"Gentlemen," said Colonel Lascelles, "I am an old fogey, and I never
break my rules. At my time of life a man wants plenty of sleep, so I
must ask you to excuse me. Rockley shall take my place, and I beg--I
insist--that none will stir. Smith, send the Major's servant to see if
he is better."
A smart-looking dragoon, who had been acting the part of butler at the
mess table, saluted.
"Beg pardon, sir, James Bell is sick."
"Drunk, you mean, sir," cried the Colonel angrily. "Confound the
fellow! he is always tippling the mess wine."
"Small blame to him, Colonel," said the Adjutant with tipsy gravity;
"'tis very good."
"And disagreed with his master early in the evening," said the Doctor.
Here there was a roar of laughter, in which the greyheaded Colonel
joined.
"Well, gentlemen, we must not be hard," he said. "Here, Smith, my
compliments to Major Rockley, and if he is better, say we shall be glad
to see him."
"Beg pardon, sir," said the man, "here is the Major."
At that moment the gentleman in question entered the room, and the
brilliant illumination of the table gave a far better opportunity for
judging his appearance than the blind-drawn gloom of Lady Teigne's
drawing-room. He was a strikingly handsome dark man, with a fierce
black moustache that seemed to divide his face in half, and then stood
out beyond each cheek in a black tuft, hair highly pomatumed and curled,
and bright black eyes that seemed to flash from beneath his rather
overhanging brows. Five-and-thirty was about his age, and he looked it
all, time or dissipation having drawn a good many fine lines, like
tracings of future wrinkles, about the corners of his eyes and mouth.
"Colonel--gentlemen, a hundred apologies," he said. "I'm not often
taken like this. We must have a fresh mess-man. Our cooking is
execrable."
"And your digestion so weak," said the Doctor, sipping his port.
"There, there," said the Colonel hastily. "I want to get to bed. Take
my place, Rockley; keep them alive. Good-night, gentlemen; I know
you'll excuse me. Good-night."
The Colonel left his seat, faced round, stood very stiffly for a few
moments, and then walked straight out of the room, while Major Rockley,
who was still far from sober, took his place.
A good many bottles of port had been consumed that night, for in those
days it was an English gentleman's duty to pay attention to his port,
and after turning exceedingly poorly, and having to quit the table, the
Major began by trying to make up for the past in a manner that would now
be classed as loud.
"Gentlemen, pray--pray, pass the decanters," he cried. "Colonel
Mellersh, that port is not to your liking. Smith, some more claret?
Mr Linnell, 'pon honour, you know you must not pass the decanter
without filling your glass. Really, gentlemen, I am afraid our guests
are disappointed at the absence of Colonel Lascelles, and because a
certain gentleman has not honoured us to-night. A toast, gentlemen:
HRH."
"HRH" was chorused as every officer and guest rose at the dark,
highly-polished mahogany table, liberally garnished with decanters,
bottles, and fruit; and, with a good deal of demonstration, glasses were
waved in the air, a quantity of rich port was spilled, and the fact was
made very evident that several of the company had had more than would
leave them bright and clear in the morning.
The mess-room of the Light Dragoon Regiment was handsome and spacious;
several trophies of arms and colours decorated the walls; that unusual
military addition, a conservatory, opened out of one side; and in it,
amongst the flowers, the music-stands of the excellent band that had
been playing during dinner were still visible, though the bandsmen had
departed when the cloth was drawn.
The party consisted of five-and-twenty, many being in uniform, with
their open blue jackets displaying their scarlet dress vests with the
ridge of pill-sized buttons closely packed from chin to waist; and
several of the wearers of these scarlet vests were from time to time
pouring confidences into their neighbours' ears, the themes being two:
"The cards" and "She."
"Colonel Mellersh, I am going to ask you to sing," said Major Rockley,
after taking a glass of port at a draught, and looking a little less
pale.
He turned to a striking-looking personage at his right--a keen,
aquiline-featured man, with closely-cut, iron-grey hair, decisive,
largish mouth with very white teeth, and piercing dark-grey eyes which
had rather a sinister look from the peculiarity of his fierce eyebrows,
which seemed to go upwards from where they nearly joined.
"I'm afraid my voice is in no singing trim," said the Colonel, in a
quick, loud manner.
"Come, no excuses," cried a big heavy-faced, youngish man from the
bottom of the long table--a gentleman already introduced to the reader
in Lady Teigne's drawing-room.
