"Draw the curtains, my dear, and then go into the next room, and throw
open the French window quite wide."
It was a mumbling noise that seemed to come out of a cap-border lying on
a pillow, for there was no face visible; but a long thin elevation of
the bedclothes, showing that some one was lying there, could be seen in
the dim light.
Claire drew the curtains, opened a pair of folding-doors, and crossed
the front room to open the French window and admit the sweet fresh air.
She stepped out into the balcony supported by wooden posts, up which a
creeper was trained, and stood by a few shrubs in pots gazing out at the
brilliant sea; but only for a few moments, before turning, recrossing
the skimpily furnished drawing-room, and going into the back, where the
large four-post bedstead suddenly began to quiver, and the bullion
fringe all round to dance, as its occupant burst into a spasmodic fit of
coughing.
"He--he--he, hi--hi--hi, hec--hec--hec, ha--ha--ha! ho--ho! Bless my--
hey--ha! hey--ha! hugh--hugh--hugh! Oh dear me! oh--why don't you--
heck--heck--heck--heck--heck! Shut the--ho--ho--ho--ho--hugh--hugh--
window before I--ho--ho--ho--ho!"
Claire flew back across the drawing-room and shut the window, hurrying
again to the bedside, where, as she drew aside the curtains, the morning
light displayed a ghastly-looking, yellow-faced old woman, whose head
nodded and bowed in a palsied manner, as she sat up, supporting herself
with one arm, and wiped her eyes--the hand that held the handkerchief
being claw-like and bony, and covered with a network of prominent veins.
She was a repulsive-looking, blear-eyed old creature, with a
high-bridged aquiline nose that seemed to go with the claw-like hand. A
few strands of white hair had escaped from beneath the great mob of lace
that frilled her nightcap, and hung over forehead and cheek, which were
lined and wrinkled like a walnut shell, only ten times as deeply.
"It's--it's your nasty damp house," mumbled the old woman spitefully,
her lips seeming to be drawn tightly over her gums, and her nose
threatening to tap her chin as she spoke. "It's--it's killing me. I
never had such a cough before. Damn Saltinville! I hate it."
"Oh, Lady Teigne, how can you talk like that!" cried Claire. "It is so
shocking."
"What! to say damn? 'Tisn't. I'll say it again. A hundred times if I
like;" and she rattled out the condemnatory word a score of times over,
as fast as she could utter it, while Claire looked on in a troubled way
at the hideous old wretch before her.
"Well, what are you staring at, pink face! Wax-doll! Baby chit! Don't
look at me in that proud way, as if you were rejoicing because you are
young, and I am a little old. You'll be like me some day. If you
live--he--he--he! If you live. But you won't. You look consumptive.
Eh?"
"I did not speak," said Claire sadly. "Shall I bring your breakfast,
Lady Teigne?"
"Yes, of course. Are you going to starve me? Mind the beef-tea's
strong this morning, and put a little more cognac in, child. Don't you
get starving me. Tell your father, child, that I shall give him a
cheque some day. I haven't forgotten his account, but he is not to
pester me with reminders. I shall pay him when I please."
"My father would be greatly obliged, Lady Teigne, if you would let him
have some money at once. I know he is pressed."
"How dare you! How dare you! Pert chit! Look here, girl," cried the
old woman, shaking horribly with rage; "if another word is said to me
about money, I'll go and take apartments somewhere else."
"Lady Teigne! You are ill," cried Claire, as the old woman sank back on
her pillow, looking horribly purple. "Let me send for a doctor."
"What!" cried the old woman, springing up--"a doctor? Don't you mention
a doctor again in my presence, miss. Do you think I'd trust myself to
one of the villains? He'd kill me in a week. Go and get my beef-tea.
I'm quite well."
Claire went softly out of the room, and the old woman sat up coughing
and muttering.
"Worrying me for money, indeed--a dipperty-dapperty dancing-master! I
won't pay him a penny."
Here there was a fit of coughing that made the fringe dance till the old
woman recovered, wiped her eyes, and shook her skinny hand at the fringe
for quivering.
"Doctor? Yes, they'd better. What do I want with a doctor? Let them
get one for old Lyddy--wants one worse than I do, ever so much. Oh,
there you are, miss. Is that beef-tea strong?"
"Yes, Lady Teigne, very strong."
Claire placed a tray, covered with a white napkin, before her, and took
the cover from the white china soup-basin, beside which was a plate of
toast cut up into dice.
The old woman sniffed at a spoonful.
"How much cognac did you put in?"
"A full wine-glass, Lady Teigne."
"Then it's poor brandy."
"No, Lady Teigne; it is the best French."
