When parliament reassembled in February, the Neuchatels quitted Hainault
for their London residence in Portland Place. Mrs. Neuchatel was
sadly troubled at leaving her country home, which, notwithstanding its
distressing splendour, had still some forms of compensatory innocence
in its flowers and sylvan glades. Adriana sighed when she called to mind
the manifold and mortifying snares and pitfalls that awaited her, and
had even framed a highly practical and sensible scheme which would
permit her parents to settle in town and allow Myra and herself to
remain permanently in the country; but Myra brushed away the project
like a fly, and Adriana yielding, embraced her with tearful eyes.
The Neuchatel mansion in Portland Place was one of the noblest in that
comely quarter of the town, and replete with every charm and convenience
that wealth and taste could provide. Myra, who, like her brother, had a
tenacious memory, was interested in recalling as fully and as accurately
as possible her previous experience of London life. She was then indeed
only a child, but a child who was often admitted to brilliant circles,
and had enjoyed opportunities of social observation which the very
youthful seldom possess. Her retrospection was not as profitable as she
could have desired, and she was astonished, after a severe analysis of
the past, to find how entirely at that early age she appeared to
have been engrossed with herself and with Endymion. Hill Street and
Wimbledon, and all their various life, figured as shadowy scenes; she
could realise nothing very definite for her present guidance; the past
seemed a phantom of fine dresses, and bright equipages, and endless
indulgence. All that had happened after their fall was distinct and full
of meaning. It would seem that adversity had taught Myra to feel and
think.
Forty years ago the great financiers had not that commanding, not to say
predominant, position in society which they possess at present, but
the Neuchatels were an exception to this general condition. They were
a family which not only had the art of accumulating wealth, but of
expending it with taste and generosity--an extremely rare combination.
Their great riches, their political influence, their high integrity and
their social accomplishments, combined to render their house not only
splendid, but interesting and agreeable, and gave them a great hold upon
the world. At first the fine ladies of their political party called on
them as a homage of condescending gratitude for the public support which
the Neuchatel family gave to their sons and husbands, but they soon
discovered that this amiable descent from their Olympian heights on
their part did not amount exactly to the sacrifice or service which they
had contemplated. They found their host as refined as themselves, and
much more magnificent, and in a very short time it was not merely the
wives of ambassadors and ministers of state that were found at the
garden fetes of Hainault, or the balls, and banquets, and concerts
of Portland Place, but the fitful and capricious realm of fashion
surrendered like a fair country conquered as it were by surprise. To
visit the Neuchatels became the mode; all solicited to be their guests,
and some solicited in vain.
Although it was only February, the world began to move, and some of the
ministers’ wives, who were socially strong enough to venture on such a
step, received their friends. Mr. Neuchatel particularly liked this
form of society. “I cannot manage balls,” he used to say, “but I like a
ministerial reception. There is some chance of sensible conversation and
doing a little business. I like talking with ambassadors after dinner.
Besides, in this country you meet the leaders of the opposition,
because, as they are not invited by the minister, but by his wife,
anybody can come without committing himself.”
Myra, faithful to her original resolution, not to enter society while
she was in mourning, declined all the solicitudes of her friends to
accompany them to these assemblies. Mrs. Neuchatel always wished Myra
should be her substitute, and it was only at Myra’s instance that
Adriana accompanied her parents. In the meantime, Myra saw much of
Endymion. He was always a welcome guest by the family, and could call
upon his sister at all the odds and ends of time that were at his
command, and chat with her at pleasant ease in her pretty room.
Sometimes they walked out together, and sometimes they went together to
see some exhibition that everybody went to see. Adriana became almost
as intimate with Endymion as his sister, and altogether the Neuchatel
family became by degrees to him as a kind of home. Talking with
Endymion, Myra heard a good deal of Colonel Albert, for he was her
brother’s hero--but she rarely saw that gentleman. She was aware from
her brother, and from some occasional words of Mr. Neuchatel, that the
great banker still saw Colonel Albert and not unfrequently, but the
change of residence from Hainault to London made a difference in their
mode of communication. Business was transacted in Bishopsgate Street,
and no longer combined with a pleasant ride to an Essex forest. More
than once Colonel Albert had dined in Portland Place, but at irregular
and miscellaneous parties. Myra observed that he was never asked to
meet the grand personages who attended the celebrated banquets of Mr.
Neuchatel. And why not? His manners were distinguished, but his whole
bearing that of one accustomed to consideration. The irrepressible
curiosity of woman impelled her once to feel her way on the subject with
Mr. Neuchatel, but with the utmost dexterity and delicacy.
“No,” said Mr. Neuchatel with a laughing eye, and who saw through
everybody’s purpose, though his own manner was one of simplicity
amounting almost to innocence, “I did not say Colonel Albert was going
to dine here on Wednesday; I have asked him to dine here on Sunday. On
Wednesday I am going to have the premier and some of his colleagues.
I must insist upon Miss Ferrars dining at table. You will meet Lord
Roehampton; all the ladies admire him and he admires all the ladies. It
will not do to ask Colonel Albert to meet such a party, though perhaps,”
added Mr. Neuchatel with a merry smile, “some day they may be asked to
meet Colonel Albert. Who knows, Miss Ferrars? The wheel of Fortune turns
round very strangely.”
“And who then is Colonel Albert?” asked Myra with decision.
