year or two. But I agree with you, she is not suited for it, and must
be well taken care of."
"Indeed, I must take care of her!" Rosa said no more, and her aunt
never supposed that she had any hesitation as to availing herself of the
excellent opportunity before her; and, indeed, as Rosa listened, she
felt that her alternative grew more remote. But it lost nothing in
fascination.
After they had been about a week at Kensington some tickets were sent to
Mrs Grey for `The School for Scandal'--then being performed. Violante
did not go: she shrank from the very thought of a theatre; and, as Rosa
was by no means anxious to expose her to unnecessary cold and fatigue,
she remained at home, while Mr Grey took his eldest daughter and Rosa.
It was a long time since Rosa had seen any acting, and she sat like one
bewitched, with hot cheeks and bright eyes, her hands clasped before
her--now delighted, now impatient--her lips moving in sympathy or
correction--absorbed as she had not been for years. Mr Grey thought
what a very handsome young woman his niece was, with her fine eyes and
intense expression; but her cousin Beatrice, who had been in the old
days more than anyone else her friend, watched her curiously, and when
they came home said:
"Come into my room, and brush your hair, and then you will not disturb
Violante! So you are as fond of acting as ever, Rosa?"
"Fond of it!" ejaculated Rosa. "Oh, Trixy, I must, I must! I can't
give it up again. Surely there must be some way!"
"Rosa! you don't mean to say you are thinking of it seriously?"
"It would be just life to me," said Rosa, passionately, and almost
crying, as she brushed her hair over her face.
Miss Grey laid aside a modest portion of accessory plaits as she said,
gravely--
"You see, Rosa, `life,' as you call it, is just what most people don't
get. And I'm sure you would not like it; you are not the sort of girl."
"Yes, I am!" said Rosa, with petulance. "Nobody understands. They
think because I _can_ work and teach, and take care of myself and other
people, and look serious, that that's all of me, and that I'm good and
quiet. But I'm _not_, if being good means being contented in--in a pond
with a fence all round it. I should _like_ to knock about, have to take
care of myself, and live in a lodging! I _like_ the gas and the fun,
and the ups and downs of it, and not being sure of succeeding; and if
Violante was married I'd do it to-morrow!"
"But, Rosa--"
"But, Trixy, I mean what I say. I _can_ act as I can do nothing else;
but whether it is possible for me to be an actress is another thing, I
know very well. It couldn't make much difference to all of you--could
it?"
"Well, no," said Beatrice, "I don't think, we should consider that it
did. But, Rosa, you would either have to begin in the smallest possible
way, or else study for years; and how could you pay for getting yourself
taught? You might ask Mr A--," mentioning an eminent actor of
well-known kindness and respectability; "he sometimes comes here. But
when there's the other thing all ready for you!"
"Oh, Trixy, I know," said Rosa. "But of course," she added, "I can't be
expected to feel that it would be unsuitable. If I had a voice--oh! if
I had--what it would have saved Violante and me!"
"You gave up the idea once before," said Beatrice.
"Yes," said Rosa, rather faintly.
"There was something then you would have liked better still, eh! Rose?"
"Yes," said Rosa, with a sudden heart-throb.
"I'm afraid he wasn't good for much, Rosy," said her cousin, patting her
hair.
"You never hear of him now?" said Rosa.
"Never. Everyone doesn't get Lucy's luck, you know, and when things go
wrong one must put up with second-best."
"I am to have neither first or second," said Rosa.
"Well, there's a good deal of third in the world, and one gets on with
it."
"The long and the short of it is," said Rosa, as she stood up to go,
"that that's my wish, but I can't turn the world upside down to get it,
and I can live without it, as I've done before. Why, I almost forgot it
till things went wrong with Violante. Anyhow, I must take care of her."
Beatrice Grey, spite of her easy life, had not found the world
accommodate itself so exactly to her wishes as to be surprised at the
necessity for submission, but she was struck by Rosa's last words, and
said: "You're the best girl I know, Rosa."
"I mustn't go to many plays if you are to hold that opinion long,"
replied Rosa, as she went away.
"Did you enjoy yourself, Rosina mia?" said Violante, sleepily.
"Yes, my darling," said Rosa, "so much so that next time you must come
and look after me."
Violante gave a little sleepy laugh at this absurd notion, as her
sister, wakeful with excitement, lay down by her side.
