IN WHICH THE PATIENT READER IS INTRODUCED TO AN ALMOST HUMAN DUCHESS
"Very dramatic, sir! Though, indeed, you missed an opportunity,
and--gracious heaven, how he frowns!" A woman's voice, sharp,
high-pitched, imperious.
Barnabas started, and glancing up, beheld an ancient lady, very
small and very upright; her cheeks were suspiciously pink, her curls
suspiciously dark and luxuriant, but her eyes were wonderfully young
and handsome; one slender mittened hand rested upon the ivory head
of a stick, and in the other she carried a small fan.
"Now, he stares!" she exclaimed, as she met his look. "Lud, how he
stares! As if I were a ghost, or a goblin, instead of only an old
woman with raddled cheeks and a wig. Oh, yes! I wear a wig, sir, and
very hideous I look without it! But even I was young once upon a
time--many, many years ago, and quite as beautiful as She, indeed,
rather more so, I think,--and I should have treated you exactly as
She did--only more so,--I mean Cleone. Your blonde women are either
too cold or overpassionate,--I know, for my hair was as yellow as
Cleone's, hundreds of years ago, and I think, more abundant. To-day,
being only a dyed brunette, I am neither too cold nor over-passionate,
and I tell you, sir, you deserved it, every word."
Here Barnabas rose, and, finding nothing to say, bowed.
"But," continued the ancient lady, sweeping him with a quick,
approving gaze, "I like your face, and y-e-s, you have a very good
leg. You also possess a tongue, perhaps, and can speak?"
"Given the occasion, madam," said Barnabas, smiling.
"Ha, sir! do I talk so much then? Well, perhaps I do, for when a
woman ceases to talk she's dead, and I'm very much alive indeed. So
you may give me your arm, sir, and listen to me, and drop an
occasional remark while I take breath,--your arm, sir!" And here the
small, ancient lady held out a small, imperious hand, while her
handsome young eyes smiled up into his.
"Madam, you honor me!"
"But I am only an old woman,--with a wig!"
"Age is always honorable, madam."
"Now that is very prettily said, indeed you improve, sir. Do you
know who I am?"
"No, madam; but I can guess."
"Ah, well,--you shall talk to me. Now, sir,--begin. Talk to me of
Cleone."
"Madam--I had rather not."
"Eh, sir,--you won't?"
"No, madam."
"Why, then, I will!" Here the ancient lady glanced up at Barnabas
with a malicious little smile. "Let me see, now--what were her words?
'Spy,' I think. Ah, yes--'a creeping spy,' 'a fool' and 'a coward.'
Really, I don't think I could have bettered that--even in my best
days,--especially the 'creeping spy.'"
"Madam," said Barnabas in frowning surprise, "you were listening?"
"At the back of the arbor," she nodded, "with my ear to the panelling,
--I am sometimes a little deaf, you see."
"You mean that you were--actually prying--?"
"And I enjoyed it all very much, especially your 'immaculate' speech,
which was very heroic, but perfectly ridiculous, of course. Indeed,
you are a dreadfully young, young sir, I fear. In future, I warn you
not to tell a woman, too often, how much you respect her, or she'll
begin to think you don't love her at all. To be over-respectful
doesn't sit well on a lover, and 'tis most unfair and very trying to
the lady, poor soul!"
"To hearken to a private conversation doesn't sit well on a lady,
madam, or an honorable woman."
"No, indeed, young sir. But then, you see, I'm neither. I'm only a
Duchess, and a very old one at that, and I think I told you I wore a
wig? But 'all the world loves a lover,' and so do I. As soon as ever
I saw you I knew you for a lover of the 'everything-or-nothing' type.
Oh, yes, all lovers are of different types, sir, and I think I know
'em all. You see, when I was young and beautiful--ages ago--lovers
were a hobby of mine,--I studied them, sir. And, of 'em all, I
preferred the 'everything-or-nothing, fire-and-ice, kiss-me-or-kill-me'
type. That was why I followed you, that was why I watched and listened,
and, I grieve to say, I didn't find you as deliciously brutal as I
had hoped."
"Brutal, madam? Indeed, I--"
"Of course! When you snatched her up in your arms,--and I'll admit
you did it very well,--when you had her there, you should have
covered her with burning kisses, and with an oath after each. Girls
like Cleone need a little brutality and--Ah! there's the Countess!
And smiling at me quite lovingly, I declare! Now I wonder what rod
she has in pickle for me? Dear me, sir, how dusty your coat is! And
spurred boots and buckskins are scarcely the mode for a garden fête.
Still, they're distinctive, and show off your leg to advantage,
better than those abominable Cossack things,--and I doat upon a good
leg--" But here she broke off and turned to greet the Countess,--a
large, imposing, bony lady in a turban, with the eye and the beak of
a hawk.
"My dearest Letitia!"
"My dear Duchess,--my darling Fanny, you 're younger than ever,
positively you are,--I'd never have believed it!" cried the Countess,
more hawk-like than ever. "I heard you were failing fast, but now I
look at you, dearest Fanny, I vow you don't look a day older than
seventy."
