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COLLECTION
OF
BRITISH AUTHORS
TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
VOL. 1810.
VIXEN BY M. E. BRADDON
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
VIXEN
A NOVEL
BY
M. E. BRADDON,
AUTHOR OF "LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET," ETC. ETC.
_COPYRIGHT EDITION_.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LEIPZIG
BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ
1879.
_The Right of Translation is reserved_.
CONTENTS
OF VOLUME II.
CHAPTER I. "Shall I tell you the Secret?"
CHAPTER II. Wedding Garments
CHAPTER III. "I shall look like the wicked Fairy"
CHAPTER IV. The Vow is vowed
CHAPTER V. War to the Knife
CHAPTER VI. At the Kennels
CHAPTER VII. A bad Beginning
CHAPTER VIII. On Half Rations
CHAPTER IX. The Owner of Bullfinch
CHAPTER X. Something like a Ride
CHAPTER XI. Rorie objects to Duets
CHAPTER XII. "Fading in Music"
CHAPTER XIII. Crying for the Moon
CHAPTER XIV. "Kurz ist der Schmerz und ewig ist die Freude"
CHAPTER XV. A Midsummer Night's Dream
CHAPTER XVI. "That must end at once"
VIXEN.
CHAPTER I.
"Shall I tell you the Secret?"
For the rest of the way Violet walked with Mrs. Scobel, and at the
garden-gate of the Vicarage Roderick Vawdrey wished them both
good-night, and tramped off, with his basket on his back and his rod on
his shoulder, for the long walk to Briarwood.
Here the children separated, and ran off to their scattered homes,
dropping grateful bob-curtsies to the last--"louting," as they called
it in their Forest dialect.
"You must come in and have some tea, Violet," said Mrs. Scobel. "You
must be very tired."
"I am rather tired; but I think it's too late for tea. I had better get
home at once."
"Ignatius shall see you home, my dear," cried Mrs. Scobel. At which the
indefatigable Vicar, who had shouted himself hoarse in leading his
choir, protested himself delighted to escort Miss Tempest.
The church clock struck ten as they went along the narrow forest-path
between Beechdale and the Abbey House.
"Oh," cried Vixen, "I do hope mamma's people will have gone home."
A carriage rolled past them as they came out into the road.
"That's Mrs. Carteret's landau," said Vixen. "I breathe more freely.
And there goes Mrs. Horwood's brougham; so I suppose everything is
over. How nice it is when one's friends are so unanimous in their
leave-taking."
"I shall try to remember that the next time I dine at the Abbey House,"
said Mr. Scobel laughing.
"Oh, please don't!" cried Violet. "You and Mrs. Scobel are different. I
don't mind you; but those dreadful stiff old ladies mamma cultivates,
who think of nothing but their dress and their own importance--a little
of them goes a very long way."
"But, my dear Miss Tempest, the Carterets and the Horwoods are some of
the best people in the neighbourhood."
"Of course they are," answered Vixen. "If they were not they would
hardly venture to be so stupid. They take the full license of their
acres and their quarterings. People with a coat-of-arms found
yesterday, and no land to speak of, are obliged to make themselves
agreeable."
"Like Captain Winstanley," suggested Mr. Scobel. "I don't suppose he
has land enough to sod a lark. But he is excellent company."
"Very," assented Vixen, "for the people who like him."
They were at the gate by this time.
"You shan't come any further unless you are coming in to see mamma,"
protested Vixen.
"Thanks, no; it's too late to think of that."
"Then go home immediately, and have some supper," said Vixen
imperatively. "You've had nothing but a cup of weak tea since two
o'clock this afternoon. You must be worn out."
"On such an occasion as to-day a man must not think of himself," said
the Vicar.
"I wonder when you ever do think of yourself," said Vixen.
And indeed Mr. Scobel, like many another Anglican pastor of modern
times, led a life which, save for its liberty to go where he listed,
and to talk as much as he liked, was but little less severe in its
exactions upon the flesh and the spirit than that of the monks of La
Trappe.
The Abbey House looked very quiet when Vixen went into the hall, whose
doors stood open to the soft spring night. The servants were all at
supper, treating themselves to some extra comforts on the strength of a
dinner-party, and talking over the evening's entertainment and its
bearings on their mistress's life. There was a feeling in the servants'
hall that these little dinners, however seeming harmless, had a certain
bent and tendency inimical to the household, and household peace.
"He was more particular in his manner to-night than hever," said the
butler, as he dismembered a duck which had been "hotted up" after
removal from the dining-room. "He feels hisself master of the whole lot
of us already. I could see it in his hi. 'Is that the cabinet 'ock,
Forbes?' he says to me, when I was a-filling round after the bait.
'No,' says I, 'it is not. We ain't got so much of our cabinet 'ocks
that we can afford to trifle with 'em.' Of course I said it in a
hundertone, confidential like; but I wanted him to know who was master
of the cellar."
"There'll be nobody master but him when once he gets his foot inside
these doors," said Mrs. Trimmer, the housekeeper, with a mournful shake
of her head. "No, Porline, I'll have a noo pertater. Them canister peas
ain't got no flaviour with them."
