Laline dined that evening with Clare Cavan, Mrs. Vandeleur's niece.
"Aunt Cissy never eats before people," the latter explained. "She
thinks it's a great pity we have to eat at all. She's a dear sweet
thing, and I quite agree with her that eating is very mundane; but we
can't all of us live on air. Aunt Cissy tries to, but even she can't
quite succeed. I call her Aunt Cissy when we are alone because her
real name is Cecilia. But since she became celebrated she has taken the
name of 'Sibyl,' which is more suggestive of mystery, you know."
There was a veiled sneer in the words which made Laline glance quickly
across the table at Clare's face. But Miss Cavan was eating her dinner
with a placid countenance untouched by sarcasm, her light-yellow
eyelashes veiling her eyes.
"I am perfectly beside myself with delight that aunt has chosen you!"
Clare presently remarked. "You have no idea what a number of answers
she had to her advertisement. That was through putting in the word
'beautiful.' Such old bags sent their photographs, too, and answers and
pictures are still pouring in by every post. Did Aunt Cecilia tell you
anything about the nature of your duties?"
"No."
"That is just like her! She is always so vague. Perhaps, when you know
all about this house, you won't stay. It's rather uncanny. The only
servants aunt can keep are an old Scotch cook, who doesn't know what
nerves mean, and the maid who opened the door to you. She stays because
she's afraid to run away."
"Afraid?"
"Yes. Aunt Cecilia is a Devonshire woman, and can put a wish upon
any one she's vexed with. She leaves the most valuable things about;
but though at one time she was always changing her parlour-maids, no
one has ever dared to steal anything from her private sitting-room
up-stairs. You'll understand why when you've once been inside it."
Clare's white face grew, if possible, a shade whiter as she spoke,
lowering her voice to a very subdued key.
"Are you afraid of your aunt too?" Laline asked.
Clare shivered and glanced towards the door.
"Horribly!" she replied, in a very low voice. Then she gave a little
nervous laugh. "It sounds absurd to you, doesn't it? But Aunt Cecilia
is a wonderful woman! I am an orphan, and she was my mother's younger
sister. My mother often told me how Cissy used to terrify her as a
child by prophesying things. Well, she has cultivated her powers in
that direction until she almost forgets she has a body at all; she is
all mind and spirit and that sort of thing, you know! Won't you have
some more apple-pie? Aunt Cissy's cook makes such capital pastry, it's
a pity to neglect it! As I was saying, my aunt, who isn't forty yet, in
spite of her powdered hair, went in for spiritualism and all that sort
of thing quite early. She was the seventh child of a Scotchwoman and a
Devonshire man, and both my grandparents were dreadfully superstitious.
Aunt Cissy was very pretty, my mother told me, in a sort of ethereal
way--a figure like yours, I should say, only not so tall and a little
thinner--you are so charmingly slender that I feel a great fat thing
beside you!"
"I think you have a beautiful figure!" said Laline, simply.
"Oh, it's very sweet of you; but there are too many curves about me!
I know I must appear very plump and earthly in Aunt Cissy's eyes. Men
like curves, I know; but then I don't care about pleasing men a little
bit--they simply bore me when they try to make love to me! Do you feel
the same about them?"
"I don't know. No man has ever tried to make love to me."
And then Laline, although she had answered with perfect truthfulness,
suddenly blushed, remembering that she was actually a married woman.
Clare noted the blush and decided that her new friend was lying.
"I am so fond of women," she proceeded, with apparent enthusiasm. "Men
are all very well in their way--I don't mind talking to them for a few
minutes; but for a friend, a companion, a confidant, give me a woman.
You and I ought to get on splendidly together. We are both orphans--at
least, I am an orphan--and your parents are dead, are they not?"
Again Laline flushed deeply.
In truth she had neither seen nor heard anything of her father since
that fateful thirtieth of August more than four years ago. But she
was by no means inclined to confide in Miss Cavan, whom she admired
but instinctively mistrusted; and she therefore contented herself by
stating that her mother was dead, and that she had not seen her father
for some years.