"No excuse, Sir Matt," cried the Colonel; "only an apology for the
quality of what I am about to sing."
There was a loud tapping and clinking of glasses, and then the Colonel
trolled forth in a sweet tenor voice an anacreontic song about women,
and sparkling wine, and eyes divine, and flowing bowls, and joyous
souls, and ladies bright, as dark as night, and ladies rare, as bright
as fair, and so on, and so on, the whole being listened to with the
deepest attention and the greatest of satisfaction by a body of
gentlemen whose thoughts at the moment, if not set upon women and wine,
certainly were upon wine and women.
It was curious to watch the effect of the song upon the occupants of the
different chairs. The Major sat back slightly flushed, gazing straight
before him at the bright face he conjured up; Sir Matthew Bray leaned
forward, and bent and swayed his great handsome Roman-looking head and
broad shoulders in solemn satisfaction, and his nearest neighbour, Sir
Harry Payne, the handsome, effeminate and dissipated young dragoon,
tapped the table with his delicate fingers and showed his white teeth.
The stout Adjutant bent his chin down over his scarlet waistcoat and
stared fiercely at the ruby scintillations in the decanter before him.
The gentleman on his left, an insignificant-looking little civilian with
thin, fair hair, screwed up his eyes and drew up his lips in what might
have been a smile or a sneer, and stared at the gentleman on the Major's
left, holding himself a little sidewise so as to peer between one of the
silver branches and the epergne.
The young man at whom he stared was worth a second look, as he leaned
forward with his elbows upon the table and his head on one side, his
cheek leaning upon his clasped hands.
He was fair with closely curling hair, broad forehead, dark eyes, and
what was very unusual in those days, his face was innocent of the touch
of a razor, his nut-brown beard curling closely and giving him rather a
peculiar appearance among the scented and closely-shaven dandies around.
As the song went on he kept his eyes fixed on Colonel Mellersh, but the
words had no charm for him: he was thinking of the man who sang, and of
the remarkable qualities of his voice, uttering a sigh of satisfaction
and sinking back in his seat as the song ended and there was an
abundance of applause.
"Come," cried Major Rockley, starting up again; "I have done so well
this time, gentlemen, that I shall call upon my friend here, Mr
Linnell, to give us the next song."
"Indeed, I would with pleasure," said the young man, colouring slightly;
"but Colonel Mellersh there will tell you I never sing."
"No; Linnell never sings, but he's a regular Orpheus with his lute or
pipe--I mean the fiddle and the flute."
"Then perhaps he will charm us, and fancy he has come into the infernal
regions for the nonce; only, 'fore gad, gentlemen, I am not the Pluto
who has carried off his Eurydice."
"Really, this is so unexpected," said the young man, "and I have no
instrument."
"Oh, some of your bandsmen have stringed instruments, Rockley."
"Yes, yes, of course," cried the Major. "What is it to be, Mr Linnell?
We can give you anything. Why not get up a quintette, and let Matt
Bray there take the drum, and charming Sir Harry Payne the cymbals?"
"Play something, Dick," said Colonel Mellersh quietly.
"Yes, of course," said the young man. "Will you help me?"
"Oh, if you like," said the Colonel. "Rockley, ask your men to lend us
a couple of instruments."
"Really, my dear fellow, we haven't a lute in the regiment."
"I suppose not," said the Colonel dryly. "A couple of violins will do.
Here, my man, ask for a violin and viola."
The military servant saluted and went out, and to fill up the time Major
Rockley proposed a toast.
"With bumpers, gentlemen. A toast that every man will drink. Are you
ready?"
There was a jingle of glasses, the gurgle of wine, and then a scattered
volley of "Yes!"
"Her bright eyes!" said the Major, closing his own and kissing his hand.
"Her bright eyes!" cried everyone but the Adjutant, who growled out a
malediction on somebody's eyes.
Then the toast was drunk with three times three, there was the usual
clattering of glasses as the gentlemen resumed their seats, and some of
those who had paid most attention to the port began with tears in their
eyes to expatiate on the charms of some special reigning beauty,
receiving confidences of a like nature. Just then, the two instruments
were brought and handed to the Colonel and Richard Linnell, a sneering
titter going round the table, and a whisper about "fiddlers" making the
latter flush angrily.
"Yes, gentlemen, fiddlers," said Colonel Mellersh quietly; "and it
requires no little skill to play so grand and old an instrument. I'll
take my note from you, Dick."
