INFORMATION THANKFULLY RECEIVED.
The house in Belgrave Square remained closed for many months,
whilst its master roamed from one fashionable continental resort to
another, in search of what he called health--but which was merely
another name for variety and amusement. Madeline was at first averse
to this protracted absence; but she had excellent news of little
Harry. Laurence was still in what she called “the sulks;” and every
day weakened her hold more and more on her former ties, and bound
her to her present condition. In the early twenties a girl is very
adaptable, and it had come to this, that at times Miss West forgot
that she had ever had other than this sunny butterfly existence; and,
if her conscience occasionally made a claim on behalf of her child,
she promptly told herself that he was well cared for, and that Lady
Frederick Talboys sent all her children out to nurse until they were
three years of age, and Harry was barely two. As for Laurence, he would
come to his senses in time; and the idea of telling her father of her
marriage she now put away in the lumber-room of her brain, and rarely
looked at.
About Christmas Mr. and Miss West and suite arrived at Biarritz, put
up at a large and fashionable hotel, and occupied the best rooms on
the first floor. They found Biarritz charming, Madeline liked the sea,
the rolling Atlantic breakers, the Basque tongue, and the bronzed
semi-Spanish peasantry. Mr. West was charmed with the society, the golf
links, and the Casino.
One day Mrs. Leach casually arrived at their hotel, with a number of
basket-trunks and a maid, looking very handsome, and was enchanted to
meet dearest Madeline and dear Mr. West. She had heard that they were
at Pau, and was so surprised to discover them. Madeline was such a
naughty girl about writing, such a hopelessly lazy correspondent.
To tell the truth, Miss West was secretly anxious to shake off the
tenacious widow, and was purposely silent.
In less than a week the lady had resumed her sway over Madeline’s papa.
Her soft manners, pathetic eyes, stately presence, and low, caressing
voice, proved his undoing. He had almost forgotten the Honourable Mrs.
Leach--and here, in three days, he was as much, or more, her slave as
ever. So much for men’s vanity and women’s wiles. She flattered--he
confided. It came to pass, as a matter of course, that the lady
occupied a seat beside Madeline in the landau every afternoon. Her
maid tripped down with her wraps and parasol precisely as if it were
her mistress’s own carriage. Her mistress also occupied Miss West’s
private sitting-room, received her friends in it, wrote, and worked,
and read all the Wests’ papers and books, shared their table at meals
in the _salle à manger_, and (but this was never known to Madeline)
her little weekly account for room and board was always furnished to
and settled by Madeline’s papa; a few whispered words on the balcony
one night had arranged this trifling matter. The handsome widow was
completely identified with the West family, and was included in all
their invitations as well as their accounts. Every evening, after
dinner, she and Mr. West sat aloof in a little alcove whilst he smoked
cigarettes, or on the verandah whilst he smoked and sipped his coffee,
and she amused him and cut up many of the gay and unsuspicious company
for his delectation. She was also confidential respecting her own
affairs. If she had told him their true position his few scanty locks
would have stood on end. She was almost at the end of her wits, and he
was her sole hope, her last resource. For years she had lived beyond
her income--a small one. Her dressmaker’s bills would have staggered
even him. She owed money in all directions; her creditors were
pressing, her society friends were not pressing with invitations; her
husband’s connections ignored her. But if she could establish herself
in Mr. West’s heart and home, as his second wife, she would have before
her a new and delightful career. And she had begun well! Certainly
Madeline was irresponsive and cool, but always pleasant and polite. Why
was Madeline changed? However, once she was Madeline’s mamma, Madeline
would find a difference! Every night, as Mrs. Leach stepped into the
lift, to be borne aloft to her own bower, she said to herself, “He will
certainly propose to-morrow,” but alas! one evening these cheering
presentiments were crushed.
The conversation had turned upon Madeline. She was a favourite subject
with her father.
“She nursed me well and pulled me through that nasty illness last
winter. I shall never forget her. One would have said she was
accustomed to nursing--and nursing a man too, ha, ha! I should miss her
terribly if she married.”
“But there is no prospect of that at present, is there?” asked his
listener softly.
“No. She is too stand-off. She will ride and dance, and talk and laugh,
but once a man’s attentions become marked, she freezes up! I’m afraid
she is serious when she says she won’t marry. There’s Lord Tony hanging
after her.”
“Oh, don’t you think he is very much _épris_ with Miss Teale of New
York?”
“Not he!” impatiently. “I dare say he and Madeline will settle it some
day.”
“And then how lonely you will be, dear Mr. West! _I_ know what it is
like.”
“Yes, I suppose it will be a little dull, unless the young people will
live with me.”
“Oh!” rather sharply, “they won’t do _that_!”
“If they don’t, I shall have to set up another housekeeper, to get some
one to take pity on me and marry again,” and he looked significantly
into Mrs. Leach’s unabashed eyes.
