So Lady Ilfracombe gave in with a good grace, and the note of
invitation was duly answered and accepted. It was a proof of Nora’s
growing interest in the earl, that she had quite left off trying to
wield her power over him in little things. It was not in her nature
ever to sink down into a very submissive wife--a meaningless echo of
her husband, water to his wine; but she was learning to yield her own
wishes gracefully in deference to his, and in this instance, as we
know, she was too much afraid of Jack Portland to press the point.
He had told her plainly that if she interfered between him and Lord
Ilfracombe, she would do it at her cost, and from what she had heard
of the _ménage_ at Usk Hall, both from its owners and himself, she
felt pretty sure their invitation had been sent at Mr Portland’s
instigation, and that he had a purpose in having it sent. He was not
satisfied with having fleeced her husband all through the winter,
he would drain his pockets still further at the Bowmants; in fact,
she had no doubt now that he looked to the earl as the chief means
of his subsistence. And till she had found some way of outwitting
him--until she had that packet of letters, the contents of which she
so much dreaded her husband seeing, in her own hands, Nora said to
herself, with a sigh, that she must endure Mr Portland’s insolence and
chicanery. They had only been asked to the Hall for a week or two,
and they intended to limit their visit to a week. If she could only
have foreseen what that week would bring forth. It was a notable fact
that Jack Portland had never tried to rouse the countess’s anger or
jealousy by an allusion to Nell Llewellyn and her former influence
over the earl. Indeed, he had not even mentioned her name before
Nora. The reason of this was, not because he respected her wifehood
or herself, but because the remembrance of Nell was a sore one with
him. He had never cared the least bit for Miss Abinger. He had thought
her a very jolly sort of girl, with plenty of ‘go’ in her--a great
flirt--very fast--very smart, and slightly verging on the improper.
She was a great source of amusement to him whilst he stayed in Malta,
and he had encouraged her in all sorts of ‘larks,’ chiefly for the
fun of seeing how far she would go. When their conduct had commenced
to give rise to scandal in Valetta, and his sister, Mrs Loveless, had
spoken very gravely to him on the subject, he had sought to make the
_amende honourable_ by proposing for the young lady’s hand. But Sir
Richard Abinger had rejected his suit with scorn. _He_--an impecunious
adventurer, who lived from hand to mouth, and had no settled
employment, presume to propose to marry his daughter Nora, and drag her
down with himself--he had never heard of such a piece of impudence in
his life before. So Mr Jack Portland, having done the correct thing (as
the lady said when she went to church on Sunday and found there was to
be no service), made haste out of Malta again, and the place knew him
no more. The rest of the story has been told. Both of them had only
been playing at love, and neither of them was hurt. Had it not been for
those unfortunately bold and unmaidenly letters which remained in Mr
Portland’s possession, Nora would long ago have forgotten all about the
matter.
But there had been something in Nell Llewellyn, fallen woman though
she was, that had made a much deeper impression on the heart of Mr
Portland, if, indeed, he possessed such an article. He had not proposed
to marry her--it was not much in his way to consider marriage a
necessary accompaniment to respectability; but, had Nell made marriage
a condition of their union, he would have yielded to her wishes sooner
or later. There was something about her grand devotion to Ilfracombe
that attracted his worldly nature, that was used to associate with
the most mercenary of her sex; and when she blazed out at him in her
passionately indignant manner, repudiating with scorn the idea of his
advances, he admired her still more. He thought Ilfracombe a fool to
have given up the one woman for the other, but he would have been
the last man to have told him so. He was not going to kill the goose
that laid the golden eggs. And a very disagreeable feeling had been
engendered in him by the knowledge of Nell’s supposed fate. He did not
want to mention her name, nor to think of her after that. It was a
painful reminiscence which he did his best to drown in the distractions
of cards and wine. Things were in just this condition when they all
journeyed up to Usk together, and Mr Portland’s portmanteau and plaids
were carried over to the rooms at Panty-cuckoo Farm. Nell was like a
wild creature after she had discovered for certain who their owner
was. To meet Mr Portland, of all men in the world, would seal her fate.
