It was in the beginning of the shooting-season, when birds were still
plentiful and the best of the sportsmen visitors were come or coming,
that Letitia was one evening startled by hearing of the arrival of a
gentleman, who was one more than the number expected. Such a thing had
been known before; for John’s invitations were sometimes a little vague,
and he occasionally made a mistake; but it was particularly annoying on
this occasion, because Mrs. Parke had not been at home for tea, and,
therefore, was not at hand to place the unexpected guest.
“The only thing I could do, ma’am, in the circumstances,” said the
butler, “was to refer to Miss Hill, and she said the gentleman must have
her room; so I put him in Miss Hill’s room.”
“You were quite right, Saunders, since Miss Hill was so kind; and I
daresay it will be all right. But you have not told me who the gentleman
was.”
The butler made a little pause--a respectable family servant never
forgets that every family has its secrets. He coughed discreetly behind
his hand. “I did not ask the gentleman’s name, ma’am--Miss Hill seemed
to know him very well.”
“Miss Hill--knew him very well!” Astonishment and a certain
consternation came into Letitia’s face. But she recollected herself,
perceiving Saunders’ look of extreme discretion, which is always an
alarming thing. “I have no doubt it is all right,” she said, with great
self-possession, “and you have done exactly what you ought to have done
in referring to Miss Hill--send up someone to my room with a cup of good
tea. One never gets tea one can drink out of one’s own house.”
Mrs. Parke repeated to herself, “Someone Mary knows,” under her breath.
She was momentarily disturbed. Could it be a piece of presumption on
Mary’s part bringing in someone she knew? But this was so incredible
that Letitia dismissed the idea, laying it all upon the broad shoulders
of John. “He must have made a mistake again,” she said to herself. She
was late, everyone had gone to dress for dinner, and the mistress of the
house only lingered for a moment in the drawing-room to see that all was
in order, to give a little pull to the curtains, and a little push to
the chairs such as the mistress of the house always finds necessary when
she is expecting guests, breaking the air of inevitable primness which
the best of servants are apt to have. She looked round to see that all
was right, and then she went upstairs to her room to dress. Mary was
standing on the stairs at the end of the corridor which led to the
nursery, evidently waiting for her. “Oh, can I speak a word, Letitia?”
she said.
“I don’t see how you can,” said Mrs. Parke, “for I am late, and you know
the Witheringhams are coming. I cannot keep them waiting. But come into
my room, if you like, while I dress.”
Mary was not coming to dinner on that evening: so that she had no need
to dress. She looked pale and anxious standing in the doorway at the end
of the nursery passage in her old grey gown. “But I must speak to you
alone--not before your maid,” she said.
“Some naughtiness, I suppose,” said Letitia with a little sigh of
despairing impatience. “Really, you are too particular. But it must wait
till to-morrow, my dear--I have only time to slip on my dress.”
“But oh, Letitia----”
“For goodness sake don’t bother me to death when you know the
Witheringhams are coming,” Mrs. Parke said. And she went into her room,
leaving her friend standing outside. Letitia did not close the door, but
left it possible for Mary to follow her, if the communication was so
very urgent. But this Miss Hill did not do. She hesitated a moment,
wrung her hands, and then disappeared like a ghost within the narrow
portals of the nursery passage. Had Letitia only known the words that
were on her lips, had Mary been less frightened, less terrified at the
sound of her own voice. But it could not have made much difference after
all--the shock would have been perhaps less great--but to do away with
it altogether was not in any one’s power.
Letitia dressed in great haste. She had only time to swallow the cup of
tea which she had ordered--to put on her new velvet with the point lace
and diamonds--a _rivière_, but nothing much to speak of, which Frogmore
had sent her on the birth of the heir--and to pull on one of her gloves,
when a sound of carriage wheels in the avenue made her hurry downstairs
to be in her place before the Witheringhams arrived. The Witheringhams
had never dined at Greenpark before. They were very fine people indeed,
the oldest family in the county, though he was only a baron, so rich
that they did not know what to do with their money. They lived a great
deal abroad, and it so happened that Letitia had never before been able
to offer her hospitality to these distinguished persons who were so
little in need of a dinner. For the first time it had “suited” to-night,
and to have been a moment late, or to have anything out of order, would
have been a sin which Letitia, such a model of social propriety as she
was, would not have forgiven herself. Happily, she was not only in the
drawing-room herself, but two or three of the _élite_ of her guests had
come down in good time and stood about like black statues in that
irreproachable _tenue_ which specially distinguishes Englishmen. It was
a moment indescribable when Letitia placed Lady Witheringham in the
easiest chair, and sitting down near her, with the warmest cordiality
mingled with respect, made the discovery that this great lady’s diamonds
were really after all not as good as her own. She did not betray the
consciousness, but it gave her a secret exhilaration. She felt that she
approached her guests upon nearer terms.
“It is a pleasure we have wished for so long, dear Lady Witheringham,”
she said, “to see you in our own house.”