Rosa was not exactly conscious of making a sacrifice: she rather felt
herself yielding to a powerful necessity. Of course, the family
well-being and Violante's happiness must come first, whatever happened.
She must act prudently. Life had taught her prudence; only her hot
nature rebelled sometimes. Her age and experience taught her that she
could live without being an actress. She lay thinking of her life and
her sister's--not cynically, but without any youthful illusions. Her
first ambition seemed impracticable--her first love was a thing of the
past.
PART FOUR, CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.
OLD ACQUAINTANCE.
"Strange, yet familiar things."
The scene of Violante's first party was a great rambling house in
Kensington--half old, half new--with odd passages and corners, and steps
up and down; incongruous, and yet comfortable; and full of all the
daring innovations and the unexpected revivals of an artist's taste.
Mr Stanforth gave his visitors pleasant things to look at, and pleasant
people to talk to; and, while a fair share both of things and people
were enough out of the common to amuse--by exciting criticism, here and
there was a work of art, and here and there a famous person standing on
a higher level, and rousing enthusiasm and admiration. Besides, the
large and lively family party were always ready for schemes of
amusement; and there were no such private theatricals, no such
drawing-room concerts and impromptu dances anywhere else--at least, so
thought the Miss Greys. To the young Violante the scene had all the
wonder of absolute novelty; to her sister the tender interest of an
unforgotten past. Rosa remembered the play which she had acted there,
when applause had lighted the first spark of ambition; but she seemed to
live over again the day, three months later, when that fire had paled
before an intenser flame. The scene was the same, but the play had been
altered to make room for new actors; and Violante, in her white dress,
with Christmas roses crowning her soft cloudy hair, stood in the front.
"That girl is like starlight," someone said, and Rosa speedily became
aware that her sister was one of the things to be looked at to-night.
Rosa herself received a warm greeting; and their kind and pleasant host
took the two sisters into his studio, that the younger one, at least,
might both see and be seen.
"I am afraid the artistic eyes of Italy will see much to criticise," he
said, with a smile.
"You are used to pictures?"
"I thought they were all painted long ago," said Violante, "except the
copies;" for Civita Bella had not offered many facilities or attractions
to painters, and having been behind the scenes of one art did not lessen
her wonder at the other. She stared in amazement at recognising the
original of a peasant-girl on the wall in the fashionably-dressed young
lady who was showing off the pictures, and when the same face which she
had admired under a helmet in a picture was pointed out to her above a
white tie among the guests; and smiled as its owner handed her a seat,
she felt as if the world was very wonderful, unconscious of her own
similar and very superior claims to be an object of interest.
"Come and see papa's new picture!" said one of the girls of the house,
smiling, to a new arrival, and James Crichton followed her to the door
of the studio.
"Isn't it a lovely one?" she said.
There stood Violante, as he had seen her once before, the centre of a
group, not now pale and frightened, but flushed and smiling; silent,
indeed, and shy, but with eyes that were full of life; her childish
pathetic charm brightened into unmistakable beauty; the great artist
enlightening her ignorance, and half the young men in the company seized
with artistic fervour.
"Don't break the spell," said Jem, drawing back. He had had some vague
notion of the possibility of seeing her at this party, but never like
this.
There was generally a little dancing at the Stanforths in the course of
the evening, and now James beheld the artist's handsome model petition
Violante for a quadrille with considerable _empressement_. She looked a
little shy and doubtful, but finally let him lead her away; while as he
passed Miss Stanforth he smiled and whispered triumphantly, "I've got
the beauty!"
And James was suddenly seized with a sensation of fierce unreasonable
jealousy on his brother's account. "Was this the state of things he had
wasted his pity upon? She had not fretted much! After all poor old
Hugh had gone through, while he was in trouble and working hard, unable
to bear the sound of her name, _she_ could laugh and flirt and enjoy
herself. It was always the way!" In short, if James had ardently
desired that his brother should win Violante he could not have been more
put out at seeing her the object of other men's attention, or at
watching her gradually take courage as her partner evidently took pains
to teach her the unfamiliar figures. How graceful she was and how sweet
her smile!
