The Baroness Gobelli’s temperament was as inconsistent as her dress.
Under the garb of jocose good-humour, which often degenerated to
horse-play, she concealed a jealous and vindictive disposition, which
would go any lengths, when offended, to revenge itself. She was wont
to say that she never forgot, nor forgave an injury, and that when she
had her knife (as she termed it) in a man, she knew how to bide her
time, but that when the time came, she turned it. These bloodthirsty
sentiments, coupled with an asseveration which was constantly on her
lips, that when she willed the death of anyone, he died, and that she
had powers at her command of which no one was aware but herself,
frightened many timid and ignorant people into trying to propitiate so
apparently potent a mortal, and generally kow-towing before her. To
such votaries, so long as they pleased her, Madame Gobelli was used
to shew her favour by various gifts of dresses, jewelry, or money,
according to their circumstances, for in some cases she was lavishly
generous, but she soon tired of her acquaintances and replaced them by
fresh favourites.
The hints that she gave forth, regarding herself and her antecedents,
were too extraordinary to gain credence except from the most ignorant
of her auditors, but the Baroness always spoke in parables, and left
no proof of what she meant, to be brought up against her. This proved
that if she were clever, she was still more cunning. The hints she
occasionally gave of being descended from Royal blood, though on the
wrong side of the blanket, and of the connection being acknowledged
privately, if not publicly, by the existing members of the reigning
family, were received with open mouths by people of her own class,
but rejected with scorn by such as were acquainted with those whom
she affected to know. It was remarkable also, and only another proof
that, whatever her real birth and antecedents, the Baroness Gobelli
was unique, that, notwithstanding her desire to be considered noble
by birth if not by law, she never shirked the fact that the Baron was
in trade--on the contrary she rather made a boast of it, and used to
relate stories bringing it into ridicule with the greatest gusto. The
fact being that Baron Gobelli was the head of a large firm of export
bootmakers, trading in London under the name of Fantaisie et Cie,
the boots and shoes of which, though professedly French, were all
manufactured in Germany, where the firm maintained an enormous factory.
The Baroness could seldom be in the company of anyone for more than
five minutes without asking them where they bought their boots and
shoes, and recommending them to Fantaisie et Cie as the best makers
in London. She wanted to be first in everything--in popularity, in
notice, and in conversation--if she could not attract attention by her
personality, she startled people by her vulgarity--if she could not
reign supreme by reason of her supposed birth, she would do so by boots
and shoes, if nothing else--and if anybody slighted her or appeared to
discredit her statements, he or she was immediately marked down for
retaliation.
Harriet Brandt had not been many days in Heyst before the Baroness had
become jealous of the attention which she paid Mrs. Pullen and her
child. She saw that the girl was attractive, she heard that she was
rich, and she liked to have pretty and pleasant young people about her
when at home--they drew men to the house and reflected a sort of credit
upon herself--and she determined to get Harriet away from Margaret
Pullen and chain her to her own side instead. The Baroness hated Miss
Leyton quite as much as Elinor hated her. She was quick of hearing
and very intuitive--she had caught more than one of the young lady’s
uncomplimentary remarks upon herself, and had divined still more than
she had heard. She had observed her sympathy with Bobby also, and that
she encouraged him in his boyish rebellion. For all these reasons, she
“had her knife” into Miss Leyton, and was waiting her opportunity to
turn it. And she foresaw--with the assistance perhaps of the Powers of
Darkness, of whose acquaintance she was so proud--that she would be
enabled to take her revenge on Elinor Leyton through Harriet Brandt.
But her first advances to the latter were suavity itself. She was not
going to frighten the girl by shewing her claws, until she had stroked
her down the right way with her _pattes de velours_.
She came upon her one morning, as she sat upon the sands, with little
Ethel in her arms. The nurse was within speaking distance, busy with
her needlework, and the infant seemed so quiet with Miss Brandt and she
took such evident pleasure in nursing it, that Mrs. Pullen no longer
minded leaving them together, and had gone for a stroll with Miss
Leyton along the Digue. So the Baroness found Harriet, comparatively
speaking, alone.
“So you’re playing at nursemaid again!” she commenced in her abrupt
manner. “You seem to have taken a wonderful fancy to that child!”
“She is such a good little creature,” replied Harriet, “she is no
trouble whatever. She sleeps half the day!”
Miss Brandt had a large box of chocolates beside her, into which she
continually dipped her hand. Her mouth, too, was stained with the
delicate sweetmeat--she was always eating, either fruit or bonbons. She
handed the box now, with a timid air, to the Baroness.
“Do you care for chocolate, Madame?” she asked.
