How Lady Glencora Came Back from Lady Monk's Party.
Burgo Fitzgerald remained for a minute or two leaning where we
last saw him,--against the dining-room wall at the bottom of the
staircase; and as he did so some thoughts that were almost solemn
passed across his mind. This thing that he was about to do, or to
attempt,--was it in itself a good thing, and would it be good for her
whom he pretended to love? What would be her future if she consented
now to go with him, and to divide herself from her husband? Of his
own future he thought not at all. He had never done so. Even when he
had first found himself attracted by the reputation of her wealth, he
cannot be said to have looked forward in any prudential way to coming
years. His desire to put himself in possession of so magnificent
a fortune had simply prompted him, as he might have been prompted
to play for a high stake at a gaming-table. But now, during these
moments, he did think a little of her. Would she be happy, simply
because he loved her, when all women should cease to acknowledge
her; when men would regard her as one degraded and dishonoured; when
society should be closed against her; when she would be driven to
live loudly because the softness and graces of quiet life would be
denied to her? Burgo knew well what must be the nature of such a
woman's life in such circumstances. Would Glencora be happy with him
while living such a life simply because he loved her? And, under such
circumstances, was it likely that he would continue to love her? Did
he not know himself to be the most inconstant of men, and the least
trustworthy? Leaning thus against the wall at the bottom of the
stairs he did ask himself all these questions with something of true
feeling about his heart, and almost persuaded himself that he had
better take his hat and wander forth anywhere into the streets. It
mattered little what might become of himself. If he could drink
himself out of the world, it might be an end of things that would be
not altogether undesirable.
But then the remembrance of his aunt's two hundred pounds came upon
him, which money he even now had about him on his person, and a
certain idea of honour told him that he was bound to do that for
which the money had been given to him. As to telling his aunt that he
had changed his mind, and, therefore, refunding the money--no such
thought as that was possible to him! To give back two hundred pounds
entire,--two hundred pounds which were already within his clutches,
was not within the compass of Burgo's generosity. Remembering the
cash, he told himself that hesitation was no longer possible to
him. So he gathered himself up, stretched his hands over his head,
uttered a sigh that was audible to all around him, and took himself
up-stairs.
He looked in at his aunt's room, and then he saw her and was seen by
her. "Well, Burgo," she said, with her sweetest smile, "have you been
dancing?" He turned away from her without answering her, muttering
something between his teeth about a cold-blooded Jezebel,--which, if
she had heard it, would have made her think him the most ungrateful
of men. But she did not hear him, and smiled still as he went away,
saying something to Mrs. Conway Sparkes as to the great change for the
better which had taken place in her nephew's conduct.
"There's no knowing who may not reform," said Mrs. Sparkes, with an
emphasis which seemed to Lady Monk to be almost uncourteous.
Burgo made his way first into the front room and then into the
larger room where the dancing was in progress, and there he saw Lady
Glencora standing up in a quadrille with the Marquis of Hartletop.
Lord Hartletop was a man not much more given to conversation than
his wife, and Lady Glencora seemed to go through her work with very
little gratification either in the dancing or in the society of her
partner. She was simply standing up to dance, because, as she had
told Mr. Palliser, ladies of her age generally do stand up on such
occasions. Burgo watched her as she crossed and re-crossed the room,
and at last she was aware of his presence. It made no change in her,
except that she became even somewhat less animated than she had been
before. She would not seem to see him, nor would she allow herself to
be driven into a pretence of a conversation with her partner because
he was there. "I will go up to her at once, and ask her to waltz,"
Burgo said to himself, as soon as the last figure of the quadrille
was in action. "Why should I not ask her as well as any other woman?"
Then the music ceased, and after a minute's interval Lord Hartletop
took away his partner on his arm into another room. Burgo, who had
been standing near the door, followed them at once. The crowd was
great, so that he could not get near them or even keep them in sight,
but he was aware of the way in which they were going.
It was five minutes after this when he again saw her, and then she
was seated on a cane bench in the gallery, and an old woman was
standing close to her, talking to her. It was Mrs. Marsham cautioning
her against some petty imprudence, and Lady Glencora was telling that
lady that she needed no such advice, in words almost as curt as those
I have used. Lord Hartletop had left her, feeling that, as far as
that was concerned, he had done his duty for the night. Burgo knew
nothing of Mrs. Marsham,--had never seen her before, and was quite
unaware that she had any special connection with Mr. Palliser. It was
impossible, he thought, to find Lady Glencora in a better position
for his purpose, so he made his way up to her through the crowd, and
muttering some slight inaudible word, offered her his hand.
