COUNT PATEROFF AND HIS SISTER.
After an interval of some weeks, during which Harry had been down
at Clavering and had returned again to his work at the Adelphi,
Count Pateroff called again in Bloomsbury Square;--but Harry was
at Mr. Beilby's office. Harry at once returned the count's visit
at the address given in Mount Street. Madame was at home, said the
servant-girl, from which Harry was led to suppose that the count was
a married man; but Harry felt that he had no right to intrude upon
madame, so he simply left his card. Wishing, however, really to
have this interview, and having been lately elected at a club of
which he was rather proud, he wrote to the count asking him to dine
with him at the Beaufort. He explained that there was a strangers'
room,--which Pateroff knew very well, having often dined at the
Beaufort,--and said something as to a private little dinner for two,
thereby apologizing for proposing to the count to dine without other
guests. Pateroff accepted the invitation, and Harry, never having
done such a thing before, ordered his dinner with much nervousness.
The count was punctual, and the two men introduced themselves.
Harry had expected to see a handsome foreigner, with black hair,
polished whiskers, and probably a hook nose,--forty years of age or
thereabouts, but so got up as to look not much more than thirty.
But his guest was by no means a man of that stamp. Excepting that
the count's age was altogether uncertain, no correctness of guess
on that matter being possible by means of his appearance, Harry's
preconceived notion was wrong in every point. He was a fair man, with
a broad fair face, and very light blue eyes; his forehead was low,
but broad; he wore no whiskers, but bore on his lip a heavy moustache
which was not grey, but perfectly white--white it was with years of
course, but yet it gave no sign of age to his face. He was well made,
active, and somewhat broad in the shoulders, though rather below the
middle height. But for a certain ease of manner which he possessed,
accompanied by something of restlessness in his eye, any one would
have taken him for an Englishman. And his speech hardly betrayed that
he was not English. Harry, knowing that he was a foreigner, noticed
now and again some little acquired distinctness of speech which is
hardly natural to a native; but otherwise there was nothing in his
tongue to betray him.
"I am sorry that you should have had so much trouble," he said,
shaking hands with Harry. Clavering declared that he had incurred no
trouble, and declared also that he would be only too happy to have
taken any trouble in obeying a behest from his friend Lady Ongar. Had
he been a Pole as was the count, he would not have forgotten to add
that he would have been equally willing to exert himself with the
view of making the count's acquaintance; but being simply a young
Englishman, he was much too awkward for any such courtesy as that.
The count observed the omission, smiled, and bowed. Then he spoke of
the weather, and said that London was a magnificent city. Oh, yes,
he knew London well,--had known it these twenty years;--had been
for fifteen years a member of the Travellers';--he liked everything
English, except hunting. English hunting he had found to be dull
work. But he liked shooting for an hour or two. He could not rival,
he said, the intense energy of an Englishman, who would work all day
with his guns harder than ploughmen with their ploughs. Englishmen
sported, he said, as though more than their bread,--as though their
honour, their wives, their souls, depended on it. It was very fine!
He often wished that he was an Englishman. Then he shrugged his
shoulders.
Harry was very anxious to commence a conversation about Lady Ongar,
but he did not know how at first to introduce her name. Count
Pateroff had come to him at Lady Ongar's request, and therefore, as
he thought, the count should have been the first to mention her. But
the count seemed to be enjoying his dinner without any thought either
of Lady Ongar or of her late husband. At this time he had been down
to Ongar Park, on that mission which had been, as we know, futile;
but he said no word of that to Harry. He seemed to enjoy his dinner
thoroughly, and made himself very agreeable. When the wine was
discussed he told Harry that a certain vintage of Moselle was very
famous at the Beaufort. Harry ordered the wine of course, and was
delighted to give his guest the best of everything; but he was a
little annoyed at finding that the stranger knew his club better than
he knew it himself. Slowly the count ate his dinner, enjoying every
morsel that he took with that thoughtful, conscious pleasure which
young men never attain in eating and drinking, and which men as they
grow older so often forget to acquire. But the count never forgot any
of his own capacities for pleasure, and in all things made the most
of his own resources. To be rich is not to have one or ten thousand a
year, but to be able to get out of that one or ten thousand all that
every pound, and every shilling, and every penny will give you. After
this fashion the count was a rich man.
