The Dowager Countess of Ilfracombe was an amiable old lady, but she
was also very fond and proud of her son, and anxious to preserve his
interests. His long friendship with Miss Llewellyn had been a great
sorrow to her, and she was rejoiced when she heard that he had made
a respectable marriage. But the remarks of her daughter on Nora’s
behaviour had made her a little more observant, and for the next few
days she watched the young countess narrowly. The consequence of which
was that she determined to have a private talk with the girl, and the
first time she found her alone she proceeded to the attack.
She was a sweet old lady this dowager countess, like her son in many
ways, with soft grey curls each side her face, and mild blue eyes
and delicately-chiselled features. She drew her chair close to that
on which her daughter-in-law sat, carelessly turning over the latest
magazines, and laid her withered hand on the girl’s slim, white one,--
‘Reading, my dear,’ she commenced pleasantly. ‘Is there anything
particularly good in the Christmas numbers this year?’
‘Not much,’ replied Nora, laying the magazine down. ‘The stories are
all on the same old lines. I wish they would invent something new. I
think it is so silly to imagine that Christmas tales must all take
place in the snow, or be mixed up with a ghost. Isn’t it?’
‘Very silly,’ acquiesced the old lady, ‘but as long as there are fools
found to read them there will be fools left to write them. But where is
Ilfracombe this afternoon? Has he left you all alone to the mercy of
the Christmas numbers?’
Nora laughed.
‘It is my own fault,’ she said. ‘He wanted me to go out driving with
him; but I thought it was too cold. So I think he and Mr Portland have
walked over to Critington to play billiards with Lord Babbage.’
‘Ah, I thought dear Ilfracombe had not forgotten his little wife,’ said
the dowager in a patronising tone of voice, which Nora immediately
resented. ‘He is too good and amiable for that. I am sure that you find
him most kind in everything. Don’t you, dear?’
The young countess shrugged her shoulders.
‘So, so; much the same as other young men,’ she answered, and then
perceiving the look of astonishment on her mother-in-law’s face, she
added, apologetically,--‘You see, Lady Ilfracombe, that I’m not a
gusher, and I’ve known so many men I’ve learned to pretty well estimate
the value of them.’
‘Perhaps, my dear, though I cannot say I think the knowledge an
enviable one for a young lady. But you do not rank your husband with
other men, surely? He loves you dearly--anyone could see that--and you
must have a good deal of influence over him.’
‘Yes, I fancy I’ve got the length of his foot,’ replied Nora.
‘My dear son is almost all that a son and a husband should be,’
continued the fond mother. ‘He has no vices, but he has some
weaknesses, and one is, being too easily influenced by his friends,
and all his friends are not such as I should choose for him. I may
be wrong, but I distrust that Mr Portland with whom Ilfracombe is so
intimate. More than that, I dislike him.’
‘So do I,’ said Nora shortly.
A look of satisfaction came into her companion’s face.
‘Do you really, Nora? I am so glad to hear you say so, for I fancied
that he was a great friend of yours.’
‘What, Mr Portland? Oh, Lady Ilfracombe, how mistaken you are. If I had
my will I would never ask him to Thistlemere again. But you won’t tell
_him_ so, will you?’ she said, looking fearfully round.
‘My dear girl, what are you thinking of? As if it were likely. But,
Nora, now you have told me so, I must tell you what is in my mind.
Mr Portland has, in my opinion, been Ilfracombe’s worst enemy for
years. Not wilfully so, of course; but he is a man who almost _lives_
upon the turf, and is always betting and gambling. He has no settled
income, or a very small one. He is, in fact, an adventurer, though our
dear Ilfracombe would be angry if he heard me say so. I am sure this
Mr Portland borrows large sums of him. My brother, General Brewster,
warned me of it long ago. He has also encouraged Ilfracombe in many
things which I cannot speak to you about, but which a word from Mr
Portland would have made him see the folly of. But he has been his evil
genius. You must be his good genius, and rid Ilfracombe of him.’
The old lady smiled very kindly at Nora as she said this. She was so
relieved to find that she did not stick up for the _vaurien_ Jack
Portland as she had feared she might do.
‘I? Lady Ilfracombe!’ exclaimed the young countess, with somewhat of a
scared look; ‘but what could I do? Mr Portland is my husband’s friend,
not mine. I don’t think Ilfracombe would hear a word against him.’
‘I think he would be the first to listen and approve, my dear, were
you to complain to him of the offensive familiarity with which
Mr Portland treats you. I don’t think it is either respectful to
your rank or yourself. Several people have noticed it. To see that
dissipated-looking man hanging over you, as he often does, at the
piano or the sofa, with his red face close to yours, sometimes
almost whispering in your ear before other people, is most indecent.
