THE MINIATURE.
True, I have married her.
The very head and front of my offending
Hath this extent, no more.
--Shakespeare.
Lord Bromley did not suffer the nocturnal festivities to interfere with
his morning walk, during which he came upon the governess and her pupils
looking as fresh as the dawn.
"I need not ask if you have recovered from last night, Miss Leigh,"
observed he, dryly, as he bowed demurely, with a somewhat conscious air.
"Did you dance?" asked Mabel; "for I heard you come up just after the
stable clock struck one, and the music had been going on for ever so
long."
Now, it might have been half-past eleven when Miss Leigh had professed
herself to Lord Bromley as too ill and tired to dream of dancing. Looking
the consternation she felt at this contradictory piece of evidence, she
remained silent, not daring to raise her eyes.
"Who would have taken you for such an actress!" said the peer, in rather
ambiguous accents.
Bluebell looked up desperately; her expression was ingenuous, but half
imploring.
"Such nerve and command of countenance!" rhapsodized his Lordship, with
the same odd fixed look and sarcastic inflection of voice. "The idea of
the plot so perfectly conceived and played out! Had you much practice--in
Canada."
"I have played in charades and small pieces," wondering how he knew she
had been in Canada.
"But you never _really_ acted till you came to England? How long was that
ago?"
"Some time now," confusedly.
"Nearly two years, perhaps?"
"About that--no, not quite so much," more and more perplexed by his
manner.
"I hope you'll come down, and sing to us to-night. Miss Leigh. I am not
sure I don't prefer that accomplishment for young ladies--it is _safer_."
He turned away, leaving Bluebell in bewilderment.
Kate, recovered by a night's rest, would consent to no more seclusion;
the blow was not much of a disfigurement now, and she was making an
immense fuss over Harry, which suited him well enough to encourage, as he
rather repented the imprudently frequent dances with Geraldine, and felt
embarrassed in her society this morning.
The cousins were sitting on an ottoman, in half-teazing,
half-affectionate discourse, when Bluebell, feeling like a conspirator
of the deepest dye, entered demurely with her pupils. Kate watched Harry
narrowly, who did not appear to have observed their entrance.
"You seem to have forgotten Miss Leigh," she remarked. "Did you not
travel together from Quebec?"
Dutton, somewhat staggered by her correct information, shot a swift
inquiring glance at his cousin.
"To be sure--so it is Miss Leigh. I thought last night I knew the face--"
"Why don't you go and speak to her?"
"I am shy--perhaps she won't remember me."
"Miss Leigh, Mr. Dutton thinks you have forgotten him."
Bluebell bowed stiffly, very much on her guard; for she saw that Lord
Bromley was an attentive observer, and his strange behaviour in the
morning had given rise to an uncomfortable suspicion that he might
(though how, she could not imagine) be cognizant of the tryst in the West
Wood. Harry moved to a seat near, and began an indifferent conversation
with her, that the whole room might have heard.
"Can it be all--kid," thought Kate, "or was there really nothing between
them?"
At that instant Sir Robert lounged up, and threw himself in a familiar
manner on the other side of Bluebell.
Dutton's face darkened. He had taken an antipathy to this man, who
commenced a sort of condescending flirtation with his wife. He called
her "Gertrude," too, and poured out compliments on her acting, describing
his despair at being unable to find her among the dancers afterwards.
Harry was boiling, Kate exultant. "I knew I was right," she thought.
Bluebell was summoned to the piano. Sir Robert followed. It was a
semi-grand, and he leant on the other end, opposite to her.
"Where is the music? Oh! you play without. So much the better. One sees
the eyes flashing."
It was not the only pair, for Dutton's were fixed upon Sir Robert with a
ferocious expression, apparent even to his obtuseness, and somewhat
surprised, he returned it with a slight stare and elevation of the
eyebrows. That night, in the smoking-room, the antagonism between the two
was more pronounced than ever. Sir Robert explained it by a conjecture
that "Dutton was sweet on the little governess, and d--d jealous." He was
not particularly popular among the other men: but all agreed that Dutton
"had been very rough on Lowther, and was not half such a cheery, pleasant
fellow as he used to be."
