The next morning dawned upon a perfect August day. The sun streamed
brightly over every part of Heyst, turning the loose dry yellow sand
(from end to end of which not a stone or boulder was to be seen),
into a veritable cloth of gold. The patient asses, carrying their
white-covered saddles, and tied to stakes, were waiting in a row for
hire, whilst some dozen Rosinantes, called by courtesy, horses, were
also of the company. The sands were already strewn with children, their
short petticoats crammed into a pair of bathing-drawers, and their
heads protected by linen hats or bonnets, digging away at the dry sand
as if their lives depended on their efforts. The bathing-machines,
painted in gay stripes of green, red, blue, or orange, were hauled
down, ready for action, and the wooden tents, which can be hired for
the season at any foreign watering place, were being swept out and
arranged for the day’s use.
Some of the more pretentious ones, belonging to private families,
were surmounted by a gilt coronet, the proud possession of the Comte
Darblaye, or the Herr Baron Grumplestein--sported flags moreover of
France or Germany, and were screened from the eyes of the vulgar, by
lace or muslin curtains, tied up with blue ribbons. On the balcony of
the Lion d’Or, where the visitors always took their breakfast, were
arranged tables, piled with dishes of crevettes, fresh from the sea,
pistolets, and beautiful butter as white and tasteless as cream. It
was a delight to breakfast on the open balcony, with the sea breeze
blowing in one’s face, and in the intervals of eating prawns and bread
and butter, or perusing the morning papers, to watch the cheerful scene
below.
The Baroness was there, early of course. She, and her husband, and the
ill-used Bobby, occupied a table to themselves, whence she addressed
her remarks to whomever she chose, whether they wished to listen, or
not, and the Baron shelled her crevettes and buttered her pistolets
for her. Margaret and Elinor were rather later than usual, for Mrs.
Pullen had not passed a good night, and Miss Leyton would not have her
disturbed.
Harriet Brandt was there as they appeared, and beside her, a pale,
unhealthy-looking young woman, whom she introduced as her friend, and
travelling companion, Olga Brimont.
“Olga did not wish to come down. She thought she would lie another day
in bed, but I made her get up and dress, and I was right, wasn’t I,
Mrs. Pullen?”
“I think the fresh air will do Mademoiselle Brimont more good than the
close bedroom, if she is strong enough to stand it!” replied Margaret,
with a smile. “I am afraid you are still feeling weak,” she continued,
to the new-comer.
“I feel better than I did on board the steamer, or in London,” said
Mademoiselle Brimont. She was an under-sized girl with plain features,
and did not shew off to advantage beside her travelling companion.
“Did you suffer so much from sea-sickness? I can sympathise with you,
as I am a very bad sailor myself!”
“O! no! Madame, it was not the _mal de mer_. I can hardly tell you
what it was. Miss Brandt and I occupied a small cabin together, and
perhaps, it was because it was so small, but I did not feel as if I
could breathe there--such a terrible oppression as though some one
were sitting on my chest--and such a general feeling of emptiness. It
was the same in London, though Miss Brandt did all she could for me,
indeed she sat up with me all night, till I feared she would be ill
herself--but I feel better now! Last night I slept for the first time
since leaving Jamaica!”
“That is right! You will soon get well in this lovely air!”
They all sat down at the same table, and commenced to discuss their
rolls and coffee. Margaret Pullen, glancing up once, was struck by
the look with which Harriet Brandt was regarding her--it was so full
of yearning affection--almost of longing to approach her nearer, to
hear her speak, to touch her hand! It amused her to observe it! She
had heard of cases, in which young unsophisticated girls had taken
unaccountable affections for members of their own sex, and trusted
she was not going to form the subject for some such experience on
Miss Brandt’s part. The idea made her address her conversation more to
Mademoiselle Brimont, than to her companion of the evening before.
“I suppose you and Miss Brandt were great friends in the Convent,” she
said.
“O! no, Madame, we hardly ever saw each other whilst there, except in
chapel. There is so much difference in our ages, I am only seventeen,
and was in the lower school, whilst Miss Brandt did hardly any lessons
during the two last years she spent there. But I was very glad to have
her company across to England. My brother would have sent for me last
year, if he could have heard of a lady to travel with me!”
“Are you going on to join your brother soon?”
“He says he will fetch me, Madame, as soon as he can be spared from his
business. He is my only relation. My parents died, like Miss Brandt’s,
in the West Indies.”
“Well! you must be sure and get your looks back before he arrives!”
said Margaret, kindly.
