Next day was the day of the great dinner to which Miss Susan had invited
half the county, to welcome the young master of the house, and mark the
moment of her own withdrawal from her long supremacy in Whiteladies.
Though she had felt with some bitterness on the previous night the
supposed intention of Herbert and Reine to supplant her at once, Miss
Susan was far too sensible a woman to make voluntary vexation for
herself, out of an event so well known and long anticipated. That she
must feel it was of course inevitable, but as she felt no real wrong in
it, and had for a long time expected it, there was not, apart from the
painful burden on her mind which threw a dark shadow over everything,
any bitterness in the necessary and natural event. She had made all her
arrangements without undue fuss or publicity, and had prepared for
herself, as I have said, a house, which had providentially fallen
vacant, on the other side of the village, where Augustine would still be
within reach of the Almshouses. I am not sure that, so far as she was
herself concerned, the sovereign of Whiteladies, now on the point of
abdication, would not have preferred to be a little further off, out of
daily sight of her forsaken throne; but this would have deprived
Augustine of all that made life to her, and Miss Susan was too strong,
too proud, and too heroic, to hesitate for a moment, or to think her own
sentiment worth indulging. Perhaps, indeed, even without that powerful
argument of Augustine, she would have scorned to indulge a feeling which
she could not have failed to recognize as a mean and petty one. She had
her faults, like most people, and she had committed a great wrong, which
clouded her life, but there was nothing petty or mean about Miss Susan.
After Reine had left her on the previous night, she had made a great
effort, and recovered her self-command. I don’t know why she had allowed
herself to be so beaten down. One kind of excitement, no doubt,
predisposes toward another; and after the triumph and joy of Herbert’s
return, her sense of the horrible cloud which hung over her personally,
the revelation which Giovanna at any moment had it in her power to make,
the evident intention she had of ingratiating herself with the
new-comers, and the success so far of the attempt, produced a reaction
which almost drove Miss Susan wild! If you will think of it, she had
cause enough. She, heretofore an honorable and spotless woman, who had
never feared the face of man, to lie now under the horrible risk of
being found out--to be at the mercy of a passionate, impulsive creature,
who could at any moment cover her with shame, and pull her down from her
pedestal. I think that at such moments to have the worst happen, to be
pulled down finally, to have her shame published to the world, would
have been the best thing that could have happened to Miss Susan. She
would then have raised up her humbled head again, and accepted her
punishment, and raced the daylight, free from fear of anything that
could befall her. The worst of it all now was this intolerable sense
that there was something to be found out, that everything was not honest
and open in her life, as it had always been. And by times this
consciousness overpowered and broke her down, as it had done on the
previous night. But when a vigorous soul is thus overpowered and breaks
down, the moment of its utter overthrow marks a new beginning of power
and endurance. The old fable of Antæus, who derived fresh strength
whenever he was thrown, from contact with his mother earth, is
profoundly true. Miss Susan had been thrown too, had fallen, and had
rebounded with fresh force. Even Reine could scarcely see in her
countenance next morning any trace of the emotion of last night. She
took her place at the breakfast-table with a smile, with composure which
was not feigned, putting bravely her burden behind her, and resolute to
make steady head as long as she could against any storm that could
threaten. Even when Herbert eluded that “business consultation,” and
begged to be left free to roam about the old house, and renew his
acquaintance with every familiar corner, she was able to accept the
postponement without pain. She watched the young people go out even
with almost pleasure--the brother and sister together, and Everard--and
Giovanna at the head of the troop, with little Jean perched on her
shoulder. Giovanna was fond of wandering about without any covering on
her head, having a complexion which I suppose would not spoil, and
loving the sun. And it suited her somehow to have the child on her
shoulder, to toss him about, to the terror of all the household, in her
strong, beautiful arms. I rather think it was because the household
generally was frightened by this rough play, that Giovanna had taken to
it; for she liked to shock them, not from malice, but from a sort of
school-boy mischief. Little Jean, who had got over all his dislike to
her, enjoyed his perch upon her shoulder; and it is impossible to tell
how Herbert admired her, her strength, her quick, swift, easy movements,
the lightness and grace with which she carried the boy, and all her
gambols with him, in which a certain risk always mingled. He could not
keep his eyes from her, and followed wherever she led, penetrating into
rooms where, in his delicate boyhood, he had never been allowed to go.
“I know myself in every part,” cried Giovanna gayly. “I have all
visited, all seen, even where it is not safe. It is safe here, M.
Herbert. Come then and look at the carvings, all close; they are
beautiful when you are near.”