What would not Kate have given for an incident that befell Lady Geraldine
one day! She had been much puzzled by Harry's manner since his return:
for, though his appreciation of her was more heartily manifested than
before, she was conscious of a difference,--or rather, perhaps, analyzed
it more truly now. Her adorers had not been so numerous as to disturb the
impression of the first man who had ever appeared to care about her; but
she could scarcely deceive herself longer--there was evidently now
nothing warmer than liking left.
Poor girl! she was easily discouraged, and felt no resentment; she did
not even think it necessary to conjure up a rival to account for the
discontinuation of his attentions, till a slight incident revealed one to
her. She was sitting alone in the morning-room, and, being somewhat of a
china fancier, turned a cup on a bracket upside down, to examine the mark
at the bottom. In doing so, a bit of paper fluttered out, and as she
picked it up, the words, "West Wood, four o'clock," met her startled
gaze. She was convinced that the writing was Harry's, but whom could the
assignation be intended for? Soon after Bluebell came into the room as it
seemed to her with no very apparent purpose Lady Geraldine, not without
design, seated herself at a small writing-table, with her back to the
bracket, and almost immediately heard a slight clatter. Miss Leigh had
vanished, and so had the paper from the teacup.
"I wish I dare go to the West Wood," thought Geraldine, for she was not
all perfect, and the indignation in her heart inspired a deep desire to
expose the underhand behaviour of the designing governess. That evening
Harry had been talking to her longer than usual. Bluebell was singing at
the piano, and finally began the Persian song of "The May Rose to the
Nightingale." Geraldine listened, attracted by the sentiment. One verse
was unfortunately suggestive--
Moonlight, moonlight, think'st thou he'd leave me
For one so pale--for one so pale
But moonlight, moonlight, if he deceive me,
Tell not the tale--tell not the tale
Then Geraldine's pallid complexion was flushed with resentment, for she
imagined the words levelled at herself. Next day--unable to resist again
examining the cup--she found another fold of paper, but this time in a
female handwriting. Harry, of course, would come for it and she
determined to remain till he did so. The room was then tolerably full.
Some time after Dutton dropped in with another man, and, all unconscious
of _surveillance_, lingered till only he and Lady Geraldine remained in
the room.
"Mr. Dutton," she said, in her somewhat reedy voice, "I understand a
little about china, but cannot make out the date of that little yellow
cup, the mark at the bottom is so defaced."
It was said meaningly, and Harry understood that he was discovered. To
throw himself upon her generosity seemed an obvious necessity. With a
conscious yet penetrating glance, closing the half open door, he
exclaimed, impulsively, "Dear Lady Geraldine, may I tell you something
about myself?"
Geraldine flushed hotly. This was somewhat more than she had bargained
for. With the slightest _soupçon_ of stateliness, dreading what was to
follow, she managed to say, that "Whatever he liked to tell her should go
no further."
"It will all be known soon enough," cried he. "But I fancy Lady
Geraldine, you have some suspicion I know I can trust you, and you have
been always so kind and sympathetic to me, it is a much greater comfort
telling you than Kate."
Geraldine bowed her head. She was determined not to betray herself, and
even felt some little curiosity, though how abundantly that faculty was
to be gratified ere she left the room, she certainly had not foreseen.
One result was, it had an immediately bracing effect, for, with all her
humility, Geraldine had the pride of self respect, and the confession
completely disabused her of the idea that Harry had ever aspired to being
suitor of hers. It was a pang, no doubt. Even his confidence might have a
double meaning. Had she any of the fury of a woman scorned, what an
amount of mischief would be in her power. But Harry's instinct was right,
and he never regretted his reliance on Geraldine's honour and pride.
