by Mr. Blake of Blakestown, at
any rate he comes here nearly every day on some transparent excuse. We
have had a good deal of rain, but we do not mind, for we play games,
and have music, and billiards, and go for long walks when it clears,
and in the evenings we dance. The ball is, as you know, on Tuesday.
I am looking forward to it with great pleasure. My dress fits like a
glove. I have tried it on, and it looks lovely. Flora Pink says that
it is as well made as her Paris frocks, and she never saw anything so
_cunning_ as the cut of the sleeves! Miss Dopping is enjoying herself
just as much as I am--in her own way. She and Granny Moore discuss old
times for hours together. It seems so queer to hear them calling each
other Sally and Polly. Katie is screaming for me to come and play
hide-and-go-seek, so good-bye for the present.
“Your affectionate cousin,
“ELIZABETH REDMOND.”
“Dancing and games, and hide-and-go-seek!” muttered Belle. “There
is nothing like a few days in a country house for bringing people
together, and promoting intimacy. Three days, above all three _wet_
days, are better than a hundred balls. However there is luckily no one
for George Holroyd to fall in love with. Katie is as good as engaged,
the heiress is disposed of--and there is no one else!”
Strange as it may appear, she never cast a thought to Betty. Her remark
about wet days in a country house was perfectly just. In those wet
days, Betty was the life of Roskeen. She had known the Moores for
years; they all--even Ghosty and Fred--called her by her Christian
name; she was invariably gay, obliging, and good-tempered, ready for
anything, from a game of fox and geese, to a drive on the box seat
of Colonel Moore’s drag. George Holroyd saw her now in a new light!
A favoured guest, among luxurious surroundings, bright and pretty,
and admired (_too_ much admired to please him, for Ghosty followed
her about like her shadow), Katie appealed to her opinion on every
occasion, Lady Mary stroked her hair affectionately, and Flora Pink was
loud in her praises, and said that she “just adored her.”
“I do like you,” said Flora, with a childlike frankness as they sat
over the fire in Betty’s room; “and shall I tell you something--some
one likes you _better_ than _I_ do, and that’s Mr. Holroyd. You see I
know all the signs and tokens, for I have gotten a lover of my own.”
“Nonsense, Flora, how can you be so silly!”
“Yes, I noticed how he looked at you, when you were dressed up in
that splendid old brocade, with your hair powdered, the night of the
tableaux, do you mind? And he is so jealous when you are talking to
Ghosty; he is a perfectly lovely young man--Great Scott! Betty! you
needn’t look so angry. Have some candy.”
* * * * *
The evening of the dance came at last, and as George Holroyd leisurely
descended the stairs, previous to taking his seat in the Moores’
comfortable family omnibus, he noticed a charming figure flitting
down before him--a girl in her ball dress! She paused to take one
last fond look in the great glass on the first landing. It was Betty,
beautified--a fashionable young lady, in a misty, white gown, a pearl
necklace, and long gloves. She carried a bouquet, too; now _who_ had
given her this bouquet? He approached softly on the Turkey carpet, and
looking over her shoulder observed:
“_Most_ satisfactory, is it not?”
“Oh!” blushing and turning round, “how you startled me, and I am quite
nervous enough as it is.”
“Really you must find that an entirely new sensation! Pray allow me to
feel your pulse?”
“No, no, thank you,” with a smile, “I am not quite so bad as that, but
I have never been to any kind of dance--except the school breaking-up
dances, and I have not an idea of what a ball will be like!” and she
looked at him with bright, excited eyes.
“Shall I tell you?” he said, as they reached the great carpeted
hall, with its two generous fireplaces, and seated themselves on a
large Eastern divan. “A native syce, who had the good luck to obtain
a peep of his master in a ball-room, was overheard describing his
performances, something in this way--to a brother syce:
“‘First he gallops her about, then he walks her slowly round to cool
her, then he gives her water, then he gives her gram’--(that is to say,
refreshments)--‘then he goes and gallops some one else.’”
