MY LORD AND MY LADY.
They occupied separate apartments now. There had been a time indeed when
Lord and Lady Bellinger might have competed for the flitch of bacon at
Dunmow, so well satisfied was each with the other, for weeks, nay
months, after a marriage of vanity, with some little inclination. Was
not my lord the best-dressed man at court? Had not my lady the finest
hand, the tightest waist, the loftiest head-gear in London? Did not both
exist only in the atmosphere of the great world, sacrificing to the airs
and graces time, health, money, and reputation? Many tastes had they in
common, some vices, not a few follies, prejudices, and frivolities; yet
they soon began to differ, and after passing through the customary
phases of disappointment, pique, resentment, and disgust, subsided into
a sullen, stony indifference that was perhaps the most hopeless
condition of all. Rarely meeting, except at meals, or in the presence of
others, they had few opportunities for quarrelling; when they did fall
out, it is only fair to say that her ladyship usually took the
initiative. Let us give her precedence, therefore, now.
She is seldom stirring before noon. The sun is already at mid-heaven
when she rings for her chocolate, sighs, yawns, thrusts on her small
feet her smaller slippers, wriggles into a much-embroidered morning
gown, and totters across the room to look at herself in the glass. The
face she sees therein reflected affords, alas! a history and a moral.
Its features are delicate, and the smile that has now become rigid from
force of habit was once very flexible and sweet, but late hours and
false excitement have scored premature wrinkles round the eyes, and the
free use of paint has served to deaden, and, as it were, rough-cast the
surface of the skin. Lady Bellinger was never _quite_ a pretty woman,
though with the advantages of dress, manner, and candle-light she could
hold her own in general society against many a professed beauty, and
counted her ball-room conquests in numbers that, if they did not satisfy
her rapacity, were quite enough for her reputation. This border-land
between good looks and an ordinary exterior is, perhaps, the most
dangerous ground of all. Vanity is excited, but not gratified. Wit,
vivacity, freedom of gesture and conversation are called in to
supplement the charms that nature has left imperfect. The player grows
more reckless as the game goes on, and at last no stake is thought too
high to risk on a winning card.
The face she is studying wears a mournful expression to-day. Weary,
perhaps, rather than dissatisfied, for she won twenty guineas last night
at _ombre_, and overheard Sir Hector Bellairs ask who she was; that
refined young gentleman, a rising light at Newmarket and the Cocoa Tree,
adding with an oath, "She has a game look about her, like a wild,
thoroughbred mare!"
And yet, was it worth while, she pondered lazily, to tremble half an
hour over the cards for twenty guineas? Were the pains lavished on dress
and toilet to yield no higher triumph than Sir Hector's silly
comparison, or the sneer with which it was received by the man he
addressed? Harry St. Leger used to admire her once, at least he told her
so, and now--he only smiled at Sir Hector's idle talk, and turned away
to a little bread-and-butter miss, whose round blue eyes were becoming
the rage of the town. What could men see to rave about in such chits as
these? Why, the little creature was not even well-dressed, and had
hardly so much as learned to ogle and handle a fan! Was it possible that
innocence, simplicity, natural red and white, could presume to contend
with such a position, such millinery, and such experiences as hers? Lady
Bellinger sighed to think how she was thrown away. What depths there
were in her loving heart that had never been fathomed; what passions in
her mature womanhood that had never been aroused. Alas! those depths
could have been baled out with a thimble; those passions, affections,
caprices, call them what you will, were three parts simulated, and the
fourth only skin-deep. Nevertheless, she esteemed herself a lovable
woman, wasted and misunderstood. She had a headache, she had the spleen,
the vapours. Ranelagh was very tiresome last night. The lights still
danced before her eyes, the hum of conversation still vibrated in her
ears. Resting her heavy head on the dressing-table, she seemed to live
the whole scene over again.
What a medley and confusion it was! Women with enormous head-dresses,
wide hoops and high-heeled shoes, patched, powdered, painted,
courtesying, smirking, and grimacing. "Your ladyship is vastly kind.
Shall wait on you with pleasure. Not _real_ di'monds, ma'am? I protest.
I have it from the best authority. Fie! my lord, I thought you were more
gallant. The Earl, as I live. Come back from the grand tour with a wife!
