When Anthony Pennell received the Baroness’s invitation, penned in the
delicate foreign handwriting of Harriet Brandt, he accepted it at once.
Being out of the season, he had no engagement for that evening, but
he would have broken twenty engagements, sooner than miss the chance,
so unexpectedly offered him, of meeting in an intimate family circle,
the girl who appeared to have led his cousin Ralph’s fancy astray. He
pictured her to himself as a whitey-brown young woman with thick lips
and rolling eyes, and how Ralph, who was so daintily particular where
the _beau sexe_ was concerned, could have been attracted by such a
specimen, puzzled Anthony altogether. The knowledge that she had money
struck him unpleasantly, for he could think of no other motive for
Captain Pullen having philandered with her, as he evidently had done.
At anyrate, the idea that there was the least chance of allying herself
with their family, must be put out of her head, at once and for ever.
Mr. Pennell amused himself with thinking of the scare he should create
at the dinner table, by “springing” the news of Ralph’s intended
marriage upon them, all at once. Would the young lady have hysterics,
he wondered, or faint away, or burst into a passion of tears? He
laughed inwardly at the probability! He felt very cruel over it! He had
no pity for the poor quadroon, as Doctor Phillips had called her. It
was better that she should suffer, than that Elinor Leyton should have
to break off her engagement. And, by Margaret Pullen’s account, Miss
Brandt had been both defiant and insulting to Miss Leyton. She must be
a brazen, unfeeling sort of girl--it was meet that she paid the penalty
of her foolhardiness.
It was in such a mood that Anthony Pennell arrived at the Red House at
five o’clock in the afternoon, that he might have the opportunity to
inspect the collection of china that had gained him an entrance there.
The Baroness had promised to be home in time to receive him, but he
was punctual and she was not. Harriet Brandt was loitering about the
garden, which was still pleasant enough on fine days in the middle of
September, when the news that Mr. Pennell was in the drawing-room was
brought to her by Miss Wynward. Harriet had been very eager to meet
Anthony Pennell--not because she was pining after his cousin, but
because her feminine curiosity was strong to discover _why_ Ralph had
deserted her, and if he had been subjected to undue influence to force
him to do so. But now that the time had come, she felt shy and nervous.
Suppose he, Mr. Pennell, had seen Miss Leyton meanwhile, and heard all
that had taken place between them, when she visited the Red House. And
suppose he should take Miss Leyton’s part! Harriet’s mind was full of
“supposes” as she turned to Miss Wynward and said,
“O! I can’t go and receive him, Miss Wynward! Mr. Pennell has come to
see the Baroness, not me! Cannot you entertain him until she comes
home? She will not be long now!”
“Her ladyship’s last words to me, Miss Brandt, were, that if she had
not returned from the factory by the time Mr. Pennell arrived, you were
to receive him and give him afternoon tea in her stead! I hope you will
do as her ladyship desired!”
“Well! I suppose I must then,” replied Harriet, screwing up her mouth,
with a gesture of dissatisfaction, “but do send in the tea, quickly,
please!”
“It shall be up, Miss Brandt, as soon as I can get back to make it!
Mr. Pennell seems a very pleasant gentleman! I wouldn’t mind if I were
you!”
Miss Wynward hurried back to the house, as she spoke, and Harriet
walked slowly over the lawn towards the drawing-room windows.
Anthony Pennell, who had been bending over some rare specimens of old
Chelsea, looked up suddenly as she approached, and was struck dumb with
admiration. She had improved wonderfully in looks since she had been in
Europe, though the women who lived with her continually, were slow to
perceive it. Her delicate complexion had acquired a colour like that of
a blush rose, which was heightened by contrast with her dark, glowing
eyes, whilst her hair, by exposure to the rays of the sun, had caught
some of its fire and showed ruddily, here and there, in streaks of
auburn. Her figure, without having lost its lissom grace, was somewhat
fuller, and her manner was altogether more intelligent, and less
_gauche_ than it had been. But the dark eyes were still looking for
their prey, and the restless lips were incessantly twitching and moving
one over the other. She was beautifully dressed that evening--she had
not been in London for a month, without finding a way to spend her
money--and Anthony Pennell, like most artistic natures, was very open
to the influence of dress upon a woman. Harriet wore a frock of the
palest lemon colour, cut quite plain, but perfect in every line and
pleat and fold, and finished off at the throat with some rare lace,
caught up here and there with tiny diamond pins.