"That will do very well thank you, Mrs. Marsham," Lady Glencora said
at this moment. "Pray, do not trouble yourself," and then she gave
her hand to Fitzgerald. Mrs. Marsham, though unknown to him, knew with
quite sufficient accuracy who he was, and all his history, as far as
it concerned her friend's wife. She had learned the whole story of
the loves of Burgo and Lady Glencora. Though Mr. Palliser had never
mentioned that man's name to her, she was well aware that her duty
as a duenna would make it expedient that she should keep a doubly
wary eye upon him should he come near the sheepfold. And there he was,
close to them, almost leaning over them, with the hand of his late
lady love,--the hand of Mr. Palliser's wife,--within his own! How Lady
Glencora might have carried herself at this moment had Mrs. Marsham
not been there, it is bootless now to surmise; but it may be well
understood that under Mrs. Marsham's immediate eye all her resolution
would be in Burgo's favour. She looked at him softly and kindly, and
though she uttered no articulate word, her countenance seemed to show
that the meeting was not unpleasant to her.
"Will you waltz?" said Burgo,--asking it not at all as though it were
a special favour,--asking it exactly as he might have done had they
been in the habit of dancing with each other every other night for
the last three months.
"I don't think Lady Glencora will waltz to-night," said Mrs. Marsham,
very stiffly. She certainly did not know her business as a duenna, or
else the enormity of Burgo's proposition had struck her so forcibly
as to take away from her all her presence of mind. Otherwise, she
must have been aware that such an answer from her would surely drive
her friend's wife into open hostility.
"And why not, Mrs. Marsham?" said Lady Glencora rising from her seat.
"Why shouldn't I waltz to-night? I rather think I shall, the more
especially as Mr. Fitzgerald waltzes very well." Thereupon she put her
hand upon Burgo's arm.
Mrs. Marsham made still a little effort,--a little effort that was
probably involuntary. She put out her hand, and laid it on Lady
Glencora's left shoulder, looking into her face as she did so with
all the severity of caution of which she was mistress. Lady Glencora
shook her duenna off angrily. Whether she would put her fate into
the hands of this man who was now touching her, or whether she would
not, she had not as yet decided; but of this she was very sure,
that nothing said or done by Mrs. Marsham should have any effect in
restraining her.
What could Mrs. Marsham do? Mr. Palliser was gone. Some rumour of
that proposed visit to Monkshade, and the way in which it had been
prevented, had reached her ear. Some whispers had come to her that
Fitzgerald still dared to love, as married, the woman whom he had
loved before she was married. There was a rumour about that he still
had some hope. Mrs. Marsham had never believed that Mr. Palliser's
wife would really be false to her vows. It was not in fear of any such
catastrophe as a positive elopement that she had taken upon herself
the duty of duenna. Lady Glencora would, no doubt, require to be
pressed down into that decent mould which it would become the wife
of a Mr. Palliser to assume as her form; and this pressing down, and
this moulding, Mrs. Marsham thought that she could accomplish. It had
not hitherto occurred to her that she might be required to guard Mr.
Palliser from positive dishonour; but now--now she hardly knew what
to think about it. What should she do? To whom should she go? And
then she saw Mr. Bott looming large before her on the top of the
staircase.
[Illustration: Mr. Bott on the watch.]
In the meantime Lady Glencora went off towards the dancers, leaning
on Burgo's arm. "Who is that woman?" said Burgo. They were the first
words he spoke to her, though since he had last seen her he had
written to her that letter which even now she carried about her. His
voice in her ears sounded as it used to sound when their intimacy
had been close, and questions such as that he had asked were common
between them. And her answer was of the same nature. "Oh, such an
odious woman!" she said. "Her name is Mrs. Marsham; she is my bête
noire." And then they were actually dancing, whirling round the room
together, before a word had been said of that which was Burgo's
settled purpose, and which at some moments was her settled purpose
also.
Burgo waltzed excellently, and in old days, before her marriage, Lady
Glencora had been passionately fond of dancing. She seemed to give
herself up to it now as though the old days had come back to her.