“We are a great deal away,” said the old lady. “Witheringham can’t stand
the winter in England--and to tell the truth when we are at home we are
not fond of new people, neither he nor I.”
“I hope,” said Letitia, “that we can scarcely be considered new people
now. After nearly seven years--”
She saw her mistake immediately, but Lady Witheringham only smiled. “My
husband,” she said, with a slight emphasis, “knew the first Lord
Frogmore. He got his title for something or other--services to the
government.” Here the old lady laughed, as if there could be nothing
more ridiculous than acquiring a peerage in this way. “But I have
heard,” she said, after a pause, “that your own family was quite
respectable.”
Letitia was not proud of her family, and liked to bring it forward as
little as possible, but a natural sentiment still existed in her bosom,
which was touched by this remark. “Oh, indeed, I hope so,” she cried,
with a slight movement of irritation, which she was not able to conceal.
“I mean, of course, in point of antiquity,” said Lady Witheringham, “in
other respects we’re all in the hands of Providence. Nothing, you know,
can secure morals, or those sort of things--and less in an old family
than in others, I sometimes think--Dear me,” she added, raising a double
eyeglass, and looking at the other end of the room with curiosity, “what
have we here?”
Letitia looked up, following Lady Witheringham’s glance. I may truly say
that if Mrs. Parke were to live for a hundred years she would never
forget the spectacle that now presented itself to her eyes. The
drawing-room at Greenpark was a long room, opening from an ante-room
with large folding doors. In the middle of this ample opening stood a
figure in a velvet coat the worse for wear, with a huge beard, long hair
and a general air of savagery. He was a little scared apparently by the
sight of so many people, and by the looks directed towards him, and
stood with a certain hesitation, looking with a half-bold, half-alarmed
air at the circle of ladies near the fire. Letitia sprang to her feet,
and caught John by the arm. “Go and see who it is? go and send him
away,” she said; but even as she spoke her voice went out in a kind of
hollow whisper. Oh, heaven and earth! that this should happen to-night.
Everybody was looking towards the same point, and John much surprised,
but not daunted, was walking towards this strange intruder, when he
seemed to catch sight of Letitia standing thunderstruck by her own
hearth. If she had kept her seat and thus kept partially out of sight,
things might not have turned out so badly; but everything went against
her to-night. The stranger saw her and came forward with a lurch and a
shout. “Hallo, Tisch!” he cried. His voice was like a clap of thunder,
and shook the pictures on the walls. His big step made the whole house
thrill and creak. He caught her in his arms in the middle of all the
astonished ladies and gentlemen, and gave her a resounding smack that
might have been heard half a mile off. “How are you?” he said, “my
lass. I’m as glad to see ye as if ye were the winner in a tip-top race.
I began to think I’d been wrong directed and this wasn’t my sister’s
house after all.”
The thoughts that passed through Letitia’s mind in the moment of that
embrace were too many and too swift to be put on paper. She tore herself
out of the huge arms which held her up like an infant, jumping on the
floor in a momentary paroxysm of passion, in which if she could she
would have killed the inopportune visitor. But even while she did so a
whole discussion, argument and counter argument flashed through her
mind. She would have liked to have killed him: but he was here, and the
butler was at the door announcing that dinner was served, and Lady
Witheringham was certainly surveying this big brute, this horrible
savage as Letitia called him in her heart--through those double
eyeglasses. It was necessary that the mistress of the house should
quench every sentiment and keep up appearances. She said, “Ralph!” with
a little shriek in which some of her excitement got out. “Gracious
goodness!” said Letitia, “I thought you were in Africa. How could you
give me such a start without a word of warning. John, it’s Ralph----”
She paused a moment, and the desperate emergency put words into her
mouth. “He has been after--big game--till he looks like a lion out of
the woods himself,” she cried, with another little shriek--this time of
laughter. There was a wildness in it which half betrayed her, but she
recovered herself with a little stamp of her foot. “John,” she said,
“dinner is waiting--don’t let us keep everything back for this little
family scene.” She seized her brother by the hand while her guests filed
off decorously, almost wounding him with the sharp pressure of her
finger nails. “Don’t come to dinner,” she whispered; “Mary Hill’s in the
house.”
Ralph gave another great laugh. “As if I didn’t know that,” he said;
“but I’m coming to dinner. I want to see you in all your grandeur,
Tisch.”
She had to take old Lord Witheringham’s arm while the brute was talking,
and to smile into the old gentleman’s face and to sweep past the
stranger, leaving him to follow or not as he pleased. Her heart was
beating wildly with fury and dismay. “Don’t you think, Lord
Witheringham, it is a bad thing when young men go off into the
desert--after big game--and grow into savages?” she said. She laughed
to blow off some of the excitement, but there was a glare which nobody
could have believed possible in her dull eyes.