Flushing more deeply with annoyance, Richard Linnell drew his bow across
the A string, bringing forth a sweet pure note that thrilled through the
room, and made one of the glasses ring.
"That's right," said the Colonel. "I wish your father were here.
What's it to be?"
"What you like," said Linnell, whose eyes were wandering about the
table, as if in search of the man who would dare to laugh and call him
"fiddler" again.
"Something simple that we know."
Linnell nodded.
"Ready, gentlemen," said the Major, with a sneering look at Sir Harry
Payne. "Silence, please, ye demons of the nether world. `Hark, the
lute!' No: that's the wrong quotation. Now, Colonel--Mr Linnell, we
are all attention."
Richard Linnell felt as if he would have liked to box the Major's ears
with the back of the violin he held; but, mastering his annoyance, he
stood up, raised it to his shoulder, and drew the bow across the
strings, playing in the most perfect time, and with the greatest
expression, the first bars of a sweet old duet, the soft mellow viola
taking up the seconds; and then, as the players forgot all present in
the sweet harmony they were producing, the notes came pouring forth in
trills, or sustained delicious, long-drawn passages from two fine
instruments, handled by a couple of masters of their art.
As they played on sneers were changed for rapturous admiration, and at
last, as the final notes rang through the room in a tremendous vibrating
chord that it seemed could never have been produced by those few
tightly-drawn strings, there was a furious burst of applause, glasses
were broken, decanters hammered the table, and four men who had sunk
beneath, suffering from too many bottles, roused up for the moment to
shout ere they sank asleep again, while the Major excitedly stretched
out his hand first to one and then to the other of the performers.
"Gentlemen," he cried at last, hammering the table to obtain order, "I
am going to ask a favour of our talented guests. This has come upon me
like a revelation. Such music is too good for men."
"Hear! hear! hear! hear!" came in chorus.
"It is fit only for the ears of those we love."
"Hear!--hear!--hear!--hear!"
"We have drunk their health, to-night; each the health of the woman of
his heart."
"Hear!--hear!--hear!--hear!"
"And now, as we have such music, I am going to beg our guests to come
with us and serenade a lady whose name I will not mention."
"Hear!--hear!--hurrah!"
"It is the lady I am proud to toast, and I ask the favour of you,
Colonel Mellersh, of you, Mr Linnell, to come and play that air once
through beneath her window."
"Oh, nonsense, Rockley. My dear fellow, no," cried the Colonel.
"My dear Mellersh," said the Major with half-tipsy gravity. "My dear
friend; and you, my dear friend Linnell, I pray you hear me. It may
mean much more than you can tell--the happiness of my life. Come, my
dear fellow, you'll not refuse."
"What do you say, Linnell?" cried the Colonel good-humouredly.
"Oh, it is so absurd," said Linnell warmly.
"No, no, not absurd," said the Major sternly. "I beg you'll not
refuse."
"Humour him, Dick," said the Colonel in a whisper.
"You are telling him not to play," said the Major fiercely.
"My dear fellow, no: I was asking him to consent. Humour him, Dick,"
said the Colonel. "It's nearly two, and there'll be no one about. If
we refuse it may mean a quarrel."
"I'll go if you wish it," said Richard Linnell quietly.
"All right, Major; we'll serenade your lady in good old Spanish style,"
said the Colonel laughingly. "Quick, then, at once. How far is it?"
"Not far," cried the Major. "Who will come? Bray, Payne, and half a
dozen more. Will you be one, Burnett?"
"No, not I," said the little, fair man with the sneering smile; "I shall
stay;" and he gave effect to his words by sinking back in his chair and
then gliding softly beneath the table.
"Just as you like," said the Major, and the result was that a party of
about a dozen sallied out of the barrack mess-room, crossed the yard,
and were allowed to pass by the sentry on duty, carbine on arm.
It was a glorious night, and as they passed out into the fresh, pure air
and came in sight of the golden-spangled sea, which broke amongst the
shingle with a low, dull roar, the blood began to course more quickly
through Linnell's veins, the folly of the adventure was forgotten, and a
secret wish that he and the Colonel were alone and about to play some
sweet love ditty, beneath a certain window, crossed his brain.
For there was something in the time there, beneath the stars that were
glitteringly reflected in the sea! Did she love him? Would she ever
love him? he thought, and he walked on in a sweet dream of those waking
moments, forgetful of the Major, and hearing nothing of the conversation
of his companions, knowing nothing but the fact that he was a man of
seven and twenty, whose thoughts went hourly forth to dwell upon one on
whom they had long been fixed, although no words had passed, and he had
told himself too often that he dare not hope.