Lady Monk, creeping to the intermediate door between her den and
the dancing-room, looked in on them, and then crept back again. Mrs.
Marsham and Mr. Bott standing together just inside the other door,
near to the staircase, looked on also--in horror.
"He shouldn't have gone away and left her," said Mr. Bott, almost
hoarsely.
"But who could have thought it?" said Mrs. Marsham. "I'm sure I
didn't."
"I suppose you'd better tell him?" said Mr. Bott.
"But I don't know where to find him," said Mrs. Marsham.
"I didn't mean now at once," said Mr. Bott;--and then he added, "Do
you think it is as bad as that?"
"I don't know what to think," said Mrs. Marsham.
The waltzers went on till they were stopped by want of breath. "I
am so much out of practice," said Lady Glencora; "I didn't think--I
should have been able--to dance at all." Then she put up her face,
and slightly opened her mouth, and stretched her nostrils,--as ladies
do as well as horses when the running has been severe and they want
air.
"You'll take another turn," said he.
"Presently," said she, beginning to have some thought in her mind
as to whether Mrs. Marsham was watching her. Then there was a little
pause, after which he spoke in an altered voice.
"Does it put you in mind of old days?" said he.
It was, of course, necessary for him that he should bring her to some
thought of the truth. It was all very sweet, that dancing with her,
as they used to dance, without any question as to the reason why it
was so; that sudden falling into the old habits, as though everything
between this night and the former nights had been a dream; but this
would not further his views. The opportunity had come to him which
he must use, if he intended ever to use such opportunity. There was
the two hundred pounds in his pocket, which he did not intend to give
back. "Does it put you in mind of 'old days?'" he said.
The words roused her from her sleep at once, and dissipated her
dream. The facts all rushed upon her in an instant; the letter in her
pocket; the request which she had made to Alice, that Alice might be
induced to guard her from this danger; the words which her husband
had spoken to her in the morning, and her anger against him in that
he had subjected her to the eyes of a Mrs. Marsham; her own unsettled
mind--quite unsettled whether it would be best for her to go or to
stay! It all came upon her now at the first word of tenderness which
Burgo spoke to her.
It has often been said of woman that she who doubts is lost,--so
often that they who say it now, say it simply because others have
said it before them, never thinking whether or no there be any truth
in the proverb. But they who have said so, thinking of their words as
they were uttered, have known but little of women. Women doubt every
day, who solve their doubts at last on the right side, driven to
do so, some by fear, more by conscience, but most of them by that
half-prudential, half-unconscious knowledge of what is fitting,
useful, and best under the cirumstances, which rarely deserts
either men or women till they have brought themselves to the Burgo
Fitzgerald state of recklessness. Men when they have fallen even to
that, will still keep up some outward show towards the world; but
women in this condition defy the world, and declare themselves to be
children of perdition. Lady Glencora was doubting sorely; but, though
doubting, she was not as yet lost.
"Does it put you in mind of old days?" said Burgo.
She was driven to answer, and she knew that much would be decided by
the way in which she might now speak. "You must not talk of that,"
she said, very softly.
"May I not?" And now his tongue was unloosed, so that he began to
speak quickly. "May I not? And why not? They were happy days,--so
happy! Were not you happy when you thought--? Ah, dear! I suppose it
is best not even to think of them?"
"Much the best."
"Only it is impossible. I wish I knew the inside of your heart, Cora,
so that I could see what it is that you really wish."
In the old days he had always called her Cora, and now the name
came from his lips upon her ears as a thing of custom, causing no
surprise. They were standing back, behind the circle, almost in a
corner, and Burgo knew well how to speak at such moments so that his
words should be audible to none but her whom he addressed.
"You should not have come to me at all," she said.
"And why not? Who has a better right to come to you? Who has ever
loved you as I have done? Cora, did you get my letter?"
"Come and dance," she said; "I see a pair of eyes looking at us."
The pair of eyes which Lady Glencora saw were in the possession of
Mr. Bott, who was standing alone, leaning against the side of the
doorway, every now and then raising his heels from the ground, so
that he might look down upon the sinners as from a vantage ground.
He was quite alone. Mrs. Marsham had left him, and had gotten herself
away in Lady Glencora's own carriage to Park Lane, in order that she
might find Mr. Palliser there, if by chance he should be at home.
