THE RINGING OF THE BELLES.
The more Lady Mary heard of this water party, the more determined she
was to attend it. True, her pet design, the establishment of her
daughter, seemed to be running awry, but there was no occasion as yet
for abandoning it. There was evidently something wrong between Blanche
and Lionel Beauchamp, but that could never be put right by persistently
avoiding him. Whatever the cloud between them, it was little likely to
be dispelled if they never met. Then again, why should she facilitate
matters for that odious Mrs. Wriothesley and her saucy chit of a niece?
No; all the sporting blood of the Ditchins boiled in Lady Mary's veins
as she muttered,
"Margaret Wriothesley may stand in my way again, as indeed she has all
her life; but she sha'n't, at all events, be treated to the luxury of a
'walk over.'"
Not encountering Mr. Cottrell in the course of the next two or three
days, she dropped him a line of inquiry as to the composition of this
coming water party, and concluded her note with--
"Blanche is most provoking. She has evidently had some tiff with
Lionel Beauchamp. She is very resolute about not going to this
affair--hints mysteriously she wants to know something, and declines to
say what. I have no patience with such nonsense; and if I hear from
you that the right people will be there, shall insist upon her going.
Her thirst for knowledge applies, I suspect, to some proceedings of Mr.
Beauchamp's. If she would only confide what it is to me, I have little
doubt I could put her mind at rest in eight and forty hours.
"Yours sincerely,
"MARY BLOXAM."
Mr. Cottrell received this note the morning after he had dined and
supped in Hans Place. Putting one thing and the other together, he
began to have a tolerable inkling of how matters stood. He was looking
forward to spending rather a pleasant day at this party of Beauchamp's,
and he now saw the possibility of adding still greater zest to his
enjoyment by pulling the strings of one of those small social dramas so
constantly occurring in our midst, which was a thing Pansey Cottrell
dearly loved. He felt that he should be the good fairy on board that
steamer,--that two or three of the human puppets thereon would dance in
accordance with his fingering of the wires; and mischievously as he
would interfere at times in such matters, felt upon this occasion that
the puppets would jig as much to their own gratification as to his.
"Dear Lady Mary," he replied, "it is to be quite one of the pleasantest
things of the season. All your own set will be there--pre-eminently
the right people all round. I saw Beauchamp and his _confrères_ last
night. They say they are overwhelmed with applications for tickets,
but have adhered rigidly to the number originally determined on. They
may naturally expect to find themselves quite out of society next
season. Those that were asked will have forgotten all about it, while
those that were not won't. Kind regards to Miss Blanche. Tell her
that there is a great deal of information to be picked up at water
parties, and that I will guarantee her making one or two discoveries
which I think will surprise and please her.
"Yours sincerely,
"PANSEY COTTRELL."
On receipt of that note Miss Bloxam's determination not to attend the
Beauchamp party vanished. It would be hard to say now whether mother
or daughter were more impatient for that afternoon, or more curious as
to what it might bring forth. Lady Mary's speculations were vague in
the extreme. Mr. Cottrell's shadowy announcement she regarded as
liable to mean as much or as little as "hear of something to one's
advantage" might in an advertisement in the second column of the
_Times_. But with Blanche the case was different. Miss Bloxam's ideas
took definite shape, and, with very slight grounds to go upon, she
jumped instinctively to the conclusion--as women will in such
cases--that whether Lionel Beauchamp was to be all to her or nothing
would be effectually settled that afternoon. The promoters of the
picnic themselves could not have prayed more fervently for fine weather
than did Lady Mary and her daughter.
"Happy is the bride that the sun shines on," saith the proverb; but if
it is vouchsafed one to command a fine day at will in the course of
existence, it would be better to reserve that privilege not for one's
wedding, but for our first important picnic. Lionel Beauchamp and his
_confrères_ were especially favoured. The day for their picnic was
like unto that described by De Quincey, when "midsummer with all its
banners was marching through the sky." A more gorgeous afternoon to
loiter away upon the water it was hard to imagine. Moored along the
side of the Westminster Pier was, if not the _Great Eastern_, at all
events as large a steamer as it was practicable to bring there.
Awnings were stretched both fore and aft above decks, the snowy
whiteness of which would have done no discredit to a man-of-war. In
the bows of the boat a band was pouring forth all sorts of popular
melody, inciting the fashionable crowd to "Haste to the Wedding," "Down
among the Coals," "When Johnny comes marching Home," &c. At the head
of the gangway the hosts received their guests, and the numbers in
which they trooped on board gave some warrant to Lionel Beauchamp's
laughing assertion that giving a party in London is something like the
making of a snowball: it increases with undreamt-of rapidity.