"You don't sit after dinner here, I suppose," said the count, when
he had completed an elaborate washing of his mouth and moustache. "I
like this club because we who are strangers have so charming a room
for our smoking. It is the best club in London for men who do not
belong to it."
It occurred to Harry that in the smoking-room there could be no
privacy. Three or four men had already spoken to the count, showing
that he was well known, giving notice, as it were, that Pateroff
would become a public man when once he was placed in a public circle.
To have given a dinner to the count, and to have spoken no word
to him about Lady Ongar, would be by no means satisfactory to
Harry's feelings, though, as it appeared, it might be sufficiently
satisfactory to the guest. Harry therefore suggested one bottle of
claret. The count agreed, expressing an opinion that the 51 Lafitte
was unexceptional. The 51 Lafitte was ordered, and Harry, as he
filled his glass, considered the way in which his subject should be
introduced.
"You knew Lord Ongar, I think, abroad?"
"Lord Ongar,--abroad! Oh, yes, very well; and for many years here in
London; and at Vienna; and very early in life at St. Petersburg. I
knew Lord Ongar first in Russia when he was attached to the embassy
as Frederic Courton. His father, Lord Courton, was then alive, as was
also his grandfather. He was a nice, good-looking lad then."
"As regards his being nice, he seems to have changed a good deal
before he died." This the count noticed by simply shrugging his
shoulders and smiling as he sipped his wine. "By all that I can hear
he became a horrid brute when he married," said Harry, energetically.
"He was not pleasant when he was ill at Florence," said the count.
"She must have had a terrible time with him," said Harry.
The count put up his hands, again shrugged his shoulders, and then
shook his head. "She knew he was no longer an Adonis when he married
her."
"An Adonis! No; she did not expect an Adonis; but she thought he
would have something of the honour and feelings of a man."
"She found it uncomfortable, no doubt. He did too much of this, you
know," said the count, raising his glass to his lips; "and he didn't
do it with 51 Lafitte. That was Ongar's fault. All the world knew it
for the last ten years. No one knew it better than Hugh Clavering."
"But--" said Harry, and then he stopped. He hardly knew what it was
that he wished to learn from the man, though he certainly did wish
to learn something. He had thought that the count would himself have
talked about Lady Ongar and those Florentine days, but this he did
not seem disposed to do. "Shall we have our cigars now?" said Count
Pateroff.
"One moment, if you don't mind."
"Certainly, certainly. There is no hurry."
"You will take no more wine?"
"No more wine. I take my wine at dinner, as you saw."
"I want to ask you one special question,--about Lady Ongar."
"I will say anything in her favour that you please. I am always ready
to say anything in the favour of any lady, and, if needs be, to swear
it. But anything against any lady nobody ever heard me say."
Harry was sharp enough to perceive that any assertion made under
such a stipulation was worse than nothing. It was as when a man, in
denying the truth of a statement, does so with an assurance that on
that subject he should consider himself justified in telling any
number of lies. "I did not write the book,--but you have no right to
ask the question; and I should say that I had not, even if I had."
Pateroff was speaking of Lady Ongar in this way, and Harry hated him
for doing so.
"I don't want you to say any good of her," said he, "or any evil."
"I certainly shall say no evil of her."
"But I think you know that she has been most cruelly treated."
"Well, there is about seven--thousand--pounds a year, I think!
Seven--thousand--a year! Not francs, but pounds! We poor foreigners
lose ourselves in amazement when we hear about your English fortunes.
Seven thousand pounds a year for a lady all alone, and a beau-tiful
house! A house so beautiful, they tell me!"