They followed her about within and without, as if she had been the
cicerone, though they had all known Whiteladies long before she had; and
even Reine’s nascent suspicions were not able to stand before her frank
energy and cordial ignorant talk. For she was quite ignorant, and made
no attempt to conceal it.
“Me, I love not at all what is so old,” she said with a laugh. “I prefer
the smooth wall and the big window, and a floor well frotté, that
shines. Wood that is all cut like the lace, what good does that do? and
brick, that is nothing, that is common. I love stone châteaux, with much
of window, and little tourelles at the top. But if you love the wood,
and the brick, très bien! I know myself in all the little corners,” said
Giovanna. And outside and in, it was she who led the way.
Once again--and it was a thing which had repeatedly happened before
this, notwithstanding the terror and oppression of her presence--Miss
Susan was even grateful to Giovanna, who left her free to make all her
arrangements, and amused and interested the new-comers, who were
strangers in a sense, though to them belonged the house and everything
in it; and I doubt if it had yet entered into her head that Giovanna’s
society or her beauty involved any danger to Herbert. She was older than
Herbert; she was “not a lady;” she was an intruder and alien, and
nothing to the young people, though she might amuse them for the moment.
The only danger Miss Susan saw in her was one tragic and terrible danger
to herself, which she had determined for the moment not to think of. For
everybody else she was harmless. So at least Miss Susan, with an
inadvertence natural to her preoccupied mind, thought.
And there were a great many arrangements to make for the great dinner,
and many things besides that required looking after. However distinctly
one has foreseen the necessities of a great crisis, yet it is only when
it arrives that they acquire their due urgency. Miss Susan now, for
almost the first time, felt the house she had secured at the other end
of the village to be a reality. She felt at last that her preparations
were real, that the existence in which for the last six months there had
been much that was like a painful dream, had come out suddenly into the
actual and certain, and that she had had a change to undergo not much
unlike the change of death. Things that had been planned only, had to be
done now--a difference which is wonderful--and the stir and commotion
which had come into the house with the arrival of Herbert was the
preface of a commotion still more serious. And as Miss Susan went about
giving her orders, she tried to comfort herself with the thought that
now at last Giovanna must go. There was no longer any pretence for her
stay. Herbert had come home. She had and could have no claim upon Susan
and Augustine Austin at the Grange, whatever claim she might have on the
inmates of Whiteladies; nor could she transfer herself to the young
people, and live with Herbert and Reine. Even she, though she was not
reasonable, must see that now there was no further excuse for her
presence--that she must go. Miss Susan settled in her mind the allowance
she would offer her. It would be a kind of blackmail, blood money, the
price of her secret; but better that than exposure. And then, Giovanna
had not been disagreeable of late. Rather the reverse; she had tried, as
she said, to show de l’amitiè. She had been friendly, cheerful, rather
pleasant, in her strange way. Miss Susan, with a curious feeling for
which she could not quite account, concluded with herself that she
would not wish this creature, who had for so long belonged to her, as it
were--who had been one of her family, though she was at the same time
her enemy, her greatest trouble--to fall back unaided upon the shop at
Bruges, where the people had not been kind to her. No; she would, she
said to herself, be very thankful to get rid of Giovanna, but not to see
her fall into misery and helplessness. She should have an income enough
to keep her comfortable.
This was a luxury which Miss Susan felt she could venture to give
herself. She would provide for her persecutor, and get rid of her, and
be free of the panic which now was before her night and day. This
thought cheered her as she went about, superintending the hanging of the
tapestry in the hall, which was only put there on grand occasions, and
the building up of the old silver on the great oak buffet. Everything
that Whiteladies could do in the way of splendor was to be exhibited
to-night. There had been no feast when Herbert came of age, for indeed
it had been like enough that his birthday might be his death day also.
But now all these clouds had rolled away, and his future was clear. She
paid a solemn visit to the cellar with Stevens to get out the best
wines, her father’s old claret and Madeira, of which she had been so
careful, saving it for Herbert; or if not for Herbert, for Everard, whom
she had looked upon as her personal heir. Not a bottle of it should ever
have gone to Farrel-Austin, the reader may be sure, though she was
willing to feast him to-night, and give him of her best, to celebrate
her triumph over him--a triumph which, thank heaven! was all innocent,
not brought about by plotting or planning--God’s doing, and not hers.
