A DISQUIETING RUMOR.
Some quiet evenings are more productive of matter for reflection and
afterthought than many more exciting and apparently eventful ones. How
little there is to talk over a ball! One quadrille is like another
and one partner very much like another. Most ballrooms are hot, most
partners are unsuitable. But how often a quiet evening with a few
friends in a country house is the beginning of some great matter--the
mustard seed whence springs the shadowing tree, the bend of the stream
which changes its whole course!
So it was with several of the members of Mrs. Dodson's quiet, little
dinner.
Five of them at least returned to rest that night very thoughtful.
The captain, when he had reached the little boudoir, or dressing-room,
of his luxurious suite, cast off as if it were a mask the careless
smile of simple amiability and showed in his countenance some of the
subtle working of his brain.
As he walked to the window and looked out upon the scene bathed in the
moonlight, his face grave and frowning with deep thought, he looked a
very different person to the easy-going gentleman of fortune which he
had appeared in the drawing-room a few minutes before.
"Soh!" he muttered, "the room has been closed since John Mildmay's
death, and never been opened; the dust must lie thick there. Haunted,
too! Did she see anything, or was it only a sentimental girl's fancy?
Violet is not sentimental, and is scarcely the girl to be led away by
a weak fancy, either. The cry and the start were too natural in their
suddenness and reluctance to be affected. Strange! I don't believe in
ghosts, but if I did I would believe that Violet Mildmay saw one then.
"The haunted room lies near this--in what direction? Let me see," and
he closed his eyes and worked out a mental calculation. "It must lie at
the end of my bedroom, for that is in the part of the building nearest
the ruins. If I were a nervous man, I might feel qualmish about the
near proximity of the haunted chamber. As it is, as I am a man who has
to make his fortune, that chamber, with its uncanny character, is a
godsend; it is a slice of luck I little looked for, another card in a
hand which was not a bad one at any time.
"But I must not overlook my opponents. I play as one against many.
First, Leicester Dodson; he is not to be lightly held. His handsome
face and long legs carry a brain with them that may be a fitting match
for mine. He has coolness and confidence, has Mr. Leicester Dodson, and
he is smitten with Mistress Violet. They were close together to-night,
in amiable confidence, her hand fell upon his arm. I have known a man's
heart fall before one look of such a woman as Violet before now. And
the boy, my young Lord Boisdale, is half inclined to lose his wits over
the girl's fair face and grace--but he doesn't count. Some men are born
fools, and this is one. He is of use, though. I must play one against
the other. His sister, too, Lady Ethel, is no fool, and Mr. Bertie
Fairfax thinks her an angel. There should be some cards to play there!
"Let me think, let me think. There are the materials of a nice little
game of cross-purposes, if I can but manage it. Come in!"
He broke off abruptly as a knock at the door disturbed his cogitations.
Mr. Jem entered with his master's dressing-gown.
The captain threw off his coat, and donned the capacious garment in
silence which Jem did not think proper to break.
At last the captain roused from his reverie and turned his attention to
his follower.
"Where have you been?"
"Down in the village, captain," said Jem Starling, with a wink.
"There's a wery nice little and pretty little creetur in cherry ribbons
wot draws a good glass of ale."
The captain nodded, absently.
"Don't be seen there too often, and keep your mouth shut."
"Trust me," said Jem, clicking his tongue against his cheek, with a
knowing air. "This old soldier is a very remarkable old soldier, and
he's like the parrot--he don't talk much, but he thinks the more."
"You may think as much as you like," said the captain, "but be as
moderate in your thinking as your talking, my friend. You had a bad
habit, when I knew you in former days, of lifting that elbow of yours
too often," and the captain went through the pantomime of a man raising
a glass to his lips. "One slip in that direction means ruin, remember,
ruin for you as well as me. But, there, I have no wish to worry you.
Amuse yourself as you like, so that you keep your mouth shut."
"I amuse myself," said Jem. "There's quite a little game going on down
below, which I'm mighty interested in. It's like one o' them Chinese
puzzles, little pieces of wood you put together, you know. Lor', you
might 'a' lived down Whitechapel in Larry's thieves' kitchen and not
see more signs and mysterious nods and winks as you do down here--down
here in this little village, which I thought was inhabited by perfect
infants. Why, a man has to keep his eyes open every minute to catch
all the signs which one simple-looking chap of a fisherman gives to
another."