“By Jove! what a beautiful girl!” was Mr. Pennell’s inward ejaculation
as he saw her drawing nearer the spot where he stood. It was strange
that his first judgment of Harriet Brandt should have been the same
as that of his cousin, Ralph Pullen, but it only proves from what
a different standpoint men and women judge of beauty. As Harriet
walked over the grass, Anthony Pennell noted each line of her swaying
figure--each tint of her refined face--with the pretty little hands
hanging by her side, and the slumbrous depths of her magnificent eyes.
He did not, for one moment, associate her with the idea which he had
formed of the West Indian heiress who was bent on capturing his cousin
Ralph. He concluded she was another young friend who might be partaking
of the Baroness’s hospitality. He bowed low as she entered through the
open French window looking as a Georgian or Cashmerian houri might have
looked, he thought, if clad in the robes of civilisation. Harriet bowed
in return, and said timidly,
“I am so sorry that Madame Gobelli is not here to receive you, but
she will not keep you waiting more than a few minutes, I am sure. She
particularly said that she would not be later than five o’clock.”
“She has left a very charming substitute in her place,” replied
Pennell, with another bow.
“I believe you have come to see the china,” continued Harriet, “I do
not know much about it myself, but Miss Wynward will be here in a
minute, and she knows the name of every piece, and where it came from!”
“That will be eminently satisfactory,” rejoined Anthony Pennell, “but
I happen to be a connoisseur in such things myself. I have one or two
charming bits of old Sèvres and Majolica in my chambers, which I think
the Baroness would like to see if she will honour me with a visit
to my little place. A lonely bachelor like myself must take up some
hobby, you know, to fill his life, and mine happens to be china. Madame
Gobelli appears to have some lovely Chelsea there. I would like to
steal one or two of those groups on the cabinet. Will you hold the door
open for me, whilst I run away with them?”
At this sally, Harriet laughed, and Mr. Pennell thought she looked even
handsomer when she laughed than when she was pensive.
“Here is the tea!” she cried nervously, as Miss Wynward appeared with
the tray. “O! Miss Wynward, surely Madame cannot be much longer now!
Have you looked down the road to see if she is coming?”
“The carriage has just turned into the stable yard,” replied Miss
Wynward, and in another minute, the doorway was filled with the ample
proportions of the Baroness.
“’Olloa! Mr. Pennell, and so you’ve stolen a march upon me!” was her
first greeting, “’ow are you?” extending her enormous hand, “’ave you
been looking at the china? Wait till I’ve ’ad my tea; I’ll show you one
or two bits that’ll make your mouth water! It’s my ’obby! I used to
save my pocket money when I was a little gal to buy china. I remember
my grandfather, the Dook of--but there, I ’aven’t known you long enough
to let you into family secrets. Let’s ’ave our tea and talk afterwards!
I ’ope ’Arriet ’as entertained you well!”
“This young lady--” commenced Anthony Pennell, interrogatively.
“To be sure, Miss ’Arriet Brandt! ’Asn’t she introduced ’erself to you?
She’s like a daughter of the ’ouse to us! We look upon ’er as one of
our own, Gustave and me! Miss Brandt from Jamaica! And she knew your
cousin, Captain Pullen, too, at Heyst, we all did, and we’re dying to
’ear what ’as become of ’im, for ’e’s never shown ’is face at the Red
’Ouse!”
The murder was out now, and Harriet waited tremblingly for the result!
What did Mr. Pennell know? What would he say?
But Mr. Pennell said nothing--he was too much startled to speak.
_This_, Harriet Brandt--this lovely girl, the quadroon of whom both
Doctor Phillips and Mrs. Pullen had spoken so disparagingly?--of whom
they had said that she was not fit to be the wife of any decent man?
Oh! they must be fools and blind--or he was dreaming! The Baroness was
not slow to see the look upon his face and to interpret it rightly.
“Are you surprised? You needn’t look so incredulous! I give you my word
that this is ’Arriet Brandt--the same young lady that knew Mrs. Pullen
and her brother-in-law and Miss Leyton over at Heyst. What sort of a
character ’ave they been giving ’er be’ind ’er back?”