"Twenty-five guests apiece, Mrs. Wriothesley, was, I give you my word,
the first faint-hearted conception of myself and three companions,"
said Beauchamp, laughing, as he welcomed that lady and Miss Chipchase;
"but you see people have been kind to us, and that we are more popular
in society than we dared venture to hope."
"Ah, Lionel, yes," rejoined Mrs. Wriothesley, as she shook hands, "and
with so nice a ship, such glorious weather, and so many pleasant
_compagnons de voyage_ as I see around me, you will find us all willing
to dance to your pipe, even if it led us all the way to New York."
"We are too discreet to attempt the impossible," replied Lionel. "If
we can only please and amuse our guests to Gravesend and back, we shall
sleep contented." And then he turned away to welcome fresh arrivals,
leaving Sylla and Mrs. Wriothesley to greet their friends and inspect
the arrangements made for their entertainment.
And that these had been the result of much thought and preparation was
transparent even to the unreflecting. Like an elaborate piece of
clockwork, the whole affair was not as yet in motion. But a glance on
the foredeck of the steamer showed, mingling amongst the fashionable
crowd, Spanish singers with their guitars, Tyrolese jödelers, and some
two or three popular comedians, who at times consent to dispel the
dreariness of an evening party. Mr. Cottrell even whispered to Mrs.
Wriothesley that he should not be at all surprised if the thing was a
real success.
"They are young, very young," he continued, "to undertake the
responsibilities of the commissariat; but let us be charitable, and
trust that they have had the wisdom to seek sound advice relative to
the cookery and champagne."
Fair though the day might be, yet its opening to the eyes of Lady Mary
Bloxam seemed unpropitious in the extreme. Lionel Beauchamp received
her and Blanche with grave courtesy, but no more; indeed, his manner to
Miss Bloxam touched upon the ceremonious. It was true that as a host
he could hardly be expected to devote much time to any individual
guest; but still it is very possible to convey a good deal, even in the
few words of welcome; and under the circumstances Lady Mary decided
that Lionel Beauchamp had greeted them more as acquaintance, whose
hospitality it was incumbent on him to return, than as intimate friends
whom he was only too delighted to see. He had not lingered to exchange
a few words with them as he had with Mrs. Wriothesley and Sylla, and
Lady Mary felt filled with dread that her rival had already triumphed,
and was receiving, conjointly with Miss Chipchase, the homage of the
conquered. Blanche, too, who had already made up her mind that this
day was either to set things straight with her and Lionel, or to
estrange them for good, felt that there was little likelihood of its
ending in the manner she desired. She would scarcely see anything of
him in a large party such as this, unless he specially sought her, and
she thought now it was improbable he would do that. She bitterly
regretted that she had not adhered to her original determination.
Nothing can be more dreary than a gay party from which there is no
escape when one's mind is out of tune for society of any description.
The idea that for so many hours the conventional smile must be upon our
brow, and the conventional nothings upon our lips, is depressing in the
extreme. It may be injudicious, but it is certainly allowable, to look
sad when the bank that holds our all suddenly falls; but for a woman to
acknowledge in her face that the bank of her affections is broke is
most indecorous, and shows a want of proper spirit and proper pride
pitiful to witness. She may scream if she is pinched; but neither sign
nor cry must show that her heart-strings are wrung.
It is well to set your guests eating and drinking betimes on these
occasions. The fasting man takes an acrid view of your arrangements
compared with that taken by the man who has well fed; and the deferred
opening of the supper-room has sealed the fate of many a dance which
but for that had been voted pleasant enough. Lionel Beauchamp and his
_confrères_ determined to fall into no such mistake. No sooner are
their friends on board and the steamer cast off from her moorings than
the signal is given for lunch. The day is so fine that it has been
decided to go down nearly to the Nore. With scarce a ripple on the
water, even those who have no confidence whatever in their sea-going
capabilities can feel no terror of _mal de mer_. The whole affair is
an undoubted success. Mr. Cottrell himself pronounces the luncheon not
only satisfactory, but indicative of much promise as regards dinner
later on. The gay crowd breaks into knots and parties all over the
decks. Now listening to the ballad some swarth Spaniard trills forth
to his guitar, anon laughing at some buffo song humorously rendered by
a well-known comedian, while ever and again Beauchamp and his brethren
clear a space on the deck, and a valse or two becomes the order of the
day.
"A very charming party, Miss Blanche, don't you think so?" remarked Mr.
Cottrell, as he sauntered up to that young lady's side. "Have you been
forward to look at what they call the 'Fair'? You can shoot for nuts,
look at peep-shows, play _roulette_ for gingerbread; in fact, indulge
in all the amusements of childhood."
"No; the whole thing is no doubt very well done, but I don't feel
myself to-day. I am not quite up to the sort of thing. Stupid of me
to come. People should keep themselves to themselves when not in the
vein for society."