“That depends very much,” said Lord Witheringham, oracularly. He would
not commit himself. “Sometimes it is the best thing a young man can
do--sometimes it is not so fortunate.” Letitia, who expected every
moment to have a denial thundering over her shoulder about this big
game, and who knew very well that her brother Ralph had not gone away
for hunting, as the men did among whom she passed her life, but for very
different reasons and to very different regions, was very glad to hurry
along at the end of the procession listening to what went on behind,
hoping against hope that Ralph might do what she suggested; that he
might go in search of Mary, and not appear at all among people who so
plainly did not want him. She thought for some time with a great relief
that this was what had happened. But when she had taken her place in the
dining-room between Lord Witheringham on one side and young Lord George
Hitherways on the other, that place to which she had looked forward to
with so much pride and pleasure, she saw by the little commotion among
the detached men who came in last, the men who had no ladies to take
care of, that there was no such relief for her. Ralph was in the midst
of them conspicuous in his velvet coat. He pushed them about a little so
as to get nearer to his sister. “I beg your pardon if I’m taking your
place, but I have not seen my sister for ten years,” she heard him
saying in his big voice; and when all the guests were settled as near as
possible in their right places, lo, there he was planted next to Mrs.
Kington, within three of herself. Letitia grew pale when she saw that
her brother was so near--then thanked her stars that at least, since it
must be, he was within reach where she herself could do what was
possible to subdue him. Oh that Mary had but been there! Oh, that Mary
had but said that word of warning which she had been so anxious to give.
Why did not the fool speak? What did it matter whether the maid was
present or not? Three words only were needed--“Ralph is here,” and then
she would have known what to do.
Letitia had looked forward to that dinner as her greatest triumph. She
meant to have been so brilliant and entertaining that Lord
Witheringham, who liked to have amusing young women to talk to him,
might have been filled with admiration: but how can you be witty and
brilliant when you are straining your ears to hear what somebody else is
saying? The conversation flagged in spite of all she could do. Lord
Witheringham devoted himself to his dinner with a look of supreme
gravity. She herself sat, violently loathing her food, but swallowing it
in sheer desperation, feeling every idea that had been in her head
desert her. In fact poor Letitia was never brilliant in conversation,
but this she did not know.
Meanwhile Mrs. Kington was amusing herself very much, and young Lord
George did nothing but laugh and listen to the backwoodsman. “Tell me
about the big game,” the lady had said in a little mellifluous voice. “I
shoot myself, and my husband has made the most famous bags. He was in
Africa too. Pray tell me about the big game. Did you go in for lions or
elephants or what was it? It is so interesting to meet with a man fresh
from the desert.”
“You are very kind to say so, my lady,” said Ralph, “but it’s all
nonsense about big game. That’s only Tisch’s fun. She knows very well I
had something quite different in my mind. I’ve had a shot at a kangaroo
or a dog, and I’m sorry to say I’ve hit a black fellow more than once by
mistake. Perhaps that’s what she calls big game. Well, it is if you come
to that, and deuced serious game, too. You may shoot as many tigers as
you like, and get a reward for it, as I’ve heard; but if you shoot a
black fellow, he’s no use even for his skin; and if it’s known, you get
the Government upon your shoulders just the same as if he was a
Christian.”
“That is hard,” said Mrs. Kington, in her pretty voice. “I suppose you
mean negroes, Mr. ----” She stopped and looked at Letitia with that
delightful impertinence of the higher orders which is one of the finest
flowers of civilization. “Do you know,” she whispered to Lord George,
yet not so low but that Letitia could hear, “John Parke married so much
out of our set that I don’t know what was her name.”
“My name is Ravelstone, and I don’t care who knows it,” said Ralph. “We
are not very particular about names in the bush. Sometimes you may live
for years with a fellow at the same station and never know more than
some nick-name that’s been given him. They used to call me----”
“Your name is as old as any in Yorkshire, Ralph,” said Letitia,
arresting the revelation. “Dear Lady Witheringham was just saying so. Do
you know what she said? That you knew the _first_ Lord Frogmore, Lord
Witheringham. We won’t let John hear, but I know what she meant. She
meant that the Parkes were nobody to speak of; but I am happy to say
Lady Witheringham was quite acquainted with my family. We have never had
a title. What is the good of a mushroom title, that dates only from this
century?”
“I entirely agree with you, Mrs. Parke,” Lord Witheringham said.
“What is the use,” cried Letitia, “of putting on a gloss of nobility
when you have the substance before; and what is the use of plastering
over a name that means nothing with titles? For my part I think there’s
nothing like real antiquity--a family that has lived in the same place
and owned the same ground from the beginning of time.”
“Mrs. Parke, I admire every word you say. Such just feeling is very
uncommon,” Lord Witheringham said.
“Lord, Tisch, how do you run on! How father would have stared if he had
heard you. A title for us!--oh, by Jove?” cried Ralph. His roar shook
the table. Oh, if some one would kill him--poison him--put him out of
Letitia’s sight!