“Indeed, I assure you, Madame--” commenced Mr. Pennell, deprecatingly.
“You needn’t take the trouble to tell any tarradiddles about it! I can
see it in your face! I didn’t think much of that cousin of yours from
the beginning; ’e’s got a shifty sort of look, and as for that cold
bit of goods, Miss Leyton, well, all I say is, God ’elp the man that
marries ’er, for she’s enough to freeze the sun himself! But I liked
Mrs. Pullen well enough, and I was sorry to ’ear that she ’ad lost ’er
baby, for she was quite wrapt up in it! But I daresay she’ll soon ’ave
another!”
Without feeling it incumbent on him to enter into an argument as to the
probability of the Baroness’s last suggestion, Anthony Pennell was glad
of the digression, as it gave him an opportunity of slurring over the
dangerous subject of Ralph Pullen’s character.
“The loss of her child was a very great blow to my poor cousin,” he
replied, “and she is still suffering from it, bitterly. Else, I have no
doubt that you would have seen something of her--and the others,” he
added in a lower tone. After a slight interval, he ventured to raise
his eyes and see how the girl opposite to him had taken what was said,
but it did not appear to have made much impression on her--she was, on
the contrary, gazing at him with that magnetic glance of hers as though
she wanted to read into his very soul.
“Don’t go and say that I want to see ’em,” said the Baroness as, having
devoured enough cake and bread and butter to feed an ordinary person
for a day, she rose and led the way into another room. “I don’t want to
see anybody at the Red ’Ouse that doesn’t want to come, and I ’aven’t
expected the ladies. But as for Captain Pullen, ’oo made an engagement
to follow our party to Brussels, and then never took the trouble to
write a line to excuse ’imself for breaking ’is word, why, I say ’e’s a
jerry sneak, and you may tell ’im so if you like! _We_ didn’t want ’im.
’E proposed to come ’imself, and I engaged ’is room and everything, and
then ’e skedaddled without a word, and I call it beastly be’aviour.
You mustn’t mind my plain speaking, Mr. Pennell. I always say what I
think! And I would like to break my stick over Captain Pullen’s back
and that’s the truth.”
They were walking along the passage now, on their way to the Baron’s
library--the Baroness in front with her hand leaning heavily on
Pennell’s shoulder, and Harriet lingering a little behind. Anthony
Pennell pondered awhile before he replied. Was this the time to
announce Ralph’s intended marriage. How would the girl behind them take
it?
He turned slightly and looked at her face as the thought passed through
his mind. Somehow the eyes that met his reassured him. He began to
think it must be a mistake--that she did not care for Ralph as much as
Mrs. Pullen had supposed--that she was only offended perhaps (as her
hostess evidently was) by the curt and uncivil manner in which he had
treated them both. So he replied,
“I have not the slightest excuse to make for my cousin’s conduct,
Madame Gobelli. It appears to me that he has treated you with very
scant civility, and he ought to be ashamed of himself. But as you know,
his little niece’s death was very sudden and unexpected, and the least
he could do was to escort his sister-in-law and Miss Leyton back to
England, and since then----”
“Well! and what since then?” demanded the Baroness, sharply.
“Lord Walthamstowe and he have come to an arrangement,” said Pennell,
speaking very slowly, “that his marriage with Miss Elinor Leyton shall
take place sooner than was at first intended. The Limerick Rangers
are under orders for foreign service, and Captain Pullen naturally
wishes to take his wife out with him, and though, of course, all this
is no excuse for his omitting to write you a letter, the necessary
preparations and the consequent excitement _may_ have put his duty out
of his head. Of course,” he continued, “you know that Ralph is engaged
to marry Miss Leyton?”
“I ’eard something of it,” replied the Baroness reluctantly, “but one
never knows what is true and what is not. Anyway, Captain Pullen didn’t
give out the news ’imself! ’E seemed ’appy enough without Miss Leyton,
didn’t ’e, ’Arriet?”
But turning round to emphasise her words, she found that Harriet had
not followed them into the library. Whereupon she became confidential.