"What do you mean?" asked the captain, absently, and with evident
inattention. "What signs should these men have? what mystery? There,
I'm tired, go to bed. By the way, there's a sovereign for you."
And he threw one of the coins which he had won that evening on the
table.
Jem, who was beginning to understand his master's moods, picked up the
donation with a touch of the forehead, and, with a gruff, "Good-night,
captain," departed, muttering to himself:
"He's working, he is; he's begun the game, or my name's not Jem. Ah!
he's a deep 'un, is the captain!"
In another room of the Park Violet was inclined to be thoughtful,
and for some time her maid brushed the long tresses of her mistress'
bright hair with inward surprise at her silence, and at last ventured
to intrude upon it by the commencement of the little gossip to which
Violet was rather partial, so long as it was confined to innocent chat
and did not diverge to scandal and tittle-tattle.
So Marie ventured to remark that there were a great many servants at
Coombe Lodge, and that the people were very glad that the Lacklands
had come down; but they seemed quite as pleased that Mr. Leicester had
come, too.
Mr. Leicester's name seemed to rouse her mistress from her reverie, and
she looked up, with her bright, clear gaze.
"What did you say about Mr. Leicester Dodson?"
"I said, miss, that the people in the village and the servants up at
the Cedars were very glad that Mr. Leicester had come down again, for,
though he's so very stern and grave-looking, he seems to be very kind,
and everybody gives him a good name. And he's so liberal, miss! He
gives a sovereign where others look hard at shillings. Only the last
time he was down, miss, he went into Will Sanderson's cottage and sat
and talked with little Jemmie, Willie Sanderson's brother, you know,
miss, little lame Willie; and he sat and asked questions about his
not being able to walk, and then he got up with a start, and in his
thoughtful way, which almost makes you think you've done something
wrong; but there comes down one o' them little inwalid chairs from
London, and Willie says his brother is as well again now that he can
be wheeled about. Of course, it came from Mr. Leicester, though when
Willie went up to thank him, he sent word down that he was to have
a glass of wine, and not to wait. And they say--the servants, you
know--miss, that Mr. Leicester is so kind to Mrs. Dodson, and speaks
to her quite soft, and when she was ill with the rheumatics he carried
her up and downstairs; and so no wonder they likes him; though I did
hear the cook say that Mr. Leicester was very particular about the
made dishes, and that when he is angry it's something fearful, he's so
stern, and what you might call overpowering, miss."
"Oh," said Violet, with her sweet little laugh, "throws the dishes at
the butler's head, I suppose you think, Marie?"
"Oh, no, miss, but has the cook up, and talks to him so cold and
sternlike, like he talked to Bill Summers, who threw down the horse he
was so fond of. But, notwithstanding that way of his, he's very kind
to all the servants, and any of 'em would do anything for him. They
like Mr. Fairfax, too, miss, and he, I heard 'em say, was an artist or
an author, or something clever, miss, in London, and he lives with Mr.
Leicester, in the same house, and him and Lord Fitz Boisdale are all
great friends. And they do say, miss, though, of course, I can't tell
whether it's true, that Mr. Leicester is courting Lady Ethel. Did I
hurt you, miss?" she broke off, suspending her operations with the hair
brush, for Violet had turned round her head rather suddenly.
"No," said Violet, quietly. "What do you say, that Mr. Leicester is in
love with Lady Ethel Boisdale?"
"Well, miss, they say so, and it certainly do look like it, if all
accounts be true, for Mr. Leicester's man says that his master is at
all the balls and _soirées_ and dinners at the Earl of Lackland's, and
that he only came down here so suddenlike because Lady Lackland and
Lord Fitz and Lady Ethel were coming down to Coombe Lodge."
"That will do," said Violet, "I will go to bed now."
And Marie braided the heavy mass of hair into thick, silken plaits,
rattling on meanwhile with a laughable account of Mr. Starling's
sayings and doings in the servants' hall, to which he seemed, by
Marie's account, quite an acquisition. Violet smiled with her usual
enjoyment of the humorous, of which she had a quick perception, and
Marie left her still smiling.