Jem's anger was never very long-lived, and before the end of the
quadrille he was smiling to himself and speculating on what she would
say when he made himself known to her. He turned a little as this
thought occurred to him, and came face to face with Rosa Mattei. She
started violently, evidently quite unprepared to see him, and then made
a stiff little bow.
"Ah, you have met!" exclaimed Miss Grey, joining them. "I did not tell
my cousin she was to meet a friend."
"I had no notion of it," said Rosa, abruptly.
"_I_ was not altogether unprepared," said James. "Signor Mattei is not
with you?"
"No. My father is in Florence."
"And your sister?--I hope she is well."
"She is very well, thank you."
Both Jem and Rosa felt antagonistic. "Why," thought she, "had he come
like a ghost to disturb Violante's peace?"
"What had brought these girls to England?" thought he. "Did they want
to seek Hugh out?"
There was an awkward little pause, which, was broken by a lady, a friend
of James's mother, who came up to him and asked after his brother.
"Very well, thank you. He is at home--not here," returned James,
conscious that Rosa looked relieved at the intelligence.
"And your cousin Arthur?"
"Well, we have pretty good accounts from him, I think. Miss Mattei," he
added, "I believe you met my cousin at Caletto."
"_Your_ cousin! Mr Pinsher--Spencer. Ah, I see! our Italian friend
mistook the name; but we certainly did meet an English gentleman at
Caletto."
James never could endure to be on bad terms with anyone. The first
attempt at a snub, far from repelling him, only set him to work to find
a vulnerable point. Rosa's stiffness was irresistible, and, besides, he
was anxious to hear of Arthur.
"How very singular!" he said. "He mentioned you in one of his letters.
Do tell me, Miss Mattei, if he struck you as looking out of health or
spirits?"
"No; I think he was quite well," said Rosa; then, remembering Violante's
impression: "He may have seemed rather sad at times, but I did not see
much of him."
"He went abroad to try to recover from a great shock. The lady he was
engaged to died."
"How very sad!" exclaimed Rosa, feeling that this was much at variance
with her distrustful impressions.
"Yes. We have had a good deal of trouble since we met last, Miss
Mattei. Holidays are soon over in this work-a-day world."
James looked rather sentimental, though his expressions were quite
genuine.
"We have had some trouble too," said Rosa, "but it is now, I hope, over.
I have occupation in London, and my sister is going to school."
"To school! Well, this is a world of changes; but there was something
in all that sunshine and blue sky after all. And the Tollemaches; oh,
weren't the Tollemaches really nice people--so kind!"
Before Rosa could answer, Violante's partner brought her back. James
drew out of sight for a moment. Away from the overpowering force of
Hugh's reality, he was possessed by a lively interest in the strange
turns events were taking. He studied the situation as if it had been a
work of art and he a collector, not cynically or critically, but with
the affectionate interest of an amateur in picturesque episodes.
Violante looked bright-eyed and rosy.
"Did you see, Rosina? I have been dancing. That was such a nice
partner! I was not afraid of him long. And there is his picture. Did
you see?"
"Oh, yes, dear; I saw it all," said Rosa; while James thought: "Not
inconsolable!" Suddenly Violante looked up and saw him. She turned
pale, then suddenly out of her eyes flashed a look of unspeakable joy,
that outshone her childish gaiety and put it out of sight. She glanced
all round the room with an eagerness more touching and convincing than
any degree of alarm or agitation; and, perhaps, her stage-training in
self-command stood her in good stead, for she made no scene, but took
James's offered hand, and looked in his face with a look of happy
expectation that touched him more than he could say.
"So you have come to England, mademoiselle," he said. "Do you like it?
I have been talking to your sister, and she tells me you met my cousin--
in Italy."
"Signor Arthur!" exclaimed Violante, with instant comprehension.
"Yes--Arthur Spencer--do you recollect him?"
"Oh, yes! he told me about England," said Violante, eagerly; but even
while she spoke the brightness began to fade out of her face. She
_knew_ that Hugh was not there, and that James was not going to speak to
her about him. He, on his side, felt the attitude he was forced to
assume so embarrassing that he gladly availed himself of the first
excuse to turn away. She, poor child, could only feel that suddenly her
part in this delightful party became like a part in a play. She must
act her own character, crush back her surprise and pain, and look as
usual. Perhaps, nothing but long habit could have enabled her to do so;
she found herself smiling her old stage smile, her fingers felt cold as
they used to do at the opera, her eyes took their old stupid look, and
the music surged in her ears like the music of the opera orchestra. She
was not going to cry or faint now any more than then, but all her sweet
spontaneous pleasure was destroyed.
