BROMLEY TOWERS.
Had yon ever a cousin, Tom'
And did that cousin happen to sing'
Sisters we have by the dozen,
But a cousin's a different thing
--Hon. Mrs. Norton.
Harry had stayed the night in London, and rather wished, for the present,
it might be inferred that he had been there all the time. It was some
distance from Bromley Towers, and quite dusk as he drove through the
park. Snow was on the ground, and still falling slowly, the two roaring
fires in the hall, as the doors were thrown open, flung a red light on
the holly berries and gigantic bunch of mistletoe suspended from the
chandelier, and flickered on dark oil paintings let into the panels. The
footmen were unfamiliar, but the old butler beamed on the young heir he
had known from a boy.
Harry shook him heartily by the hand, and asked a dozen questions in a
breath. There was a sprinkling of visitors already in the house, so,
shirking the reception rooms, he made straight for a private passage,
where in a certain study, he knew he should find his uncle.
Lord Bromley seldom had his large house empty and there were ample means
of entertainment for guests, but, like a good general, he had a secure
retreat from the perils of boredom in a sacred suite of rooms, to which
no one but his nephew had access. To Harry himself this particular study
was invested with a certain amount of solemnity, he had been summoned
there on so many notable occasions,--once to be sentenced to a thrashing
from a malevolent tutor who had reported him, afterwards, before going to
school, to receive good advice, not unsweetened by a tip. Cheques had
been dealt out there, and his uncle's views for his future guidance
inculcated on him. Dutton entered now with somewhat of the feelings of a
truant schoolboy, for had he not been on shore a month without coming
near the place or even writing?
He murmured something about London and business, which the old peer
received with the merest elevation of the eyebrows, and was evidently not
going to be unpleasant about it. He knew his nephew was just off a voyage
and in possession of a handsome cheque, and was not ill pleased that he
should have had his fling, and have done with it before coming down.
Besides, if some plans of his succeeded, he would soon have to _range_
himself.
Finding it was all right, and Lord Bromley disposed to be sociable, Harry
made himself as entertaining as possible, and was communicative enough
about everything but the proceedings of the last few weeks.
"I think you know most of the people in the house," said his uncle, as
Dutton was retiring to dress, "except, perhaps, one or two men. Lady
Calvert has brought her daughter here. She was not out, you know, when
you last went to sea."
"I remember her, though; projecting teeth and--"
"She will probably drop into all that Durnford property now Lionel is
dead."
When he came down to dinner, Lord Bromley introduced him very
particularly to the few strangers present, who all thought how fond his
uncle seemed of him, and that he would surely be the heir.
Dutton, like most careless dressing men, looked best in the regulation
simplicity of evening clothes, in which the despotism of fashion curbs
all vagaries of fancy. More than one feminine critic smiled involuntary
approval of the handsome young sailor, whose easy, slightly
unconventional manner, though singular, was not unattractive.
He had been told off to take Lady Geraldine Vane in to dinner, and went
to renew acquaintance with her at once. She was dressed in a cloud of
blue tulle, and wore a heavy white wreath on her hair, which was very
light. Complexion she had none. She was pale without being fair. Her
features were irregular, lips thin, with projecting teeth, and eyebrows
scarcely apparent at all. Yet these defects were partly redeemed by one
sole attraction, a pair of large, light eyes, with a great deal of heart
in them. They could glisten with affection and brighten with interest,
and were the faithful mirrors of a modest, sensitive, and naturally
amiable disposition. But Harry thought her, dress and all, the most
colourless object, and longed to offer even a damask rose to break the
cold, sickly effect.
There was another young lady present, of a very different type to Lady
Geraldine,--not exactly pretty, but evidently aiming at being _chic_. Her
dress was of the latest fashion, and in a slightly audacious style,
likewise the arrangement of her hair. She had a pretty, neat figure, and
a way of seeing everything through half-shut eyes. This was Harry's
cousin Kate.