"Won't it be making mischief?" Mrs. Marsham had said when Mr. Bott had
suggested this line of conduct.
"There'll be worse mischief if you don't," Mr. Bott had answered. "He
can come back, and then he can do as he likes. I'll keep my eyes upon
them." And so he did keep his eyes upon them.
Again they went round the room,--or that small portion of the room
which the invading crowd had left to the dancers,--as though they
were enjoying themselves thoroughly, and in all innocence. But there
were others besides Mr. Bott who looked on and wondered. The Duchess
of St. Bungay saw it, and shook her head sorrowing,--for the Duchess
was good at heart. Mrs. Conway Sparkes saw it, and drank it down with
keen appetite,--as a thirsty man with a longing for wine will drink
champagne,--for Mrs. Conway Sparkes was not good at heart. Lady
Hartletop saw it, and just raised her eyebrows. It was nothing to
her. She liked to know what was going on, as such knowledge was
sometimes useful; but, as for heart,--what she had was, in such a
matter, neither good nor bad. Her blood circulated with its ordinary
precision, and, in that respect, no woman ever had a better heart.
Lady Monk saw it, and a frown gathered on her brow. "The fool!" she
said to herself. She knew that Burgo would not help his success by
drawing down the eyes of all her guests upon his attempt. In the
meantime Mr. Bott stood there, mounting still higher on his toes,
straightening his back against the wall.
"Did you get my letter?" Burgo said again, as soon as a moment's
pause gave him breath to speak. She did not answer him. Perhaps her
breath did not return to her as rapidly as his. But, of course, he
knew that she had received it. She would have quickly signified to
him that no letter from him had come to her hands had it not reached
her. "Let us go out upon the stairs," he said, "for I must speak to
you. Oh, if you could know what I suffered when you did not come to
Monkshade! Why did you not come?"
"I wish I had not come here," she said.
"Because you have seen me? That, at any rate, is not kind of you."
They were now making their way slowly down the stairs, in the crowd,
towards the supper-room. All the world was now intent on food and
drink, and they were only doing as others did. Lady Glencora was not
thinking where she went, but, glancing upwards, as she stood for a
moment wedged upon the stairs, her eyes met those of Mr. Bott. "A man
that can treat me like that deserves that I should leave him." That
was the thought that crossed her mind at the moment.
"I'll get you some champagne with water in it," said Burgo. "I know
that is what you like."
"Do not get me anything," she said. They had now got into the
room, and had therefore escaped Mr. Bott's eyes for the moment. "Mr.
Fitzgerald,"--and now her words had become a whisper in his ear,--"do
what I ask you. For the sake of the old days of which you spoke, the
dear old days which can never come again--"
"By G----! they can," said he. "They can come back, and they shall."
"Never. But you can still do me a kindness. Go away, and leave me.
Go to the sideboard, and then do not come back. You are doing me an
injury while you remain with me."
"Cora," he said,
But she had now recovered her presence of mind, and understood what
was going on. She was no longer in a dream, but words and things
bore to her again their proper meaning. "I will not have it, Mr.
Fitzgerald," she answered, speaking almost passionately. "I will not
have it. Do as I bid you. Go and leave me, and do not return. I tell
you that we are watched." This was still true, for Mr. Bott had now
again got his eyes on them, round the supper-room door. Whatever was
the reward for which he was working, private secretaryship or what
else, it must be owned that he worked hard for it. But there are
labours which are labours of love.
"Who is watching us?" said Burgo; "and what does it matter? If you
are minded to do as I have asked you--"
"But I am not so minded. Do you not know that you insult me by
proposing it?"
"Yes;--it is an insult, Cora,--unless such an offer be a joy to you.
If you wish to be my wife instead of his, it is no insult."
"How can I be that?" Her face was not turned to him, and her words
were half-pronounced, and in the lowest whisper, but, nevertheless,
he heard them.
"Come with me,--abroad, and you shall yet be my wife. You got my
letter? Do what I asked you, then. Come with me--to-night."
The pressing instance of the suggestion, the fixing of a present
hour, startled her back to her propriety. "Mr. Fitzgerald," she said,
"I asked you to go and leave me. If you do not do so, I must get up
and leave you. It will be much more difficult."
"And is that to be all?"