Ilfracombe should put a stop to it, and the proper person to draw his
attention to it is yourself.’
‘I hate it! I detest it!’ cried Nora, her face flushing with annoyance
and the knowledge that she had put it out of her power to resent
such conduct, as she ought to do. ‘I think Mr Portland is vulgar and
presuming to a degree; but if it is Ilfracombe’s pleasure to have him
here he would surely not like me the better for making mischief between
them.’
‘I should not call it “making mischief,”’ replied the dowager. ‘I
should say it was what was due to your position as Ilfracombe’s wife.
However, my dear, perhaps you know best. Only, pray promise me to
discourage that odious man as much as possible. I shall have to speak
to him some day myself, if you don’t.’
‘Indeed, indeed, I will, Lady Ilfracombe. I will come and sit close by
you every day after dinner if you will let me, and then he will hardly
have the presumption I should think, to thrust himself between us.’
‘My dear, I should not like to put a limit to Mr Portland’s
presumption. He is one of the most offensive men I have ever met.
However, if you dislike him as much as I do, there is no harm done, and
I should think, judging from your courageous and independent manner,
that you are quite capable of keeping him at a distance, if you choose.’
‘I hope so,’ laughed Nora uneasily. ‘Don’t have any fears for me, dear
Lady Ilfracombe. My only wish in this particular is not to annoy my
husband by offending his great friend, whom he has commended over and
over again to my hospitality; but, if matters go too far, he shall hear
of it, I promise you.’
The dowager kissed her daughter-in-law, and felt perfectly satisfied
with the way in which she had received her advice, telling the Ladies
Devenish afterwards that they had taken an utterly wrong view of the
young countess’s conduct, and she only wished every young married woman
were as well able to take care of herself and her husband’s honour.
The Ladies Devenish shrugged their ancient shoulders as soon as her
back was turned, and told each other that ‘mother’s geese were always
swans, and, of course, anyone whom Ilfracombe had married, could do
no wrong in her eyes.’ But they ceased making remarks on Nora for the
future all the same.
Meanwhile the young countess did all she could, without being
positively rude, to discourage Jack Portland’s intimacy with her. She
kept as close as she could to her mother and sisters-in-law, and took
every precaution to prevent herself being left alone with him; but
perceived, in a few days, that Mr Portland had guessed the cause of
her avoidance, and was prepared to resent it. If he could not get an
opportunity of speaking to her privately during the evening, he would
stand on the hearthrug and gaze at her with his bloodshot eyes, till
she was afraid that everybody in the room must guess the secret between
them. One afternoon, as they were seated round the luncheon-table,
he lolled over her and stared so fixedly into her face, that she felt
as if she must rebuke his conduct openly. She saw the dowager put up
her eyeglass to observe them, and the Ladies Devenish nudge each other
to look her way; Ilfracombe, of all present, seemed to take no notice
of Mr Portland’s behaviour. Nora writhed like a bird in the coils of
a serpent. She did not know how to act. She could have slapped the
insolent, heated face which was almost thrust in her own; she professed
not to hear the words addressed to her in a lowered tone, but tried to
treat them playfully, and told him to ‘speak up.’ But it was useless.
She saw Jack Portland’s bloated face grow darker and darker as she
parried his attempts at familiarity, until she dreaded lest, in his
anger at her repulsion, he should say something aloud that would lower
her for ever in the eyes of her relations. Who can trust the tongue
of a man who is a habitual drinker? At last Nora could stand it no
longer, and, rising hastily, she asked the dowager to excuse her
leaving the table, as she did not feel well. Her plea was sufficient to
make her husband follow her, but he could not get the truth out of her,
even when alone.
‘It’s nothing,’ she told him when he pressed her to say if she were
really ill; ‘but the room was warm, and I didn’t want any more
luncheon, and Mr Portland bored me.’
‘_Jack bored you!_’ exclaimed the earl in a voice of astonishment, as
if such a thing could never be, ‘I never heard a woman say that before.
Shall I speak to him about it, darling?’
But Nora’s look of horror at the proposal was enough to answer the
question.
‘Speak to him, Ilfracombe? Oh, no, pray don’t. What _would_ he think
of me? It would sound so horribly rude, and when he is a guest in the
house too. Never mention it again, please. I wouldn’t offend a friend
of yours for the world.’