"How sad!" cooed Clare. "Well, to go back to Aunt Cissy. When she was
five- or six-and-twenty she married Mr. Vandeleur, a distinguished
man, a good deal older than herself, who held a good government post
in India. Out there Aunt Cissy got friendly with Buddhist priests and
jugglers and snake-charmers and all sorts of wonderful people, and
picked up the most interesting things travelling about the country.
After some years of study at occult subjects she found out that
Mr. Vandeleur's soul didn't soar high enough to reach the rarified
atmosphere she had herself attained, and that comparative solitude was
essential to her. So she left him quite amicably in India and came and
settled in Kensington, to pursue her studies undisturbed. I believe he
had a liver, and was very fond of eating, and had most conservative and
orthodox notions. So that altogether he must have been a trial to Aunt
Cissy."
"And have you lived here with your aunt ever since?"
"Oh, no," returned Clare, opening her glittering green eyes; "I have
only been with Aunt Cissy a few months, since my mother died in Dublin
last summer and left me in her care. I am not in mourning, because Aunt
Cissy objects to it. She doesn't believe in death, you know! That is
one of her notions. She thinks that dead people are all about us in the
air, and that, if we keep our spirits sufficiently clear, we are able
to see and talk to them. It makes my flesh creep even to think of it!"
"Do you do any work for your aunt?" asked Laline, wondering greatly
what the nature of her own duties would be.
"No. I wanted to, but she found me too 'earthly.' That means, I
suppose, that I am not skinny enough to please her," Clare added,
rather viciously--"at least," she corrected herself, glancing
at Laline's slim figure, "I don't exactly mean skinny--I mean
spiritual-looking."
Laline burst into a hearty laugh.
"I don't in the least mind being called skinny, I assure you," she
said, good-humouredly.
The two girls offered a very marked contrast in appearance. Clare
Cavan's startling fairness and pallor, her abundant hair, red by day,
but converted by artificial light into a ripe gold, the voluptuous
curves of her figure, her aquiline features, almost Egyptian in profile
from the sharp outlines of the nose and chin and curled upper lip, her
scarlet mouth that constantly smiled, her heavy white eyelids drooping
over her brilliant eyes, and complexion "pale with the golden gleam of
an eyelash dead on the cheek"--all these items combined to form a most
picturesque and unique personality, and a type of beauty certain to
provoke discussion and arouse in some keen admiration, and in others a
feeling akin to repulsion.
In Laline Armstrong, or "Lina Grahame," as she now called herself,
there was no element to provoke spontaneous dislike. A little above
the medium height, her girlish slenderness made her appear taller than
she really was; but her quick, graceful movements were rather those of
a short than a tall person. Her habitual expression was alternately
eager and dreamy. Her soft auburn hair, which had grown some shades
darker within the past few years, was coiled neatly at the back of
her shapely head, and rippled in natural waves above her broad brow.
Her nose was short and straight, her mouth rather large than small,
and full of charming curves, humorous and tender, her chin was round,
and under her level dark eyebrows her eyes, of wonderful depth and
darkness, looked out with a wistful intentness, accentuated by the
comparative shortness of her vision. When Laline was amused she laughed
outright, showing two rows of dazzling teeth; whereas Clare never
passed beyond a smile, in spite of her native Irish humour.
In colouring, too, the girls offered a marked contrast. Laline's
complexion was of a pinky fairness, varying from cream to a rose-flush
in her cheeks, which came and went with the least excitement. Her voice
was lower in pitch, and of a more contralto quality than that of Clare,
who to the silvery sweetness of Mrs. Vandeleur's tones added a touch of
caressing "Irish blarney" in her intonation.
"I should so very much like to help Aunt Cissy in her work!" resumed
Miss Cavan. "And it seems rather hard that I can't just because I am
rather plump, doesn't it? In evening-dress I am only twenty-two inches
round the waist--and that isn't absolutely unwieldy, is it?"