The head waiter now appeared with the letters from England, amongst
which was one for Miss Leyton in a firm, manly handwriting, with a
regimental crest in blue and gold upon the envelope. Her face did not
change in the least as she broke the seal, although it came from her
_fiancé_, Captain Ralph Pullen. Elinor Leyton’s was an exceptionally
cold face, and it matched her disposition. She had attractive
features;--a delicate nose, carved as if in ivory--brown eyes, a fair
rose-tinted complexion, and a small mouth with thin, firmly closed
lips. Her hair was bronze-coloured, and it was always dressed to
perfection. She had a good figure too, with small hands and feet--and
she was robed in excellent taste. She was pre-eminently a woman for
a man to be proud of as the mistress of his house, and the head of
his table. She might be trusted never to say or do an unladylike
thing--before all, she was cognisant of the obligations which devolved
upon her as the daughter of Lord Walthamstowe and a member of the
British aristocracy. But in disposition she was undoubtedly cold,
and her _fiancé_ had already begun to find it out. Their engagement
had come about neither of them quite knew how, but he liked the idea
of being connected with an aristocratic family, and she was proud of
having won a man, for whom many caps had been pulled in vain. He was
considered to be one of the handsomest men of his generation, and she
was what people called an unexceptional match for him. She was fond of
him in her way, but her way was a strange one. She called the attitude
she assumed towards him, a proper and ladylike reserve, but impartial
spectators, with stronger feelings, would have deemed it indifference.
However, like the proverbial dog in the manger, whether she valued
her rights in Captain Pullen or not, Miss Leyton had no intention of
permitting them to be interfered with. She would have died sooner than
admit that he was necessary to her happiness,--at the same time she
considered it due to her dignity as a woman, never to give in to his
wishes, when they opposed her own, and often when they did not.
She displayed no particular enthusiasm when they met, nor distress when
they parted--neither was she ever troubled by any qualms lest during
their frequent separations, he should meet some woman whom he might
perchance prefer to herself. They were engaged, and when the proper
time came they would marry--meanwhile their private affairs concerned
no one but themselves. In short, Elinor Leyton was not what is termed
“a man’s woman”--all her friends (if she had any) were of her own sex.
Having perused her letter, she refolded and replaced it in its envelope
without a glance in the direction of Mrs. Pullen. Margaret thought she
had a right to be informed of her brother-in-law’s movements. She had
invited Miss Leyton to accompany her to Heyst at his request, and any
preparations which might be requisite before he joined them, would have
to be made by herself.
“Is that from Ralph? What does he say?” she enquired in a low voice.
“Nothing in particular!”
“But when may we expect him at Heyst?”
“Next week, he says, in time for the _Bataille des Fleurs_!”
“Are you not pleased?”
“Of course I am!” replied Elinor, but without a sparkle or blush.
“O! if it were only my Arthur that were coming!” exclaimed Margaret,
fervently, “I should go mad with joy!”
“Then it is just as well perhaps that it is _not_ your Arthur!”
rejoined her companion, as she put the letter into her pocket.
“Now, Bobby,” announced the strident tones of the Baroness Gobelli from
the other side of the balcony, “leave off picking the shrimps! You’ve
’ad more than enough! Ain’t bread and butter good enough for you?
What’ll you want next?”
“But, Mamma,” pleaded the youth, “I’ve only had a few! I’ve been
shelling Papa’s all this time!”
“Put ’em down at once, I say!” reiterated the Baroness, “’ere William,
take Bobby’s plate away! He’s ’ad plenty for this morning!”
“But I haven’t begun yet. I’m hungry!” remonstrated Bobby.
“Take ’is plate away!” roared the Baroness. “’Ang it all! Can’t you
’ear what I say?”
“Mein tear! mein tear!” ejaculated the Herr Baron in a subdued voice.
“Leave me alone, Gustave! Do you suppose I can’t manage my own son? He
ain’t yours! ’E’d make ’imself ill if I didn’t look after him. Take ’is
plate away, at once!”
The man-servant William lifted the plate of peeled shrimps and bread
and butter from the table, whilst Bobby with a very red face rose from
his seat and rushed down the steps to the beach.
“He! he! he!” cackled the Baroness, “that’ll teach ’im not to fiddle
with ’is food another time! Bobby don’t care for an empty belly!”
“What a shame!” murmured Margaret, who was nothing if she was not a
mother, “now the poor boy will go without his breakfast.”