While they were enjoying themselves, with a certain chastening touch of
prophetic melancholy, in the servants' hall, Violet was going slowly
upstairs and along the corridor which led past her mother's rooms.
"I must go in and wish mamma good-night," she thought; "though I am
pretty sure of a lecture for my pains."
Just at this moment a door opened, and a soft voice called "Violet,"
pleadingly.
"Dear mamma, I was just coming in to say good-night."
"Were you, darling? I heard your footstep, and I was afraid you were
going by. And I want very particularly to see you to-night, Violet."
"Do you, mamma? I hope not to scold me for going with the
school-children. They had such a happy afternoon; and ate! it was like
a miracle. Not so little serving for so many, but so few devouring so
much."
Pamela Tempest put her arm round her daughter, and kissed her, with
more warmth of affection than she had shown since the sad days after
the Squire's death. Violet looked at her mother wonderingly. She could
hardly see the widow's fair delicate face in the dimly-lighted room. It
was one of the prettiest rooms in the house--half boudoir half
dressing-room, crowded with elegant luxuries and modern inventions,
gipsy tables, book-stands, toy-cabinets of egg-shell china, a toilet
table _à la_ Pompadour, a writing-desk _à la_ Sevigné. Such small
things had made the small joys of Mrs. Tempest's life. When she mourned
her kind husband, she lamented him as the someone who had bought her
everything she wanted.
She had taken off her dinner-dress, and looked particularly fair and
youthful in her soft muslin dressing-gown, trimmed with Mechlin lace
which had cost as much as a small holding on the outskirts of the
Forest. Even in that subdued light Violet could see that her mother's
cheeks were pinker than usual, that her eyes were clouded with tears,
and her manner anxiously agitated.
"Mamma," cried the girl, "there is something wrong, I know. Something
has happened."
"There is nothing wrong, love. But something has happened. Something
which I hope will not make you unhappy--for it has made me very happy."
"You are talking in enigmas, mamma, and I am too tired to be good at
guessing riddles, just now," said Violet, becoming suddenly cold as ice.
A few moments ago she had been all gentleness and love, responding to
the unwonted affection of her mother's caresses. Now she drew herself
away and stood aloof, with her heart beating fast and furiously. She
divined what was coming. She had guessed the riddle already.
"Come and sit by the fire, Violet, and I will tell you--everything,"
said Mrs. Tempest coaxingly, seating herself in the low semi-circular
chair which was her especial delight.
"I can hear what you have to tell just as well where I am," answered
Violet curtly, walking to the latticed window, which was open to the
night. The moon was shining over the rise and fall of the woods; the
scent of the flowers came stealing up from the garden. Without, all was
calm and sweetness, within, fever and smothered wrath. "I can't think
how you can endure a fire on such a night. The room is positively
stifling."
"Ah Violet, you have not my sad susceptibility to cold."
"No, mamma. I don't keep myself shut up like an unset diamond in a
jeweller's strong-box."
"I don't think I can tell you--the little secret I have to tell,
Violet, unless you come over to me and sit by my side, and give me your
hand, and let me feel as if you were really fond of me," pleaded Mrs.
Tempest, with a little gush of piteousness. "You seem like an enemy,
standing over there with your back to me, looking out at the sky."
"Perhaps there is no need for you to tell me anything, mamma," answered
Violet, in a tone which, to that tremulous listener in the low seat by
the fire, sounded as severe as the voice of a judge pronouncing
sentence. "Shall I tell you the secret?"
There was no answer.
"Shall I, mamma?"
"I don't think you can, my love."
"Yes, I am afraid I can. The secret--which is no secret to me or to
anyone else in the world, any more than the place where the ostrich has
put his head is a secret when his body is sticking up out of the
sand--the secret is that, after being for seventeen happy honourable
years the wife of the best and truest of men--the kindest, most
devoted, and most generous of husbands--you are going to take another
husband, who comes to you with no better credentials than a smooth
tongue and a carefully-drilled figure, and who will punish your want of
faith and constancy to my dead father by making the rest of your life
miserable--as you will deserve that it shall be. Yes, mother, I, your
only child, say so. You will deserve to be wretched if you marry
Captain Winstanley."
The widow gave a faint scream, half indignation, half terror. For the
moment she felt as if some prophetic curse had been hurled upon her.
The tall straight figure in the white gown, standing in the full flood
of moonlight, looked awful as Cassandra, prophesying death and doom in
the wicked house at Argos.
"It is too bad," sobbed Mrs. Tempest; "it is cruel, undutiful,
disrespectful, positively wicked for a daughter to talk to a mother as
you have talked to me to-night. How can Miss McCroke have brought you
up, I wonder, that you are capable of using such language? Have you
forgotten the Fifth Commandment?"
"No. It tells me to honour my father and my mother. I honour my dead
father, I honour you, when I try to save you from the perdition of a
second marriage."
"Perdition!" echoed Mrs. Tempest faintly, "what language!"