‘Thanks. Yes, I’m afraid dear old Jack might feel a little sore if
I were to tell him he bored you. But it mustn’t be allowed to occur
again, Nora. I’ll take him out of the house more than I have done. He
won’t worry you this afternoon, for we’re going to ride over to the
Castle together and pay old Nettleton a visit. I want to get a brace of
his pointers if he will part with them. We mean to be home to dinner;
but if we’re a little late, don’t wait for us.’
‘Very well,’ said Nora brightly.
She was glad to think she would be relieved from her _bête noir_ for
the afternoon at all events.
The earl stooped and kissed her, and ran downstairs. Nora would have
liked to return that kiss, but as she was about to do it, she suddenly
felt shy and drew back again. Women are so generally accredited with
changing their minds, that when they do so, they don’t like to confess
the truth. But she waved her hand gaily as Lord Ilfracombe left the
room, and sent him off on his expedition happy and contented. The
afternoon passed quietly away; nothing unusual occurred until the
ladies had assembled in the drawing-room, preparatory to dinner being
served.
‘Ilfracombe particularly requested that we should not wait if he were
late,’ said Nora to her mother-in-law; ‘so I think we had better not do
so. I fancy he had some idea that Mr Nettleton might press them to dine
at the Castle--any way that was what he said to me.’
‘I would give them ten minutes’ grace, my dear,’ replied the dowager;
‘the roads are very bad to-day, and they may not reach home as soon
as they anticipated. It is so uncomfortable to come in just as the
soup has been removed. Besides, they must change their clothes before
dining.’
‘Yes, you are right,’ replied Nora, glancing at the clock on the
mantelpiece, ‘it is a quarter to seven now. I will ring and tell
Warrender to put off dinner till half-past. Shall I?’
‘Yes, my dear, do,’ the old lady was saying, just as Warrender entered
the room unceremoniously, and with an air of decided perturbation.
‘What is the matter?’ cried Nora hurriedly, for she saw at once he was
the bearer of news. ‘What has occurred? Why do you look like that?’
‘Oh, my lady!’ exclaimed the servant, ‘nothing, I hope--your ladyship
mustn’t be alarmed, but I thought it right you should hear that--that--’
‘That--_what_? For God’s sake, speak!’ cried Nora impetuously. ‘It is
folly to keep us in such suspense.’
‘Well, my lady, Johnson, he has just come up from the stables to say
that the Black Prince--his lordship’s horse, you know, my lady--ran
into the yard a few minutes back, without--without his lordship, my
lady!’
‘Thrown!’ exclaimed Lady Laura shrilly.
‘Without Lord Ilfracombe?’ queried Lady Blanche; ‘but where, then, is
Mr Portland?’
‘Oh, heavens, my poor son! He may be lying dead in the road at this
moment,’ said the dowager, wringing her hands.
But Nora said nothing. She was standing in the centre of the room,
motionless as though turned to stone. Presently she asked in a harsh
voice,--
‘Have they sent out to search along the roads?’
‘No, my lady, they thought--’ commenced Warrender.
‘Thought? Thought? What is the good of thinking when they should act?
Tell Johnson to go out at once and scour the road to the Castle, and
let the carriage be got ready to follow him. His lordship may be unable
to walk. Go at once; don’t lose a moment. Stay, where is Johnson? I
will give him the directions myself.’
She flew down to the lower premises as she spoke, regardless that her
dress was quite unsuited to cold corridors and stone passages. She was
very white, but perfectly calm and collected as she gave her orders,
whilst Lady Laura was shrieking in hysterics in the drawing-room,
and Lady Blanche had her hands full in trying to prevent the dowager
fainting under the dreadful suspense. As soon as Nora was satisfied
that assistance had been dispatched in case of need, she went slowly
up to her own room, with her hand tightly pressed against her heart.
She could not realise what might be taking place, or might have taken
place. She had only one fear, one dread, Ilfracombe and she might be
parted before she had had time to tell him that she loved him. She kept
both hands and teeth clenched to prevent her crying out, and making her
cowardice patent to all around, whilst her cold lips went on murmuring,
‘Oh, God, save him! oh, God, save him!’ without any idea of the meaning
of what she said.
She had stood thus, not having the heart or the sense to sit down, for
perhaps half an hour, when she heard a shout from the hall--a shout of
laughter, and then her husband’s voice exclaiming,--
‘So sorry to have given you such a scare. Not my fault I assure you. We
came on as quick as we could. No, I’m not hurt. Was Nora frightened?
Where is she? I must go to her. Down in a minute. Tell you all about it
then,’ and his feet came flying two steps at a time up the stairs to
her side.
She stood with clasped hands expecting him, all the blood in her body
mantling in her face.
‘Oh, Ilfracombe,’ was all she could say as he entered the room.