Where could she fly in order to hide herself from him? what do to avoid
the contact of his presence? She dared not leave the house for fear of
meeting him; she was afraid even to leave her own room lest he should
have taken it into his head to explore the dairy or bakehouse. Her
mother did not know what had come to her. She grew quite cross at last,
and thought it must be the arrival of the grand folks at the Hall that
had made her daughter so flighty and useless and forgetful.
‘Just as I want all the help you can give me,’ she grumbled, ‘and it’s
little enough use you are to me at the best of times, you get one of
your lardy-dardy, high-flier fits on, and go shivering and shaking
about the house, as if you expected to meet a ghost in the passage or
the cellar. Now, what made you run away in that flighty fashion just
now, when you were in the middle of doing the lodgers’ rooms? I went
in expecting to find them finished, and there were half the things
upset and you nowhere.’
‘I thought I heard one of the gentlemen coming across the grass, and so
I left the room till he should be gone again.’
‘But why, my lass? They won’t eat you. They’re both as nice-spoken
gentlemen as ever I see. And you must have met plenty of gentlefolk
up in London town. It isn’t as if you were a country-bred girl, and
too frightened to open your mouth. However, if you don’t like to take
charge of the rooms, I’ll do it myself. But why won’t you go out a bit
instead? Here’s Hugh been over every evening, and you won’t stir for
him. I hope you are not carrying on with Hugh for a bit of fun, Nell,
for he’s a good lad as ever stepped, and a minister into the bargain,
and it would be most unbecoming in you. You must go for a walk with him
this evening, like a good lass.’
‘Not if I don’t feel inclined,’ replied Nell haughtily. ‘Hugh Owen has
no right to look aggrieved if I fancy walking by myself. Men think a
deal too much of themselves in my opinion.’
‘Ah, well, my lass, you must have your own way; but I hope you won’t
play fast and loose with Hugh Owen, for you’ll never get a husband at
this rate. I said, when you first came home, that I’d look higher than
him for you, but you’re not the girl you were then. You’ve lost more
than a bit of your beauty, Nell, since you had the fever, and it’s ten
to one if it will ever come back again. And now that father is so down
about the farm rent being raised, and talks in that pitiful way about
leaving the country, or going to the workhouse, I think you might go
farther and fare worse, than Hugh Owen.’
‘Very well, mother, I’ll think about it,’ the girl would say, more
to put an end to the discussion than anything else, and she would
wander away from the farm, keeping well to the back of the Hall, and
ready to dart off like a hare, if she saw any chance of encountering
strangers. Whilst Nell was leading this kind of hide-and-seek life,
the festivities at the Hall were going on bravely. They began, as the
old housekeeper had said, as soon as breakfast had concluded, and were
kept up till dawn the following morning. A few hours were certainly
devoted to eating, drinking and sleeping, and a few more to fishing,
riding and driving; but the intervals were filled with cards, smoke
and drink, till Nora opened her eyes in astonishment, and wondered if
she had got into a club in mistake for a private house. Her hostess
appeared quite used to that sort of thing, and entered into it with
avidity. She played whist or baccarat as well as anyone there, and
could sip her brandy and soda, and smoke her Turkish cigarette with the
keenest enjoyment. She began to think that Lady Ilfracombe was rather
slow after a day or two, and, indeed, Nora’s fastness, such as it was,
looked quite a tame, uninteresting thing beside that of Lady Bowmant’s.
So she fell naturally to the company of the other ladies who were
staying there, and her husband seemed pleased it should be so, and more
than once whispered to her that the whole concern was ‘a bit too warm’
for him, and they would certainly ‘cut it’ at the end of the week. All
the same, he played night after night with his hosts and their guests,
and seemed to be enjoying himself with the best of them. The other lady
visitors, of whom one or two bore rather a shady character (though of
this fact Nora was entirely ignorant), were ready to avail themselves
of all the luxuries provided for them, but that did not deter them from
saying nasty things about Lady Bowmant behind her back, which struck
Lady Ilfracombe as being particularly ill-bred and ungrateful.
‘My dear Lady Ilfracombe,’ said one of them to her, ‘you know she was
positively _nobody_--a grocer’s daughter, I believe, or something
equally horrible; and this old fool, Sir Archibald, was smitten by her
red cheeks and ringlets, and married her six months after his first
wife’s death. She is just the sort of person to take an old dotard’s
fancy. Don’t you agree with me?’