I will not attempt to describe all the company, the best people in that
corner of Berkshire, who came from all points, through the roads which
were white and sweet with May, to do honor to Herbert’s home-coming. It
is too late in this history, and there is too much of more importance to
tell you, to leave me room for those excellent people. Lord Kingsborough
was there, and proposed Herbert’s health; and Sir Reginald Parke, and
Sir Francis Rivers, and the Hon. Mr. Skindle, who married Lord
Markinhead’s daughter, Lady Cordelia; and all the first company in the
county, down to (or up to) the great China merchant who had bought St.
Dunstan’s, once the property of a Howard. It is rare to see a
dinner-party so large or so important, and still more rare to see such
a room so filled. The old musicians’ gallery was put to its proper use
for the first time for years; and now and then, not too often, a soft
fluting and piping and fiddling came from the partial gloom, floating
over the heads of the well-dressed crowd who sat at the long, splendid
table, in a blaze of light and reflection, and silver, and crystal, and
flowers.
“I wish we could be in the gallery to see ourselves sitting here, in
this great show,” Everard whispered to Reine as he passed her to his
inferior place; for it was not permitted to Everard on this great
occasion to hand in the young mistress of the house, in whose favor Miss
Susan intended, after this night, to abdicate. Reine looked up with soft
eyes to the dim corner in which the three used to scramble and rustle,
and catch the oranges, and I fear thought more of this reminiscence than
of what her companion said to her, who was ignorant of the old times.
But, indeed, the show was worth seeing from the gallery, where old
Martha, and young Jane, and the good French Julie, who had come with
Reine, clustered in the children’s very corner, keeping out of sight
behind the tapestry, and pointing out to each other the ladies and their
fine dresses. The maids cared nothing about the gentlemen, but shook
their heads over Sophy and Kate’s bare shoulders, and made notes of how
the dresses were made. Julie communicated her views on the subject with
an authority which her auditors received without question, for was not
she French?--a large word, which takes in the wilds of Normandy as well
as Paris, that centre of the civilized world.
Herbert sat with his back to these eager watchers, at the foot of the
table, taking his natural place for the first time, and half hidden by
the voluminous robes of Lady Kingsborough and Lady Rivers. The pink
_gros grain_ of one of those ladies and the gorgeous white _moire_ of
the other dazzled the women in the gallery; but apart from such
professional considerations, the scene was a charming one to look at,
with the twinkle of the many lights, the brightness of the flowers and
the dresses--the illuminated spot in the midst of the partial darkness
of the old walls, all gorgeous with color, and movement, and the hum of
sound. Miss Susan at the head of the table, in her old point lace,
looked like a queen, Martha thought. It was her apotheosis, her climax,
the concluding triumph--a sort of phœnix blaze with which she meant
to end her life.
The dinner was a gorgeous dinner, worthy the hall and the company; the
wine, as I have said, old and rare; and everything went off to
perfection. The Farrel-Austins, who were only relations, and not of
first importance as county people, sat about the centre of the table,
which was the least important place, and opposite to them was Giovanna,
who had been put under the charge of old Dr. Richard, to keep her in
order, a duty to which he devoted all his faculties. Everything went on
perfectly well. The dinner proceeded solemnly, grandly, to its
conclusion. Grace--that curious, ill-timed, after-dinner grace which
comes just at the daintiest moment of the feast--was duly said; the
fruits were being served, forced fruits of every procurable kind, one of
the most costly parts of the entertainment at that season; and a general
bustle of expectation prepared the way for those congratulatory and
friendly speeches, welcomes of his great neighbors to the young Squire,
which were the real objects of the assembly. Lord Kingsborough even had
cleared his throat for the first time--a signal which his wife heard at
the other end, and understood as an intimation that quietness was to be
enforced, to which she replied by stopping, to set a good example, in
the midst of a sentence. He cleared his throat again, the great man, and
was almost on his legs. He was by Miss Susan’s side in the place of
honor. He was a stout man, requiring some pulling up after dinner when
his chair was comfortable--and he had actually put forth one foot, and
made his first effort to rise, for the third time clearing his throat.
When--an interruption occurred never to be forgotten in the annals of
Whiteladies. Suddenly there was heard a patter of small feet, startling
the company; and suddenly a something, a pygmy, a tiny figure, made
itself visible in the centre of the table. It stood up beside a great
pyramid of flowers, a living decoration, with a little flushed rose-face
and flaxen curls showing above the mass of greenery. The great people at
the head and the foot of the table stood breathless during the commotion
and half-scuffle in the centre of the room which attended this sudden
apparition. “What is it?” everybody asked. After that first moment of
excited curiosity, it became apparent that it was a child who had been
suddenly lifted by some one into that prominent place. The little
creature stood still a moment, frightened; then, audibly prompted, woke
to its duty. It plucked from its small head a small velvet cap with a
white feather, and gave forth its tiny shout, which rang into the
echoes.