Presently, William was to be seen sneaking past the Hotel with a parcel
in his hands. The Baroness pounced upon him like a cat upon a mouse.
“William!” she cried from the balcony, “what ’ave you got in your
’and?”
“Summat of my own, my lady!”
“Bring it ’ere!”
The man mounted the steps and stood before his mistress. He held a
parcel in his hands, wrapped up in a table napkin.
“Open that parcel!” said the Baroness.
“Indeed, my lady, it’s only the shrimps as Master Robert left behind
him and I thought they would make me a little relish on the sands, my
lady!”
“Open that parcel!”
William obeyed, and disclosed the rolls and butter and peeled shrimps
just as Bobby had left them.
“You were going to take ’em down to Bobby on the beach!”
“No, indeed, my lady!”
“Confound you, Sir, don’t you lie to me!” exclaimed the Baroness,
shaking her stick in his face, “I’ve ways and means of finding out
things that you know nothing of! Throw that stuff into the road!”
“But, my lady----”
“Throw it into the road at once, or you may take your month’s warning!
’Ang it all! are you the mistress, or am I?”
The servant threw a glance of enquiry in the direction of the Herr
Baron but the Herr Baron kept his face well down in his plate, so after
a pause, he walked to the side, and shook the contents of the napkin
upon the Digue.
“And now don’t you try any more of your tricks upon me or I’ll thrash
you till your own mother won’t know you! You leave Bobby alone for the
future, or it’ll be the worst day’s work you ever did! Remember that!”
“Very good, my lady!” replied William, but as he left the balcony he
gave a look at the other occupants, which well conveyed his feelings on
the subject.
“I should not be surprised to hear that that woman had been murdered by
her servants some day!” said Margaret to Elinor Leyton.
“No! and I should not be sorry! I feel rather like murdering her
myself. But let us go down to the sands, Margaret, and try to find the
disconsolate Bobby! I’m not afraid of his mother if William is, and if
he wants something to eat, I shall give it him!”
They fetched their hats and parasols, and having left the Hotel by a
side entrance, found their way down to the sands. It was a pretty sight
there, and in some cases, a comical one. The bathing-machines were
placed some sixty or more feet from the water, according to the tide,
and their occupants, clad in bathing-costumes, had to run the gauntlet
of all the eyes upon the beach, as they traversed that distance in
order to reach the sea. To some visitors, especially the English ones,
this ordeal was rather trying. To watch them open a crevice of the
machine door, and regard the expectant crowd with horror;--then after
some hesitation, goaded on by the cries of the bathing women that
the time was passing, to see them emerge with reluctant feet, sadly
conscious of their unclothed condition, and of the unsightly corns and
bunions which disfigured their feet--to say nothing of the red and
blue tint which their skin had suddenly assumed--was to find it almost
impossible to refrain from laughter. The very skinny and knuckle-kneed
ones; the very fat and bulging ones; the little fair men who looked
like Bobby’s peeled shrimps, and the muscular black and hairy ones
who looked like bears escaped from a menagerie,--these types and many
others, our ladies could not help being amused at, though they told
each other it was very improper all the time. But everybody had to
pass through the same ordeal and everybody submitted to it, and tried
to laugh off their own humiliation by ridiculing the appearance of
their neighbours. Margaret and Elinor were never tired of watching the
antics of the Belgians and Germans whilst they were (what they called)
bathing. The fuss they made over entering two feet of water--the way
in which they gasped and puffed as they caught it up in their hands
and rubbed their backs and chests with it--the reluctance with which
the ladies were dragged by their masculine partners into the briny,
as if they expected to be overwhelmed and drowned by the tiny waves
which rippled over their toes, and made them catch their breath. And
lastly, when they were convinced there was no danger, to see them, men
and women, fat and thin, take hands and dance round in a ring as if
they were playing at “Mulberry Bush” was too delightful. But if one
bather, generally an Englishman, more daring than his fellows, went in
for a good swim, the coast-guardsmen ran along the breakwater, shouting
“Gare, gare!” until he came out again.
“They are funnier than ever to-day,” remarked Margaret, after a while,
“I wonder what they will say when they see Ralph swimming out next
week. They will be frightened to death. All the Pullens are wonderful
swimmers. I have seen Anthony Pennell perform feats in the water that
made my blood run cold! And Ralph is famous for his diving!”
The topic did not appear to interest Elinor. She reverted to the
subject of Anthony.
“Is that the literary man--the cousin?”
“Yes! Have you not met him?”
“Never!”