"And I'm seventy-one, alas!" sighed the Duchess, her eyes young with
mischief. "And you, my sweetest creature,--how well you look! Who
would ever imagine that we were at school together, Letitia!"
"But indeed I was--quite an infant, Fanny."
"Quite, my love, and used to do my sums for me. But let me present
to you a young friend of mine, Mr.--Mr.--dear, dear! I quite
forget--my memory is going, you see, Letitia! Mr.--"
"Beverley, madam," said Barnabas.
"Thank you,--Beverley, of course! Mr. Beverley--the Countess of Orme."
Hereupon Barnabas bowed low before the haughty stare of the keen,
hawk-like eyes.
"And now, my sweet Letty," continued the Duchess, "you are always so
delightfully gossipy--have you any news,--any stories to laugh over?"
"No, dear Fanny, neither the one nor the other--only--"
"'Only,' my love?"
"Only--but you've heard it already, of course,--you would be the
very first to know of it!"
"Letitia, my dear--I always hated conundrums, you'll remember."
"I mean, every one is talking of it, already."
"Heigho! How warm the sun is!"
"Of course it may be only gossip, but they do say Cleone Meredith
has refused the hand of your grandnephew."
"Jerningham, oh yes," added the Duchess, "on the whole, it's just as
well."
"But I thought--" the hawk-eyes were very piercing indeed. "I feared
it would be quite a blow to you--"
The Duchess shook her head, with a little ripple of laughter.
"I had formed other plans for him weeks ago,--they were quite
unsuited to each other, my love."
"I'm delighted you take it so well, my own Fanny," said the Countess,
looking the reverse. "We leave almost immediately,--but when you
pass through Sevenoaks, you must positively stay with me for a day
or two. Goodby, my sweet Fanny!" So the two ancient ladies gravely
curtsied to each other, pecked each other on either cheek, and, with
a bow to Barnabas, the Countess swept away with an imposing rustle
of her voluminous skirts.
"Cat!" exclaimed the Duchess, shaking her fan at the receding figure;
"the creature hates me fervently, and consequently, kisses me--on
both cheeks. Oh, yes, indeed, sir, she detests me--and quite
naturally. You see, we were girls together,--she's six months my
junior, and has never let me forget it,--and the Duke--God rest
him--admired us both, and, well,--I married him. And so Cleone has
actually refused poor Jerningham,--the yellow-maned minx!"
"Why, then--you didn't know of it?" inquired Barnabas.
"Oh, Innocent! of course I didn't. I'm not omniscient, and I only
ordered him to propose an hour ago. The golden hussy! the proud jade!
Refuse my grand-nephew indeed! Well, there's one of your rivals
disposed of, it seems,--count that to your advantage, sir!"
"But," said Barnabas, frowning and shaking his head, "Sir Mortimer
Carnaby has her promise!"
"Fiddlesticks!"
"She gave him the rose!" said Barnabas, between set teeth. The
Duchess tittered.
"Dear heart! how tragic you are!" she sighed. "Suppose she did,--what
then? And besides--hum! This time it is young D'Arcy, it seems,--callow,
pink, and quite harmless."
"Madam?" said Barnabas, wondering.
"Over there--behind the marble faun,--quite harmless, and very pink,
you'll notice. I mean young D'Arcy--not the faun. Clever minx! Now I
mean Cleone, of course--there she is!" Following the direction of the
Duchess's pointing fan, Barnabas saw Cleone, sure enough. Her eyes
were drooped demurely before the ardent gaze of the handsome,
pink-cheeked young soldier who stood before her, and in her white
fingers she held--a single red rose. Now, all at once, (and as
though utterly unconscious of the burning, watchful eyes of Barnabas)
she lifted the rose to her lips, and, smiling, gave it into the
young soldier's eager hand. Then they strolled away, his epaulette
very near the gleaming curls at her temple.
"Lud, young sir!" exclaimed the Duchess, catching Barnabas by the
coat, "how dreadfully sudden you are in your movements--"
"Madam, pray loose me!"
"Why?"
"I'm going--I cannot bear--any more!"
"You mean--?"
"I mean that--she has--"
"A very remarkable head, she is as resourceful as I was--almost."
"Resourceful!" exclaimed Barnabas, "she is--"
"An extremely clever girl--"
"Madam, pray let me go."
"No, sir! my finger is twisted in your buttonhole,--if you pull
yourself away I expect you'll break it, so pray don't pull; naturally,
I detest pain. And I have much to talk about."
"As you will, madam," said Barnabas, frowning.
"First, tell me--you're quite handsome when you frown,--first, sir,
why weren't you formally presented to me with the other guests?"
"Because I'm not a guest, madam."
"Sir--explain yourself."
"I mean that I came--over the wall, madam."
"The wall! Climbed over?"
"Yes, madam!"
"Dear heaven! The monstrous audacity of the man! You came to see
Cleone, of course?"
"Yes, madam."
