THE VILLA LAMBERT.
Twenty-four hours at a Genevese hotel were got through by Georgie and
her cousin without difficulty.
"I do think," said Lucy, "that Reginald might have brought us here
himself. I confess that a _tête-à-tête_ of two women is dull; when they
are almost sisters, as a rule it's duller still; though the dulness is
frequently enlivened by a pitched battle. Georgie, why are you not of a
pugnacious disposition? My fingers literally itch to box some one's
ears; as for Hephzibah, I've no patience with her."
"I noticed that you had set her crying again, Lucy, for about the tenth
time to-day."
"And serve her right, she's over head and ears in love with that
priceless jewel, your husband's man; it's as plain as the nose on her
face, and there's no doubt of the plainness of that. I know the
symptoms, they are unmistakable: they always are, among the ministering
classes. He was Capt before, now it's 'Mr. Capt' here and 'Mr. Capt'
there. Mistering is always the first sign, Georgie. No, I've no patience
with her at all. It appears he gave her a thermometer about a week ago;
she has carried this thing about in her pocket ever since; the mercury
has got separated, and she passes her whole time in weeping and shaking
the horrid thing, and trying to get it back again. Now I ask you,
Georgie, just look at her."
A mirror, turned towards an open door, disclosed the lovelorn Hephzibah
in the next room. Her proceedings were sufficiently grotesque. In her
hand she held a small ornamental thermometer; she would shake it
violently in the air, she would then regard it intently with a puzzled
expression, then she would shake her head and proceed to furiously
agitate it once more. Failing in her purpose, she wept bitterly.
Good-natured as Georgina was, she could not resist a smile.
"Hephzibah, you fool, come here," cried Lucy.
The maid at once secreted the thermometer in her bosom.
"Why do you hide the nasty thing?" said Lucy.
"Oh, miss, I'm ashamed."
"And what are you crying for?"
"Please, miss, because of the omen."
"What do you mean?" said Georgina; "do calm yourself, Hephzibah."
"Oh, miss, only look," cried the girl, as she took the scientific
love-token from its hiding place; "the quicksilver have separated, never
to be re-united, and isn't that an omen, miss?" Here the maid shook the
thermometer with redoubled fury.
"You stupid creature, so you believe in all that nonsense, do you?"
"I may be stupid, Miss Lucy, but I've never known a sign or omen fail.
Didn't the cook at The Warren, miss, predict, with coffee grounds, that
I should be engaged to a foreign gentleman, but that some one younger
and more beautiful would prove a jealous rival? Here I am engaged, miss,
or as good, to Mr. Capt; and I know what this omen means. You may laugh,
miss, but it's a very serious thing."
"I shouldn't wonder at all, Hephzibah; the hotel prospectus says there
are no less than fifty chambermaids here. Perhaps even fifty jealous
rivals."
"Mr. Capt don't demean himself to chambermaids, Miss Lucy," retorted the
abigail with angry scorn.
"Oh, I've no doubt Capt is ambitious; perhaps he looks higher. Perhaps I
shall be your rival, Hephzibah."
"You wouldn't have the heart to do it, miss," said the girl in all
seriousness.
Mrs. Haggard gave her cousin a reproving glance, but Lucy imperturbably
continued:
"Well, Hephzibah," she said, "I think you may consider yourself safe
from me, at least; but I'll help you if you'll let me."
Ladies don't wink, they only imperceptibly droop their eyelids, but the
glance that Lucy gave her cousin was terribly like a wink, and brimming
over with malice.
"Yes," she went on. "Light that candle, you stupid creature; now hold
your thermometer close to the flame; we shall soon see what the omen is
worth."
The maid did as she was bid, and carefully watched the tube.
"Well, are the separated fates getting any nearer?" inquired the young
mistress with affected solicitude.
"Oh, miss, they are coming together gradually, but very slowly, miss."
"Get the thing nearer to the candle, then."
Poor Hephzibah obeyed; she little suspected the heartless trick played
at her expense.
"Oh, miss," she delightedly exclaimed, "they'll join in another
instant."
Bang went the fragile bulb, as it splintered into a thousand atoms, and
the mercury shot in sparkling globules over the table.
Lucy's ringing laugh resounded through the room.
But the matter was no joke to Hephzibah, her pale lips became
colourless; she pressed her hand to her heart with a gesture full of
anguish, recovered herself with difficulty, gave forth a few short sharp
sobs, cast an almost menacing look upon her younger mistress, then
turned and rushed from the room.
"How could you have the heart to tease her so?" said Georgie with honest
indignation. "I'm ashamed of you, Lucy; you've no right to trifle with
her feelings."
"Trifle with her fiddlesticks," laughed the girl.