"Chut! Don't talk to me, child. I know what brandy is."
She threw some of the sippets in, and began tasting the broth in an
unpleasant way, mumbling between the spoonfuls.
"I knew what brandy was before you were born, and shall go on drinking
it after you are dead, I dare say. There, I shan't have any more. Give
it to that hungry boy of yours. He looks as if he wanted it."
Claire could not forbear a smile, for the old woman had not left half a
dozen spoonfuls at the bottom of the basin.
"Look here. Come up at two o'clock and dress me. I shall have a good
many visitors to-day, and mind this: don't you ever hint at sending up
Eliza again, or I'll go and take apartments somewhere else. We're
getting proud, I suppose?"
There was a jingle of the china on the tray as the old woman threw
herself down, and then a mumbling, followed by a fit of coughing, which
soon subsided, and lastly there was nothing visible but the great
cap-border, and a few straggling white hairs.
At two o'clock to the moment Claire went upstairs again, and for the
space of an hour she performed the duties of lady's-maid without a
murmur, building up the old relic of a bygone fashionable generation
into a presentable form. There was an auburn set of curls upon her
head, with a huge tortoise-shell comb behind. A change had been wrought
in her mouth, which was filled with white teeth. A thick coating of
powder filled up some of her wrinkles, and a wonderful arrangement of
rich lace draped her form as she sat propped up in an easy-chair.
"Now my diamonds," she said, at last; and Claire fetched a casket from
the dressing-table, and held a mirror before the old lady, as she
wearied herself--poor old flickering flame that she was!--fitting rings
on her thin fingers, the glittering necklet about her baggy throat, the
diadem in her hair, and the eardrops in the two yellow pendulous
adjuncts to her head.
"Shall I do, chit?" she said, at last.
"Yes," said Claire gravely.
"Humph! You don't look pleased; you never do. You're jealous, chit.
There, half draw down the blinds and go, now. Leave the room tidy. I
hate to have you by me at times like this."
Claire helped her to walk to the drawing-room, arranged a few things,
and then left the room with the folding-doors closed, and it seemed as
if life and youth had gone out of the place, leaving it to ghastly old
age and death, painted with red lips and white cheeks, and looking ten
times more awful than death in its natural solemn state.
Then for two hours fashionable Saltinville rattled the knocker, and was
shown up by Isaac, in ones, and twos, and threes, and told Lady Teigne
that she never looked better, and took snuff, and gossiped, and told of
the latest scandals about Miss A, and Mr B, and Lord C, and then
stopped, for Lord C came and told tales back; and all the while Lady
Teigne, supported by Lady Drelincourt, her sister, ogled and smiled, and
smirked under her paint and diamonds, and quarrelled with her sister
every time they were left for a few minutes alone.
"It's shameful, Lyddy," said her ladyship, pinching her over-dressed
sister; "an old thing like you, rolling in riches, and you won't pay my
debts."
"Pay them yourself," was the ungracious reply. "Oh!"
This was consequent upon the receipt of a severe pinch from Lady Teigne,
but the elderly sisters smiled again directly, for Isaac announced Major
Rockley, and the handsome, dark officer came in, banging an imaginary
sabre at his heels and clinking his spurs. He kissed Lady Teigne's
hand, bent courteously over Lady Drelincourt, and then set both
tittering over the latest story about the Prince.
The sisters might have been young from their ways and looks, and general
behaviour towards the Major, whose attentions towards the venerable
animated mummy upon the couch seemed marked by a manner that was almost
filial.
He patted the cushions that supported the weak back; held her ladyship
when a fit of coughing came on, and then had to find the necklet that
had become unfastened and had slipped down beneath an Indian shawl,
spread coverlet fashion, over the lady's trembling limbs.
"Thank you so much, Major. How clever you are!" cackled the old woman
playfully, as he found the necklet, and clasped it about her throat. "I
almost feel disposed to give you some encouragement, only it would make
Lyddy furious."
Lady Drelincourt said "For shame!" and tapped her sister with her fan,
and then Major Rockley had to give place to Captain Bray and Lieutenant
Sir Harry Payne, officers in his regiment, the former a handsome, portly
dandy who puzzled his dearest friends, he was so poor but looked so
well.
Then followed other members of the fashionable world of Saltinville,
till nearly six, when the knocker ceased making the passage echo, the
last visitor had called, and Claire helped--half carried--her ladyship
back to bed, and watched her relock her jewels in the casket, which was
taken then to the dressing-table. Her ladyship was made comfortable,
partook of her dinner and tea, and then waited for the coming of Claire
for the last time that night.
Volume One, Chapter IV.