Whose wife? La! Sir Marmaduke, I vow you make me blush. The king hath
had another interview with the favourite. Angry words, and post-horses
ordered on the north road. Too good news to be true. Mrs. Betty, you
look charmingly. What conquests you must have made at the Bath. Here's
the bishop! Madam, your humble servant;" and so on till the stream of
nothings swelled into an unintelligible babble. And out of this
concourse of so-called friends, this turmoil of so-called conversation,
was there one form amongst the throng that could call the blood to her
cheek, the light to her eye? One voice that fell sweetly on her ear,
that woke an echo responsive in her heart? Yes, on reflection there was
one--nay, there were two or three--half-a-dozen--a score--but it seemed
that, of late, her charms had ceased to work, her glances to fascinate.
Ten compliments--she counted them on her fingers--made the sum total of
her triumphs last night. Harry St. Leger devoted himself to the
bread-and-butter hoyden. The handsome colonel had drunk too freely of
claret to be available. The marquis was wholly taken up with Mistress
Masters (who, and what, she was nobody knew!) Two or three snuff-taking
admirers simpered, but did not commit themselves. The duke passed her
with a bow, and it was a weary world!
As she came to this conclusion, a tap at the door announced the arrival
of her waiting-maid with the daily dish of chocolate. Contrary to
custom, that demure person did not depart after she set it down.
"What is it, child?" asked Lady Bellinger, not very good-humouredly,
because of her reflections. "Speak up, and don't stand staring there as
if you'd seen a ghost!"
"It's my lord," answered the waiting-maid, tossing her head, in
imitation of her mistress. "My lord bade me ask your ladyship if you
were up, and if you could see him now directly, before he gets into his
coach."
"My lord!" repeated his wife, in a tone of surprise, that sufficiently
attested the infrequency of such visits, "what _can_ my lord want with
me at this early hour? How am I looking, child? Quick! Give me those
drops off the chimney-piece--a clean cap, the one trimmed with pink,
you fool!--Put a touch of colour in my cheeks; I declare my face is like
death! Draw that window-curtain. Now you may tell him he can come in."
Lord Bellinger entered accordingly, dressed in great splendour, with
cane, hat, and snuff-box in hand. Thus encumbered, he made shift,
nevertheless, to take the tips of his wife's fingers and carry them to
his lips, inquiring at the same time how her ladyship did, and whether
she had slept well.
Her ladyship had not closed an eye, of course. She was feverish, poorly,
and far from strong! Thus establishing a position of defence from the
first.
"Zounds! madam," exclaimed he, "so much the better--you will the more
readily hear what I have to say."
My lord, to do him justice, was a good-tempered man enough, but this
morning found him, for many reasons, in the worst of humours. Last
night's gathering to him, no less than to his lady, had been replete
with disappointment and vexation. Like many others, he attended Ranelagh
with a variety of motives, among which, pleasure, even in his own sense
of the term, was perhaps the least engrossing. In the first place, he
desired to show himself before the world accompanied by her ladyship,
scandal having been busy with both their names of late, and "the town"
telling each other significantly that "there must soon be a break-up in
_that_ establishment. My lady's goings on, madam, I protest, are
inexcusable, and my lord's extravagance, I have it from the best
authority, really beyond belief!" Therefore he thought well to appear in
this public place prosperous, smiling, debonair, and on the best of
terms with his wife.
Their exit, however, like their entrance, had been badly timed. They
neither came nor went away together; and his own staunch ally, Harry St.
Leger, who was also a professed admirer of Lady Bellinger, thought well
to whisper in his ear, "Look ye, Fred, I never turn my back on a friend.
If it _must_ come to a smash, or a split, remember I stand fast by your
lordship, sink or swim!" This was failure the first.
Then a great man, one of his Majesty's ministers, had informed him
pretty roundly that the appointment he held at Court was not wholly a
sinecure, and the time had come at which he must prove his loyalty by
activity in the service of his king. That he was expected, in short, to
proceed without delay to his own western county, of which he held the
lieutenancy, there to carry out certain instructions which he would
receive next day at the minister's private residence, in time to
commence his journey the same afternoon. To a man for whom the pleasures
of London were as the air he breathed, such a notification was like a
sentence of death. Yet he dared not and could not refuse. This was
trouble the second.