‘My darling, I am so sorry that brute frightened you all so by coming
home without me. Jack and I were within a mile of home when the Black
Prince shied suddenly at something and threw me clean over his head. We
tried our best to catch him, but he bolted to his stables, and I had to
walk back.’
‘And you are not hurt?’ she asked tremblingly; ‘not at all?’
‘Not at all,’ he echoed, ‘only splashed from head to foot with mud, and
feeling very much as if I would like to have a warm bath before dinner.
But, love, you are shaking all over. Has it really upset you like this?’
Nora drew back a little, ashamed of having displayed so much feeling.
‘It was rather alarming,’ she answered, with a slight laugh.
‘We--we--might--never have seen you again.’
‘And you would have grieved for me?’ said the earl, pressing her to his
heart. ‘Oh, my dearest, you make me feel so happy.’
A sudden impulse, which she could not resist, seized Nora. She threw
her slender arms round Ilfracombe and laid her cheek against his. It
was the first evidence of deep feeling which she had ever given him.
But a moment afterwards she seemed ashamed of it.
‘There is no doubt you gave us a start, dear old boy,’ she said,
smiling, ‘but it is over now, and I’ll run down and send Wilkins up to
get your bath ready. You’ll have heaps of time. I had already postponed
dinner to half-past seven. Make as much haste as you can though.’
‘One more kiss, darling, before you go,’ cried the earl.
‘No such thing! We mustn’t waste any more time in fooling or the fish
will be in rags. I will go down and see that Lady Ilfracombe has a
glass of wine. The poor old lady has been crying fit to make herself
ill.’ And in another second she had left him to himself.
She found the drawing-room people in solemn conclave; the Ladies
Devenish rather inclined to be offended at being disappointed of a
sensation, and the dowager, telling Mr Portland of the terrible scare
they had experienced, and how she thought poor dear Nora would go mad
when the news of the riderless horse’s arrival was announced to her.
‘I am sure I thought her mind was going, Mr Portland,’ she was saying
as Nora entered. ‘She stood as if she had been turned to marble, and
when she rushed from the room I thought she was going to fly out into
the night air just as she was after him.’
‘Of course it would have been an awful thing for Lady Ilfracombe to
have lost her position so soon after attaining it,’ replied Mr Portland
politely.
‘And her husband,’ returned the old lady sympathetically.
It was at this juncture that Nora appeared. She was still pale from
the fright she had experienced, and had lost much of her usual jolly,
off-hand manner.
‘Ilfracombe will be down directly,’ she said, addressing her
mother-in-law; ‘he is going to have a bath before dinner, as, though he
has broken no bones, he has a considerable number of bruises from the
fall.’
‘Of course, poor, dear boy,’ acquiesced the dowager. ‘Oh, my dear, what
a mercy it is no worse. He might have been killed from such a sudden
fall. I shall never feel easy when he is on horseback again.’
‘Never is a long time,’ replied Nora, smiling; ‘but won’t you and
Blanche and Laura take a glass of wine before dinner? I am sure you
must need it after the shock you have had.’
The wine was rung for, and when Warrender appeared with it, and Nora
refused to have any, Mr Portland took the opportunity of observing
sarcastically,--
‘Surely _you_ must require some yourself, Lady Ilfracombe? I have just
been listening to an account of the terrible emotion you displayed at
the supposition of Ilfracombe’s danger.’
The butler poured out a glass and handed it to his young mistress
without a word. He had seen her excitement and interpreted it aright,
but he did not understand why this gentleman should mention it as
though it were something to be surprised at.
The young countess took the wine silently and drank it. Portland again
addressed her.
‘It must have been an awful moment for you when Black Prince’s arrival
was announced. Did you really think Ilfracombe was killed? It would
have been a great misfortune for you if it had been so. The title would
have gone, I believe, to a distant cousin, and the whole object of his
marriage frustrated. And you would have sunk at once from the queen
regnant to a mere dowager. Aren’t you glad he is all right?’
This was said _sotto voce_, so as to be inaudible to the rest of the
party.
‘I do not see that it signifies to you, what I feel, or do not feel,’
said Nora, with her most indifferent air, as she turned from Jack
Portand to address some commonplace to her mother-in-law.
‘By Jove, though, but I’ll make it signify!’ he muttered to himself, as
he saw the Ladies Devenish secretly amused at the evident snub he had
received. The earl now joined the assembly. He was in high spirits,
and disposed to make light of everything that had occurred. The evening
passed pleasantly, though Nora was rather hysterically gay; but towards
the close of it, when the other ladies had retired, and she was about
to follow their example, her husband was told that his steward wished
to speak to him.
