GOING TO THE BALL.
It was the day of the _fete_ at Deerham Hall. Sibylla awoke in an
amiable mood, unusually so for her; and Lionel, as he dressed, talked to
her gravely and kindly, urging upon her the necessity of relinquishing
her determination to be present. It appeared that she was also
reasonable that morning, as well as amiable, for she listened to him,
and at length voluntarily said she would think no more about it.
"But you must afford me some treat in place of it," she immediately
added. "Will you promise to take me for a whole day next week to
Heartburg?"
"Willingly," replied Lionel. "There is to be a morning concert at
Heartburg next Tuesday. If you feel well enough, we can attend that."
He did not think morning concerts, and the fatigue they sometimes
entail, particularly desirable things for his wife; but, compared with
hot ballrooms and the night air, they seemed innocuous. Sibylla liked
morning concerts uncommonly, nearly as much as Master Cheese liked
tarts; she liked anything that afforded an apology for dress and
display.
"Mind, Lionel, you _promise_ to take me," she reiterated.
"Yes. Provided you feel equal to going."
Sibylla took breakfast in her own room, according to custom. Formerly,
she had done so through idleness: now, she was really not well enough to
rise early. Lionel, when he joined the family breakfast table, announced
the news; announced it in his own characteristic manner.
"Sibylla thinks, after all, that she will be better at home this
evening," he said. "I am glad she has so decided it."
"Her senses have come to her, have they?" remarked Lady Verner.
He made no reply. He never did make a reply to any shaft lanced by Lady
Verner at his wife. My lady was sparing of her shafts in a general way
since they had resided with her, but she did throw one out now and then.
"You will go with me then, Lionel?"
He shook his head, telling his mother she must excuse him: it was not
his intention to be present.
Sibylla continued in a remarkably quiet, not to say affable, temper all
day. Lionel was out, but returned home to dinner. By and by Lady Verner
and Decima retired to dress. Lucy went up with Decima, and Lionel
remained with his wife.
When they came down, Sibylla was asleep on the sofa. Lady Verner wore
some of the magnificent and yet quiet attire that had pertained to her
gayer days; Decima was in white. Lionel put on his hat, and went out to
hand them into the carriage that waited. As he did so, the aspect of his
sister's face struck him.
"What is the matter, Decima?" he exclaimed. "You are looking perfectly
white."
She only smiled in answer; a forced, unnatural smile, as it appeared to
Lionel. But he said no more; he thought the white hue might be only the
shade cast by the moonlight. Lady Verner looked from the carriage to ask
a question.
"Is Jan really going, do you know, Lionel? Lucy says she thinks he is. I
do hope and trust that he will be attired like a Christian, if he is
absurd enough to appear."
"I think I'll go and see," answered Lionel, a smile crossing his face.
"Take care, Catherine!"
Old Catherine, who had come out with shawls, was dangerously near the
wheels--and the horses were on the point of starting. She stepped back,
and the carriage drove on.
The bustle had aroused Sibylla. She rose to look from the window; saw
the carriage depart, saw Catherine come in, saw Lionel walk away towards
Deerham. It was all clear in the moonlight. Lucy Tempest was looking
from the other window.
"What a lovely night it is!" Lucy exclaimed. "I should not mind a drive
of ten miles, such a night as this."
"And yet they choose to say that going out would hurt me!" spoke Sibylla
in a resentful tone. "They do it on purpose to vex me."
Lucy chose to ignore the subject; it was not her business to enter into
it one way or the other. She felt that Mrs. Verner had done perfectly
right in remaining at home; that her strength would have been found
unequal to support the heat and excitement of a ballroom, following on
the night air of the transit to it. Lovely as the night was, it was
cold: for some few evenings past the gardeners had complained of frost.
Lucy drew from the window with a half sigh; it seemed almost a pity to
shut out that pleasant moonlight: turned and stirred the fire into a
blaze. Sibylla's chilly nature caused them to enter upon evening fires
before other people thought of them.
"Shall I ring for lights, Mrs. Verner?"
"I suppose it's time, and past time," was Sibylla's answer. "I must have
been asleep ever so long."