"What has that to do with it?" said Harry; whereupon the count again
shrugged his shoulders. "What has that to do with it? Because the man
was rich he was not justified in ill-treating his wife. Did he not
bring false accusations against her, in order that he might rob her
after his death of all that of which you think so much? Did he not
bear false witness against her, to his own dishonour?"
[Illustration: "Did he not bear false witness against her?"]
"She has got the money, I think,--and the beautiful house."
"But her name has been covered with lies."
"What can I do? Why do you ask me? I know nothing. Look here, Mr.
Clavering, if you want to make any inquiry you had better go to my
sister. I don't see what good it will do, but she will talk to you by
the hour together, if you wish it. Let us smoke."
"Your sister?"
"Yes, my sister. Madame Gordeloup is her name. Has not Lady Ongar
mentioned my sister? They are inseparables. My sister lives in Mount
Street."
"With you?"
"No, not with me; I do not live in Mount Street. I have my address
sometimes at her house."
"Madame Gordeloup?"
"Yes, Madame Gordeloup. She is Lady Ongar's friend. She will talk to
you."
"Will you introduce me, Count Pateroff?"
"Oh, no; it is not necessary. You can go to Mount Street, and she
will be delighted. There is the card. And now we will smoke." Harry
felt that he could not, with good-breeding, detain the count any
longer, and, therefore, rising from his chair, led the way into the
smoking-room. When there, the man of the world separated himself from
his young friend, of whose enthusiasm he had perhaps had enough, and
was soon engaged in conversation with sundry other men of his own
standing. Harry soon perceived that his guest had no further need
of his countenance, and went home to Bloomsbury Square by no means
satisfied with his new acquaintance.
On the next day he dined in Onslow Crescent with the Burtons, and
when there he said nothing about Lady Ongar or Count Pateroff. He
was not aware that he had any special reason for being silent on the
subject, but he made up his mind that the Burtons were people so far
removed in their sphere of life from Lady Ongar, that the subject
would not be suitable in Onslow Crescent. It was his lot in life to
be concerned with people of the two classes. He did not at all mean
to say,--even to himself,--that he liked the Ongar class the better;
but still, as such was his lot, he must take it as it came, and
entertain both subjects of interest, without any commingling of them
one with another. Of Lady Ongar and his early love he had spoken to
Florence at some length, but he did not find it necessary in his
letters to tell her anything of Count Pateroff and his dinner at the
Beaufort. Nor did he mention the dinner to his dear friend Cecilia.
On this occasion he made himself very happy in Onslow Crescent,
playing with the children, chatting with his friend, and enduring,
with a good grace, Theodore Burton's sarcasm, when that ever-studious
gentleman told him that he was only fit to go about tied to a woman's
apron-string.
On the following day, about five o'clock, he called in Mount Street.
He had doubted much as to this, thinking that at any rate he ought,
in the first place, to write and ask permission. But at last he
resolved that he would take the count at his word, and presenting
himself at the door, he sent up his name. Madame Gordeloup was at
home, and in a few moments he found himself in the room in which the
lady was sitting, and recognized her whom he had seen with Lady Ongar
in Bolton Street. She got up at once, having glanced at the name upon
the card, and seemed to know all about him. She shook hands with him
cordially, almost squeezing his hand, and bade him sit down near
her on the sofa. "She was so glad to see him, for her dear Julie's
sake. Julie, as of course he knew, was at 'Ongere' Park. Oh! so
happy,"--which, by the by, he did not know,--"and would be up in the
course of next week. So many things to do, of course, Mr. Clavering.
The house, and the servants, and the park, and the beautiful things
of a large country establishment! But it was delightful, and Julie
was quite happy!"
No people could be more unlike to each other than this brother and
his sister. No human being could have taken Madame Gordeloup for an
Englishwoman, though it might be difficult to judge, either from her
language or her appearance, of the nationality to which she belonged.