“Colonel Albert is Colonel Albert, and nobody else, so far as I know,”
replied Mr. Neuchatel; “he has brought a letter of credit on my house
in that name, and I am happy to honour his drafts to the amount in
question, and as he is a foreigner, I think it is but kind and courteous
occasionally to ask him to dinner.”
Miss Ferrars did not pursue the inquiry, for she was sufficiently
acquainted with Mr. Neuchatel to feel that he did not intend to gratify
her curiosity.
The banquet of the Neuchatels to the premier, and some of the principal
ambassadors and their wives, and to those of the premier’s colleagues
who were fashionable enough to be asked, and to some of the dukes and
duchesses and other ethereal beings who supported the ministry, was the
first event of the season. The table blazed with rare flowers and rarer
porcelain and precious candelabra of sculptured beauty glittering with
light; the gold plate was less remarkable than the delicate ware that
had been alike moulded and adorned for a Du Barri or a Marie Antoinette,
and which now found a permanent and peaceful home in the proverbial
land of purity and order; and amid the stars and ribbons, not the least
remarkable feature of the whole was Mr. Neuchatel himself, seated at
the centre of his table, alike free from ostentation or over-deference,
talking to the great ladies on each side of him, as if he had nothing to
do in life but whisper in gentle ears, and partaking of his own dainties
as if he were eating bread and cheese at a country inn.
Perhaps Mrs. Neuchatel might have afforded a companion picture. Partly
in deference to their host, and partly because this evening the first
dance of the season was to be given, the great ladies in general wore
their diamonds, and Myra was amused as she watched their dazzling tiaras
and flashing rivieres, while not a single ornament adorned the graceful
presence of their hostess, who was more content to be brilliant only by
her conversation. As Mr. Neuchatel had only a few days before presented
his wife with another diamond necklace, he might be excused were he
slightly annoyed. Nothing of the sort; he only shrugged his shoulders,
and said to his nephew, “Your aunt must feel that I give her diamonds
from love and not from vanity, as she never lets me have the pleasure
of seeing them.” The sole ornament of Adriana was an orchid, which had
arrived that morning from Hainault, and she had presented its fellow to
Myra.
There was one lady who much attracted the attention of Myra, interested
in all she observed. This lady was evidently a person of importance, for
she sate between an ambassador and a knight of the garter, and they vied
in homage to her. They watched her every word, and seemed delighted with
all she said. Without being strictly beautiful, there was an expression
of sweet animation in her physiognomy which was highly attractive: her
eye was full of summer lightning, and there was an arch dimple in her
smile, which seemed to irradiate her whole countenance. She was quite a
young woman, hardly older than Myra. What most distinguished her was the
harmony of her whole person; her graceful figure, her fair and finely
moulded shoulders, her pretty teeth, and her small extremities, seemed
to blend with and become the soft vivacity of her winning glance.
“Lady Montfort looks well to-night,” said the neighbour of Myra.
“And is that Lady Montfort? Do you know, I never saw her before.”
“Yes; that is the famous Berengaria, the Queen of Society, and the
genius of Whiggism.”
In the evening, a great lady, who was held to have the finest voice in
society, favoured them with a splendid specimen of her commanding skill,
and then Adriana was induced to gratify her friends with a song, “only
one song,” and that only on condition that Myra should accompany her.
Miss Neuchatel had a sweet and tender voice, and it had been finely
cultivated; she would have been more than charming if she had only taken
interest in anything she herself did, or believed for a moment that
she could interest others. When she ceased, a gentleman approached
the instrument and addressed her in terms of sympathy and deferential
praise. Myra recognised the knight of the garter who had sat next to
Lady Montfort. He was somewhat advanced in middle life, tall and of a
stately presence, with a voice more musical even than the tones which
had recently enchanted every one. His countenance was impressive,
a truly Olympian brow, but the lower part of the face indicated not
feebleness, but flexibility, and his mouth was somewhat sensuous. His
manner was at once winning; natural, and singularly unaffected, and
seemed to sympathise entirely with those whom he addressed.
“But I have never been at Hainault,” said the gentleman, continuing
a conversation, “and therefore could not hear the nightingales. I am
content you have brought one of them to town.”
“Nightingales disappear in June,” said Miss Ferrars; “so our season will
be short.”
“And where do they travel to?” asked the gentleman.
“Ah! that is a mystery,” said Myra. “You must ask Miss Neuchatel.”
“But she will not tell me,” said the gentleman, for in truth Miss
Neuchatel, though he had frequently addressed her, had scarcely opened
her lips.
“Tell your secret, Adriana,” said Miss Ferrars, trying to force her to
converse.
“Adriana!” said the gentleman. “What a beautiful name! You look with
that flower, Miss Neuchatel, like a bride of Venice.”
“Nay,” said Myra; “the bride of Venice was a stormy ocean.”
“And have you a Venetian name?” asked the gentleman.
There was a pause, and then Miss Neuchatel, with an effort, murmured,
“She has a very pretty name. Her name is Myra.”
“She seems to deserve it,” said the gentleman.
“So you like my daughter’s singing,” said Mr. Neuchatel, coming up to
them. “She does not much like singing in public, but she is a very good
girl, and always gives me a song when I come home from business.”
“Fortunate man!” said the gentleman. “I wish somebody would sing to me
when I come home from business.”
“You should marry, my lord,” said Mr. Neuchatel, “and get your wife to
sing to you. Is it not so, Miss Ferrars? By the by, I ought to introduce
you to--Lord Roehampton.”