Catherine brought them in. The man-servant had gone in attendance on his
mistress. The moderate household of Lady Verner consisted now but of
four domestics; Therese, Catherine, the cook, and the man.
"Shall I bring tea in, Miss Lucy?" asked Catherine.
Lucy turned her eyes on Sibylla. "Would you like tea now, Mrs. Verner?"
"No," answered Sibylla. "Not yet."
She left the room as she spoke. Catherine, who had been lowering the
curtains, followed next. Lucy drew a chair to the fire, sat down and
fell into a reverie.
She was aroused by the door opening again. It proved to be Catherine
with the tea-things. "I thought I'd bring them in, and then they'll be
ready," remarked she. "You can please to ring, miss, when you want the
urn."
Lucy simply nodded, and Catherine returned to the kitchen, to enjoy a
social _tete-a-tete_ supper with the cook. Mademoiselle Therese, taking
advantage of her mistress's absence, had gone out for the rest of the
evening. The two servants sat on and chatted together: so long, that
Catherine openly wondered at the urn's not being called for.
"They must both have gone to sleep, I should think," quoth she. "Miss
Lucy over the fire in the sitting-room, and Mr. Lionel's wife over hers,
upstairs. I have not heard her come down----"
Catherine stopped. The cook had started up, her eyes fixed on the
doorway. Catherine, whose back was towards it, hastily turned; and an
involuntary exclamation broke from her lips.
Standing there was Mrs. Verner, looking like--like a bedecked skeleton.
She was in fairy attire. A gossamer robe of white with shining
ornaments, and a wreath that seemed to sparkle with glittering dewdrops
on her head. But her arms were thin, wasted; and the bones of her poor
neck seemed to rattle as they heaved painfully under the gems clasped
round it: and her face had not so much as the faintest tinge of hectic,
but was utterly colourless--worse, it was wan, ghastly. A distressing
sight to look upon, was she, as she stood there; she and the festal
attire were so completely at variance. She came forward, before the
servants could recover from their astonishment.
"Where's Richard?" she asked, speaking in a low, subdued tone, as if
fearing to be heard--though there was nobody in the house to hear her,
save Lucy Tempest. And probably it was from her wish to avoid all
attention to her proceeding, that caused her to come down stealthily to
the servants, instead of ringing for them.
"Richard is not come back, ma'am," answered Catherine. "We have just
been saying that he'll most likely stop up there with the Hall servants
until my lady returns."
"Not back!" echoed Sibylla. "Cook, you must go out for me," she
imperiously added, after a moment's pause. "Go to Dean's and order one
of their flys here directly. Wait, and come back with it."
The cook, a simple sort of young woman, save in her own special
department, did not demur, or appear to question in the least the
expediency of the order. Catherine questioned it very much indeed; but
while she hesitated what to do, whether to stop the cook, or to venture
on a remonstrance to Mrs. Verner, or to appeal to Miss Tempest to do it,
the cook was gone. Servants are not particular in country places, and
the girl went straight out as she was, not staying to put anything on.
Sibylla appeared to be shivering. She took up her place right in front
of the fire, holding out her hands to the blaze. Her teeth chattered,
her whole frame trembled.
"The fire in my dressing-room went out," she remarked. "Take care that
you make up a large one by the time I return."
"You'll never go, ma'am!" cried old Catherine, breaking through her
reserve. "You are not strong enough."
"Mind your own business," sharply retorted Sibylla. "Do you think I
don't know my own feelings, whether I am strong, or whether I am not? I
am as strong as you."
Catherine dared no more. Sibylla cowered over the fire, her head turned
sideways as she glanced on the table.
"What's that?" she suddenly cried, pointing to the contents of a jug.
"It's beer, ma'am," answered Catherine. "That stupid girl drew as much
as if Richard and Therese had been at home. Maybe Therese will be in yet
for supper."
"Give me a glass of it. I am thirsty."
Again old Catherine hesitated. Malt liquor had been expressly forbidden
to Mrs. Verner. It made her cough frightfully.