“To tell you the truth, Mr. Pennell,” she continued, “’e just be’aved
like a scoundrel to our little ’Arriet there. ’E ran after the gal all
day, and spent all ’is evenings in our private sitting-room, gazing
at ’er as if ’e would eat ’er, whilst she sang and played to ’im. ’E
never said a word about marrying Miss Leyton. It was all ‘’Ally, ’Ally,
’Ally’ with ’im. And if the gal ’adn’t been a deal too clever for ’im,
and wise enough to see what a vain zany ’e is, she might ’ave broken
’er ’eart over it. The conceited jackanapes!”
“But she has not fretted,” said Anthony Pennell eagerly.
“Not she! I wouldn’t let ’er! She’s meat for Captain Pullen’s master!
A gal with fifteen ’undred a year in ’er own ’ands, and with a pair of
eyes like that! Oh! no! ’Arriet can pick up a ’usband worth two of your
cousin any day!”
“I should think so indeed,” replied Mr. Pennell fervently, “I have
heard Mrs. Pullen mention Miss Brandt, but she did not prepare me for
meeting so beautiful a girl. But I can hardly wonder at my cousin
running away from her, Madame Gobelli. Knowing himself to be already
engaged, Miss Brandt must have proved a most dangerous companion.
Perhaps he found his heart was no longer under his own control, and
thought discretion the better part of valour. You must try and look
upon his conduct in the best light you can!”
“Oh! well! it don’t signify much anyway, for ’e’s no miss at the Red
’Ouse, I can tell you, and ’Arriet could marry to-morrow if she chose,
and to a man worthy of ’er. But now you must look at my Spode.”
She walked up to a tall cabinet at one end of the room, which was piled
with china, and took up a fragile piece in her hands.
“Do you see that?” she said, turning up the plate and showing the
mark upon the bottom, “there it is, you see! There’s the M. These
five pieces are said to be the oldest in existence. And here’s a cup
of Limoges. And that’s Majolica. Do you know the marks of Majolica?
They’re some of the rarest known! A cross on a shield. The first real
bit of china I ever possessed was a Strasbourg. Have you ever seen any
Dutch Pottery--marked with an A.P.? I picked that up at an old Jew’s
shop in the market in Naples. And this Capo di Monte, strange to say,
in a back alley in Brighton. There’s nothing I like better than to grub
about back slums and look for something good. Some of my best pieces
’ave come out of pawnbrokers’ shops. That plate you’re looking at is
old Flemish--more than two ’undred years, I believe! It came out of the
rag market at Bruges. There used to be first-rate pickings to be ’ad at
Bruges and Ghent and in Antwerp some years ago, but the English ’ave
pretty well cleared ’em out.”
“I never saw a better private collection, Madame Gobelli,” said Anthony
Pennell, as he gloated over the delicate morsels of Sèvres and Limoges
and Strasbourg. “The Baron should have had an old curiosity and
bric-a-brac establishment, instead of anything so prosaic as boots and
shoes.”
“O! I couldn’t ’ave ’ad it!” exclaimed the Baroness, “it would ’ave
gone to my ’eart to sell a good bargain when I ’ad made it! My cups
and saucers and plates and teapots are like children to me, and if I
thought my Bobby would sell ’em when I was gone, I believe I should
rise from my grave and whack ’im.”
The woman became almost womanly as her eyes rested lovingly on her
art treasures. It seemed incongruous to Pennell, to watch her huge
coarse hands, with their thick stumpy fingers and broad chestnut nails,
fingering the delicate fabric with apparent carelessness. Cup after cup
and vase and plate she almost tossed over each other, as she pushed
some away to make room for others, and piled them up on the top of one
another, until he trembled lest they should all come toppling down
together.
“You are more used to handle these treasures than I am,” he remarked
presently, “I should be too much afraid of smashing something, to move
them so quickly as you do.”
“I never broke a bit of china in my life,” returned the Baroness
energetically. “I’ve broken a stick over a man’s back, more than once,
but never ’ad an accident with my plates and dishes. ’Ow do you account
for that?”
“You must have a flow of good luck!” said Mr. Pennell, “I am so
fearful for mine that I keep all the best under glass!”
“I ’ave more friends to ’elp me than perhaps you know of,” said the
Baroness, mysteriously, “but it ain’t only that! I never let a servant
dust it! Miss Wynward does it, but she’s too much afraid to do more
than touch ’em with the tip of her feather brush. They come to me
sometimes and complain that the china is dirty. ‘Let it be dirty,’ I
say, ‘_that_ won’t break it, but if you clean it, you will!’ Ha! ha!
ha!”