"Not at all," said Laline.
She was beginning to wonder whether she herself would get discharged
from her post if she grew any fatter; but she had already decided
that in this household she must get used to surprising incidents and
alarming statements, so she made no further comment at the time.
Clare was going to an evening "At home" at nine o'clock, she informed
her new acquaintance.
"And I shall be so grateful if you will help me to dress and give me
your opinion of my frock. It is a deep-red velvet, cut square. Rather
daring with my red hair, isn't it? But I think the effect is nice."
Susan, the maid, entered at that moment with a message to the effect
that Mrs. Vandeleur would be glad if Miss Grahame would come up-stairs
to see her in her study.
"I can't come with you," said Clare--"I've got to dress; and, besides,
aunt hasn't asked me. But I shall just pop my head in before I go. I
hope she won't frighten you too much! She's dreadfully weird at times;
and I believe she drove one of her secretaries into an asylum. Oh,
you're not the first secretary she's had by at least a dozen! They've
all been too mundane or too unimpressionable, or too illiterate or not
beautiful enough, or else Aunt Cissy has sent them quite off their
heads and they've been packed off to asylums! Of course she might have
saved herself all the expense of a secretary by employing me--indeed,
that was poor mamma's idea when she left me in Aunt Cissy's care, and
my aunt's idea, too. But, as soon as she saw me, she wouldn't hear of
my touching her precious papers and things! However, I am beginning to
do her a great deal of good socially by going out and talking of my
wonderful aunt, and making people want to consult her; so that I am
worth having after all."
Laline was convinced by this speech that Miss Cavan deeply resented her
aunt's refusal to employ her as her secretary, and that she cherished
a keen jealousy against any other applicant for the post, and would
not be loath to warn them away by exaggerating its difficulties and
dangers. But Laline's life had taught her self-control, and it was with
a firm step and composed manner that she proceeded to the room on the
first floor, given up to Mrs. Vandeleur's "studies."
The apartment occupied the entire first floor of the house, which was
by no means large. Folding-doors had once filled an archway in the
middle of the room, but they were now replaced by hangings of tapestry.
Dark oak panelling, mellowed by age, went up to within a few feet of
the ceiling, across which the stars in their courses were painted upon
a midnight sky, while a frieze of tapestry, which in faded colours
and mediæval outlines pictured the "Dance of Death," completed the
wall-decoration of the apartment.
The room was full of furniture, chiefly of oak and elaborately carved,
and many curious old-fashioned cabinets and cupboards of various shapes
and sizes were to be found in the corners and against the walls. A
high carved oak mantelshelf was surmounted by a mystical picture,
incomprehensible to the uninitiated, but which was named the "Awakening
of the Spirit World;" and everywhere, scattered over the mantelpiece,
on shelves, within glass-covered antique tables, and in the cabinets
about the room, there was a multitude of curios, of old-fashioned
charms and relics, of amulets, and metal images of roughly-beaten
gold, ornaments from the East, fat little gods in soapstone and ivory,
bead fetiches of North American Indians, and delicately-carved skulls
and skeletons in German work of the Middle Ages--a heterogeneous
collection, to which the superstitions of the entire world seemed to
have each contributed their part.
In a deep arm-chair of dark oak, with a high-carved back, the little
priestess of the room sat among cushions of Oriental brocade. The chair
was so large and the little lady so small and fragile that she seemed
to Laline to encamp rather than to sit in it; but the darkened wood
formed a most effective background for her pale face and powdered hair.
Mrs. Vandeleur was writing at a table littered with papers; but as
Laline entered she laid down her pen and put her gold-rimmed spectacles
on the table.
"Sit down, child," she said, pointing to a low-cushioned seat near
the wide fireplace, furnished with red tiles and shining brass-dogs,
upon which logs of wood were burning, it being one of Mrs. Vandeleur's
principles to ignore the existence of gas and of coals alike--"sit
down, and let me look at you! To-morrow morning you must come to me for
money and buy something else to wear. I detest black, and black silk
most of all!"