But a knock at the door interrupted them; the discreet Capt entered,
bearing a telegram upon a salver.
Mrs. Haggard, to whom the envelope was addressed, tore it open with some
anxiety; her face assumed a pleased expression.
"Order a carriage at once, Capt," she said.
The valet withdrew to execute the command.
The telegram was from Haggard; it was as follows:
"_Spunyarn and I are on the road, and shall reach Geneva by last
train. You had better go to the Villa Lambert and arrange for
taking up our quarters there, if you like the place. All
well--H._"
Georgie handed the paper to her cousin, the latter clapped her hands
with glee. In a woman's life there is nothing more delightful than
arranging a home, though it be but a temporary one.
The girls hurried to prepare for their drive. And Mrs. Haggard, after
attempting to soothe the wounded feelings of her maid, directed her to
accompany them.
With Capt on the box, the young wife and her cousin, and their still
ruffled attendant, started on the lovely drive along the margin of the
lake for the villa which Haggard had secured, should it meet with their
mutual approval, as a home for his wife and cousin during his short
projected necessary absence in America.
As seen from the lake the Villa Lambert, which stood quite alone, gave
one the idea of the place a poet would choose for his meditations. The
villa and its terrace were built of white stone, but a large portion of
the walls was covered with ivy. The house itself was embedded in a
thickly-wooded garden where the trees were just budding into leaf.
Privacy was evidently what had been aimed at in the arrangement of the
place. On looking at it one would instinctively say, _here_ is rest. A
large _porte cochère_, which had evidently been long unused, was the
chief entrance to the place, and a small wicket, pierced by a grille,
and surmounted by a big bell in an iron cage, was the only other means
of getting into the garden. The active Capt descended, and seizing the
substantial handle rang loudly. The bark of a dog was the only answer,
but after repeating the summons several times, the trap in the wicket
opened and disclosed the surly face of an old Savoyard. The gifted Capt
addressed the old man in numerous dialects, but no answering smile of
intelligence illuminated the sulky wooden face; the barred aperture was
closed with an angry slam, and Capt instantly recommenced his solo upon
the bell. Again the trap opened and a weather-beaten crone answered his
summons; at length the door itself was unbarred, and Mr. Capt hastened
to assist his mistresses to alight. He explained to them that the
guardians of the villa were a Savoyard and his wife, and that the man
was probably deaf, but that the woman had expressed her readiness to
show them over the house and grounds.
The garden was full of trees and thick with evergreen shrubs; the walls
covered, as they are in most gardens on the Continent, with carefully
trained espaliers, many of which were already white with blossom, which
promised an abundant crop. Huge clumps of narcissus gave out their heavy
odour; it was too early for other flowers, save the China roses and
fuchsias, whose bright colours enlivened the place. The beds were
bordered, as in many foreign gardens, by pieces of plank painted a
bright blue; the paths, so different from our hard trim English gravel
walks, were loose shingle, which had been carefully raked. A goat,
chained to a peg, grazed on the unmown lawn; the house itself was
jealously shut up, storm blinds and jalousies covering every window.
The uncommunicative old gardener continued his interrupted vocation; his
wife, quitting the party and entering the house by a back door, suddenly
flung open the windows of the drawing-room, and so admitted the
visitors.
There is always an air of discomfort about a furnished house, a kind of
grim bareness that suggests an asylum or a prison, rather than a home;
and in foreign furnished houses this is specially apparent: there are
the regulation amount of chairs and tables it is true; if there are any
ornaments they are always either damaged or in bad taste: they generally
combine both qualities. It was so at the Villa Lambert; but everything
was spotlessly clean, everything was scrupulously cared for; the chairs
stood ranged against the wall in a melancholy manner, cruel
Philistine-looking chairs and guiltless of cushions. There were two hard
formal-looking couches, with straight backs and spider legs. There was a
sort of creepy look about the whole place.
"I wonder where the last proprietor hung himself, dear?" whispered Lucy
in her cousin's ear.
But from the rather dismal _salon_ they passed into a more cheerful
room. As the old housekeeper opened the shutters one by one streams of
strong sunlight entered the place; the floor was inlaid wood, the walls
were panelled to the ceiling, and elaborately carved; the ceiling itself
was of polished wood, beautifully veined; the furniture was of oak,
heavy and substantial; attempt at ornament there was none, nor was
ornament needed, for from the windows of this room one looked out
straight over the blue waters of the lake. The cheerful sound of music
came from the deck of a big saloon steamer, bearing its crowd of noisy
tourists. On the opposite shore, at Villeneuve, were the wooded grounds
of the hotel Byron; Chillon, a white spot in the turquoise sea, was
plainly visible to the right. The cousins stepped to the open windows
and descended the flight of stairs that led from the centre one; it
brought them to a little terrace which overhung the lake.