"Ah," rejoined Mr. Cottrell, laughing, "not in the vein for society is
a charming phrase. It embraces so much, and defines it so vaguely.
Not in the vein for society may mean that we want our lunch; that some
one we wanted to meet has not come; that we have fallen to the charge
of the wrong person. I always feel that my being in the vein for
society depends a good deal upon what the society consists of. Every
now and then I get somebody to take down to dinner that makes me sigh
for the Desert of Sahara. Now, I wonder what's wrong with you to-day?"
"Had too much of London, I fancy," replied Blanche, smiling. "I want
to get back to Todborough. These headaches never trouble me there."
"Who was the shocking old infidel who declared young ladies' headaches
were simply heartaches? What mistakes we make by seeing things as we
imagine them, instead of as they actually are! I would lay a small
wager, for instance, that your low spirits are the result simply of
looking through the wrong end of the telescope."
"Don't talk nonsense, Mr. Cottrell! I feel a little hipped to-day, but
every one does at times. I cannot plead any excuse for it."
"I am very glad to hear you say that," replied Cottrell gravely. "I
thought perhaps you might be put out by this affair of your brother's."
"Affair of my brother's!" exclaimed Blanche quickly. "Jim surely is in
no trouble! Why, he is here!"
"Exactly. No need to assure you he is a very long way off from being
in trouble; having, on the contrary, a particularly good time, I should
say judging from what I last saw of him. But surely, Miss Blanche, you
must have observed that a man's relations are often moved to tears at
the mode in which he takes his pleasure, and, as a rule, always
consider they are far more capable of choosing a wife for him than he
is."
"Choosing a wife! Do you mean to tell me Jim is going to be married?"
"I presume so. I can only say he and Miss Chipchase are engaged in a
very high-pressure flirtation, if it only means that."
"Jim going to marry Sylla! Why, I thought----" And here Blanche
paused abruptly, and a rather compromising blush suffused her face.
"Ah, you thought," observed Cottrell, "that it was a mere flirtation.
Well, there is no doubt that sisters don't often make a mistake about a
brother's love affair when it comes within their knowledge; but in this
instance I venture to think I am right."
Miss Bloxam's unnatural blindness to her brother's growing passion for
Sylla Chipchase can be easily accounted for. Neither she nor her
mother knew anything about his visits to Hans Place. Jim by no manner
of means thought it necessary to call upon his own people every time he
came up from Aldershot, and they were consequently unaware even of his
being in town five times out of six.
"You must pardon my indiscretion," resumed Mr. Cottrell; "but I really
supposed that Jim must have formally announced it. Ah, Beauchamp, the
very man! Spare one moment from your hospitable cares, and receive the
congratulations of Miss Bloxam and myself upon the perfection of your
arrangements. Everything is admirable; and if ever people deserved the
favour of a gorgeous day, you and your companions have done so."
"To have won the approbation of such an expert as Mr. Cottrell is ample
recompense," replied Lionel, laughing, and making a mock salaam of
great humility.
"We thoroughly mean what we say; and in the meantime extend your
amiability so far as to give me a cigarette. Miss Blanche, I am sure,
will permit it?"
Miss Bloxam bent her head in assent as Lionel Beauchamp produced the
identical cigar-case that had so attracted Mr. Cottrell's attention
some two or three nights ago.
"A very pretty case this, is it not?" said Cottrell, as he leisurely
selected a cigarette. "In excellent taste; it does the greatest
possible credit to the designer. But it is a very curious whim of
Beauchamp's to spell Lionel with a 'J.' 'J.B.,' you see, would stand
for John Bradshaw, Joshua Burton, or even Jim Bloxam; but you can't
possibly make 'Lionel Beauchamp' out of it."
"That will do," replied Lionel, laughing; "you chaffed me enough about
this the other night. Take heed, and remember the motto."
"A motto, Miss Bloxam," said Cottrell, "the meaning of which he doth
not comprehend."
"Well, I flatter myself I do," replied Beauchamp; "but no matter;" and
he extended his hand for the case.
"One minute. For fear you should give some spurious version, I will
translate it first for Miss Bloxam's benefit; a lady cannot be supposed
to know the meaning of '_Loquaces si sapiat vitet_.' Listen,"
continued Cottrell: "the Latin is a comprehensive language,
remember,--'_Si_,' if; '_sapiat_,' you are not a fool; '_vitet_,' have
nothing to say to; '_loquaces_,' ladies' commissions. A wickedly
cynical saying to have broidered on one's case, even if you _have_
found ladies' commissions troublesome and productive of much
inconvenience. But, dear me! Lady Mary is signalling me. I must go
and see what it is she wants. Try if you can make him disclose the
story of that case, and who it was that commanded him to spell Lionel
with a 'J,' and not chatter about it afterwards. I plead guilty to a
most horrible curiosity on that point." And so saying, Mr. Cottrell
dropped the cigar-case into Blanche's lap, and crossed the deck in
obedience to Lady Mary's apocryphal signal.