The Baroness did not like to be called “Madame” according to the French
fashion. She thought it derogated from her dignity. She wished everyone
to address her as “my lady,” and considered she was cheated out of her
rights when it was omitted. But she liked chocolate almost as well as
Harriet did.
“Thank you! I’ll ’ave a few!” she said, grabbing about a dozen in
her huge hand at the first venture. “What a liking for candies the
Amurricans seem to ’ave introduced into England! I can remember the
time when you never saw such a thing as sweets in the palace--I
don’t think they were allowed--and now they’re all over the place. I
shouldn’t wonder if Her Majesty hasn’t a box or two in her private
apartments, and as for the Princesses, well!--”
“The Palace!--Her Majesty!”--echoed Miss Brandt, opening her dark eyes
very wide.
“As I tell ’em,” continued the Baroness, “they won’t ’ave a tooth left
amongst the lot of ’em soon! What are you staring at?”
“But--but--do you go to the Queen’s palace?” demanded Harriet,
incredulously, as well she might.
“Not unless I’m sent for, you may take your oath! I ain’t fond enough
of ’em for all that; besides, Windsor’s ’orribly damp and don’t suit me
at all. But you mustn’t go and repeat what I tell you, in the Hotel. It
might give offence in high places if I was known to talk of it. You see
there’s some of ’em has never seen me since I married the Baron! Being
in trade, they thought ’e wasn’t good enough for me! I’ve ’eard that
when Lady Morton--the dowager Countess, you know--was asked if she ’ad
seen me lately, she called out loud enough for the whole room to ’ear,
‘Do you mean the woman that married the boot man? No! I ’aven’t seen
’er, and I don’t mean to either!’ Ha! ha! ha! But I can afford to laugh
at all that, my dear!”
“But--I don’t quite understand!” said Harriet Brandt, with a bewildered
look.
“Why! the Baron deals in shoe-leather! ’Aven’t you ’eard it? I suppose
we’ve got the largest manufactory in Germany! Covers four acres of
ground, I give you my word!”
“Shoe-leather!” again ejaculated Harriet Brandt, not knowing what to
say.
“Why, yes! of course all the aristocracy go in for trade now-a-days!
It’s the fashion! There’s the Viscountess Gormsby keeps a bonnet-shop,
and Lord Charles Snowe ’as a bakery, and Lady Harrison ’as an old
curiosity-shop, and stands about it, dusting tables and chairs, all
day! But how can you know anything about it, just coming from the West
Indies, and all those ’orrid blacks! Ain’t you glad to find yourself
amongst Christians again?”
“This is the first time I ever left Jamaica,” said Miss Brandt, “I was
born there.”
“But you won’t die there, or I’m much mistaken! You’re too good to be
wasted on Jamaica! When are you going back to England?”
“Oh! I don’t know! I’ve hardly thought about it yet! Not while Mrs.
Pullen stays here, though!”
“Why! you’re not tied to ’er apron-string, surely! What’s she to you?”
“She is very kind, and I have no friends!” replied Miss Brandt.
The Baroness burst into a coarse laugh.
“You won’t want for friends, once you shew your face in England, I
can tell you. I’d like to ’ave you at our ’ouse, the Red ’Ouse, we
call it. Princess--but there, I mustn’t tell you ’er name or it’ll go
through the Hotel, and she says things to me that she never means to
go further--but she said the other day that she preferred the Red ’Ouse
to Windsor! And for comfort, and cheerfulness, so she may!”
“I suppose it is very beautiful then!” observed Harriet.
“You must judge for yourself,” replied the Baroness, with a broad
smile, “when you come to London. You’ll be your own mistress there, I
suppose, and not so tied as you are here! I call it a shame to keep you
dancing attendance on that brat, when there’s a nurse whose business it
is to look after ’er!”
“O! but indeed it is my own wish!” said the girl, as she cuddled the
sleeping baby to her bosom, and laid her lips in a long kiss upon
its little mouth. “I asked leave to nurse her! She loves me and even
Nurse cannot get her off to sleep as I can! And it is so beautiful to
have something to love you, Madame Gobelli! In the Convent I felt so
cold--so lonely! If ever I took a liking to a girl, we were placed in
separate rooms! It is what I have longed for--to come out into the
world and find someone to be a friend, and to love me, only me, and all
for myself!”
Madame Gobelli laughed again.
“Well! you’ve only got to shew those eyes of yours, to get plenty of
people to love you, and let you love them in return--that is, if the
men count in your estimation of what’s beautiful!”
Harriet raised her eyes and looked at the woman who addressed her!