"All;--at any rate, now." Oh, Glencora! how could you be so weak? Why
did you add that word, "now"? In truth, she added it then, at that
moment, simply feeling that she could thus best secure an immediate
compliance with her request.
"I will not go," he said, looking at her sternly, and leaning before
her, with earnest face, with utter indifference as to the eyes of any
that might see them. "I will not go till you tell me that you will
see me again."
"I will," she said in that low, all-but-unuttered whisper.
"When,--when,--when?" he asked.
Looking up again towards the doorway, in fear of Mr. Bott's eyes, she
saw the face of Mr. Palliser as he entered the room. Mr. Bott had also
seen him, and had tried to clutch him by the arm; but Mr. Palliser
had shaken him off, apparently with indifference,--had got rid of
him, as it were, without noticing him. Lady Glencora, when she saw
her husband, immediately recovered her courage. She would not cower
before him, or show herself ashamed of what she had done. For the
matter of that, if he pressed her on the subject, she could bring
herself to tell him that she loved Burgo Fitzgerald much more easily
than she could whisper such a word to Burgo himself. Mr. Bott's eyes
were odious to her as they watched her; but her husband's glance
she could meet without quailing before it. "Here is Mr. Palliser,"
said she, speaking again in her ordinary clear-toned voice. Burgo
immediately rose from his seat with a start, and turned quickly
towards the door; but Lady Glencora kept her chair.
Mr. Palliser made his way as best he could through the crowd up to
his wife. He, too, kept his countenance without betraying his secret.
There was neither anger nor dismay in his face, nor was there any
untoward hurry in his movement. Burgo stood aside as he came up, and
Lady Glencora was the first to speak. "I thought you were gone home
hours ago," she said.
"I did go home," he answered, "but I thought I might as well come
back for you."
"What a model of a husband! Well; I am ready. Only, what shall we do
about Jane? Mr. Fitzgerald, I left a scarf in your aunt's room,--a
little black and yellow scarf,--would you mind getting it for me?"
"I will fetch it," said Mr. Palliser; "and I will tell your cousin
that the carriage shall come back for her."
"If you will allow me--" said Burgo.
"I will do it," said Mr. Palliser; and away he went, making his slow
progress up through the crowd, ordering his carriage as he passed
through the hall, and leaving Mr. Bott still watching at the door.
Lady Glencora resolved that she would say nothing to Burgo while her
husband was gone. There was a touch of chivalry in his leaving them
again together, which so far conquered her. He might have bade her
leave the scarf, and come at once. She had seen, moreover, that he
had not spoken to Mr. Bott, and was thankful to him also for that.
Burgo also seemed to have become aware that his chance for that
time was over. "I will say good-night," he said. "Good-night, Mr.
Fitzgerald," she answered, giving him her hand. He pressed it for a
moment, and then turned and went. When Mr. Palliser came back he was
no more to be seen.
Lady Glencora was at the dining-room door when her husband returned,
standing close to Mr. Bott. Mr. Bott had spoken to her, but she made
no reply. He spoke again, but her face remained as immovable as though
she had been deaf. "And what shall we do about Mrs. Marsham?" she
said, quite out loud, as soon as she put her hand on her husband's
arm. "I had forgotten her."
"Mrs. Marsham has gone home," he replied.
"Have you seen her?"
"Yes."
"When did you see her?"
"She came to Park Lane."
"What made her do that?"
These questions were asked and answered as he was putting her into
the carriage. She got in just as she asked the last, and he, as he
took his seat, did not find it necessary to answer it. But that would
not serve her turn. "What made Mrs. Marsham go to you at Park Lane
after she left Lady Monk's?" she asked again. Mr. Palliser sat silent,
not having made up his mind what he would say on the subject. "I
suppose she went," continued Lady Glencora, "to tell you that I was
dancing with Mr. Fitzgerald. Was that it?"
"I think, Glencora, we had better not discuss it now."
"I don't mean to discuss it now, or ever. If you did not wish me
to see Mr. Fitzgerald you should not have sent me to Lady Monk's.
But, Plantagenet, I hope you will forgive me if I say that no
consideration shall induce me to receive again as a guest, in my own
house, either Mrs. Marsham or Mr. Bott."
Mr. Palliser absolutely declined to say anything on the subject on
that occasion, and the evening of Lady Monk's party in this way came
to an end.