Dutton and his wife continued to meet daily in secret. They had agreed to
confess to Lord Bromley directly the visitors should have left, but I
think were still young enough to enjoy the stratagems necessary for those
stolen interviews. How many narrow escapes they were to laugh at
afterwards and, in society, when they appeared on such conventional terms
as respectful youth and prudent governess, how many _doubles entendres_
Harry hazarded, to see Bluebell struggling with alarmed risibility.
But the rash pair were outwitted at last, and run to earth by Kate in the
moss arbour. How much of their conversation had been overheard, or how
long she had stood there before springing out, of course could be only
conjecture. A violent start had been irrepressible, and, as they both
were speechless from the shock, Kate remained mistress of the situation,
and evidently not disposed to be merciful. A few sarcastic expressions to
her cousin, some cutting remarks on Bluebell's deceitful and designing
conduct, and she was gone--apparently for the purpose of exposing the
intrigue she imagined herself to have discovered. Dutton sprang after
her, and Bluebell, in much vexation and alarm, returned to the house.
Not much breathing time was to be obtained in the nursery, whither she
had hurried. The door was half open, and, entering unperceived, she
beheld a sight that gave her almost as genuine a start as Kate's
inopportune appearance. Yet it was only Lord Bromley sitting by the
table, looking pale and shaken, and gazing intently on--could she believe
her eyes?--the miniature of Theodore Leigh. The case was broken.
Bluebell had been gumming it, and had left it on the table to dry. But
why should he be studying it with such absorbing interest?
Lord Bromley raised his eyes, and fixed them sternly on the beautiful
girl. "Come here _Theodora_."--and she started. "Whose portrait is this?"
"My father's."
"Exactly. And, such being the case, your presence in this house requires
some little explanation."
Unable to see the connexion between the miniature and this attack;
Bluebell remained silent and confounded; but, as he continued to gaze
severely at her, she roused herself to reply.
"I came here because Mrs. Barrington brought me, and I went to her by the
purest accident. Did you _know_ my father, my Lord?"
"Simplicity may be rather overdone! Do you think, child, I have not
seen through your evident desire to ingratiate yourself?--and scheming
yourself into this house will, I assure you, not further your designs!"
Bluebell could not deny the former charge, though guiltless of the latter
insinuation. But who could have betrayed their marriage, and why did he
only blame her?
"I do not know who may have prompted you, but if he thought duplicity and
cunning a recommendation in a grand-child--"
"Grandchild!" echoed Bluebell. "What can you mean, Lord Bromley! Sir
Timothy Leigh was _my_ grandfather!"
"Which, as you probably very well know, I have not been called for
fifteen years!"
Still the intense perplexity of her face was staggering his impression
that this adventurous daughter of his disinherited son was trying by a
_coup de main_ to cancel the edict of banishment, and to obtain favour
and fortune at his hands.
"_You_ my grandfather!" she reiterated, mechanically, her eyes, wonder
wide, staring at the old man with child-like directness, that produced a
more convincing effect on his mind than any words. After all, it was
quite possible she might not have heard of his succession to a remote
peerage, and this amazement was certainly not assumed. Moreover, the
expression of her face was conjuring from a dim past a host of memories.
He became strangely moved, and could scarcely bear the gaze which
recalled so forcibly Theodore in his youth.
Which made the first movement neither knew. "My dearest little girl!" he
murmured, and folded her in his arms.
Bluebell was weak and silent from surprise mingled with extreme
happiness, and Lord Bromley had gone back in thought to former years, and
dare not trust himself to speak; so they were both too absorbed to notice
the entrance of Harry Dutton, who remained rooted to the spot (like a
stuck pig, as he afterwards elegantly described it), and a smothered
exclamation burst from his lips.
Lord Bromley hurriedly withdrew himself from Bluebell, not particularly
gratified at being surprized in so romantic a _pose_ at his time of life.
"What the d----l are you doing here, sir?" he angrily demanded.