"Ah, very right,--very proper! I remember I had a lover--in the
remote ages, of course,--who used to climb--ah, well,--no matter!
Though his wall was much higher than yours yonder." Here the Duchess
sighed tenderly. "Well, you came to see Cleone, you found her,--and
nicely you behaved to each other when you met! Youth is always so
dreadfully tragic! But then what would love be without a little
tragedy? And oh--dear heaven!--how you must adore each other! Oh,
Youth! Youth!--and there's Sir George Annersley--!"
"Then, madam, you must excuse me!" said Barnabas, glancing furtively
from the approaching figures to the adjacent wall.
"Oh dear, no. Sir George is with Jerningharn and Major Piper, a
heavy dragoon--the heaviest in all the world, I'm sure. You must
meet them."
"No, indeed--I--"
"Sir," said the Duchess, buttonholing him again, "I insist! Oh, Sir
George--gentlemen!" she called. Hereupon three lounging figures
turned simultaneously, and came hurrying towards them.
"Why, Duchess!" exclaimed Sir George, a large, mottled gentleman in
an uncomfortable cravat, "we have all been wondering what had become
of your Grace, and--" Here Sir George's sharp eye became fixed upon
Barnabas, upon his spurred boots, his buckskins, his dusty coat; and
Sir George's mouth opened, and he gave a tug at his cravat.
"Deuce take me--it's Beverley!" exclaimed the Marquis, and held out
his hand.
"What--you know each other?" the Duchess inquired.
"Mr. Beverley is riding in the steeplechase on the fifteenth," the
Marquis answered. Hereupon Sir George stared harder than ever, and
gave another tug at his high cravat, while Major Piper, who had been
looking very hard at nothing in particular, glanced at Barnabas with
a gleam of interest and said "Haw!"
As for the Duchess, she clapped her hands.
"And he never told me a word of it!" she exclaimed. "Of course all
my money is on Jerningham,--though 'Moonraker' carries the odds, but
I must have a hundred or two on Mr. Beverley for--friendship's sake."
"Friendship!" exclaimed the Marquis, "oh, begad!" Here he took out
his snuff-box, tapped it, and put it in his pocket again.
"Yes, gentlemen," smiled the Duchess, "this is a friend of mine
who--dropped in upon me, as it were, quite unexpectedly--over the
wall, in fact."
"Wall!" exclaimed Sir George.
"The deuce you did, Beverley!" said the Marquis.
As for Major Piper, he hitched his dolman round, and merely said:
"Haw!"
"Yes," said Barnabas, glancing from one to the other, "I am a
trespasser here, and, Sir George, I fear I damaged some of your
flowers!"
"Flowers!" repeated Sir George, staring from Barnabas to the Duchess
and back again, "Oh!"
"And now--pray let me introduce you," said the Duchess. "My friend
Mr. Beverley--Sir George Annersley. Mr. Beverley--Major Piper."
"A friend of her Grace is always welcome here, sir," said Sir George,
extending a mottled hand.
"Delighted!" smiled the Major, saluting him in turn. "Haw!"
"But what in the world brings you here, Beverley?" inquired the
Marquis.
"I do," returned his great-aunt. "Many a man has climbed a wall on
my account before to-day, Marquis, and remember I'm only
just--seventy-one, and growing younger every hour,--now am I not,
Major?"
"Haw!--Precisely! Not a doubt, y' Grace. Soul and honor! Haw!"
"Marquis--your arm, Mr. Beverley--yours! Now, Sir George, show us
the way to the marquee; I'm dying for a dish of tea, I vow I am!"
Thus, beneath the protecting wing of a Duchess was Barnabas given
his first taste of Quality and Blood. Which last, though blue beyond
all shadow of doubt, yet manifested itself in divers quite ordinary
ways as,--in complexions of cream and roses; in skins sallow and
wrinkled; in noses haughtily Roman or patricianly Greek, in noses
mottled and unclassically uplifted; in black hair, white hair, yellow,
brown, and red hair;--such combinations as he had seen many and many
a time on village greens, and at country wakes and fairs. Yes, all
was the same, and yet--how vastly different! For here voices were
softly modulated, arms and hands gracefully borne, heads carried high,
movement itself an artful science. Here eyes were raised or lowered
with studied effect; beautiful shoulders, gracefully shrugged,
became dimpled and irresistible; faces with perfect profiles were
always--in profile. Here, indeed, Age and Homeliness went clothed in
magnificence, and Youth and Beauty walked hand in hand with Elegance;
while everywhere was a graceful ease that had been learned and
studied with the Catechism. Barnabas was in a world of silks and
satins and glittering gems, of broadcloth and fine linen, where such
things are paramount and must be lived up to; a world where the
friendship of a Duchess may transform a nobody into a SOMEBODY, to
be bowed to by the most elaborate shirtfronts, curtsied to by the
haughtiest of turbans, and found worthy of the homage of bewitching
eyes, seductive dimples, and entrancing profiles.
In a word, Barnabas had attained--even unto the World of Fashion.