Lucy clapped her hands with delight, her more staid cousin was rapt in
pleased astonishment. In an instant the thousand and one well-known
descriptions ran through her mind, and she thought of the impassioned
picture of the palace on the Como lake, which Claude Melnotte had poured
into Pauline's delighted ear. Ought she not to be happy? Was not her
handsome husband the very ideal Claude?
Both girls were enthusiastic; they spent a long afternoon determining
this, arranging that. But spring evenings in Switzerland are chilly;
Capt suggested their return to the hotel. They reluctantly bade farewell
to the little villa; but during all the long drive back they talked of
nothing but the furnishing of the various rooms, the things that must be
had, the things they could not do without. All this was argued _pro_ and
_con._; colours were vital matters, fashion equally important; but not
one thought did the ladies give themselves as to the cost. Happy girls,
they were quite right; money in such a case as this was no object. Lucky
are they who have not to count the cost, these are the people who are
the real privileged classes; it's easy enough not to count the cost at
all, in fact it's like a pleasant dream, a dream which has an unpleasant
awakening at the shrill sounds of the piper who has to be paid.
The girls sat up till midnight, at which time Haggard and his friend
were due from Rome. They were both travel-worn and had not much to
tell. Their business in Rome had been transacted. No, they were not
hungry; they had dined in the sleeping-car.
The next day, as gently as possible, Haggard broke to his wife the fact
that it was incumbent upon him to start at once for his American
property. The blow came not unexpectedly, and Georgie made the best of
it. But the husband stayed a couple of days in Geneva; there were papers
to sign in reference to the little villa, a pair of ponies had to be
bought; and the numerous little matters of business to settle, which
somehow or other it falls invariably to the lot of man to transact.
The parting came at last; it took place on the platform of the station.
There is among women always a melancholy satisfaction in seeing the very
last of the beloved object. Georgie was no exception to the rule.
Spunyarn, who was to accompany his friend, at a discreet distance was
laughing and chatting merrily with the younger girl. True that at one
time there had been rumours of an attachment between the pair; we, who
are behind the scenes, know that both were perfectly heartwhole.
"Will the train never start, Lord Spunyarn? I'm afraid all this will
upset my cousin; these partings are dreadful things after all."
"Think what my feelings must be, Miss Warrender. I, who have been
congratulated by my friends over and over again in reference to my
supposed good luck, and who will have now to face the fire of their
chaff at my cruel rejection."
"Your lordship seems to bear it bravely enough."
"With profoundest equanimity, Miss Warrender. I leave the lady who has
rejected me, in maiden meditation fancy free, at least, I suppose so;
that thought is balm to my wounded soul. Hope, they say, springs
eternal in the human breast. Miss Warrender may yet change her mind."
"She will not fail to let you know by telegram should that unlikely
event occur, Lord Spunyarn."
"I'm afraid you've destroyed my future peace of mind. I now shall never
hear a double knock with equanimity; depend upon it our time has not yet
come."
"Yours has at all events, Lord Spunyarn, for if you don't get in you
will certainly be left behind."
"Good-bye, then, Miss Warrender; parting is such sweet sorrow, I e'en
could say good-bye until to-morrow."
"Now that is very sweet of you. I little thought you were Romeo still."
"Now and ever, Miss Warrender," said the young man with mock passion, as
they laughingly shook hands, and he hastened to enter the carriage. "One
thing I have forgotten, though," he said, "don't let your cousin see the
Society papers."
The parting between Haggard and his wife was necessarily what such
partings usually are: it was painful to both; it would not be amusing to
the reader.
Georgie's eyes were full of tears as her husband embraced her for the
last time. He only tore himself from her reluctant arms as the final
whistle sounded from the engine. As the train slowly moved from the
platform, the girls walked hurriedly along for a few yards. Haggard
leant from the window, waving his hand; his wife gazed after the
vanishing train, standing like Niobe, dissolved in tears.
Even Haggard, case-hardened as he was, didn't light his cigar for full
twenty minutes.
That evening Lucy Warrender obtained with some difficulty a copy of
'_The Sphere_;' this is what she read there:
"Seldom indeed now-a-days do Englishmen fight duels. In this they are
wise, for with us the man who fights a duel receives no sympathy, and
what is more unpleasant, generally becomes an object of ridicule.
Sometimes, however, a duel is unavoidable. We understand that this was
the case in the late unfortunate affair at Rome. The provocation was
given by the man who fell. M. Barbiche was well known in London society.
As usual, the cause of the quarrel was a lady. A correspondent in Rome,
upon whose information we can rely, informs us that a blow was struck by
Mr. R---- H----, but only after the grossest provocation. The meeting
took place within twenty-four hours; unfortunately the result was fatal.