Harry, considering he had quite as good a right to ask that question,
turned inquiringly and gloomily to Bluebell, who, feeling if she
attempted to open her lips she must either go off into a hysterical fit
of laughter or burst into tears, said nothing; and the uncle and nephew
continued to glare at each other.
She signed to Dutton to speak; but he was too mystified and sulky; so
Bluebell, in desperation, plunged _in medias res_.
"Harry!" she cried, "this is my grandfather as well as your uncle! Why,
we must be cousins!" Then, after an instant's pause, with downcast eyes
and crimson cheeks, she penitently kissed the old man's hand, and
whispered,--"He is my husband too; we meant to have told you to-morrow!"
So the dread secret was out at last! Silence, that could be felt, ensued,
and seemed endless to the two culprits, who, with drooping eyes, waited
anxiously for him to speak.
Now, this announcement was hardly so unexpected as they supposed, and far
more welcome than their wildest dreams could have anticipated. Lord
Bromley's agent, who paid the annuity to Mrs. Leigh, was also in the
habit of giving him periodical information of the well-being of his
grand-daughter. When, however, she eloped from Captain Davidson's house,
he had lost sight of her for a time, but afterwards picked up the clue at
Mrs. Markham's. When they also disappeared so suddenly, the agent was
again at fault, Bluebell having changed her situation in the interval.
Advancing years had softened Lord Bromley. The tidings of her elopement
without any positive proof of a _bona fide_ marriage preceding it, had
shocked him into bitter remorse for having left her, an unprotected waif
and stray, to the tender mercies of the world, and now she had passed out
of his ken, and he could not but fear the worst.
In this frame of mind he came accidentally upon Bluebell in the spring
woods, and the likeness to her father, which was singularly obvious,
seemed the reflection of the thoughts that haunted him. Then, when Mabel
mentioned her by name, it flashed upon him that what he had taken for a
trick of imagination might be, indeed, a sober reality. Lord Bromley
sought Mrs. Barrington, and elicited, in reply to his careless inquiries,
the fact that the fair governess was a Canadian, and had come into her
family from the Markhams'. This was conclusive, and he took every
opportunity of observing Bluebell with an almost hungry interest. The
elopement rankled unpleasantly in his mind. He watched her conduct
narrowly, and was pleased to see that she seemed prudent and careful;
but his suspicions received a new direction by the mutual disappearance
of Dutton and herself on the night of his return. It was a coincidence,
at any rate, for had not Mabel asserted she had not come upstairs till
one, before which hour Harry had not entered the ball-room? He also
detected two or three looks of intelligence passing between them, then,
when Kate remarked that they had returned in the same steamer from
Quebec, the mystery began to take a definite shape. He remembered his
nephew's confession of an attachment, and his absence for many weeks
after landing. At this stage a terrible possibility obtruded itself, and
Bluebell's inviting manner, which before had pleased him, seemed all an
artful attempt to get into favour.
The accidental sight of Theodore's miniature, which stirred poignantly
the stern heart of the father, precipitated the _denouement_, and the
artless bewilderment of Bluebell under his reproaches lulled the
suspicions which her subsequent avowal of a marriage with Harry nearly
set at rest. There only remained those unaccounted for weeks, so that the
first sentence he spoke to the peccant pair, whom we left in agitated
suspense, surprised them by its calmness.
"When did this happen?" And they could not guess how anxiously he waited
for a reply.
Now Dutton had come there expressly to bring Bluebell into Lord Bromley's
presence, having resolved to be beforehand with Kate, and make immediate
confession. Therefore he was provided with their marriage certificate,
which he now produced, and silently presented to his uncle.
The date was satisfactory, and Lord Bromley was relieved from the most
harrowing anxiety. Yet his brow did not relax as he turned gravely to his
nephew. "What was your motive, Harry, in concealing this marriage?"
Dutton was silent.
"You may well be unwilling to express it. It was because you feared to
lose the inheritance I have foolishly brought you up to expect."
Harry looked up frankly, though writhing under his words.
