A LITTLE ARTIFICE.
It did not occur to Lady Doris that in all probability Lord Vivianne
would recognize Earle. He had seen him once, and once only--that was
walking with her, near Brackenside. But his lordship had no eyes then to
spare for the rustic lover. He had also known his name--Earle Moray--but
he was proverbially careless, forgetful and indifferent. It was a
question whether he had paid the least heed to it, not thinking it could
even interest him.
On the day of the dinner party at Hyde House it had occurred to her that
they would meet. They had both been at the Duchess of Eastham's ball,
but in a crowded ball-room even friends often failed to recognize each
other. How would it be when they met in the same room, dined at the same
table? People would be sure to make some allusion to Earle's poems,
some one would be sure to mention Downsbury Castle, then Earle would
join in and she would be lost. She might, by her indifference, make him
believe that he was mistaken: but if he once found out who Earle was,
and that Earle was still her lover, she could blind him no longer. Had
she met him only at rare intervals, she might have continued to mislead
him. Had she met him casually in society, she could have carried on her
deception until it was too late for him to injure her. But now that he
was coming, as it were, into the very heart of her home, she had less
chance.
If he found out about Earle, he would find out about her, too.
Then--well, suppose it came, this discovery that she dreaded so
terribly, what would he do if she refused to marry him? "Kill her," he
had said; but that was not so easily done. She might compromise and
secure her own safety by refusing to marry Earle, and marrying Lord
Vivianne. He would keep her secret then. People would only say that she
had changed her mind, and say that she was like all the
Studleighs--faithless. But she loved Earle with all her power of loving,
and she hated Lord Vivianne with an untold hatred.
She said to herself that if she had to save herself from the most
terrible death by marrying him, she would not do it. She loathed him;
she would have been pleased to hear that he was dead, or anything else
dreadful had happened to him, for he had spoiled her life. Of what use
was all her wealth, her luxury, her magnificence? Her life through him
was spoiled--completely spoiled.
"I wish he were dead," she said to herself, over and over again. "The
toils are spreading around me; I shall be caught at last."
She flung her arms above her head with a terrible cry. What was she to
do? She must, first of all, prevent them from meeting that night. They
must not dine together at her father's house; that was the evil to be
immediately dreaded. She flung the masses of golden hair back from her
white face.
"If I dare but tell Earle, and let him avenge me," she thought.
Then she wrote to him a coaxing little note, telling him that she had a
particular reason for desiring him not to dine at Hyde House that
evening--a reason that she would explain afterward, but that she herself
desired to see him alone. Would he come later on in the evening and ask
for her? She would arrange to receive him in Lady Linleigh's boudoir.
Then she rung for a footman in hot haste.
"Take this note to Mr. Moray," she said. "Never mind how long you have
to wait. Give it into his own hands, then bring me the answer."
"Oh, these lovers," sighed the servant. "What there is to do to please
them!"
Still, he did his best. He waited until he saw Earle, put the note in
his hand, and waited for the answer.
Earle only smiled as he read it. He was so completely accustomed to
these pretty little caprices, he had ceased to attach any importance to
them. He merely wrote in reply that he was entirely at her command.
"You remember the old song, my darling:
"'Thou art my life, my love, my heart,
The very eyes of me;
Thou hast command of every part,
To live and die for thee.'
"I will come later on in the evening and see no one but you."
He laughed as he closed the note.
"I wonder what pretty caprice possesses my darling now," he said to
himself.
The man who took the note back wondered at his young mistress, her face
was quite white, her golden hair clung in rich disorder, the white
hands, so eagerly extended to seize the letter, trembled and burned like
fire.
"They must have had a quarrel," he said to himself, with a knowing nod,
as he closed the door. "They have had a quarrel, and my lady wishes to
make it all right again."
It was a reprieve. She kissed the little note with a passion of love
that was real.
"My darling," she said, "if we could but go away together."
And as she sat there a sudden memory of the time when she had run away
from him came to her. She saw the old-fashioned garden at Brackenside;
she saw the great crimson roses, and the sheaves of white lilies; she
saw the kindly face of Mattie, and heard Earle singing:
"Thou art my soul, my life--the very eyes of me."
Ah, peaceful, innocent days! Blind, mad fool that she had been ever to
listen to Vivianne--to let him tempt her--to let him take her from the
innocent, happy home! What had she gained? And--ah, Heaven!--what had
she lost? If she could but have foreseen, have known, how differently
she would have behaved.