‘Well, I am not sure if I do, Mrs Lumley,’ replied Nora. ‘I think Lady
Bowmant is exceedingly good-natured, and no worse in her manners than
many women whom I have met who could boast of much higher birth. I know
nothing of our hostess’s ancestry, so I can only speak of her as I find
her.’
‘That is not saying much!’ exclaimed the other, laughing. ‘To see her
go on with that poor Prince of Huhm-Hessetal is enough to make one die
of laughing. With his broken English, and her attempts at French, it is
as good as a play. And the open way in which she flatters him. He will
think he is a little god before he leaves Usk.’
Their ill-nature made Nora better inclined than she would otherwise
have been towards the object of it, and she found that Lady Bowmant,
though decidedly fast and vulgar, was so kind-hearted and frank with it
all, that she could not help liking her much better than she did her
detractors.
‘I know I’m an awful Goth,’ she would observe confidentially to Nora.
‘But I can’t speak a word of French, and I want this poor prince,
who can hardly speak a word of English, to feel at home with us, so
I “butter” him up as well as I know how. You see, Lady Ilfracombe, I
wasn’t born to the purple. My father was a poor clergyman--ah, you
may stare, but it is an accredited fact that clergymen’s children
are always the worst--I have three brothers, the greatest scamps you
ever knew. They ride like devils and they swear like jockeys; and, if
you put them into a drawing-room, they don’t know what on earth to
do with their arms and legs, but not one of them would tell a lie or
do a dishonourable action to save his life. No more would I. I am
quite aware that I’m not fit to be a baronet’s wife, but my old man
chose me, and so I do the best I can. And between you and me and the
post,’ continued Lady Bowmant, laughing, ‘I think, considering how I
was brought up, that I manage very well. The people down at our place
thought I should eat peas with my knife, or something pretty of that
sort, the first time I went out to a decent dinner, but I didn’t, and
here I am, you see, with a real prince for my guest, to say nothing of
you and Lord Ilfracombe. Oh, I’m afraid to tell you how much I admire
your husband, for fear that you should think I want to “mash” him; but
he really is _too_ handsome for anything. I do so love fair men. I
told Sir Archibald yesterday, that if the earl had not been married, I
couldn’t have resisted a flirtation with him.’
‘Have one now,’ cried Nora merrily. ‘Don’t mind me. It is quite the
fashion for married men to flirt now-a-days; and a lady in town told
me once that she should feel quite hurt if the women did not consider
her husband worth pulling caps for.’
‘Now, you’re just the sort of girl I like,’ said Lady Bowmant
admiringly. ‘I suppose it isn’t good manners to call you a “girl,” just
as if you were nobody. Still you are younger than I am, so you must
forgive me. You love horses, too. I can see you’re regularly plucky
by the way you handled my little mare yesterday, and I should love to
make you as good a whip as myself. I may say _that_, you know, for my
brothers and I rode and drove from little children, and it is the only
thing I can do well.’
‘Except play cards and smoke cigarettes,’ put in Nora slyly.
‘Oh, you think that all very dreadful; I can hear it from the tone of
your voice,’ replied her good-humoured hostess. ‘But my old man doesn’t
mind it, and he’s the principal person to please, isn’t he? I don’t
know what he would do at Usk, dear old chap! if I couldn’t take a hand
at whist now and then. I have my horses, you see, but he is getting
a bit too puffy for horse exercise, so he would be dreadfully dull
without his little game in the evening--oh, yes, I know what you are
going to say, Lady Ilfracombe--and in the mornings, too. Well, I know
it is dreadfully dissipated, but it has grown into a sort of habit
with us, till we cannot do anything else. But will you come round the
village for a spin with me in my tandem? I can show you some beautiful
country, as well as some beautiful cobs. Sir Archibald has made it the
fashion to deride my tandem, because once a stupid little child ran
right under the leader’s feet and got a few scratches; but you must not
believe all he says. Beau and Belle are two little beauties and I am
sure you will not be afraid to sit behind them.’
