Hugo Blagdon was a well-known habitué of Monte Carlo, and he fled
thither early in February to avoid an English spring, and escape from
a personality that threatened to lure him into the noose of matrimony!
His grandfather had been overseer in a coal mine, and his father,
Laban, a clever man of ceaseless energy and enterprise, had, by his
own efforts, risen to vast wealth. He was a typical Yorkshire tyke;
hard-headed, hard-bitten, and plain of speech, standing squarely on
his feet and his principles. When over fifty, he had disposed of his
collieries to a syndicate, and looked about him for a country estate,
and a suitable consort. At this time Sharsley, the ancient seat of
the Scropes, happened to be in the market; the family had fallen on
evil days, and the last representative was a thin, dignified old
gentleman, with an empty purse and many spinster daughters. During
tedious negotiations, the would-be purchaser made acquaintance with the
Squire’s family, and when he took over the property, he also received
the taper hand of the stateliest and slenderest of the Scrope sisters.
Ill-natured gossips declared that in consequence of this arrangement,
the canny Yorkshire-man had obtained an abatement of ten thousand
pounds on the price of the property--but envious people will say
anything! Mrs. Blagdon’s aristocratic relations agreed that dearest
Carrie, who was ‘getting on,’ had done remarkably well for herself;
the bride was perfectly satisfied with her honest, stolid husband,
and he for his part felt proud of his Carrie; she matched Sharsley,
and naturally was far more at home there than himself. Mrs. Blagdon
fulfilled her duties to admiration; an elegant, dignified figure, she
sat at the head of his table, glorious and dazzling in the new Blagdon
diamonds, entertaining her neighbours with gracious distinction.
Moreover, she was most kind and thoughtful to her husband’s family,
especially to his old aunt, Fanny Jane, who spoke broad Yorkshire, had
not marched with the times, and preferred to dine at one o’clock--and
in her bonnet.
Having figuratively emerged from coal to the surface, Laban Blagdon
entered into country life with enthusiasm; he farmed, he supported
the hounds and the Yeomanry, and sat on the Bench with commendable
punctuality. His first-born was a girl. Four years later her brother
arrived on this planet, amidst great rejoicings. Blagdon of Sharsley
was immensely proud of his children; he had none of his father’s ideas
of stern discipline, and was an extravagantly indulgent parent. In his
opinion, nothing was too good for Connie and Hugo--the pair could do no
wrong.
Possibly his partiality was due to the fact that they were true
Blagdons; large-boned, and loud of voice, exhibiting no traces whatever
of their mother’s ancestry. This poor lady did her utmost to influence
them, exerting herself surprisingly for a Scrope, but somehow she never
became familiar with her boy and girl, who emancipated themselves
as soon as they had quitted the nursery. And their mother found it
difficult to believe, that this rough, boisterous, undisciplined
couple, were actually her own offspring. Had they been those of other
people, she would have lifted her delicate hands, and declared them to
be young savages!
Hugo was sent to a preparatory school, and then to Eton; he rode well,
knew the points of a horse, was thoroughly at home in the stables,
had a hearty laugh, a huge appetite, and his father thought him
an uncommonly fine lad! As for Connie, she was the apple of Laban
Blagdon’s eye; a bit of a hoyden, and no great beauty, but a girl who
could stick on a horse, sing a good song, hold her own in talk, and
what more did you want?
The year that Connie was presented to her sovereign her father died
suddenly of apoplexy, and was widely and sincerely regretted; sound to
the core, a just landlord and employer, a good friend, and a generous
foe. His heir was at sixteen a well-grown youth, with a thick-set
figure, a strong will, rather surly manners, and an exaggerated sense
of his own importance. From Eton, he went (with great reluctance) to
Oxford, and there his idleness and scrapes gained him a certain amount
of notoriety.
As for his sister, she was launched in London Society, with
considerable éclat by her mother’s aristocratic connections; Connie
had no taste for balls or the usual round of gaiety, but developed
an unexpected passion for racing! At Newmarket she encountered her
affinity; a good-looking, graceless baronet, who had run through
his patrimony on the turf, and did not bear an enviable reputation.
However, in spite of all that her mother, relations, and trustees,
could urge or threaten, Connie Blagdon insisted on marrying Teddy
Rashleigh. She was, as her father had often declared, “a fine,
strapping girl, who knew her own mind, with a handsome fortune pinned
on to her skirts”; and Sir Teddy was not indifferent to this agreeable
fact.