Perhaps it would be too much to say he was very fond of this young
damsel; but, at any rate, he was delighted to find her there. "She is
such a jolly girl in a house!" he said to himself.
Kate, then a finished coquette of ten, used to try her hand at flirting
with the big schoolboy; and when she had him in a state of helpless
adoration, and all his pocket-money was gone in presents to her, would
turn him off in favour of his particular friend, who was spending the
holidays at Bromley Towers. The two boys blacked each other's eyes in
consequence; but the capricious fair only remarked that "they had made
such frights of themselves, the sooner they went back to school the
better."
As they grew up the intimacy continued. Kate would make use of him as an
escort, and allow him to kiss her as a cousin. She also confided to him
her love affairs, which at first made him very angry, but afterwards he
sometimes suspected their veracity.
Harry could not help watching her at dinner. He saw the amused face of
her neighbour, Colonel Dashwood, and sometimes caught her lively
repartees.
Lady Geraldine was rather tame, and not even pretty; it was up hill work
talking to her, and he was just in the humour for a chaffing match with
cousin Kate. After dinner it was just the same: she was surrounded by
men, and Lady Geraldine, the only other girl, sat apart, with rather a
plaintive, neglected look.
"Why can't she talk to some of those old women?" thought Harry. But he
felt bound to try and amuse her, and, after a little desultory
conversation, ingeniously evaded the necessity of boring himself further
by asking her to sing. She complied very amiably, and, as he stationed
himself near to turn over, saw it was one of Bluebell's songs. Lady
Geraldine had been well taught, and sang accurately; but, oh! the
contrast of the thin, piping voice and expressionless delivery to the
rich tones and almost dramatic fervour with which Bluebell poured forth
her "native wood-notes wild"! Then Kate came to the front, followed by a
devoted cavalier, who took her gloves and fan, and was forthwith
despatched in search of a very particular manuscript book somewhere in
the half.
_En attendant_ she rattled off a sparkling French _chansonnette_ with
such _élan_ that every man in the room, musical or otherwise, was soon
round the piano. Her voice was harsh and wiry; but there was an oddity
and originality in her style, while she pronounced the words with a
vehement clearness, that drove their meaning home to the dullest ear. Mr.
Hornby returned with the manuscript book, fastened by a patent lock,
and ornamented with an elaborate monogram.
"I never keep any songs that other people have, so I am obliged to guard
my _spécialités_ under lock and key,"--and she held out her arm to
Colonel Dashwood to unclasp a bracelet, the medallion of which opened on
touching a spring, and disclosed a gold key.
Colonel Dashwood retained the wrist while pretending to examine this
miracle, and Kate shot one of her dangerous glances out of half-closed
eyes.
A personal assault upon Dashwood would have been consonant to Harry's
feelings at the moment. He was not yet quite proof against twinges of
jealousy about cousin Kate, who was now turning over the leaves of her
book with an unconscious air.
"This song Mr. Forsyth brought me from Mexico. Such crabbed copying, only
an expert could read it; so I merely scribbled down the words, and made
him sing the air till I had caught it. That Charley Dacre got from a
boatman at Venice; and this little Troubadour thing" (sentimentally) "was
composed by a friend of mine, who has promised never to let any one
possess it but myself."
"I hope you bought up the whole edition," put in Harry.
"And here--even you, you dear, unmusical boy, are represented. Do you
remember it, Harry?" (playing a few bars.) "The air you were always
whistling, and said the sailors sang at watch."
"Yes, that was it," said he, with brightening eyes. "How could you
recollect?"
"Well, when you went to sea I got somewhat plaintive and dull; used to
hum it about the house, and set down the notes."
"But these are not the right words."
"Oh, no," said Kate, casting down her eyes with modest candour; "they are
my own."
Now Harry at the same moment felt almost certain he had seen the lines
somewhere before; and, being rather apt to stick to a point, turned it
over in his mind, while his cousin poured forth a flood of song like a
skylark soaring. Ere she desisted, Dutton had left the room, and
discovered the words in an old Annual on a top shelf in the library.