“Vive M. ’Erbert! vive M. ’Erbert!” cried little Jean, turning round and
round, and waving his cap on either side of him. Vague excitement and
delight, and sense of importance, and hopes of sugar-plums, inspired the
child. He gave forth his little shout with his whole heart, his blue
eyes dancing, his little cheeks flushed; and I leave the reader to
imagine what a sensation little Jean’s unexpected appearance, and still
more unexpected shout, produced in the decorous splendor of the great
hall.
“Who is it?” “What is it?” “What does it mean?” “Who is the child?”
“What does he say?” cried everybody. There got up such a commotion and
flutter as dispersed in a moment the respectful silence which had been
preparing for Lord Kingsborough. Every guest appealed to his or her
neighbor for information, and--except the very few too well-informed,
like Dr. Richard, who guilty and self-reproachful, asking himself how he
could have prevented it, and what he should say to Miss Susan, sat
silent, incapable of speech--every one sent back the question. Giovanna,
calm and radiant, alone replied, “It is the next who will succeed,” she
cried, sending little rills of knowledge on either side of her. “It is
Jean Austin, the little heir.”
Lord Kingsborough was taken aback, as was natural; but he was a
good-natured man, and fond of children. “God bless us!” he said. “Miss
Austin, you don’t mean to tell me the boy’s married, and that’s his
heir?”
“It is the next of kin,” said Miss Susan, with white lips; “no more
_his_ heir than I am, but _the_ heir, if Herbert had not lived. Lord
Kingsborough, you will forgive the interruption; you will not disappoint
us. He is no more Herbert’s heir than I am!” again she cried, with a
shiver of agitation.
It was the Hon. Mr. Skindle who supported her on the other side; and
having heard that there was madness in the Austin family, that gentleman
was afraid. “‘Gad, she looked as if she would murder somebody,” he
confided afterward to the friend who drove him home.
“Not _his_ heir, but _the_ heir,” said Lord Kingsborough,
good-humoredly, “a fine distinction!” and as he was a kind soul, he made
another prodigious effort, and got himself out of his seat. He made a
very friendly, nice little speech, saying that the very young gentleman
who preceded him had indeed taken the wind out of his sails, and
forestalled what he had to say; but that, nevertheless, as an old
neighbor and family friend, he desired to echo in honest English, and
with every cordial sentiment, their little friend’s effective speech,
and to wish to Herbert Austin, now happily restored to his home in
perfect health and vigor, everything, etc.
He went on to tell the assembly what they knew very well; that he had
known Herbert’s father and grandfather, and had the happiness of a long
acquaintance with the admirable ladies who had so long represented the
name of Austin among them; and to each he gave an appropriate
compliment. In short, his speech composed the disturbed assembly, and
brought everything back to the judicious level of a great dinner; and
Herbert made his reply with modest self-possession, and the course of
affairs, momentarily interrupted, flowed on again according to the
programme. But in the centre of the table, where the less important
people sat, Giovanna and the child were the centre of attraction. She
caught every one’s eye, now that attention had been called to her. After
he had made the necessary sensation, she took little Jean down from the
table, and set him on the carpet, where he ran from one to another,
collecting the offerings which every one was ready to give him. Sophy
and Kate got hold of him in succession, and crammed him with bonbons,
while their father glared at the child across the table. He made his way
even so far as Lord Kingsborough, who took him on his knee and patted
his curly head. “But the little chap should be in bed,” said the kind
potentate, who had a great many of his own. Jean escaped a moment after,
and ran behind the chairs in high excitement to the next who called him.
It was only when the ladies left the room that Giovanna caught him, and
swinging him up to her white shoulder, which was not half so much
uncovered as Kate’s and Sophy’s, carried him away triumphant, shouting
once more “Vive M. ’Erbert!” from that eminence, as he finally
disappeared at the great door.
This was Giovanna’s first appearance in public, but it was a memorable
one. Poor old Dr. Richard, half weeping, secured Everard as soon as the
ladies were gone, and poured his pitiful story into his ears.
“What could I do, Mr. Austin?” cried the poor little, pretty old
gentleman. “She took him up before I could think what she was going to
do; and you cannot use violence to a lady, sir, you cannot use violence,
especially on a festive occasion like this. I should have been obliged
to restrain her forcibly, if at all, and what could I do?”
“I am sure you did everything that was necessary,” said Everard, with a
smile. She was capable of setting Dr. Richard himself on the table, if
it had served her purpose, instead of being restrained by him, was what
he thought.