There was the innocence of Ignorance in them as yet, but the slumbering
fire in their depths proved of what her nature would be capable, when
it was given the opportunity to shew itself. Hers was a passionate
temperament, yearning to express itself--panting for the love which it
had never known--and ready to burst forth like a tree into blossom,
directly the sun of Desire and Reciprocity shone upon it. The elder
woman, who had not been without her little experiences in her day,
recognised the feeling at once, and thought that she would not give a
fig for the virtue of any man who was subjected to its influence.
“I don’t think that you’ll confine your attentions to babies long!”
quoth the Baroness, as she encountered that glance.
“How do you know?” said her young companion.
“Ah! it’s enough that I _do_ know, my dear! I ’ave ways and means of
knowing things that I keep to myself! I ’ave friends about me too, who
can tell me everything--who can ’elp me, if I choose, to give Life and
Fortune to one person, and Trouble and Death to another--and woe to
them that offend me, that’s all!”
But if the Baroness expected to impress Miss Brandt with her hints of
terror, she was mistaken. Harriet did not seem in the least astonished.
She had been brought up by old Pete and the servants on her father’s
plantation to believe in witches, and the evil eye, and “Obeah” and the
whole cult of Devil worship.
“I know all about that,” she remarked presently, “but you can’t do me
either good or harm. I want nothing from you and I never shall!”
“Don’t you be too sure of that!” replied Madame Gobelli, nodding her
head. “I’ve brought young women more luck than enough with their lovers
before now--yes! and married women into the bargain! If it ’adn’t been
for me, Lady--there! it nearly slipped out, didn’t it?--but there’s a
certain Countess who would never ’ave been a widow and married for the
second time to the man of ’er ’eart, if I ’adn’t ’elped ’er, and she
knows it too! By the way, ’ow do you like Miss Leyton?”
“Not at all,” replied Harriet, quickly, “she is not a bit like Mrs.
Pullen--so cold and stiff and disagreeable! She hardly ever speaks to
me! Is it true that she’s the daughter of a lord, as Madame Lamont
says, and is it that makes her so proud?”
“She’s the daughter of Lord Walthamstowe, but that’s nothing. They’ve
got no money. ’Er people live down in the country, quite in a beggarly
manner. A gal with a fortune of ’er own, would rank ’eads and ’eads
above ’er in Society. There’s not much thought of beside money,
nowadays, I can tell you!”
“Why does she stay with Mrs. Pullen then? Are they any relation to each
other?” demanded Harriet.
“Relation, no! I expect she’s just brought ’er ’ere out of charity, and
because she couldn’t afford to go to the seaside by ’erself!”
She had been about to announce the projected relationship between
the two ladies, when a sudden thought struck her. Captain Ralph
Pullen was expected to arrive in Heyst in a few days--thus much she
had ascertained through the landlady of the Lion d’Or. She knew by
repute that he was considered to be one of the handsomest and most
conceited men in the Limerick Rangers, a corps which was noted for its
good-looking officers. It might be better for the furtherance of her
plans against the peace of Miss Leyton’s mind, she thought, to keep her
engagement to Captain Pullen a secret--at all events, no one could say
it was her business to make it public. She looked in Harriet Brandt’s
yearning, passionate eyes, and decided that it would be strange if
any impressionable young man could be thrown within their influence,
without having his fidelity a little shaken, especially if affianced to
such a cold, uninteresting “bit of goods” as Elinor Leyton. Like the
parrot in the story, though she said nothing, she “thought a deal” and
inwardly rumbled with half-suppressed laughter, as she pictured the
discomfiture of the latter young lady, if by any chance she should find
her _fiancé’s_ attentions transferred from herself to the little West
Indian.
“You seem amused, Madame!” said Harriet presently.
“I was thinking of you, and all the young men who are doomed to be
slaughtered by those eyes of yours,” said the Baroness. “You’d make
mischief enough amongst _my_ friends, I bet, if I ’ad you at the Red
’Ouse!”
Harriet felt flattered and consciously pleased. She had never received
a compliment in the Convent--no one had ever hinted that she was
pretty, and she had had no opportunity of hearing it since.
“Do you think I am handsome then?” she enquired with a heightened
colour.
“I think you’re a deal worse! I think you’re dangerous!” replied her
new friend, “and I wouldn’t trust you with the Baron any further than I
could see you!”
“O! how can you say so?” exclaimed the girl, though she was pleased all
the same to hear it said.
“I wouldn’t, and that’s the truth! Gustave’s an awful fellow after the
gals. I ’ave to keep a tight ’old on ’im, I can tell you, and the more
you keep out of ’is way, the better I shall be pleased! You’ll make a
grand match some day, if you’re only sharp and keep your eyes open.”