At that moment Harriet Brandt entered the room, moving sinuously across
the carpet as a snake might glide to its lair. Anthony Pennell could
not take his eyes off that gliding walk of hers. It seemed to him the
very essence of grace. It distracted all his attention from the china.
“The Baron has just come in,” observed Harriet to her hostess.
“Oh! well! come along and leave the rest of the china till after
dinner,” said Madame Gobelli. “Gustave likes to ’ave ’is dinner as soon
as ’e comes ’ome.”
She thrust her arm through that of Anthony Pennell, and conducted
him to the dining-room, where the Baron (without having observed the
ceremony of changing his coat or boots) was already seated just as he
had come in, at the table. He gave a curt nod to the visitor as Mr.
Pennell’s name was mentioned to him, and followed it up immediately
by a query whether he would take fish. Mr. Pennell sat out the meal
with increasing amazement at every course. He, who was accustomed, in
consequence of his popularity, to sit at the tables of some of the
highest in the land, could liken this one to nothing but a farmhouse
dinner. Course succeeded course, in rapid succession, and there was
no particular fault to find with anything, but the utter want of
ceremony--the mingling of well-known and aristocratic names with the
boot and shoe trade--and the way in which the Baron and Baroness ate
and drank, filled him with surprise. The climax was reached when Mr.
Milliken, who was late for dinner, entered the room, and his hostess,
before introducing him to the stranger, saluted him with a resounding
smack on either cheek.
Pennell thought it might be his turn next, and shuddered. But the wine
flowed freely, and the Baroness, being in an undoubted good humour,
the hospitality was unlimited. After dinner, the Baron having settled
to sleep in an armchair, Madame Gobelli proposed that the party should
amuse themselves with a game of “Hunt the slippers.”
She was robed in an expensive satin dress, but she threw herself down
on the ground with a resounding thump, and thrusting two enormous feet
into view, offered her slipper as an inducement to commence the game.
Pennell stood aloof, battling to restrain his laughter at the comical
sight before him. The Baroness’s foot, from which she had taken the
shoe, was garbed in a black woollen stocking full of holes, which
displayed a set of bare toes. But, apparently quite unaware of the
ludicrous object she presented, she kept on calling out for Harriet
Brandt and Miss Wynward to come and complete the circle at which only
Mr. Milliken and herself were seated. But Harriet shrank backwards and
refused to play.
“No! indeed, Madame, I cannot. I do not know your English games!” she
pleaded.
“Come on, we’ll teach you!” screamed Madame Gobelli, “’ere’s Milliken,
’e knows all about it, don’t you, Milliken? ’E knows ’ow to look for
the slipper under the gal’s petticoats. You come ’ere, ’Arriet, and sit
next me, and Mr. Pennell shall be the first to ’unt. Come on!”
But Miss Brandt would not “come on”. She remained seated, and declared
that she was too tired to play and did not care for _les jeux
innocents_, and she had a headache, and anything and everything, before
she would comply with the outrageous request preferred to her.
Madame Gobelli grumbled at her idleness and called her disobliging, but
Anthony admired the girl for her steadfast refusal. He did not like to
see her in the familiar society of such a woman as the Baroness--he
would have liked still less to see her engaged in such a boisterous and
unseemly game as “Hunt the slipper.”
He took the opportunity of saying,
“Since you are disinclined for such an energetic game, Miss Brandt,
perhaps you would oblige me by singing a song! I should so much like to
hear the mandoline. Mrs. Pullen has spoken to me of your efficiency on
it.”
“If Madame Gobelli wishes it, I have no objection,” replied Harriet.
“Oh! well! if you are all going to be so disagreeable as not to play a
good game,” said the Baroness, as Mr. Milliken pulled her on her feet
again, “’Arriet may as well sing to us! But a good romp first wouldn’t
’ave done us any ’arm!”
She adjourned rather sulkily to a distant sofa with Mr. Milliken,
where they entertained each other whilst Harriet tuned her mandoline
and presently let her rich voice burst forth in the strains of “Oh!
ma Charmante.” Anthony Pennell was enchanted. He had a passion for
music, and it appealed more powerfully to him than anything else. He
sat in rapt attention until Harriet’s voice had died away, and then he
implored her to sing another song.