‘I am quite sure also,’ replied Nora, and she went at once to get
herself ready for the drive.
‘You mustn’t be surprised to see we are going alone,’ said Lady
Bowmant, as they met again in the hall. ‘I never take a groom with
me unless I intend calling anywhere. They are no earthly use, stuck
up behind, listening to every word you say and retailing it in the
servants’ hall. Besides, I never knew a man do anything for me that I
wasn’t quite as well able to do for myself. So we’ll have no back seat,
if it’s all the same to you.’
‘Pray don’t alter any of your accustomed rules for my sake,’ replied
the countess, as they emerged into the open together.
The dappled-cream cobs were a picture, with their hogged manes and
close-docked tails. They were as perfectly matched in appearance as two
horses could possibly be; but their tempers were the very opposite of
one another. Beau was a darling, or, rather let us say he would have
been, if Belle would have let him alone to do his business by himself.
He occupied the shafts, and stood like a rock, with his forefeet well
planted and his neck curved, and his eyes looking neither to the right
hand nor the left. But Belle, like most of her sex, could not leave a
man in peace, and thought it a bad compliment to herself if he kept
steady. So she tossed her pretty head and neck incessantly, and threw
the foam from her bit, in her impatience to be off. Lady Bowmant, who
was nothing if she was not a whip, mounted to her seat and gathered up
the ‘ribbons’ in the most artistic manner, whilst Nora placed herself
beside her.
‘Let go!’ shouted her ladyship, and off they set, Belle curveting down
the drive as if she were dancing, whilst good little Beau threw all his
soul into his work, and pulled the dog-cart gallantly along.
‘Come, that won’t do,’ cried Lady Bowmant, as she touched up Belle and
made her do her share; ‘you’re not going to leave all the hard work to
Beau, miss, not if I know it. Pull up, like a good girl, and leave off
fooling. ‘Aren’t they a pair of darlings?’ she continued, addressing
Nora. ‘I value them above everything, because they were one of my dear
old man’s wedding presents to me; but they are distinctly precious in
themselves. Here we are at the commencement of Usk, and now you’ll see
some fun, Lady Ilfracombe. See how all the people--boys and girls, men
and women--fly before me, tumbling over each other to get out of my
way. I might be King Herod coming to massacre the innocents, by the
manner they scuttle out of the road. Whoa, my beauty; there, go gently,
gently, Belle. For heaven’s sake, don’t kick up any of your shines
here, or they’ll call the policemen. Have you heard that I have twice
been stopped and once fined for furious driving, Lady Ilfracombe?’
‘No, indeed, I haven’t,’ replied Nora, who was enjoying the fun
immensely.
On they flew through the village and out on the open road, the cobs
having now settled seriously to their work, and skimming over the
ground like a pair of swallows.
When they had driven half the way into Newport, Lady Bowmant turned
their heads homewards, and trotted them gently up a long hill. She had
them so completely under her control, that it was a pleasure to see her
handle the reins and guide them with a flick of her whip.
‘I’d give anything to drive as you do,’ said Lady Ilfracombe, with
genuine admiration of the prowess of her companion. ‘I should not be
afraid whatever happened whilst you had the reins.’
Lady Bowmant looked pleased, but she answered lightly,--
‘Dear me, it is nothing, only practice. I bet you could manage them
quite as well as I do if you tried. They are thoroughly well trained,
you see, and that’s half the battle; and they are thoroughbred into
the bargain. You can do twice as much with a well-bred horse as you can
with an outsider. Their mouths are like velvet. You could guide them
with a bit of string; and as for their jumping about a little, that’s
only their fun, you know; there’s no vice in it; in fact, there’s not
a grain of vice between the two of them. I don’t know what I should do
without the darlings. They are the very joy of my life.’
At this juncture they came across a cottage, which seemed to recall
something to Lady Bowmant’s mind.
‘By the way,’ she exclaimed suddenly, ‘I wonder how Phil Farley is, or
if the poor old man is still alive. He used to be a _protégé_ of mine
last summer, and I often visited him; but I have quite forgotten to ask
after him since my return. Would you mind my jumping down for a minute,
Lady Ilfracombe? I _should_ like just to inquire how the old man is.’