The survivor and the seconds of both parties crossed the frontier at
once, but one of the friends of the deceased took the precaution to draw
up a _procès verbal_ of the affair before he left, and transmitted it to
the authorities. Society in Rome has been stirred to its foundations,
for both the parties were well known. The weapons were sabres. We
understand that the seconds of Mr. R---- H----, a well-known sporting
nobleman and General C----, are, as well as their principal, members of
the P----m Club. General C---- is now in England."
To Lucy Warrender, who now heard of the matter for the first time, these
initials were no enigma. The cause of Haggard's mysterious detention in
Rome, and of their own sudden flitting, became at once clear to her. "It
was very thoughtful of Spunyarn," she said to herself; "he was quite
right, Georgie certainly shouldn't see this."
The careful Lucy took every precaution. The consequences of the incident
at Papayani's ball remained a secret to the young wife.
The ladies were glad of the temporary excitement of their move to the
Villa Lambert, which they made the day after the departure of the two
men. And now commenced a life of seclusion and retirement, which both of
them enjoyed from its very novelty. The old quiet life that they had
led at The Warren seemed to recommence once more. They gardened, they
drove out, they rowed and sailed upon the lake, but they declined all
acquaintances. The life was monotonous enough and devoid of incident.
Hephzibah Wallis had recovered her spirits, her Swiss lover was more
attentive than ever; he escorted her on a Sunday evening to the
Protestant place of worship, and though she didn't understand a word,
Hephzibah enjoyed the service. In the mysterious rite of "walking out"
going to church together forms an important factor; it is the outward
and visible sign of "keeping company;" it is the inevitable step to
being "asked in church," a kind of probationary period, a sort of trial
trip. Mr. Capt was more loquacious than the British man-servant, under
similar circumstances, would be. He was never tired of drawing out Miss
Wallis on the subject of her young mistresses. The juvenile escapades
of the younger of them were to him a source of endless amusement; he
heard all that his inamorata had to tell, nay his interest was so great
in her artless narratives that he would make her repeat them over and
over again. The Swiss soon found out that in Hephzibah he was dealing
with a truthful girl; for the tale, though oft repeated, never varied.
What girl has any secret from the man she loves? Hephzibah Wallis formed
no exception to the rule. But it never dawned on her, at least not then,
that she was being "pumped." She put down Mr. Capt's complaisance to his
interest in her; and though, as servants will, she at times asked him
questions about his master, she merely admired him the more when they
were dexterously parried, for the confidential valet, in regard to
Haggard, ever remained discretion itself.
Great was Georgie's delight when she got the first letter from her
husband. Till now they had never been separated; is it to be wondered
at, then, that she locked herself up with the treasure? After the usual
protestations and the regulation amount of sentiment, sentiment which,
hackneyed though it was, brought ready tears of pleasure into the young
wife's eyes, Haggard announced his immediate departure by the mail
steamer. "I'm off to-morrow, Georgie," he said, "for I find life in
London without you perfectly unbearable. I am hastening my departure
that we may the sooner meet again," here followed several sentences of
the usual thing. The fact was that Haggard found himself once more a
sort of lion in spite of himself, but he also detected a rather chilling
reception in many quarters; he was most gushingly received by the least
reputable of his lady acquaintances. Mrs. Charmington, in a long
_tête-à-tête_ with which she had favoured him, had called him "her
hero." But Mrs. Charmington was already on the wane, and as he had no
wish to be her hero now he rather fought shy of her. At the Pandemonium
he was as popular as ever, rather more so in fact; for since the
baccarat affair, particularly as he was away, he had acted as a sort of
scapegoat for the sins of the many. It was rather a nuisance, too, to
find that wherever he went he excited a considerable amount of
attention. Even when seated in the stalls of his favourite theatres,
those temples where the sacred lamp of burlesque is so carefully tended,
it was annoying to find the glances of all those airily-costumed and
magnificently-developed females, who are known as the Lotties and the
Totties, concentrated on himself.
He had received no invitation to go down to The Warren, but his father
the Justice had written him in no measured terms.
"I had thought," he said, "that by this time you would have got tired of
making an ass of yourself; you'd better give old Warrender a wide berth;
he is furious."
All these things then tended to make a long stay in town distasteful to
Haggard, so he went down to Southampton, took his passage for Mexico in
that magnificent steam-ship, the "Capua," and he started, feeling
himself an ill-used man.
END OF VOL I.
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
The oe ligature has been expanded.
Most of the apparent printers' errors have been retained. A few have been
changed, including those listed below.
Page 221 Petrach is now Petrarch and
Page 224 Miugled is now mingled.