“I don’t think many people will gallop _me_,” said Betty, laughing, “I
know so few! But, at any rate, I shall not do like a friend of Miss
Pink’s. She goes and stays in the ladies’ dressing-room, when she is
not engaged--lest people should see her sitting out!”
“There is no fear that you will be driven to such a desperate
expedient,” returned George with twinkling eyes. “I hope you are going
to give me the first waltz.”
“No, I promised it to Fred a week ago. You _know_ I did.”
“The first dance, then,” he urged, “even if it is a square. I am not
proud.”
She shook her head emphatically as she replied, “Ghosty bespoke that a
year ago.”
“Hang Ghosty! I am sorry I did not leave him at the bottom of that
ditch! At any rate you will give me two waltzes, and the supper dance
to begin with?”
“Yes, to begin with and end with. Miss Dopping says that in _her_ day
it was not correct to dance with any one more than twice.”
“Minuets I presume! and as they took up best part of an hour, I am with
her there. Here comes Fred, chortling to himself as he walks. Look at
his beautiful shoes, and the gold buttons on his waistcoat.”
“Hullo,” he exclaimed, “down first; Betty, you are an early bird--we
will not say anything about the worm,” glancing at George. “What a
ripping bouquet! Now I know what old Ghosty was fuming and fussing
about, he got it over from Covent Garden.”
“From Covent Garden,” echoed the young lady, “when there are lovely
flowers in the hothouses here.”
“Yes, but it’s more swagger to get ’em from town. Remember the first
waltz is ours--we will show them how it _ought_ to be done.”
“Speak for yourself! I know I dance abominably. I only hope that I
shall not make too humbling an exhibition of myself.”
“At least you don’t waltz as if you were going to sit down, nor cling
to a fellow as if you were drowning,” said Fred consolingly. “Here they
come at last. Miss Pink, you are the pink of perfection. I guess you
are going to give me 2, and 5 and 9.”
“No, I expect you will have to guess again,” said Miss Pink drily.
“Of course I know you are engaged. The knowledge has aged me by years.”
“I wonder you ain’t ashamed, Mr. Fred! I truly do. Your jokes throw
a gloom over the whole place--why should you try to damp our little
pleasure?”
By this time the hall was full--Lady Mary, in a blaze of family
diamonds, Colonel Moore in a sad, dejected state of mind, Miss Dopping
in black velvet, with magnificent Mechlin lace--who would suppose this
somewhat stately old lady to be the self-same Sally, who wore a poke
bonnet, short woollen skirts, and was followed in her walks by a train
of hungry beggars, instead of these yards of the finest Genoa pile?
The party from Roskeen drove over to Lord Enniscorthy’s seat, the
scene of the festivity, in a comfortable, well-warmed private omnibus.
Flora Pink, Kathleen, and Fred, kept the ball of conversation rolling,
but Betty was too nervous, and too full of delightful anticipations
to talk much. How her heart beat, as they drove under the grand
entrance porch, and stepped out upon red cloth! Ghosty Moore gave her
his sound arm, and a programme; in another moment she was among the
crowd of strange faces--and presented to Lady Enniscorthy, a stout
elderly woman, with a large nose, who smiled on her graciously, and
then they passed on into the ball-room. She danced the first lancers
with Ghosty, and this gave her time to compose herself, look about
her, and regain her self-possession. Several pairs of eyes were fixed
on her, and people asked: “Who was the pretty, tall girl who had come
with the Moores?” To hear that “she was nobody in particular, only Mrs.
Redmond’s niece,” was rather a disappointment. After the dance, Betty
and her partner walked about and recognised their acquaintances--the
Malones for instance, who seized on Betty as upon a long lost
friend--Mrs. Malone looking flushed and nervous, in a new black
brocade, the Major pompous and talkative, Denis in gloves much too
large, and shoes much too small, holding his nose high in the air, and
affecting to look down upon the whole thing.