Many minor matters helped to swell the list of his annoyances. Bellairs
gave him the latest news from Newmarket, to the effect that his own
horse had been beaten in the great race by a head. Sir Horace had it
from the best authority that his nominee would lose his election. One
neighbouring landowner in the West took him by the button-hole, to
impart grievous suspicions of his lordship's steward, and another
announced threatenings of disease amongst the sheep. Altogether, had it
not been for the interview with his unknown charmer, promised by
Katerfelto, he would have passed a sadly uncomfortable evening. This
anticipation, however, was the drop that sweetened the whole cup, and
when amongst the crowd he caught a glimpse of her graceful head and
white shoulders, the world's malice, the minister's injunctions, the
lost race, the dishonest steward, and the foot-rot in West Somerset,
were alike obliterated and forgotten.
He waited for some time, as directed, to accost her when alone. At last,
her cavalier crossed the room on some errand of his own, and he found
his opportunity. "Madam," he whispered, "this is the moment for which I
have languished ever since I had the privilege of beholding your face.
Do not deny me now the happiness of hearing your voice."
She looked at him over her fan, with large eyes of astonishment, in
which, nevertheless, his experience detected a gleam of gratified vanity
and amusement.
The fan was not withdrawn; the gloved-hand that held it was taper and
well-shaped--the rounded arm, white and beautiful. For the hundredth
time Lord Bellinger believed that for the _first_ time he was in love.
Still she spoke not, and the moments were precious. Her cavalier would
surely return without delay.
"Only tell me, I implore you," continued his lordship, "when we shall
meet again--where can I see you? Where can I write to you? In what way
can I prove how ardently I long to cast myself at your feet--to serve
you as the humblest of your slaves?"
He spoke in an agitated whisper; not without its effect--a softer
expression shone in her eyes, and she lowered her fan to reply. Alas,
for the disillusion! instantaneous as it was complete!
The beautiful face might only be beautiful while the lips were closed;
when they parted for speech they discovered black and unsightly teeth,
separated by gaps and cavities neither few nor far between.
Quick as Lord Bellinger had been to fall in love, he was yet quicker to
fall out. Ere a word could escape the lady, his cure had been effected,
and with a dexterity that nothing but long practice could have ensured,
he effected his retreat after a profound bow, a devoted glance, and a
deep sigh.
"You are watched," he whispered, "so I will take my leave. Do not forget
me. Soon we shall meet again."
Nevertheless he went home from Ranelagh feeling strongly at variance
with the world in general, and himself in particular.
Therefore his mood, notwithstanding his courteous entrance, was none of
the most amiable when he paid this morning visit to her ladyship;
therefore the tone in which he couched it was little calculated to
sweeten the unpalatable communication he had to make.
"Zounds! madam," said his lordship, "you will the more readily hear what
I have to say."
"Sure you need not swear," she replied, with frigid dignity. "No
gentleman swears so early in the day."
He laughed, and continued more good-humouredly, "Your ladyship is very
happy in town, are you not?"
"Your lordship must be a fool to ask such a question," she returned
sharply. "If you neglected me less, you would know that in my position,
and with my health, it is ridiculous to talk of being happy anywhere!"
"And yet you look charmingly," continued her husband, scanning his own
handsome person in the glass.
"Compared to faces which your lordship is in the habit of studying, mine
is perhaps tolerably well-favoured," said she; "but nothing is so
deceptive as one's appearance, and the air of this town is simply
killing me by inches."
"Then it shall do murder no longer," he answered kindly; "I must leave
for the West this very afternoon. My coach is waiting at the door to
take me to the minister's. There is not a moment to be lost. It is the
king's business; I suppose I ought to say, God bless him!"
"Well?" she asked coldly, "what concern is that of mine?"
"Will you not come with me?" was his reply. "We have been living
separate lives too long. Perhaps each of us is better than the other
thinks. Let us give it a trial and see if we cannot be happy together
for a few weeks. We have been very uncomfortable apart for a good many
years."
The tears were rising to her eyes. A kind word or a caress might have
turned the balance even now; but it was his lordship's habit to assume
carelessness of manner at the moment he was most interested, and instead
of putting his arm round her waist, he busied himself adjusting cravat
and ruffles in the glass. She felt and showed she was annoyed.
"I cannot leave town," she objected, "at a moment's notice. I wonder you
can ask such a thing."
He looked in her face disappointed, and perhaps a little hurt.
"My lady," said he, "you're a puzzle!"
"My lord," said she, "you're a brute!"