She spoke English with great fluency, but every word uttered declared
her not to be English. And when she was most fluent she was most
incorrect in her language. She was small, eager, and quick, and
appeared quite as anxious to talk as her brother had been to hold
his tongue. She lived in a small room on the first floor of a small
house; and it seemed to Harry that she lived alone. But he had
not been long there before she had told him all her history, and
explained to him most of her circumstances. That she kept back
something is probable; but how many are there who can afford to tell
everything?
Her husband was still living, but he was at St. Petersburg. He was
a Frenchman by family, but had been born in Russia. He had been
attached to the Russian embassy in London, but was now attached to
diplomacy in general in Russia. She did not join him because she
loved England,--oh, so much! And, perhaps, her husband might come
back again some day. She did not say that she had not seen him for
ten years, and was not quite sure whether he was dead or alive; but
had she made a clean breast in all things, she might have done so.
She said that she was a good deal still at the Russian embassy; but
she did not say that she herself was a paid spy. Nor do I say so now,
positively; but that was the character given to her by many who knew
her. She called her brother Edouard, as though Harry had known the
count all his life; and always spoke of Lady Ongar as Julie. She
uttered one or two little hints which seemed to imply that she knew
everything that had passed between "Julie" and Harry Clavering in
early days; and never mentioned Lord Ongar without some term of
violent abuse.
"Horrid wretch!" she said, pausing over all the _r's_ in the name she
had called him. "It began, you know, from the very first. Of course
he had been a fool. An old roué is always a fool to marry. What does
he get, you know, for his money? A pretty face. He's tired of that
as soon as it's his own. Is it not so, Mr. Clavering? But other
people ain't tired of it, and then he becomes jealous. But Lord Ongar
was not jealous. He was not man enough to be jealous. Hor-r-rid
wr-retch!" She then went on telling many things which, as he
listened, almost made Harry Clavering's hair stand on end, and which
must not be repeated here. She herself had met her brother in Paris,
and had been with him when they encountered the Ongars in that
capital. According to her showing, they had, all of them, been
together nearly from that time to the day of Lord Ongar's death. But
Harry soon learned to feel that he could not believe all that the
little lady told him.
"Edouard was always with him. Poor Edouard!" she said. "There was
some money matter between them about écarté. When that wr-retch got
to be so bad, he did not like parting with his money,--not even when
he had lost it! And Julie had been so good always! Julie and Edouard
had done everything for the nasty wr-retch." Harry did not at all
like this mingling of the name of Julie and Edouard, though it did
not for a moment fill his mind with any suspicion as to Lady Ongar.
It made him feel, however, that this woman was dangerous, and that
her tongue might be very mischievous if she talked to others as she
did to him. As he looked at her,--and being now in her own room she
was not dressed with scrupulous care,--and as he listened to her, he
could not conceive what Lady Ongar had seen in her that she should
have made a friend of her. Her brother, the count, was undoubtedly
a gentleman in his manners and way of life, but he did not know by
what name to call this woman, who called Lady Ongar Julie. She was
altogether unlike any ladies whom he had known.
"You know that Julie will be in town next week?"
"No; I did not know when she was to return."
"Oh, yes; she has business with those people in South Audley Street
on Thursday. Poor dear! Those lawyers are so harassing! But when
people have seven--thousand--pounds a year, they must put up with
lawyers." As she pronounced those talismanic words, which to her were
almost celestial, Harry perceived for the first time that there was
some sort of resemblance between her and the count. He could see that
they were brother and sister. "I shall go to her directly she comes,
and of course I will tell her how good you have been to come to
me. And Edouard has been dining with you? How good of you. He told
me how charming you are,"--Harry was quite sure then that she was
fibbing,--"and that it was so pleasant! Edouard is very much attached
to Julie; very much. Though, of course, all that was mere nonsense;
just lies told by that wicked lord. Bah! what did he know?" Harry by
this time was beginning to wish that he had never found his way to
Mount Street.
"Of course they were lies," he said roughly.