At first, the happy pair travelled about from one race meeting
to another, enjoying an atmosphere of continual and stimulating
excitement. In winter, they went abroad, returning in time for
the first Spring Meeting. After a few years of a gay and rambling
existence, came much harassing anxiety, rumours of serious troubles
about racing and gambling debts; these rumours were followed by the
sudden death of Sir Teddy Rashleigh. An overdose of sulphonal, taken by
mistake (his creditors had their own opinions as to the ‘mistake’), and
his widow found herself at the age of twenty-eight, with the miserable
remains of a large fortune, and alienated from all her friends. During
her married life, she had acquired extravagant and reckless tastes,
gambled, betted, and plunged--and oh, how she hated poverty!
Fortunately, she and her brother had always been chums, and he now
came so generously to her assistance, that most of her world believed
Lady Rashleigh to be not only a gay, but wealthy widow. She was loud,
good-natured, and plain; a big woman, with high, square shoulders,
quantities of coarse brown hair (dyed red), a broad, shrewd face,
redeemed by a set of flashing white teeth. Men called her “a rare good
sort, and as clever as they make them,” meaning that Lady Rashleigh,
knew her world thoroughly, and contrived, whilst keeping on bowing
terms with Mrs. Grundy, to enjoy a remarkably festive time.
Meanwhile Hugo, his own master for many years, had been engaged in
sowing wild oats, and seeing life. His mother had taken her departure
from Sharsley; this severance had been a heart-breaking business, but
Hugo’s manners and customs, and Hugo’s associates, were altogether too
much for that delicate, decorous, and mid-Victorian matron. Instead
of family prayers, and breakfast at nine o’clock, Hugo’s lady guests
appeared at midday. They smoked, talked slang, discussed the latest
odds, the latest scandals, and more or less ignored their old-fashioned
hostess; the men were even worse: a gambling, hard-drinking, horsy
crew; so Mrs. Blagdon went away to Cannes, and established herself
in a splendid villa, far aloof from her unsatisfactory and unfilial
children.
Sharsley, thus abandoned, was consigned to the care of a tall, dashing
housekeeper, known as Mrs. Bates, who wore rich silk gowns, expensive
jewellery, rouged heavily, and knew all about the best brands of
champagne. To do her justice, she was a capable and active person,
thoroughly experienced in the management of servants, had a tongue
like a whip-lash, and understood the art of getting work out of her
subordinates--whilst she looked on. Two or three times a year there
were house-parties for shooting and hunting, and on these occasions
Lady Rashleigh, who, needless to add, had always kept on the best of
terms with her brother, was the jolly, easy-going hostess; a totally
different châtelaine to her frigid mother, and not easily surprised,
daunted, or shocked. Few were aware that Connie had a very small
income, (though her extravagant tastes were well-known,) and it was
important that she should stand well with Hugo. He paid the rent of
her London flat, her hotel bills when she accompanied him abroad, made
her presents of frocks and furs, and was altogether a really generous
brother. For her part, she listened to his grievances with sympathetic
interest, cultivated his particular friends, gave charming little
dinners and suppers, and was ever ready to play chaperon, buffer, or
confidante.
Blagdon had naturally a wide circle of acquaintances, and was a
good deal spoiled by the flattery which is habitually offered to an
open-handed bachelor with the income of a prince. He had a special
coterie of associates, known to envious scoffers as the ‘pack.’ Chief
in importance was Lord Robert Cheyne (first cousin to Blagdon on the
Scrope side); this hard-riding, round-backed little gentleman, had
bright, twinkling brown eyes, and a forehead so lofty that it seemed to
stretch half-way across his poll--and imparted a worshipful, sedate,
and middle-aged appearance,--flatly contradicted by his lordship’s
character and years. He had a kind heart, a dull brain, and a lean
purse, and believed Cousin Hugo, “who gave him lots of shootin’ and
huntin’,” to be a rare good sportin’ sort, and one of the best!
Next, the Baron Van Krab, a fair, well-set-up man of forty, a Britisher
of Dutch extraction, and not unknown in the City. Captain Herdby,
a retired cavalryman, handsome, well bred, well groomed, somewhat
mysterious as to his antecedents, but knowing (or pretending to know)
the great world, and ready to ride, dine, shoot, dance, or fill any gap
at a moment’s notice. Sir Thomas and Lady Slater, ‘Foxy and Shocky’
as they were nicknamed; he being a little man with a bright, cunning
eye, a bushy red moustache, and the legs of a jockey; a conspicuous
patron of the turf; his wife, also devoted to racing, was a tall,
showy-looking woman, with a large mouth, magnificent teeth, and an
ever-ready laugh. She made an imposing figure in evening dress, told
the most outrageous stories, and had an insatiable appetite for gossip
and presents. But Mr. Blagdon’s most particular friend was Mrs.