‘Of course not,’ said her companion cordially.
‘You will hold the reins for me? You will not be afraid of them?’
‘Not in the least,’ cried Nora, as she took the ribbons from Lady
Bowmant’s hands. ‘Don’t hurry yourself on my account. I shall not mind
waiting for you at all.’
‘Thank you so much,’ replied her hostess, as, after having stroked the
necks of her horses, and kissed their noses, she disappeared into the
cottage.
Nora was rather pleased to be left in sole charge. She had been
longing to have a turn at the cobs herself. She had been watching Lady
Bowmant’s actions very closely, and noticed with what ease she guided
the little horses--how quickly they obeyed her voice and the touch of
her hand; and had been wishing all the time to try driving them. She
had never handled a tandem in her life before, but she was a plucky
girl, and her very ignorance made her bold. So, as soon as Lady
Bowmant had disappeared under the low roof of the cottage, she gathered
up the reins, and gave the leader a slight flick with her whip. Belle
felt the difference of the hands at once; she was not used to that sort
of thing. The lash of the whip had fallen on her hind quarters, and she
threw out her heels at once, and struck her stable companion, Beau,
full in the face. Beau resented the action; he felt he hadn’t deserved
it of Belle, the best part of whose work he had taken on himself all
the morning; so he swerved a little aside, and then broke into a smart
trot, which the coquettish Belle soon persuaded him to change into a
canter, and in another moment, before their driver knew what they were
after, the pair were tearing off in the direction of their stables as
fast as ever they could lay their feet to the ground. Nora tugged and
tugged at the reins without producing the slightest effect on them. She
was very inexperienced, but she could not help seeing that the cobs
were running away, and altogether beyond her control. She grew very
pale; but she held on to the reins like grim death, and just managed to
steer them clear of a donkey-cart which they seemed disposed to take
in their stride. She began already to wonder what she should do when
they came to the drive gates of Usk Hall, which curved sharply round
to the left. They would assuredly bolt through them, she thought, and
upset the dog-cart, in all probability, against the postern of the
gate. Perhaps they would kill her from the collision and the fall. The
thought that flashed through her mind at that juncture was, How would
Ilfracombe take the news of her death?--what would he do without her?
‘I’m afraid I’m in for it,’ she said to herself. ‘It’s all up a tree
with me. I’m bound for kingdom come, as sure as a gun.’
Even at that moment of danger Nora could not be sentimental, though
she felt the force of the situation perhaps as much as if she had
been praying to heaven to avert her doom. On flew the cobs through the
village, though fortunately without running over anybody, and down a
narrow lane, on the way to the Hall. There was a sharp curve about the
middle of it. As Nora reached the point, someone--a woman--suddenly
rose from the bank which skirted the road, and stood full in the way of
the flying steeds, catching with her hand at the reins of Belle as she
passed. Nora thought the horses were stopped, but the next moment they
started off again; but the woman was not to be seen--she had fallen.
‘My God,’ thought Nora, ‘I have killed somebody. They have run over
her.’
The arrest, however, slight as it was, had had its effect. Belle and
Beau suddenly stood still as rocks, and Nora leapt at once from the
cart and approached the stranger, who was just scrambling to her feet.
‘Oh, how good, how brave of you!’ she cried. ‘If you had not done
that, they might have dashed the cart and me to pieces against the
gate. But have you hurt yourself? Are you sure you are all right?’
‘I think I am,’ replied the young woman, as she rose to her feet. ‘They
only knocked me down; the wheels did not come near me.’
‘Thank God for that!’ cried Nora earnestly. ‘I should never have
forgiven myself if you had been hurt.’
She gazed at the face of the country girl in amazement, for she thought
it was the most beautiful she had ever seen. And so it was they first
met--Nell and Nora.
END OF VOL. II.
COLSTON AND COMPANY, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
Transcriber’s Note:
Words may have inconsistent hyphenation in the text. Jargon, dialect,
obsolete and alternative spellings were left unchanged. Seven
misspelled words were corrected.
Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like
this_. Obvious printing errors, such as partially printed letters
and punctuation, were corrected. Final stops missing at the end of
sentences and abbreviations were added.