"I cannot wholly deny it, uncle, and if you now change your intentions
towards me, it is only what I expect. Bluebell and I were married hastily
at Liverpool, she is my best excuse for that. Afterwards, when I came to
'The Towers,' I meant to have told you, but--don't you recollect?--you
positively refused to hear what I had to say. Of course I ought to have
persisted."
"And did Theodora also see the expediency of concealing her marriage till
my death?"
"No, indeed," cried Harry, warmly. "She would have risked everything to
have it acknowledged. It puts my conduct in an awfully cold-blooded
light, but I hope you don't think me utterly ungrateful."
"As to that, the less said the better," returned Lord Bromley, coolly.
Dutton turned away abashed and deeply wounded, for he really was attached
to the relative who had been his best friend and benefactor from infancy
to manhood. Lord Bromley slowly left the room, and, sending for his
niece, endeavoured to explain to her the astounding facts that Bluebell
was the daughter of his disinherited son, and had been married to Dutton
for nearly two years.
There was scarcely room in Mrs. Barrington's mind to grasp this new
aspect of affairs, it being already taken up with Kate's shocking
discovery of the heir, flirting in a secluded summer-house with the
treacherous governess. Very earnestly, therefore, she tried to convince
her uncle that he must be deceived, and that Bluebell was an impostor and
an adventuress.
"There's not a shade of doubt about her identity," contested Lord Bromley
"I have known for some time whom she was. Indeed, Lydia, you were my
first informant when you told me where you had taken her from. Parker had
reported that Theodore's daughter was with some people of the name of
Markham, and immediately found out accidentally that she was no longer
there and here is further proof"--and he placed before her the portrait
that he had carried away. It was difficult to [unreadable]. Convinced
against her will, and deprived of the power of giving Bluebell immediate
warning, Mrs. Barrington [unreadable] fall back upon her own room, pull
down the blinds and take refuge in _petite sante_, till prepared to face
her emminent dependent in so new and unwelcome a position.
Certainly this day of elucidation was not a pleasant one. Everybody
appeared in a changed point of view, and was feeling its awkwardness.
Harry and Bluebell, hardly knowing if they had a right to remain there,
wandering disconsolately about, like a modern Adam and Eve awaiting
expulsion from Paradise.
Kate felt baffled and dangerous,--angry at her cousin having slipped so
smoothly through her fingers, and jealous of his wife.
Lord Bromley, though deeply incensed with Harry, was longing to keep
Bluebell, whose every glance and gesture recalled his secretly lamented
son. Lady Calvert was on the point of departure with her daughter; and
the facts having percolated through the household, all the maids got sick
headaches from sympathetic excitement.
Dutton had had a very stormy interview with his cousin when he rushed
after her from the arbour. Kate was determined to betray them, and he
vainly tried to induce her to be silent. On one condition only would she
promise secrecy--that Bluebell should give immediate warning, and that he
should never speak to her again. But Harry only laughed, while Kate urged
everything she could think of--ruin to his prospects, his uncle's anger,
etc.
"It is no business of yours," reiterated Dutton. "If you say anything
about it, you'll soon see you have made a fool of yourself, and the
little you do know is by prying and listening."
But Kate broke from him and darted into the house, past Lady Geraldine,
who was just coming out, and who noticed with surprise the disturbed
appearance of the two cousins. To Dutton she seemed a good angel sent to
invalidate the spells of an evil one. As the reader knows, she alone had
been entrusted with the secret of his marriage, and he now briefly
explained that Kate was bent upon betraying his meetings with Bluebell,
and entreated her, if possible, by any stratagem, to detain her for
awhile.
Geraldine, fully alive to the importance of the request, exclaimed with
a gesture of impatience--
"_How_ provoking! when you were to have told your own story to-morrow! Be
quick, Mr. Dutton, don't lose a moment, and I will undertake to keep Kate
and Mrs. Barrington quiet till they can do no further mischief."
A very grateful glance from Harry as he sprang away; and how he fared in
the dreaded interview is already known to the reader.