Blanche knew now that her presentiment was fulfilled--that the crisis
had arrived; and that the next two or three minutes would decide
whether she and Lionel Beauchamp were to be all in all to each other,
or go their respective ways. Be that as it might, on one point she
must absolve herself in his eyes. With somewhat tremulous tones, she
hurriedly exclaimed, as she handed the cigar-case back to Lionel,
"I have unwittingly discovered, Mr. Beauchamp, what you refused to tell
me some little time ago at Hurlingham; and I hope you believe me when I
say that I have never taken any steps to do so; nor, indeed, has any
allusion to it passed my lips since."
"How Mr. Cottrell comes by his knowledge, I cannot say. I think he
must possess a 'familiar' of some sort; but one thing, Miss Bloxam, I
own, puzzles me. Why should you make such a point of my telling you
what Sylla's commission was? I cannot understand it."
"And I cannot tell you. Surely the caprice of my sex is quite enough
to account for it."
Apparently Lionel Beauchamp did not think so; and seating himself by
Miss Bloxam's side, he proceeded to inquire into this instance of a
woman's whimsies with great earnestness of purpose.
It was, of course, quite evident to Mr. Cottrell that Jim Bloxam had
not as yet disclosed to his own people his engagement to Sylla
Chipchase; and so delighted was Mr. Cottrell with the theatrical effect
that he had just produced, that he felt the sooner he diverted himself
by the production of another "situation" the better. He had crossed
over to Lady Mary with no other object than the benevolent design of
giving Blanche and Lionel an opportunity of clearing up their
difference. He accordingly suggested to Lady Mary that they should
take a turn forward and see what was going on in that part of the boat.
"It is not only that I wanted you to see what is going on in the fore
part of the ship, but I want you not to see what is going on aft. I
want to open your eyes to Mrs. Wriothesley's machinations, and to steel
your heart against Lionel Beauchamp's perfidy."
"Lionel Beauchamp's perfidy! Good gracious, Pansey, what do you mean?"
"That I will lay you a small wager Lionel Beauchamp has stolen your
daughter from you before we get back--no, don't interrupt me. Those
foolish young people, finding their courtship was running too smooth,
indulged themselves in the luxury of a mock quarrel--about what, shall
we say?--well, a packet of lemon-drops would about represent the state
of the case. However, as you know, quarrels about nothing sometimes
assume portentous proportions; but I am happy to think that I have just
put things right between those two."
"I only hope what you tell me is true. You know how much I have
Blanche's settlement at heart."
"Yes, there is something about water parties that predisposes to
flirtation. Atlantic voyages and trips to India are notorious for
fostering such sweet frivolity. I really feel quite afraid of walking
about to-day for dread of unknowingly interfering. It wouldn't be
discreet, for instance, to intrude upon that couple so snugly ensconced
under the shelter of the paddle-box. I don't know, but he is telling
her secrets, I presume."
"Why, it is Sylla Chipchase!" exclaimed Lady Mary. "I cannot see who
is her victim; but of course she would never neglect such a golden
opportunity as to-day's."
"Hush!" replied Cottrell, drily; "the companion of her delinquency,
remember, is Jim."
"Why, you surely don't mean to tell me----" exclaimed Lady Mary.
"Very much so," rejoined Cottrell; "and the sooner you make up your
mind to take it _au serieux_ the better."
Poor Lady Mary! Mr. Cottrell's dramatic disclosures were getting a
little too much for her.
Before they had reached Westminster Bridge Blanche and Sylla knew that
they were to be sisters, and there had been much quiet laughter amongst
the four whom it chiefly concerned about the story of the cigar-case.
"I still don't understand," said Beauchamp, "why you should have so
resented my keeping Sylla's commission secret?"
"And never will, Lionel, until you comprehend of what a jealous woman's
imagination is capable."
"I can't see," whispered Jim, "why I was kept so long out of my
cigar-case?"
It was in his possession at last.
"O you stupid Jim!" said Sylla softly, "don't you see it was so easy to
give it you before I knew I loved you, and----"
"Well, and what?" inquired Bloxam.
"It was so difficult afterwards, until I knew you loved me."
The bells of Todborough rang bravely out one morning early in the
autumn for a double marriage, and, as Mr. Cottrell wickedly whispered
to one of his intimates, for the Millennium besides. The lion was
lying down with the lamb. Mrs. Wriothesley was an honoured guest at
the Grange.
THE END.