“You cannot tell what it is for me, who cares more for music than for
anything else in this world, to hear a voice like yours. Why! you will
create a perfect _furore_ when you go into society. You could make your
fortune on the stage, but I know you have no need of that!”
“Oh! one never knows what one may have need of,” said Harriet gaily, as
she commenced “Dormez, ma belle”, and sang it to perfection.
“You must have had a very talented singing-master,” observed Pennell
when the second song was finished.
“Indeed no! My only instructress was a nun in the Ursuline Convent
in Jamaica. But I always loved it,” said the girl, as she ran over
the strings of her mandoline in a merry little tarantelle, which made
everyone in the room feel as if they had been bitten by the spider from
which it took its name, and wanted above all other things to dance.
How Pennell revelled in the music and the performer! How he longed to
hear from her own lips that Ralph’s treatment had left no ill effects
behind it.
When she had ceased playing, he drew nearer to her, and under the
cover of the Baroness’s conversation with Mr. Milliken and the Baron’s
snores, they managed to exchange a few words.
“How can I ever thank you enough for the treat you have given me!” he
began.
“I am very glad that you liked it!”
“I was not prepared to hear such rare talent! My experience of young
ladies’ playing and singing has not hitherto been happy. But you have
great genius. Did you ever sing to Mrs. Pullen whilst in Heyst?”
“Once or twice.”
“And to my cousin, Ralph Pullen?”
“Yes!”
“I cannot understand his having treated the Baroness with such scant
courtesy. And you also, who had been kind enough to allow him to enjoy
your society. You would not have found me so ungrateful. But you have
heard doubtless that he is going to be married shortly!”
“Yes! I have heard it!”
“And that has, I suppose, put everything else out of his head! Perhaps
it may be as well, especially for his future wife. There are some
things which are dangerous for men to remember--such as your lovely
voice, for example!”
“Do you think so?” Harriet fixed her dark eyes on him, as she put the
question.
“I am sure it will be dangerous for me, unless you will give me leave
to come and hear it again. I shall not be able to sleep for thinking
of it. Do you think the Baroness will be so good as to enrol me as a
visitor to the house?”
“You had better ask her!”
“And if she consents, will you sing to me sometimes?”
“I am always singing or playing! There is nothing else to do here. The
Baron and Baroness are almost always out, and I have no company but
that of Bobby and Miss Wynward. It is terribly dull, I can tell you. I
am longing to get away, but I do not know where to go.”
“Have you no friends in England?”
“Not one, except Mr. Tarver, who is my solicitor!”
“That sounds very grim. If you will let me count myself amongst your
friends, I shall be so grateful.”
“I should like it very much! I am not so ignorant as not to have heard
your name and to know that you are a celebrated man. But I am afraid I
shall prove a very stupid friend for you.”
“I have no such fear, and if I may come and see you sometimes, I shall
count myself a very happy man.”
“I am generally alone in the afternoon,” replied Miss Brandt,
sophistically.
In another minute Mr. Pennell was saying good-night to his hostess and
asking her permission to repeat his visit at some future time.
“And if you and Miss Brandt would so far honour me, Madame Gobelli, as
to come and have a little lunch at my chambers in Piccadilly, I shall
feel myself only too much indebted to you. Perhaps we might arrange a
_matinée_ or a concert for the same afternoon, if it would please you?
Will you let me know? And pray fix as early a date as possible. And I
may really avail myself of your kind permission to come and see you
again. You may be sure that I shall not forget to do so. Good-night!
Good-night, Baron! Good-night, Miss Brandt!” and with a nod to Mr.
Milliken he was gone.
“Ain’t ’e a nice fellow? Worth two of that conceited jackanapes, ’is
cousin,” remarked the Baroness as he disappeared, “what do you think of
’im, ’Arriet?”
“Oh! he is well enough,” replied Miss Brandt with a yawn, as she
prepared also to take her departure, “he is taller and broader and
stronger looking than Captain Pullen--and he must be very clever into
the bargain.”
“And ’e never said a word about ’is books,” exclaimed Madame Gobelli,
“only fancy!”
“No! he never said a word about his books,” echoed Harriet.