“I am sure you would like him! He is such a fine fellow! Not such a
‘beauty man’ as Ralph, perhaps, but quite as tall and stalwart! His
last book was a tremendous success!”
“Ralph has never mentioned him to me, though I knew he had a cousin of
that name!”
“Well!--if you won’t be offended at my saying so--Ralph has always been
a little jealous of Anthony, at least so Arthur says. He outstripped
him at school and college, and the feeling had its foundation there.
And anyone might be jealous of him now! He has shewn himself to be a
genius!”
“I don’t like geniuses as a rule,” replied Elinor, “they are so
conceited. I believe that is Bobby Bates sitting out there on the
breakwater! I will go and see if he is still hungry!”
“Give the poor boy a couple of francs to get himself a breakfast in
one of the restaurants,” said Margaret, “he will enjoy having a little
secret from his terrible Mamma!”
She had not been alone long before the nurse came up to her, with the
perambulator, piled up with toys, but no baby. Margaret’s fears were
excited at once.
“Nurse! nurse, what is the matter? Where is the baby?” she exclaimed in
tones of alarm.
“Nothing’s the matter, Ma’am! pray don’t frighten yourself!” replied
the servant, “it’s only that the young ladies have got baby, and
they’ve bought her all these toys, and sent me on to tell you that they
would be here directly!”
The perambulator was filled with expensive playthings useless for an
infant of six months’ old. Dolls, woolly sheep, fur cats, and gaily
coloured balls with a huge box of chocolates and caramels, were piled
one on the top of the other. But Mrs. Pullen’s face expressed nothing
but annoyance.
“You had no right to let them take her, Nurse--you had no right to let
the child out of your sight! Go back at once and bring her here to me!
I am exceedingly annoyed about it!”
“Here are the young ladies, Ma’am, and you had better lay your orders
on them, yourself, for they wouldn’t mind me,” said the nurse, somewhat
sullenly.
In another minute Harriet Brandt, and Olga Brimont had reached her
side, the former panting under the weight of the heavy infant, but with
her face scarlet with the excitement of having captured her.
“O! Miss Brandt!” cried Margaret, “you have given me such a fright! You
must never take baby away from her nurse again, please! As I told you
last night, she is afraid of strangers, and generally cries when they
try to take her! Come to me, my little one!” she continued, holding out
her arms to the child, “come to mother and tell her all about it!”
But the baby seemed to take no notice of the fond appeal. It had
its big eyes fixed upon Miss Brandt’s face with a half-awed,
half-interested expression.
“O! no! don’t take her away!” said Harriet, eagerly, “she is so good
with me! I assure you she is not frightened in the least bit, are you,
my little love?” she added, addressing the infant. “And nurse tells me
her name is Ethel, so I have ordered them to make her a little gold
bangle with ‘Ethel’ on it, and she must wear it for my sake, darling
little creature!”
“But, Miss Brandt, you must not buy such expensive things for her,
indeed. She is too young to appreciate them, besides I do not like you
to spend so much money on her!”
“But why shouldn’t I? What am I to do with my money, if I may not spend
it on others?”
“But, such a quantity of toys! Surely, you have not bought all these
for my baby!”
“Of course I have! I would have bought the whole shop if it would have
pleased her! She likes the colours! Little darling! look how earnestly
she gazes at me with her lovely grey eyes, as if she knew what a little
beauty I think her! O! you pretty dear! you sweet pink and white baby!”
Mrs. Pullen felt somewhat annoyed as she saw the dolls and furry
animals which were strewn upon the sands, at the same time she was
flattered by the admiration exhibited of her little daughter, and the
endearments lavished upon her. She considered them all well deserved
(as what mother would not?)--and it struck her that Harriet Brandt must
be a kindhearted, as well as a generous girl to spend so much money on
a stranger’s child.
“She certainly does seem wonderfully good with you,” she observed
presently, “I never knew her so quiet with anybody but her nurse or
me, before. Isn’t it marvellous, Nurse?”
“It is, Ma’am! Baby do seem to take surprisingly to the young lady!
And perhaps I might go into the town, as she is so quiet, and get the
darning-wool for your stockings!”
“O! no! no! We must not let Miss Brandt get tired of holding her. She
is too heavy to be nursed for long!”
“Indeed, indeed she is not!” cried Harriet, “do let me keep her, Mrs.
Pullen, whilst nurse goes on her errand. It is the greatest pleasure to
me to hold her. I should like never to give her up again!”
Margaret smiled.
“Very well, Nurse, since Miss Brandt is so kind, you can go!”