"I am strong," she said, pushing away the golden hair with her white
hands. "I am strong, but I could not live this life--it would kill me."
She sat for half an hour, thinking steadily, then her resolve was taken.
She would tide over the dinner as well as she could, throwing him more
and more off his guard. She would see Earle that evening, and tell him
that she wanted their marriage hastened; that she was tired of so many
lovers, and wanted to go away with him; that she was wearied of London
life.
She knew that Earle would be on the alert to serve her, he would manage
it all. She had faith in his great love. Then she would tell the earl
that her health and strength were failing her; ask him to take her to
Linleigh Court. Lord Vivianne would not dare to follow her there. It was
like a haven of rest to her. When the summer came, she would marry Earle
quietly and go abroad. Then she would be out of her enemy's power; he
could no longer hurl her from her high estate, or compel her to marry
him. She would be another man's wife then, and it would be his place to
protect and avenge her.
The plan, rapidly conceived, rapidly sketched, was her only resource,
her only safety. True, it would spoil her life, the triumphs that she
now enjoyed would be hers no longer. She would cease to be the belle of
the season, the queen of beauty and fashion. She must lose that part of
her life which she valued most--the homage, the adulation, the
brightness, and all through him. How her whole soul raged in burning
fury against him!
If he had been lying there on the ground, her foot on his neck, she
would not have spared him. She would have seen him die with pleasure. It
did not lessen her anger and her rage that she had to talk to him, to
smile, and charm him.
"If a look could kill him," she said to herself, "he should die."
She longed to be in Italy, where a bravo, for a comparatively small sum,
would soon have ended his life. She was obliged to soothe her anger, to
still the fierce tempest of rage, to calm her fears, to take an interest
in her dress, to smile, to look sweet and winning, with the most
vindictive hate in her heart.
Then she went into the little drawing-room. Lord Linleigh went up to
her.
"What a pretty toilet, Doris," he said. "White lace and roses. Your
taste is simply superb. But, ah, me! ah, me!"
"What is it, papa?" she asked, as he laughed, gently.
"Earle is not coming, my dear. I am afraid you will be disappointed. He
has sent a hurried little note to say that it is impossible. He is busy
about his election, you know."
A few minutes afterward and Lord Vivianne, with a smile on his face,
entered the room. Her fingers clutched the flowers she carried so
tightly; the thought passed through her mind that if he could but have
fallen dead over the threshold it would have been well for her.
"I shall see him if he comes in later on," she said.
A few minutes afterward he was seated by her side, and they were talking
in the most friendly manner. The dinner passed over better than she had
hoped. Earle was not mentioned nor did any one allude to Downsbury
Castle. Lord Vivianne had contrived to secure a place by Lady
Studleigh's side, and he did his best to please her. She could not help
remarking how courteous and gallant was his manner in society. She
contrasted it with what she had seen of him in Florence. When dinner was
over, and they had gone into the drawing-room, he bent over the back of
her chair.
"Lady Studleigh, have you forgotten my terrible outburst of the other
day?"
"Yes," she replied; "I have seen much that is amusing since then."
"It was not very amusing to me," he said. "When a man lays bare the core
of his heart, he does not do it for amusement."
"Not for his own, perhaps," she said; "but if he does it in your tragic
style, he cannot help other people being amused."
"I could call you Doris," he said, "when you look at me with that
piquant smile."
"I hope you will not, Lord Vivianne. I should always fancy papa was
talking to me."
"Did you think I was mad that day in the chestnut grove?"
Lady Doris laughed.
"My experience of the world is not very large at present," she said.
"Whenever I see or hear anything unusual, I think it is the fashion of
the times."
"Ah, Lady Studleigh, I wish I could persuade you to be serious--you are
always laughing at me."
"Tendency to laughter is hereditary with me," she said. "I cannot help
it. I am afraid that I have no talent for sentiment. The only matter I
find for surprise is why you should have selected such a very unsuitable
character as myself for your confidante. I cannot say what may be in
store for me, but I do not remember that any love affair ever possessed
the least interest for me yet."
"You should have a love affair, as you call it, Lady Studleigh, in
Italy, where the air is poetry, and the wind music."
"Papa," said Lady Studleigh to the earl, who was just passing her chair,
"do you hear Lord Vivianne's advice?"
"No, my dear; but I do not doubt that it is good."
"He tells me to go to Italy to learn a lesson in love. That is a sorry
compliment to England and the English, is it not?"