Mrs. Leach held her breath.
“But I should never dream of doing that as long as Madeline is with me.”
“So here was the matter in a nutshell,” said his listener to herself,
as she grasped her fan fiercely and closed her lips. Unless Madeline
went off, he would never marry. The great thing, of course, was to
get the girl settled. She passed her obvious admirers in lightning
review. There was actually not one whom she could lay her finger upon
as a possible son-in-law for the little gentleman beside her. She knew
several who would have gladly proposed to Madeline, but Madeline never
gave them a chance. Why? She would make it her business to discover
the reason why Miss Madeline was so cold and _difficile_, and to find
out _who_ he was? Mr. Jessop knew. Oh, if she only had a chance of
exercising her fascination on that sour-looking barrister! Madeline
had had a note from him recently, and she had been on the point of
perusing it when she had been disturbed: she frequently mistook
Madeline’s letters for her own, and had glanced over a good deal of
her correspondence. It had proved extremely commonplace, but she felt
confident that Mr. Jessop’s letter would be of absorbing interest.
Madeline was on the alert. She had taken a sincere dislike to this
tall, dashing body-guard of hers, with her splendid toilettes,
shocking meannesses, her soft manners, and her sharp claws. She was
aware that she tampered with her letters. She had surprised her (but
not discovered herself); and seen her carry a piece of recently-used
blotting-paper and hold it up before the sitting-room mirror; and she
was aware, from Josephine, that Mrs. Leach had made an exhaustive
search in her room, under pretence of seeking a fur collarette. Oh! she
was a clumsy spy.
* * * * *
In March, when the English season was as its height, and every hotel
and villa was packed, an elderly Englishwoman, wearing blue spectacles,
and a small sandy-haired girl, wearing a tailor-made and sailor
hat--that seal of British livery--toiled up the staircase of the Grand
Hotel, followed by their luggage. At the first landing the young lady
stopped and stared at a very smart apparition which had just come out
of a sitting-room--a pretty, tall girl, dressed with much elegance in
a plum-coloured cloth coat and skirt, a white cloth waistcoat, white
felt hat with purple velvet, white gloves, white sunshade. Could it be
possible that she was Madeline West? Madeline, the pupil-teacher at
Mrs. Harper’s? She raised her eyes: yes, it _was_ Madeline. She would
speak.
“Madeline--West, I am sure. Don’t you remember me at school--Nina
Berwick?”
“Oh yes, of course,” shaking hands.
“Growing up makes a difference, doesn’t it?” (Growing rich makes a
difference too.)
“You are staying here?” said Miss Berwick effusively.
“Yes, we have been here ever since Christmas.”
“How nice! I hope we shall see a great deal of one another, and have
talks over old times.”
“Yes,” assented Madeline, colouring, “that will be charming.”
“You are not married, are you, Madeline?”
“What has put such an idea into your head?” was the misleading reply.
Madeline was clever at evasion and subterfuge: practice makes perfect.
“You see we have been living abroad for two years, and are rather out
of the way of news. I am living with my aunt, Lady Fitzsandy. She hates
England. Well, I’m nearly dead, and very dusty and thirsty. Our rooms
are on the _quatrième étage_, and the lift is out of order, I hear, so
I must toil up. Ta-ta!” and she hurried away after the porters and her
relative.
Nina Berwick had left school just after the breaking-up--Madeline
recalled this with a sensation of relief. She came from the borders of
Scotland, and knew nothing; besides, she was always intensely stupid,
and never could remember anything--names, dates, historical events, and
even school events went through her sieve-like brain. She had not been
a particular friend of Madeline’s, and had only known her in those days
when she had fallen from her high estate--never as the rich Miss West.
For her part, Nina Berwick was amazed at her friend’s transformation.
She occupied a suite on the first floor. She had an English footman, a
private sitting-room, a Paris frock, and yet she was not married! The
Miss Berwicks were well-born but poor; their aunt could not afford
them the delights of a London season. She carried them abroad, where
they had never heard of Madeline’s social successes. Lady Fitzsandy
roved about the Continent, from one gay centre to another, and was
extremely anxious to get her nieces settled--especially Lucy, who was
plain and twenty-eight.
Lady Fitzsandy gladly foregathered with Mr. West’s pleasant party.
They always joined forces after dinner in the hall, and took coffee
together. And her ladyship was specially charmed with Mrs. Leach, Miss
West’s chaperon, who was so sweet and so handsome--she was connected,
too, with her own cousins the Horse-Leaches--and seemed so pleased and
interested to hear that Nina had been at school with Miss West.