"I felt as if I was acting," was all she said to Rosa, afterwards, when
the confusing scene was over, and she and her sister were alone.
"My darling," said Rosa, "it was too hard that your pleasure should be
spoilt like this." Rosa was sitting by their bed-room lire, and
Violante, half-undressed, sat on the rug leaning against her knees. She
did not answer for a moment, and then said, rather imperiously:
"Tell me everything he said to you."
"I don't think he was pleased to see us," said Rosa. "I heard him say
his brother was in the country, and that he was quite well."
"Ah!" murmured Violante.
"And he told me that Signor Arthur, as you call him, had lost the girl
he was engaged to--that she is dead."
"I knew she was dead: he told me so."
"Did he? but, in short, Violante, I hope you won't let this meeting
dwell in your mind. What is past, is past; and--you won't be unhappy,
my child, will you?"
"No," said Violante, slowly, and with some reserve.
She was disturbed and agitated; but she was very far from hopeless. Now
that the seas did not divide them, anything seemed possible: she might
meet him in the street--he might seek her again. But slow days passed,
and she did not see him, while James, the Greys heard, went out of town
for Christmas. The poor child had many weary yearning hours; but
pleasure and novelty and affectionate kindness were not powerless; nor
was she miserable. During these days Rosa's choice of an occupation was
determined--at any rate, for the present. Her uncle offered her a home
in his house until her father came to England, if she accepted the
situation of daily governess to Mrs Bosanquet. She found that the
stage could not be for the present remunerative: and, even with
Violante's schooling provided for, the two sisters had to clothe
themselves; and she could not bear to be a burden on such kind
relations. So when the moment of decision came she told her aunt that
she would do her best for the little Bosanquets, and thanked her
heartily for her recommendation.
"I can do it, as I've done before," she said, "and I _will_. But now,
Aunt Beatrice, will you tell me something about this school for
Violante? Do they know who she is?"
"Oh, yes. Miss Venning is an old friend of mine. We haven't met for
some years now; but she is a most excellent and kind-hearted person; and
her two sisters, who are quite young, are, I believe, admirable. I am
sure Violante will meet with nothing but kindness, and it will do her
good to fend for herself a little."
"Yes, I suppose so," said Rosa doubtfully, "and she must learn
self-reliance, poor child!"
She thought secretly that it would be well to shield Violante from
encounters with James Crichton, and that at least she would be safe at
school. But Rosa was very miserable at this time. She had not given up
her prospects without scorching tears of disappointment. Four years
back seemed nearly as recent to her regretful memory as four months to
Violante's; and now she must part with her child and lose the caresses
that were the sweetest things in life to her. Violante grew frightened
as the time drew near, and clung to her more closely than ever; but she
never uttered a word of resistance, and regarded the going to school, as
she had done the coming to England, with the same curious under-current
of inclination.
In the middle of January Mrs Grey received a letter from Miss Venning,
saying:
"My sister Florence has been in London, and will return on the 18th. If
you would like it she will bring your niece back with her--it is the day
we re-open school."
This arrangement was gladly acceded to; and on a clear cold morning
Violante, well wrapped up, walked up and down the long platform from
which she was to start, furtively holding Rosa's fingers in her muff,
and looking about for a school-mistress very unlike the tall, fair,
rosy-faced girl who came rapidly up to the appointed meeting-place.
"Miss Florence Venning?" said Mrs Grey. "How do you do? Here are my
nieces, and this is Violante."
Florence shook hands with them, and answered enquiries for her eldest
sister, and then, as Mrs Grey said something aside about her niece's
shyness and grief at leaving her sister, she answered, in a kind, yet
matter-of-course manner:
"Oh, yes. I daresay she minds it very much; but she'll soon be quite
happy again, I'm sure. I hope we shall be very good friends."
"You are a governess, too, aren't you?" she added, to Rosa, with a view
to making acquaintance.
"Yes," said Rosa, rather faintly.
"I think one is quite glad to get to work again after the holidays. I
always feel ready to begin. We ought to get in, I think. Will you come
now, signorina? That is what we must call you, I suppose?"