"I knew when that adventurer came here, that he intended to make
himself master of this house--to steal my dead father's place," cried
Vixen passionately.
"You have no right to call him an adventurer. He is an officer and a
gentleman. You offer him a cruel, an unprovoked insult. You insult me
still more deeply by your abuse of him. Am I so old, or so ugly, or so
altogether horrid, that a man cannot love me for my own sake?"
"Not such a man as Captain Winstanley. He does not know what love
means. He would have made me marry him if he could, because I am to
have the estate by-and-bye. Failing that, he has made you accept him
for your husband. Yes, he has conquered you, as a cat conquers a bird,
fascinating the poor wretch with its hateful green eyes. You are quite
young enough and pretty enough to win a good man's regard, if you were
a penniless unprotected widow, needing a husband to shelter you and
provide for you. But you are the natural victim of such a man as
Captain Winstanley."
"You are altogether unjust and unreasonable," exclaimed Mrs. Tempest,
weeping copiously. "Your poor dear father spoiled you. No one but a
spoiled child would talk as you are talking. Who made you a judge of
Captain Winstanley? It is not true that he ever wanted to marry you. I
don't believe it for an instant."
"Very well, mother. If you are wilfully blind----"
"I am not blind. I have lived twice as long as you have. I am a better
judge of human nature than you can be."
"Not of your admirer's, your flatterer's nature," cried Vixen. "He has
slavered you with pretty speeches and soft words, as the cobra slavers
his victim, and he will devour you, as the cobra does. He will swallow
up your peace of mind, your self-respect, your independence, your
money--all good things you possess. He will make you contemptible in
the eyes of all who know you. He will make you base in your own eyes."
"It is not true. You are blinded by prejudice."
"I want to save you from yourself, if I can."
"You are too late to save me, as you call it. Captain Winstanley has
touched my heart by his patient devotion, I have not been so easily won
as you seem to imagine. I have refused him three times. He knows that I
had made up my mind never to marry again. Nothing was farther from my
thoughts than a second marriage. I liked him as a companion and friend.
That he knew. But I never intended that he should be more to me than a
friend. He knew that. His patience has conquered me. Such devotion as
he has given me has not often been offered to a woman. I do not think
any woman living could resist it. He is all that is good and noble, and
I am assured, Violet, that as a second father----"
Vixen interrupted her with a cry of horror.
"For God's sake, mamma, do not utter the word 'father' in conjunction
with his name. He may become your husband--I have no power to prevent
that evil--but he shall never call himself my father."
"What happiness can there be for any of us, Violet, when you start with
such prejudices?" whimpered Mrs. Tempest.
"I do not expect there will be much," said Vixen. "Good-night, mamma."
"You are very unkind. You won't even stop to hear how it came
about--how Conrad persuaded me to forego my determination."
"No, mamma. I don't want to hear the details. The fact is enough for
me. If it would be any use for me to go down upon my knees and entreat
you to give up this man, I would gladly do it; but I fear it would be
no use."
"It would not. Violet," answered the widow, with modest resoluteness.
"I have given Conrad my word. I cannot withdraw it."
"Then I have nothing more to say," replied Vixen, with her hand upon
the door, "except good-night."
"You will not even kiss me?"
"Excuse me, mamma; I am not in a kissing humour."
And so Vixen left her.
Mrs. Tempest sat by the fading fire, and cried herself into a gentle
slumber. It was very hard. She had longed to pour the story of this
second courtship--its thrilling, unexpected joys, its wondrous
surprises--into a sympathetic ear. And Violet, the natural recipient of
these gentle confidences, had treated her so cruelly.
She felt herself sorely ill-used; and then came soothing
thoughts about her _trousseau_, her wedding-dress, the dress in which
she should start for her wedding-tour. All things would of course be
chastened and subdued. No woman can be a bride twice in her life; but
Mrs. Tempest meant that the _trousseau_ should, in its way, be perfect.
There should be no rush or excitement in the preparation; nothing
should be scamped or hurried. Calmness, deliberation, and a faultless
taste should pervade all things.
"I will have no trimming but Valenciennes for my under-linen," she
decided; "it is the only lace that never offends. And I will have old
English monograms in satin-stitch upon everything. My _peignoirs_ will
require a good deal of study; they admit of so much variety. I will
have only a few dresses, but those shall be from Paris. Theodore must
go over and get them from Worth. She knows what suits me better than I
do myself. I am not going to be extravagant, but Conrad so appreciates
elegance and taste; and of course he will wish me to be well dressed."
And so, comforted by these reflections, Mrs. Tempest sank into a gentle
slumber, from which she was awakened by Pauline, who had discussed her
mistress's foolishness over a hearty supper, and now came to perform
the duties of the evening toilet.
"Oh Pauline," cried the widow, with a shiver, "I'm glad you awoke me.
I've just had such an awful dream."
"Lor', ma'am! What about?"
"Oh, an awful dream. I thought Madame Theodore sent me home a
_trousseau_ and that there was not a single thing that would fit. I
looked an object in every one of the dresses."