But when the talkative little maid had closed the door behind her,
light-hearted Violet felt rather lonely.
Her aunt slept in the next suite of rooms, and by touching a small
bell, she could summon her, or by opening a door and passing through
a little anteroom she could reach her, but Violet was not nervous or
timid, and after a little wrestling with the feeling she conquered it.
But she could not altogether dismiss the small incidents of the evening
from her mind.
Had she really seen the White Nun, or had fancy deceived her?
That was a question she could not answer satisfactorily.
Then another one presented itself for consideration. Was Mr. Leicester
Dodson a suitor for Lady Ethel's hand?
That also was a question which she could not answer.
It was true he had gone up to town suddenly, and it was true that he
had been present at a ball at which Lady Ethel was also present. It
was also a singular coincidence that he should return so suddenly to
Penruddie at the time of the Lacklands' visit to Coombe Lodge.
"Well, if it was so," thought Violet, humming the air of a song which
Captain Murpoint had sung, "it was nothing whatever to do with her."
Then she thought of his manner by the stile that evening--of its quiet
sense of power and protection; of the grasp of his firm, strong hand
on her trembling arm, of--well, of every word he had spoken, of every
gesture he had used, of that act of kindness toward Jemmie Sanderson.
"I wish I were a little sleepier," she said, at last.
But though she went to bed sleep would not come to her sweet, deep
eyes, which Mr. Leicester so much admired, and they were wide open
watching the moonlight as it fell upon the wall for some time.
Had they possessed the power of looking through the wall they might
have seen Mr. Leicester's tall, stalwart figure where he leaned against
the garden gate, smoking his before-bed cigar, and ruminating, as
wakeful as herself.
As for Lady Ethel, she, too, was thoughtful; but that was nothing
unusual for her. But when Lord Fitz himself, who was generally
extremely talkative, leaned back in profound silence for at least the
time occupied in traversing two of the six miles to Coombe Lodge, Ethel
felt rather surprised.
"How quiet you are, Fitz!" she said.
"Eh! am I?" he replied, rousing. "I was thinking. I say, Ethel, what do
you think of the Mildmays?"
"I haven't thought very much about them," said Lady Ethel, and indeed
she had not. "I think Violet Mildmay is very pretty."
"Isn't she!" exclaimed Lord Fitz, eagerly. "I think her the nicest girl
I've seen. She's what you call a 'bluestocking,' isn't she? One of the
'merry and wise sort,' eh, Ethel?"
"Yes, I liked what I have seen of her very much. I am glad we have met."
"Yes, so am I," said Lord Fitz. "I say, I heard Bertie and Leicester
arranging a riding party; do you know if Miss Mildmay is coming?"
"I believe so," said Ethel; "yes, I am sure she is."
"Then," said his lordship, "I think I shall go."
"Of course you will, to take care of me," said Ethel, smiling.
There was a short pause, then Lord Fitz roused again with the sudden
question:
"Ethel, do you think the Mildmays are well tiled in?"
"Tiled in, you inscrutable boy, what can you mean?" asked Ethel, with
laughing bewilderment.
"Tiled in, well off, rich, you know, and all that."
"I should think so," said Lady Ethel, thoughtfully. "They have a very
beautiful place and I have heard that her father was a merchant. Oh,
yes, I should think she was rich."
Lord Fitz gave a sigh of relief.
"I'm glad of that," he said.
Ethel laughed.
"Why should you be glad?" she said, looking at him curiously.
"Oh, never mind," said Lord Fitz, rather embarrassed. "So her
father was a merchant. All those merchant fellows get rich. Look at
Leicester's father, he's as rich as Crœsus. I wish my governor was a
merchant."
"He would be very much obliged to you for the compliment," said Lady
Ethel, with a smile. "For my part I am satisfied with an earldom."
"Oh!" said Lord Fitz, and as he drew a long sigh he murmured inaudibly:
"So should I if it had a lot of money with it."
"That's a rum fellow, that captain," said Lord Fitz, after a pause.