“The dear girls,” as she pointed out the pair sitting side by side
on a distant divan, “were going over old times three years ago, and
talking so happily together.” This is what they were saying, and what
Mrs. Leach would have given her best ring to hear:--
“And so your father came home very wealthy, Maddie? And you live
in London, and have had two seasons, and go everywhere--and know
everybody?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.”
“Well, of course, you have hosts of admirers.”
“I don’t know about that either!”
“Nonsense, I’m sure you have had hundreds. What was the name of that
gentleman at school?”
“Gentleman at school--there were no gentlemen--at school.”
“Now don’t be silly! He was the friend of some people that used to
come to the breaking-up. He danced with you, and Miss Selina was wild.
I’m sure you must remember him.”
“I don’t want, as you may easily imagine, to remember anything about
_school_, except,” picking herself up, “some of my school-fellows.”
“Oh, now, let me see, I’ve a shocking memory for names. I think his
name began with N, or was there an N in it?”
“There was _nothing_ in it--will that answer as well. There is to be a
big ball here to-morrow; you are just in time.”
“In the hotel?”
“Yes; it will be a capital dance.”
“But I know no men.”
“I know any number, and I will get you partners,” said Madeline,
recklessly.
And Madeline kept her word, to the intense enjoyment of Miss Berwick,
who, thanks to her school-fellow, had quite a delightful plurality of
cavaliers. It seemed so strange to Nina Berwick to see Madeline West,
the shabby drudge whom she had pitied at school, now surrounded with
every luxury and crowds of smart acquaintances, with a carriage and
servants at her orders, and all the best _partis_ at her feet.
She was extremely good-natured, and did her utmost to give this rather
plain, dull little spinster a good time. She got up picnics and golf
tournaments. She took her for long drives and pleasant expeditions.
One afternoon Miss Berwick’s grandmamma and Mrs. Leach remained
at home, had tea together, and talked Miss West over in her own
sitting-room. Lady Fitzsandy liked Miss West, and sang her praises
in a mild key; ditto Mrs. Leach, in a yet louder strain, with one
occasional piercing high note--that note a “but.” “But she is wildly
extravagant; but she is wonderful, considering her antecedents; but
she cannot live without excitement; but she is uncertain in her
friendships.”
_But_ Lady Fitzsandy was staunch, and said, “I must say that, as far
as I can judge, Miss West is true to old friends. She is very much
attached to Nina.”
Mrs. Leach, on her own part, professed a rival attachment for Miss
Berwick, gave her autographs--which she was collecting--also a box
of pralines, and took her arm round the gardens once, treated her to
coffee at the Casino, and there pumped her to the best of her ability.
“And so Madeline was only a pupil-teacher when you were at school, you
tell me, dear?”
“Yes; I was there fourteen months, for finishing. I was among the
elders, and she had charge of the small fry; I did not come across her
at classes or in school hours, but I used to meet her in passages, and
in the boot-room, and sometimes we waltzed together on half holidays. I
always liked Maddie.”
“And you left before her?”
“Yes; I left last Christmas three years, after the breaking-up dance. I
recollect Maddie played, to save the old skinflints a guinea. But the
end of the evening she danced with a man several times, and Miss Selina
was furious; I think he admired Madeline, and that was her reason.”
“And what was his name, darling?”
“I really cannot remember. I asked Madeline about him, and she rather
snubbed me; but it was something beginning with an N, I think.”
Oh, what a tiresome, stupid creature! “You cannot recollect, darling?”
“No; except that there was an N in his name! I am sure of that.”
“And so Madeline remained on for a year; and did you never hear
_anything_ more of the school after you left?”
“Yes; let me see, I did hear something, I may have dreamt it, that some
one was expelled.”
“Expelled!” with a slight start. “Dear me, how shocking!”
“I cannot recollect, but I am sure it was not Madeline. She was not
that sort of girl; and I may have read it in a book. I get so mixed
between what I have heard and what I have read about; but I am awfully
absent and dreamy.”
“Have you kept up a correspondence with any of your school-fellows?”
“Oh no! I hate letter-writing; and I detested school. But I always
liked Maddie West. She was so pretty to look at, so pleasant to talk
to, so good-natured. And she is not a bit changed. She is a dear.”
“There never was any--you never heard of _her_ getting into any scrape
at school, did you?”
“Oh no; what a funny idea--a scrape! Why, Maddie was as strict about
the rules as the Harpies themselves!”
“And this gentleman that admired her?”
“Oh, it was only at our dances, the breakings-up; he never gave her a
second thought.”
So Mrs. Leech had wasted her blandishments, her time, and her money all
for nothing on this half-witted, tow-headed girl. When she realized the
fact, she rose rather abruptly--looking surprisingly sour, paid at the
_comptoir_, and led the way back to the promenade in somewhat gloomy
silence.
The Berwicks went on to Pau a few days later, and were lost sight of
once more, as is the usual way with these wandering birds of passage.