"Of course, mon cher. Those things always are lies, and so wicked!
What good do they do?"
"Lies never do any good," said Harry.
To so wide a proposition as this madame was not prepared to give an
unconditional assent; she therefore shrugged her shoulders and once
again looked like her brother.
"Ah!" she said. "Julie is a happy woman now. Seven--thousand--pounds
a year! One does not know how to believe it; does one?"
"I never heard the amount of her income," said Harry.
"It is all that," said the Franco-Pole, energetically, "every franc
of it, besides the house! I know it. She told me herself. Yes. What
woman would risk that, you know; and his life, you may say, as good
as gone? Of course they were lies."
"I don't think you understand her, Madame Gordeloup."
"Oh, yes; I know her, so well. And love her--oh, Mr. Clavering, I
love her so dearly! Is she not charming? So beautiful you know, and
grand. Such a will, too! That is what I like in a woman. Such a
courage! She never flinched in those horrid days, never. And when he
called her,--you know what,--she only looked at him, just looked at
him, miserable object. Oh, it was beautiful!" And Madame Gordeloup,
rising in her energy from her seat for the purpose, strove to throw
upon Harry such another glance as the injured, insulted wife had
thrown upon her foul-tongued, dying lord.
"She will marry," said Madame Gordeloup, changing her tone with a
suddenness that made Harry start; "yes, she will marry of course.
Your English widows always marry if they have money. They are wrong,
and she will be wrong; but she will marry."
"I do not know how that may be," said Harry, looking foolish.
"I tell you I know she will marry, Mr. Clavering; I told Edouard so
yesterday. He merely smiled. It would hardly do for him, she has so
much will. Edouard has a will also."
"All men have, I suppose."
"Ah, yes; but there is a difference. A sum of money down, if a man is
to marry, is better than a widow's dower. If she dies, you know, he
looks so foolish. And she is grand and will want to spend everything.
Is she much older than you, Mr. Clavering? Of course I know Julie's
age, though perhaps you do not. What will you give me to tell?" And
the woman leered at him with a smile which made Harry think that she
was almost more than mortal. He found himself quite unable to cope
with her in conversation, and soon after this got up to take his
leave. "You will come again," she said. "Do. I like you so much. And
when Julie is in town, we shall be able to see her together, and I
will be your friend. Believe me."
Harry was very far from believing her, and did not in the least
require her friendship. Her friendship indeed! How could any decent
English man or woman wish for the friendship of such a creature as
that? It was thus that he thought of her as he walked away from Mount
Street, making heavy accusations, within his own breast, against Lady
Ongar as he did so. Julia! He repeated the name over to himself a
dozen times, thinking that the flavour of it was lost since it had
been contaminated so often by that vile tongue. But what concern was
it of his? Let her be Julia to whom she would, she could never be
Julia again to him. But she was his friend--Lady Ongar, and he told
himself plainly that his friend had been wrong in having permitted
herself to hold any intimacy with such a woman as that. No doubt Lady
Ongar had been subjected to very trying troubles in the last months
of her husband's life, but no circumstances could justify her, if she
continued to endorse the false cordiality of that horribly vulgar
and evil-minded little woman. As regarded the grave charges brought
against Lady Ongar, Harry still gave no credit to them, still looked
upon them as calumnies, in spite of the damning advocacy of Sophie
and her brother; but he felt that she must have dabbled in very
dirty water to have returned to England with such claimants on her
friendship as these. He had not much admired the count, but the
count's sister had been odious to him. "I will be your friend.
Believe me." Harry Clavering stamped upon the pavement as he
thought of the little Pole's offer to him. She be his friend! No,
indeed;--not if there were no other friend for him in all London.
Sophie, too, had her thoughts about him. Sophie was very anxious
in this matter, and was resolved to stick as close to her Julie as
possible. "I will be his friend or his enemy;--let him choose." That
had been Sophie's reflection on the matter when she was left alone.