"You know, ma'am, the doctors have said----"
"Will you hold your tongue? And give me what I require? You are as bad
as Mr. Verner."
Catherine reached a tumbler, poured it half full, and handed it. Mrs.
Verner did not take it.
"Fill it," she said.
So old Catherine, much against her will, had to fill it, and Sibylla
drained the glass to the very bottom. In truth, she was continually
thirsty; she seemed to have a perpetual inward fever upon her. Her
shoulders were shivering as she set down the glass.
"Go and find my opera cloak, Catherine. It must have dropped on the
stairs, I know I put it on as I left my room."
Catherine quitted the kitchen on the errand. She would have liked to
close the door after her; but it happened to be pushed quite back with a
chair against it; and the pointedly shutting it might have been noticed
by Sibylla. She found the opera cloak lying on the landing, near
Sibylla's bedroom door. Catching it up, she slipped off her shoes at the
same moment, stole down noiselessly, and went into the presence of Miss
Tempest.
Lucy looked astonished. She sat at the table reading, waiting with all
patience the entrance of Sibylla, ere she made tea. To see Catherine
steal in covertly with her finger to her lips, excited her wonder.
"Miss Lucy, she's going to the ball," was the old servant's salutation,
as she approached close to Lucy, and spoke in the faintest whisper. "She
is shivering over the kitchen fire, with hardly a bit of gown to her
back, so far as warmth goes. Here's her opera cloak: she dropped it
coming down. Cook's gone out for a fly."
Lucy felt startled. "Do you mean Mrs. Verner?"
"Why, of course I do," answered Catherine. "She has been upstairs all
this while, and has dressed herself alone. She must not go, Miss Lucy.
She's looking like a ghost. What will Mr. Verner say to us if we let
her! It may just be her death."
Lucy clasped her hands in her consternation. "Catherine, what can we do?
We have no influence over her. She would not listen to us for a moment.
If we could but find Mr. Verner!"
"He was going round to Mr. Jan's when my lady drove off. I heard him say
it. Miss Lucy, I can't go after him; she'd find me out; I can't leave
her, or leave the house. But he ought to be got here."
Did the woman's words point to the suggestion that Lucy should go? Lucy
may have thought it; or, perhaps, she entered on the suggestion of her
own accord.
"I will go, Catherine," she whispered. "I don't mind it. It is nearly as
light as day outside, and I shall soon be at Mr. Jan's. You go back to
Mrs. Verner."
Feeling that there was not a moment to be lost; feeling that Mrs. Verner
ought to be stopped at all hazards for her own sake, Lucy caught up a
shawl and a green sun-bonnet of Lady Verner's that happened to be in the
hall, and, thus hastily attired, went out. Speeding swiftly along the
moonlit road, she soon gained Deerham, and turned to the house of Dr.
West. A light in the surgery guided her at once to that room.
But the light was there alone. Nobody was present to reap its benefit or
to answer intruders. Lucy knocked pretty loudly on the counter without
bringing forth any result. Apparently she was not heard; perhaps from
the fact that the sound was drowned in the noise of some fizzing and
popping which seemed to be going on in the next room--Jan's bedroom. Her
consideration for Mrs. Verner put ceremony out of the question; in fact,
Lucy was not given at the best of times to stand much upon that; and she
stepped round the counter, and knocked briskly at the door. Possibly
Lionel might be in there with Jan.
Lionel was not there; nor Jan either. The door was gingerly opened about
two inches by Master Cheese, who was enveloped in a great white apron
and white oversleeves. His face looked red and confused as it peeped
out, as does that of one who is caught at some forbidden mischief; and
Lucy obtained sight of a perfect mass of vessels, brass, earthenware,
glass, and other things, with which the room was strewed. In point of
fact, Master Cheese, believing he was safe from Jan's superintendence
for some hours, had seized upon the occasion to plunge into his
forbidden chemical researches again, and had taken French leave to use
Jan's bedroom for the purpose, the surgery being limited for space.
"What do you want?" cried he roughly, staring at Lucy.
"Is Mr. Verner here?" she asked.
Then Master Cheese knew the voice, and condescended a sort of apology
for his abruptness.