Flossy's breezy abruptness was better, perhaps, than a more open
sympathy. But when she saw the two sisters cling together, and heard
Rosa's murmured "My darling, my darling!" her blue eyes filled with
quick, kindly tears.
"I'll take ever so much care of her!" she said, impulsively. "Don't be
afraid."
Poor Rosa looked quite fierce with misery; but the inexorable bell rang,
the door was shut between the sisters, and while the many struggles of
Rosa's last few weeks found vent in a fit of uncontrollable sobbing,
Violante was whirled away, through the frosty fields and wintry
hedgerows, to Oxley and Redhurst--to the very neighbourhood of Hugh
Crichton.
PART FIVE, CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.
HAUNTED.
"And ghosts unseen
Crept in between
And marred our harmony."
PART FIVE, CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.
SCHOOL.
"Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky."
The bells of Saint Michael's Church were ringing a joyous peal as
Violante set foot in Oxley. There had been a wedding in the morning,
and the bells were honouring the bride with a final peal, as the sun
sank low in the clear, cold sky and the wintry moon rose white against
the rosy sunset. Below, people stamped through the street, and the
horses' hoofs sounded sharply on the hard road. The lamps flashed out
one by one, the outlines of the buildings were still visible.
"That is the Bank," said Flossy, as they drove past.
Violante looked, and saw the handsome white building, already closed for
the night, and the dark red house beside it where one light showed in an
upstair window. She was too much bewildered to care to speculate about
it. They passed out of the town along the road, with its pretty villas
with cheerful lights shining from the windows, past the nursery-gardens
and scattered cottages, beyond which, the last house in the borough of
Oxley, stood Oxley Manor.
"Here we are," said Flossy, brightly. "We shall be just in time for
some tea. Ah, how d'ye do, Anne," to the servant that opened the door.
"Yes; half-a-crown, that's right. This is Miss Mattei's luggage. Come
in, signorina! Well, Mary, here she is."
And Violante found herself warmly and kindly greeted and led into a
pleasantly-lighted drawing-room, while Miss Venning enquired for her
aunt and cousins.
"They are quite well, signora," said Violante, in her soft, liquid
voice. She felt shy, but then she was not expected to do anything but
speak when she was spoken to, and, being confiding as well as timid, she
warmed at once to a kind word.
"Give them some tea, Clarissa," said Miss Venning. "They have had a
very cold journey, and then Miss Mattei can take off her things before
the school tea."
"We arrived to the sound of wedding bells. For Ada Morrison, I
suppose?" said Flossy.
"Yes; it has made quite an auspicious beginning for you, my dear," to
Violante.
"That is pleasant," said Violante, shyly.
"Yes; a good beginning is half-way to a good ending. So remember that,
my dear, in all your work," said Miss Venning, sonorously.
"Now come with me," said Florence, "and I will introduce you to Edith
Robertson. She teaches the little ones English and drawing and learns
the higher branches."
Whether Violante had much idea of what fruit might grow in this lofty
situation may be doubted, but she followed Flossy to a large room,
brightly lit with gas, where, what Violante afterwards described to Rosa
as "as many girls as there are singers in a chorus," were enjoying the
leisure of recent arrival after the holidays. There was a cry of "Miss
Florence, Miss Florence!" and such a confusion of greetings and embraces
ensued as made Violante quite dizzy; but presently Florence extricated
from the crowd a short, plain, clever-faced girl of nineteen or twenty,
introduced her as Miss Robertson, and told her to show Violante her room
and to tell her a few of the ways of the house, while she returned to
her sisters.
"Well," she cried, as she came back into the drawing-room and sat down
on the rug for a comfortable chat. "Isn't she a little dear? She
cried, and so did her sister, who looks a famous person; but she soon
cheered up."
"And, pray, do you expect her to be of any use?" asked Clarissa. "She
looks about as much like a governess as--"
"A public singer," said Flossy.
"Yes," said Miss Venning. "Mrs Grey was quite right in saying there
was nothing unsuitable in her appearance."
"Oh, nor in herself," said Flossy. "She is a mere child, evidently;
but, of course, she can speak her own language, and that is all we want.
And it will be very interesting to study a mind that has had so
different an experience from one's own."
"Always presupposing," said Clarissa, "that she has a mind to study."