As the servant disappeared, she said to Harriet,
“Mind! you give her to me directly she makes your arm ache! I am more
used to the little torment than you are.”
“How can you call her by such a name, even in fun? What would I not
give to have a baby of my very own to do what I liked with? I would
never part with it, night nor day, I would teach it to love me so much,
that it should never be happy out of my sight!”
“But that would be cruel, my dear! Your baby might have to part with
you, as you have had to part with your mother!”
At the mention of her mother, something came into Miss Brandt’s eyes,
which Margaret could not define. It was not anger, nor sorrow, nor
remorse. It was a kind of sullen contempt. It was something that made
Mrs. Pullen resolve not to allude to the subject again. The incident
made her examine Harriet’s eyes more closely than she had done before.
They were beautiful in shape and colour, but they did not look like
the eyes of a young girl. They were deeply, impenetrably black--with
large pellucid pupils, but there was no sparkle nor brightness in them,
though they were underlaid by smouldering fires which might burst forth
into flame at any moment, and which seemed to stir and kindle and then
go out again, when she spoke of anything that interested her. There was
an attraction about the girl, which Mrs. Pullen acknowledged, without
wishing to give in to. She could not keep her eyes off her! She seemed
to hypnotise her as the snake is said to hypnotise the bird, but it was
an unpleasant feeling, as if the next moment the smouldering fire would
burst forth into flame and overwhelm her. But watching her play with,
and hearing her talk to, her baby, Margaret put the idea away from
her, and only thought how kindly natured she must be, to take so much
trouble for another woman’s child. It was not long before Miss Leyton
found her way back to them, and as her glance fell upon Harriet Brandt
and the baby, she elevated her eyebrows.
“Where is the nurse?” she demanded curtly.
“She has gone to the shops to see if she can get some darning-wool,
and Miss Brandt was kind enough to offer to keep baby for her till she
returns. And O! Elinor, look what beautiful toys Miss Brandt has bought
her! Isn’t she too kind?”
“Altogether too kind!” responded Elinor. “By the way, Margaret, I found
our friend and transacted the little business we spoke of! But he says
his Mamma has ordered him to remain here, till she comes down to see
him bathe, and dry him, I suppose, with her own hands! And do I not
descry her fairy feet indenting the sands at this very moment, and
bearing down in our direction?”
“You could hardly mistake her for anything else!” replied Mrs. Pullen.
In another minute the Baroness was upon them.
“Hullo,” she called out, “you’re just in time to see Gustave bathe!
He looks lovely in his bathing costume! His legs are as white as your
baby’s, Mrs. Pullen, and twice as well worth looking at!”
“Mein tear! mein tear!” remonstrated the Baron.
“Don’t be a fool, Gustave! You know it’s the truth! And the loveliest
feet, Miss Leyton! Smaller than yours, I bet. Where’s that devil,
Bobby? I’m going to give ’im a dousing for his villainy this morning, I
can tell you! Once I get ’is ’ead under water, it won’t come up again
in a hurry! I expect ’e’s pretty ’ungry by this time! But ’e don’t
get a centime out of me for cakes to-day. I’ll teach ’im not to stuff
’imself like a pig again. Come, Gustave! ’ere’s a machine for you! Get
me a chair that I may sit outside it! Now, we’ll ’ave some fun,” she
added, with a wink at Mrs. Pullen.
“Let us move on to the breakwater!” said Margaret to Elinor Leyton, and
the whole party got up and walked some little distance off.
“Ah! you don’t hoodwink me!” screamed the Baroness after them. “You’ve
got glasses with you, and you’re going to ’ave a good squint at
Gustave’s legs through ’em, I know! You’d better ’ave stayed ’ere, like
honest women, and said you enjoyed the sight!”
“O! Margaret!” said Miss Leyton, with a look of horror, “if it had
not been for the _Bataille de Fleurs_ and ... the other thing ... I
should have said, for goodness’ sake, let us move on to Ostende or
Blankenburghe, with the least possible delay. That woman will be the
death of me yet! I’m sure she will!”
Notwithstanding which, they could not help laughing in concert, a
little later on, to see the unwilling Bobby dragged down by William to
bathe, and as he emerged from his machine, helpless and half naked, to
watch his elephantine mother chase him with her stout stick in hand,
and failing to catch him in time, slip on the wet sand and flounder in
the waves herself, from which plight, it looked very much as though her
servant instead of rescuing her, did his best to push her further in,
before he dragged her, drenched and disordered, on dry land again.