Then there were the Finnys, in a retired nook, which commanded a good
view--Mrs. Finny pitifully abject, Maria grim and defiant, hardly
knowing a soul in the room, save by sight.
Here the sensible reader will naturally ask, “Why did they come?”
They came to protest their gentility; their right to be classed among
the “county” gentry, and more particularly, Mrs. Finny came, because
Maria made her--and Maria came, because the scene gave her food for
discourse for the next twelve months. She enjoyed the delights of
sitting in Jane Bolland’s back parlour, and vivisecting the present
gay and unsuspecting company. The Major was in his element, and in
considerable request among luckless elderly spinsters, whom he made
happy by his attentions--by giving them one dance, so that they could
say, “Oh, dear me, yes, it was a capital floor, I danced of course.” He
took starving dowagers into the refreshment room, and quite a convoy
of old ladies (of position) down to supper; whilst Mrs. Malone watched
her son (her eldest son) with proud and eager eyes, and pointed him out
with undisguised triumph to her immediate neighbours: “That’s my son
George, coming this way now with Lady Armine Fitzmaurice,” or “that is
my eldest son, dancing with Betty Redmond.” It was agreed--even by
Maria Finny--that Betty looked well, was one of the prettiest girls in
the room--in short that she was a great credit to Ballingoole. She was
in enviable request, surrounded by would-be partners, and Fred--who
had not been quite certain as to how she would “take”--now pestered
her for half the dances on her programme, and advertised his intimacy
by calling her “Betty” across a set of lancers. George did not mind
_him_, but he was really jealous of Ghosty. An innocent hunting friend
had pointed him out to him, as “Booked for pretty Betty Redmond. It was
true she had next to no fortune, but the Moores all liked her, and it
was a settled thing.” His waltz with Betty came at last; it was only
number five, so the evening was not so very far advanced, but for him,
it was only just about to begin.
“I did not know that the Major danced,” he exclaimed, as he watched his
step-father revolving round the room like a big humming-top.
“Yes--he is very fond of balls,” replied Betty, “and, until lately,
he wore his full dress tunic on every possible occasion, until it
was agony to him, and he said he could not put the tip of his finger
inside his waist-belt; now he is at a loss to know what to do with his
uniform. What can you suggest?”
“He might stuff it, and set it up in his study, as an effigy of
himself,” returned George shortly. “Our next dance is number twelve, is
it not? May I see your card?”
“Yes, of course.”
“You are dancing the next with Denis. What sort of a performer is he?”
“Well,” smiling, “I may tell you in confidence, that Fred Moore says in
a small room he is dangerous, but he will have lots of scope here.”
“Why do you not give him a square?” expostulated his step-brother.
“I offered him a square--I begged of him, almost with tears in my eyes,
but he would not hear of it; as it is, he is offended; ‘out’ with me,
as they say.”
“Although you have agreed to sacrifice yourself,” returned George as he
led her into a passage. “He deserves to be put to death to slow music.”
In this passage they came face to face with Mrs. Redmond and Belle.
Belle, in a yellow gown, was looking quite her best; a slight _soupçon_
of rouge set off her dark eyes--eyes that sparkled with unusual
brilliancy.
“Oh, Betty, so there you are!” accosting her, with much animation.
“And Mr. Holroyd! We have only just arrived; we had Casey’s covered
car, and it _is_ so slow! I know scarcely anyone here, Mr. Holroyd;
so I have put you down for three waltzes and an extra,” holding out
her programme playfully. “Now you must leave Betty to talk to mother,
and to tell her all she has been doing, and _who_ gave her that lovely
bouquet, and take poor me round the rooms.” And before George could
realize the fact, she had walked him away, with her neatly gloved hand
on his arm, leaving Betty in her own place--yes, Belle was undoubtedly
a clever girl. It would have fared ill with Betty, had not Ghosty Moore
(with the eye of love) discovered her--for Mrs. Redmond had towed her
off to the white drawing-room--the haunt of dowagers only--and there
she seated herself on a sofa beside her victim, and proceeded to
cross-examine her, whilst at the same time she endeavoured to “catch
the eye” and recognition of various haughty, high-fed old ladies. As
long as Belle was enjoying herself, what did it matter about Betty? And
_she_ did not choose to sit alone; by and by she hoped to figuratively
harpoon a substantial county magnate, who would take her down to
supper, but she was certainly not going to herd with the Finnys and
Malones! However, her young kinswoman was speedily carried off by an
eligible young man, to take part in the ensuing waltz, and she was left
to the tender mercies of Maria Finny, who had just discovered her--and
who, perceiving that the old lady wished to ignore her acquaintance as
much as possible, attached herself to her like a social “burr”--for
the remainder of the evening!