“What do you call a grand match?” asked Harriet, as she let the nurse
take the sleeping child from her arms without remonstrance.
“Why! a Lord or an Honourable at the very least! since you ’ave
money of your own. It’s money they’re all after in these times, you
know--why! we ’ave dooks and markisses marrying all sorts of gals from
Amurrica--gals whose fathers made their money in oil, or medicine,
or electricity, or any other dodge, so long as they made it! And why
shouldn’t you do the same as the Amurrican gals? You have money, I
know--and a goodish lot, I fancy--” added the Baroness, with her
cunning eyes fixed upon the girl as if to read her thoughts.
“O! yes!” replied Harriet, “Mr. Trawler, my trustee, said it was too
much for a young woman to have under her own control, but I don’t know
anything about the value of money, never having had it to spend before.
I am to have fifteen hundred pounds every year. Is that a good deal?”
“Quite enough to settle you in life, my dear!” exclaimed the Baroness,
who immediately thought what a good thing it would be if Miss Brandt
could be persuaded to sink her capital in the boot trade, “and all
under your own control too! You are a lucky young woman! I know
’alf-a-dozen lords,--not to say Princes--who would jump at you!”
“Princes!” cried Harriet, unable to believe her ears.
“Certainly! Not English ones of course, but German, which are quite
as good after all, for a Prince is a Prince any day! There’s Prince
Adalbert of Waxsquiemer, and Prince Harold of Muddlesheim, and Prince
Loris of Taxelmein, and ever so many more, and they’re in and out of
the Red ’Ouse, twenty times a day! But don’t you be in an ’urry! Don’t
take the first that offers, Miss Brandt! Pick and choose! Flirt with
whom you like and ’ave your fun, but wait and look about you a bit
before you decide!”
The prospect was too dazzling! Harriet Brandt’s magnificent eyes
were opened to their widest extent--her cheeks flushed with
expectation--both life and light had flashed into her countenance. Her
soul was expanding, her nature was awakening--it shone through every
feature--the Baroness had had no idea she was so beautiful! And the
hungry, yearning look was more accentuated than before--it seemed as if
she were on the alert, watching for something, like a panther awaiting
the advent of its prey. It was a look that women would have shrunk
from, and men welcomed and eagerly responded to.
“I should like to go and see you when I go to England--very much!” she
articulated slowly.
“And so you shall, my dear! The Baron and me will be very glad to ’ave
you on a visit. And you mustn’t let that capital of yours lie idle,
you know! If it’s in your own ’ands, you must make it yield double to
what it does now! You consult Gustave! ’E’s a regular business man and
knows ’ow many beans make five! ’E’ll tell you what’s best to be done
with it--’e’ll be a good friend to you, and you can trust ’im with
everything!”
“Thank you!” replied the girl, but she still seemed to be lost in
a kind of reverie. Her gaze was fixed--her full crimson lips were
slightly parted--her slender hands kept nervously clasping and
unclasping each other.
“Well, you are ’andsome and no mistake!” exclaimed the Baroness. “You
remind me a little of the Duchess of Bewlay before she was married!
The first wife, I mean--the second is a poor, pale-faced, sandy-’aired
creature. (’Ow the Dook can stomach ’er after the other, I can’t make
out!) The first Duchess’s mother was a great flame of my grandfather,
the Dook of--however, I mustn’t tell you that! It’s a State secret, and
I might get into trouble at Court! You’d better not say I mentioned it.”
But Harriet Brandt was not in a condition to remember or repeat
anything. She was lost in a dream of the possibilities of the Future.
The bell for _déjeuner_ roused them at last, and brought them to their
feet. They resembled each other in one particular ... they were equally
fond of the pleasures of the table.
The little Baron appeared dutifully to afford his clumsy spouse the
benefit of his support in climbing the hillocks of shifting sand, which
lay between them and the hotel, and Miss Brandt sped swiftly on her way
alone.
“I’ve been ’aving a talk with that gal Brandt,” chuckled the Baroness
to her husband, “she’s a regular green-’orn and swallows everything
you tell ’er. I’ve been stuffing ’er up, that she ought to marry a
Prince, with ’er looks and money, and she quite believes it. But she
ain’t bad-looking when she colours up, and I expect she’s rather a warm
customer, and if she takes a fancy to a man, ’e won’t well know ’ow to
get out of it! And if he tries to, she’ll make the fur fly. Ha! ha! ha!”
“Better leave it alone, better leave it alone!” said the stolid German,
who had had more than one battle to fight already, on account of his
wife’s match-making propensities, and considered her quite too clumsy
an artificer to engage in so delicate a game.