‘Don’t go yet, Nora,’ he called out, on leaving the room, ‘wait till
I come back. I want to tell you something before Jack and I go to the
smoking-room. Keep her amused, Jack, till I return.’
It was Jack Portland’s opportunity, and he seized it.
‘What an actress you are,’ he commenced, as soon as they were alone.
‘You would have made your fortune on the stage.’
‘I don’t understand you,’ she said. ‘In what have I acted a part
to-night?’
‘Why, in your well counterfeited dismay at the idea of danger to
Ilfracombe, of course. When the old lady was telling me about it, I
thought I should have split. _You_--turned to stone with apprehension.
_You_--the coldest woman in Christendom! who has no more feeling than a
piece of marble! It is ridiculous. You know it was all put on.’
‘Why shouldn’t I feel uneasy if he is in danger? He is my husband. You
cannot deny that.’
‘Your husband, yes. And what did you marry him for? His title and
his money! You cannot deny that. Two years ago you were, or fancied
yourself, desperately in love with another man--modesty forbids me to
mention him by name--but you chucked him over; why? Because he hadn’t
as much money as you expected to sell yourself for!’
‘It isn’t true,’ she answered hotly. ‘You know that it was my father
who separated us and forbade your coming to the house again. Else,
perhaps, there is no knowing I might have been your wife at the present
moment. But as for being, as you express it, “desperately in love,”
you know that is untrue--that it is not in my nature--that I am not one
of your gushing, spooney girls, who are ready to jump down the throat
of the first man who looks at them, and never was.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t be too sure of that,’ said Mr Portland. ‘Certain
little epistles in my possession tell a different tale. Most of them
are “spooney” enough in all conscience. At least, if you do not call
them so, I should like to see the ones you do!’
‘You have not returned those letters to me yet,’ she answered quickly.
‘I trust to your honour to do so, without reading them again.’
‘Why should I read them again, _ma chère_, when they no longer interest
me? I know you women like to think you can chuck your victims over, and
still keep them writhing at your feet; but I am not one of that sort.
Once repulsed is enough for me. Your ladyship need never fear that I
shall ever trouble you again. But don’t say you never were one of
the “gushing, spooney girls,” or you may tempt me to make you retract
your words. Perhaps you have quite forgotten what you wrote in those
letters?’ he demanded meaningly.
‘Yes, quite,’ she answered, though with a sickening faint remembrance
of a great deal of folly; ‘but what does it matter? It is over now on
both sides, and we can remain good friends all the same. But I wish you
would not make your intimacy with me quite so apparent before other
people. It has been noticed by more than one person, and it places me
in an unpleasant position. And if it is pointed out to Ilfracombe it
might lead to something disagreeable.’
‘How?’ said her companion.
‘How? Why, by making a quarrel between my husband and myself, of
course,’ replied Nora querulously.
‘And would you care about that? He couldn’t take your coronet from you
for such a trifle, you know. Even those letters of yours--were they
to come to light, he might rub rusty over them, but he couldn’t do
anything. When a man marries a woman, he has to ignore all ante-nuptial
indiscretions. He would make a jolly row, naturally, and you would have
a hot time of it. But you are the Countess of Ilfracombe fast enough,
and the Lord Chancellor himself couldn’t unmake you so.’
‘I know that,’ said Nora. ‘I don’t need you to tell me so. And there
is no chance of Ilfracombe seeing the letters either. If you keep your
word to me (as I conclude you will), I shall destroy them as soon as
they are in my possession. I wish you would send for your dispatch-box,
and give them to me at once. I should feel so much more comfortable.’
‘Why in such a hurry?’ said Mr Portland. ‘I am going home next week,
and then you shall have them by registered post, honour bright. Won’t
that satisfy you?’
‘Oh, yes, of course. And Mr Portland,’ added Nora rather nervously, ‘we
agreed just now that it was all over, so you won’t mind my saying you
think I care only for Ilfracombe’s title and fortune, and I daresay
you are justified in thinking so--but--but it is not only that. He--he
is so good to me, that I can’t help caring--I mean, it would be very
ungrateful of me not to care, just a little.’
But here the young countess’s blushing, stammering confession was
interrupted by her husband’s return.
‘Oh, here _is_ Ilfracombe!’ she exclaimed, suddenly breaking off, and
advancing to meet him, whilst Jack Portland thought to himself; ‘so
the wind’s in that quarter now, is it? All the better for me; but I’m
afraid her ladyship has sealed the fate of that interesting little
packet. If love is to be brought into the bargain, those letters will
become too valuable to me to part with. Why, I shall be able to turn
and twist her, through their means, at my will.’