Betty watched Belle, and her partner, floating round; they were
admirable dancers both. What a pretty figure Belle had, and how
wonderfully long-winded she must be, for her lips were moving
incessantly. She talked as it were into her partner’s ear the whole
time she was dancing, and as she subsequently walked about with him,
in conspicuous companionship, her vivacity, her sparkling dark beauty,
and smart ball dress, made her the cynosure of many eyes. Mr. Holroyd
danced once more with Betty, the dance before supper. He had been, _he_
thought, rather clever about this, as he led her, when it was over,
into a little boudoir; there was no one in it but themselves. Now was
his opportunity! Now he would put his fate in her hands. He stood on
the hearth-rug, and lent his elbow firmly on the chimneypiece--but in
spite of that, his arm shook; whilst she fanned herself slowly with her
new white feather fan, and gazed into the fire.
“I hope you did not mind my leaving you that time,” he began nervously.
“Not at all,” she returned looking up at him; “why should I? Of course
it was quite natural that you should go with Belle.”
“You think it quite natural that I should leave you for her?”
“Yes, of course I do,” she answered with a little nod and smile, but
her pulses were throbbing fast.
“Then you are mistaken, Betty,” he said leaning towards her. “If I had
my own way I would never leave _you_ as long as I----”
“Here she is! the very girl I want!” exclaimed Fred Moore, pushing back
the portière.
George turned and looked at him. At this moment he had never seen
anyone he disliked as much as Fred, with his round fair head, pink
shiny face, comfortable little figure, gold buttons, and grin.
“Come along, Bet, you are engaged to me; come along,” he called
out masterfully. “I am going to take you in to supper. Why,
Betty”--scanning her curiously--“what’s this; you are as red as a rose;
you are actually blushing. I never saw you blush before. Betty, you
have performed a _feat_!”
“I--I--how can you be so silly,” she stammered. “I don’t want any
supper, but if you like I’ll go with you and look on.”
“Nonsense; you need not be showing off before Holroyd. You have as fine
an appetite as any girl I know; Holroyd, you come along too--you _may_.
We will get to a little table by ourselves, and do a good business with
oysters, and truffled boar’s head, and champagne--you could not be in
better hands than mine--and that’s sound.”
Perhaps George would have accepted this invitation to the unpopular
post of “third” party, but for Belle, who entered with a partner at
this moment, and said with an air of playful proprietorship:
“Oh, Mr. Holroyd, this _is_ most fortunate! I know I can depend upon
_you_ to look after poor mamma--here she is--she says she is quite
faint with hunger.”
Mrs. Redmond--who had at last shaken off Maria--was in a bland and
chatty frame of mind, although intensely occupied with various
toothsome comestibles--soup, salmon, ducklings, pâté de foie gras, all
of which received her very best attention. She remained a long time in
the supper-room--with George, so to speak, chained to the stake, and
never noticed how silent and preoccupied he was; how often his eyes
wandered to a little table, at which sat Betty, Miss Pink, and the
brothers Moore, nor how restless he became, after they had risen and
departed. Lady Mary was a fussy chaperon, and by the time Mr. Holroyd
and his charge had returned to the ball-room, she and her young ladies
were nowhere to be seen--they had gone home!
Poor George! He had never wished Mrs. Redmond at Jericho! Never!