Fred Corbett, an attractive free-lance, with a willowy form, and a
pair of wonderful amber eyes; a glittering creature, all frivolity,
extravagance, and selfishness, separated from her husband, (who, it
was said, had some vague occupation in the Argentine,) and Connie
Rashleigh’s _chère amie_.
When Hugo arrived at Monte Carlo, he found the two ladies already
installed at the Hermitage, the Baron and the Slaters were at the Paris.
The great man was naturally hailed with sincere and fervent joy,
and, for his part, he was not indifferent to the adulation of his
little court; he enjoyed listening to their spicy gossip, delicate
and highly seasoned flatteries, whilst he steeped himself in sunshine
and luxury. He gave his circle dinners and luncheons, yes and loans;
lavished flowers and attentions on his sister and Lola Corbett, and was
altogether in unusual good-humour, and as the guests put it, ‘great
form.’
By the end of a fortnight, Monte and his associates had begun to pall
on Blagdon; even the rooms had lost their fascination. The Baron had
bet him a hundred pounds on pigeon-shooting--and won. Foxy Slater had
put him on an outsider and let him in heavily, and the Slaters and
Connie talked racing or roulette by the hour, and bored him to death.
As for Lola, she made awful play with her eyes, said poisonous things
of other women, and was losing her looks! It was just at this critical
period, that Letty Glyn was once more introduced to his attention.
A casual remark from an utter stranger, threw, so to speak, this
beautiful, innocent, unhappy girl, into Blagdon’s arms.
The gay season at Monte had reached high water, and he daily came
across acquaintances. Lounging one morning against the parapet below
the Casino with Colonel Roland--a man who belonged to his club--they
idly watched the gay world go by. Here were men and women of all
nations, and reputations; the most famous names in Europe were pacing
that sunny promenade. The two noted and remarked on various familiar
faces--princesses, duchesses, dancers, statesmen, actors, authors, and
flocks of ordinary, and extraordinary, birds of passage.
“Full-dress parade,” said Roland, chucking away the end of an excellent
cigar. “They are all very well--fine feathers make fine birds!--but
if you ask _me_, there isn’t a woman here can touch that little Miss
What’s-her-name that was at the Brakesby Hunt Ball; she could give
every one of ’em a stone and a beating. Yes”--with a nudge--“and I saw
_you_ dancing with her, you dog! Oh, you have an eye in your head, and
know what’s what. Of course, she is very young, and does not realise
her own value, yet--but if she had half a chance, her beauty would
be--be--” casting about for a simile, “famous, the talk of England!”
Blagdon looked hard at his friend, and drawled indifferently--
“Think so?”
“_Sure_; and now I’m off to golf. Ta, ta; see you at dinner!” and he
walked away. Blagdon remained; he selected and lit another cigar, and
settled himself to meditate. Roland was a good judge; he had knocked
about a bit. But the girl as he had last seen her!
“That,” argued common sense, “was merely the shabby dress and shoes
that had choked him off. Yes, and her cold red hands. All her aunt’s
fault--stingy old devil! At the ball, she was well turned out--and
what a difference! And, by George! he could afford to dress his wife
properly. A beauty that would be famous, Mrs. Hugo Blagdon--!”
Once more his thoughts were concentrated on Thornby--thoughts which
subsequently simmered in his brain for days. Little did Mrs. Corbett
suspect them. Her extravagance was increasing, she was a true daughter
of the horse leech, and her ceaseless cry was “Give, give!” Every
morning before they went into the Rooms, she would take a little
turn with Blagdon, conduct him to the shops, and gaze pathetically
into a milliner’s, go into raptures over a fifty-pound cloak or
gown, then pilot her companion to the _Galerie_ Charles III, and a
certain jeweller’s, where she gloated over one particular necklace.
She would gaze at this, and then at her escort, and sigh, and sigh;
but in spite of these seductive arts, for once in his life Blagdon
proved invulnerable. Little did his companion guess, when he strolled
about looking into windows, and criticising their contents, that all
the time he was thinking how well such an ornament, or hat or frock,
would become someone else!--a little girl in a remote old village, in
far-away England. If Letty Glyn had frocks and jewels, she would cut
them all out. He had given tons of pretty things to the greedy woman
beside him, and paid tribute in not a few staggering dressmaker’s
bills. Yes, he was aware that Lola was dying for the emerald
necklace--but he was not to be drawn!