"I didn't know you, Miss Tempest, in that fright of a bonnet," said he,
walking forth and closing the bedroom door behind him. "Mr. Verner's not
here."
"Do you happen to know where he is?" asked Lucy. "He said he was coming
here, an hour ago."
"So he did come here; and saw Jan. Jan's gone to the ball. And Miss Deb
and Miss Amilly are gone to a party at Heartburg."
"Is he?" returned Lucy, referring to Jan, and surprised to hear the
news; balls not being in Jan's line.
"_I_ can't make it out," remarked Master Cheese. "He and Sir Edmund used
to be cronies, I think; so I suppose that has taken him. But I am glad
they are all off: it gives me a whole evening to myself. He and Mr.
Verner went away together."
"I wish very much to find Mr. Verner," said Lucy. "It is of great
consequence that I should see him. I suppose--you--could not--go and
look for him, Master Cheese?" she added pleadingly.
"Couldn't do it," responded Master Cheese, thinking of his forbidden
chemicals. "When Jan's away I am chief, you know, Miss Tempest. Some
cases of broken legs may be brought in, for anything I can tell."
Lucy wished him good-night and turned away. She hesitated at the corner
of the street, gazing up and down. To start on a search for Lionel
appeared to be as hopeful a project as that search renowned in
proverb--the looking for a needle in a bottle of hay. The custom in
Deerham was not to light the lamps on a moonlight night, so the street,
as Lucy glanced on either side, lay white and quiet; no glare to disturb
its peace, save for some shops, not yet closed. Mrs. Duff's, opposite,
was among the latter catalogue: and her son, Mr. Dan, appeared to be
taking a little tumbling recreation on the flags before the bay-window.
Lucy crossed over to him.
"Dan," said she, "do you happen to have seen Mr. Verner pass lately?"
Dan, just then on his head, turned himself upside down, and alighted on
his feet, humble and subdued, "Please, miss, I see'd him awhile agone
along of Mr. Jan," was the answer, pulling his hair by way of
salutation. "They went that way. Mr. Jan was all in black, he was."
The boy pointed towards Deerham Court, towards Deerham Hall. There was
little doubt that Jan was then on his way to the latter. But the
question for Lucy was--where had Lionel gone?
She could not tell; the very speculation upon it was unprofitable, since
it could lead to no certainty. Lucy turned homewards, walking quickly.
She had got past the houses, when she discerned before her in the
distance, a form which instinct--perhaps some dearer feeling told her
was that of him of whom she was in search. He was walking with a slow,
leisurely step towards his home. Lucy's heart gave a bound--that it did
so still at his sight, as it had done in the earlier days, was no fault
of hers: Heaven knew that she had striven and prayed against it. When
she caught him up she was out of breath, so swiftly had she sped.
"Lucy!" he exclaimed. "_Lucy!_ What do you do here?"
"I came out to look for you," she simply said; "there was nobody else at
home to come. I went to Jan's, thinking you might be there. Mrs. Verner
has dressed herself to go to Sir Edmund's. You may be in time to stop
her, if you make haste."
With a half-uttered exclamation, Lionel was speeding off, when he
appeared to remember Lucy. He turned to take her with him.
"No," said Lucy, stopping. "I could not go as quickly as you; and a
minute, more or less, may make all the difference. There is nothing to
hurt me. You make the best of your way. It is for your wife's sake."
There was good sense in all she said, and Lionel started off with a
fleet foot. Before Lucy had quite gained the Court she saw him coming
back to meet her. He drew her hand within his arm in silence, and kept
his own upon it for an instant's grateful pressure.
"Thank you, Lucy, for what you have done. Thank you now and ever. I was
too late."
"Is Mrs. Verner gone?"
"She has been gone these ten minutes past, Catherine says. A fly was
found immediately."
They turned into the house; into the sitting-room. Lucy threw off the
large shawl and the shapeless green bonnet: at any other moment she
would have laughed at the figure she must have looked in them. The
tea-things still waited on the table.
"Shall I make you some tea?" she asked.
Lionel shook his head. "I must go up and dress. I shall go after
Sibylla."