"In what way?" asked Ethel. "He seemed very ordinary, very amusing,
too."
"Oh, yes, he's amusing enough," assented Lord Fitz. "But I'm half
inclined to think he's deuced sharp. He can play whist like a book,
and picked up the coin like old Hawksey at the club. But I say, Eth,
you're pretty sharp, sharper than I am, and did you notice the rum
look of the captain's eyes? They seemed to be watching everybody and
everything, and when he caught you looking at him they shifted down
the table, and he was sure to make one of those funny speeches of his,
as if he didn't want you to think he'd noticed you looking at him. And
every time he lifted his wineglass he looked over the top all down the
table."
"No, I didn't notice all that," replied Ethel. "You are getting quite a
student of human nature and manners, Fitz."
"Oh," said Fitz, nodding his curly head decisively. "You were too
much taken up with Mr. Bert. I saw you, Miss Sly Boots, laughing and
whispering."
"For shame, Fitz!" retorted Ethel, blushing in the darkness.
"Whispering to a stranger?"
"Well, and what then?" said Lord Fitz. "And I don't wonder at any one
being taken up with Bert. He knows more stories than any man in all the
clubs in London, and he can tell 'em better, too. Pity he's so poor,
Ethel. Poor old Bert!"
Lady Ethel looked straight before her.
"He ought to have been a merchant or a tea grocer, or something of that
sort," said Lord Fitz. "That's the way to make money."
By this time, or very shortly afterward, the carriage rolled up to the
door of Coombe Lodge.
Ethel, who had not spoken since Lord Fitz's assertion that Bertie
should have been a tea grocer, went straight up to Lady Lackland's
room, where her mother was waiting for her.
Lord Fitz sauntered off to the billiard room, where he lighted a huge
cigar and, with half-closed eyes, tried to decide upon the color of
Violet's.
"I'm glad she's rich," he muttered, "very glad!"
Lady Lackland had been prevented from accompanying Fitz and Ethel by
one of a series of headaches produced by the last balls of the past
season, and she was now quite anxious to hear a full account of the
party.
Ethel gave her a list of the guests.
Lady Lackland, who was lying on a couch, raised her head with a grave
look of displeasure as Ethel mentioned Bertie Fairfax's name.
"Mr. Fairfax there?" she said. "You did not tell me he was to be there,
Ethel."
"Did I not, mamma?" said Ethel, calmly. "I had forgotten it, perhaps,
or did not think his expected presence of sufficient consequence. Yes,
he was there."
"And this Miss Mildmay? I remember Mrs. Mildmay--quite a _distingué_
looking woman. Is her niece like her?"
"She is very pretty and well bred," said Ethel.
Her ladyship mused coldly, eying her daughter at intervals while she
sat looking through the window at the moon.
"And how did the Dodsons seem? Do you like them?"
"Yes," said Ethel, "very much. It was a very pleasant party, mamma;
and we have arranged another, a riding party this time. I may go, I
suppose?"
"Y--es," said Lady Lackland, "if Fitz goes with you--oh, yes,
certainly. Mr. Leicester Dodson goes, I suppose?"
"Yes," said Ethel, "we are all going, all the young ones. Shall I stay
any longer? I make your head ache more by talking."
"No, don't stay any longer," said Lady Lackland, coldly. "Before you go
you will please draw that writing table near to me?"
Ethel did so, kissed her mother, who returned the warm pressure of her
soft, sweet lips by a cold touch with her own, and left the room.
Lady Lackland drew the table to a convenient position, and without
rising wrote a note to the earl, who was still in London.
"Tell me by return," she wrote, "who and what these Dodsons are,
whether they are really as rich as they are supposed to be and if I am
right in letting Ethel see so much of the son. She and Fitz dined at
their place, the Cedars, this evening, and met a Miss Mildmay, Violet
Mildmay, the merchant John Mildmay's daughter. I believe he left an
immense fortune behind him, but I am not certain, and perhaps you can
ascertain. I have not seen Fitz, but Ethel says the girl is very pretty
and well bred. I am sorry to say that odious Mr. Fairfax was there
also; he is staying at the Cedars."
Poor Bertie!