"Who is the Major's Gloriana, Dick?" asked the Colonel suddenly. "By
Jove, I think we had better tune up a jig. It would be far more suited
to the woman he would choose than one of our young composer's lovely
strains."
"I don't know. He's going towards our place. Can it be Cora Dean?"
"Hang him, no," said the Colonel pettishly. "Perhaps so, though. I
hope not, or we shall have your father calling us idiots--deservedly
so--for our pains. Wrong, Dick; the old man will sleep in peace. Will
it be Drelincourt?"
"Madame Pontardent, perhaps."
"No, no, no, my lad; he's going straight along. How lovely the sea
looks!"
"And how refreshing it is after that hot, noisy room."
"Insufferable. What fools men are to sit and drink when they might play
whist!"
"And win money," said Linnell drily.
"To be sure, my lad. Oh, you'll come to it in time. Where the dickens
is he going? Who can the lady be?"
The Major evidently knew, for he was walking smartly ahead, in earnest
converse with half a dozen more. Then came the Colonel and his
companion, and three more of the party brought up the rear.
The Major's course was still by the row of houses that faced the sea,
now almost without a light visible, and Richard Linnell was dreamily
watching the waves that looked like liquid gold as they rose, curved
over and broke upon the shingle, when all the blood seemed to rush at
once to his heart, and then ebb away, leaving him choking and paralysed,
for the Colonel suddenly said aloud:
"Claire Denville!"
And he saw that their host of the night had stopped before the house of
the Master of the Ceremonies.
The blood began to flow again, this time with a big wave of passionate
rage in Richard Linnell's breast. He was furious. How dared that
handsome libertine profane Claire Denville by even thinking of her? How
dared he bring him there, to play beneath the window--the window he had
so often watched, and looked upon as a sacred temple--the resting-place
of her he loved.
He was ready to seize the Major by the throat; to fight for her; to say
anything; to dash down the instrument in his rage; to turn and flee; but
the next moment the cool, calm voice of the Colonel brought him to his
senses, and he recalled that this was his secret--his alone--this secret
of his love.
"I did not know the Major was warm there. Well, she's a handsome girl,
and he's welcome, I dare say."
Linnell felt ready to choke again, but he could not speak. He must get
out of this engagement, though, at any cost.
As he was musing, though, he found himself drawn as it were to where the
Major and his friends were standing in front of the silent house, and
the Colonel said:
"Come, my lad, let's run through the piece, and get home to bed. I'm
too old for such tom-fool tricks as these."
"I will not play! It is an insult! It is madness!" thought Richard
Linnell; and then, as if in a dream, he found himself the centre of a
group, fuming at what he was doing, while, as if in spite of his rage,
he was drawing the sweet echoing strains from the violin, listening to
the harmonies added by his friend, and all in a nightmare-like fashion,
playing involuntarily on, and gazing at the windows he had so often
watched.
On, on, on, the notes poured forth, throbbing on the night air, sounding
pensive, sweet and love-inspiring, maddening too, as he tried to check
his thoughts, and played with more inspiration all the while till the
last bar, with its diminuendo, was reached, and he stood there,
palpitating, asking himself why he had done this thing, and waiting
trembling in his jealous rage, lest any notice should be taken of the
compliment thus paid.
Did Claire Denville encourage the Major--that libertine whose amours
were one of the scandals of the place? Oh, it was impossible. She
would not have heard the music. If she had she would have thought it
from some wanderers, for she had never heard him play. She would not
notice it. She would not heed it. In her virgin youth and innocency it
was a profanation to imagine that Claire Denville--sweet, pure Claire
Denville--the woman he worshipped, could notice such an attention. No,
it was impossible she would; and his eyes almost started as he gazed at
the white-curtained windows, looking so solemn and so strange.
No, no, no; she would not notice, even if she had heard, and a strange
feeling of elation came into the jealous breast.
"Come," he said hoarsely, "let us go."
"One moment, lad. Ah, yes," said the Colonel. "Gloriana has heard the
serenade, and is about to respond to her lover's musically amatory call.
Look, Dick, look."
Richard Linnell's heart sank, for a white arm drew back the curtain, and
then the catch of the window fastening was pressed back, and a chord in
the young man's breast seemed to snap; but it was only the spring of the
window hasp.
_Click_!
Volume One, Chapter VII.