"What would you like me to wear?" asked Laline, smiling.
"White--white in soft folds. There should be no stiff outlines about
you; your skin and hair supply the requisite colour."
"But white will get very dirty in London, surely!" Laline objected.
"Not if you have enough white dresses," returned her employer, loftily.
"Go to-morrow and buy four, of creamy-white nun's veiling. I will make
a sketch to show you how they must be made. Presently you shall have
others. I should like to see you in white velvet," she concluded,
gazing dreamily at Laline through her jewelled eye-glasses, which she
invariably used in preference to her spectacles when not alone or not
engaged in writing.
"White velvet would be very expensive, I am afraid," Laline was
beginning, when Mrs. Vandeleur cut her short.
"Leave off thinking of money altogether!" she said. "What does money
matter? If we can have the necessaries of life--and among them I count
beautiful surroundings, which are essential to a woman of my nature--of
what use is extra money? Look at my niece Clare. She is forever drawn
this way and that by two mastering passions--love of men and their
admiration and desire of money. The conflict will spoil her beauty.
Already it is so marked in its results that her presence troubles me.
The beings by whom in the spirit and the flesh I am surrounded must be
without harrowing passions or disturbing longings. Tell me--how does
this room affect you? Stand up, look about you, and speak out quite
fearlessly."
Laline rose and looked about her. As she did so she became conscious
of a singular perfume, faint but penetrating, which filled the air.
This arose in part from the many sandal-wood ornaments and receptacles
about the room, and also from Mrs. Vandeleur's practice of burning
joss-sticks and pastilles.
As Laline afterwards learned, her employer was also much addicted to
the use of Eastern perfumes, high in price and difficult to obtain,
with which her hair, hands, and clothing were liberally sprinkled. The
wood logs, too, seemed to emit a fragrant odour, and the mingled scents
gave to the atmosphere a quality peculiar to that room, and with which
Laline ever afterwards associated it.
A lamp of ruby glass, suspended by silver chains from the ceiling
on the farther side of the tapestry-hangings, supplied light to the
farther portion of the room, illuminating feebly the spacious bookcase,
the low divans, the corner cupboards, and the tall brazier, which
formed its chief furniture. The standing-lamp of Mrs. Vandeleur's
writing-table was shaded by amber silk, and, with the two unlit
wax-candles in silver stands on her table, gave, but for the dancing
firelight, the sole means of illuminating the apartment.
Laline stood for a few seconds gazing about her at the crystal balls,
the strange little ebony wands, the framed parchment-scrolls inscribed
with cabalistic signs, the heavy volumes in moth-eaten covers, and the
many other signs of abstruse and unwholesome studies into the unknown
which met her eye. Then she turned slowly, fascinated by the piercing
gaze of Mrs. Vandeleur; and, drawing insensibly a little nearer to her,
she scanned that lady's face.
"The room is beautiful and interesting," she said, "but it affects me
rather unpleasantly. I feel oppressed and stifled, as though a weight
had been put upon my heart and I could not breathe. There are so many
things about that I do not understand, and some that fascinate but half
frighten me. I feel--"
She hesitated, blushed, then stopped outright.
"Go on!" said Mrs. Vandeleur, imperatively.
"Well, it sounds tactless and discourteous, but I feel as if I would
rather be on a wide common, with the wind blowing a little rain into my
face, than here, and that, if I passed much of my life here, I might
grow into an idle, listless dreamer, with all the best side of my
nature sent to sleep forever."
"Silly child!" said Mrs. Vandeleur, holding out her little hands and
gently drawing the girl down on her knees beside her chair. "But yours
is just the temperament I want. My secretary, my companion, who will
take down my ideas and clothe them in suitable language, must not be
a mere echo of myself. I am at present engaged on two great works.
One is to be called _Necromancy in the Nineteenth Century_, and the
other _The Occult Vision_. With a mind like yours, fresh and untainted
by the world, to supplement my own, I can reach higher altitudes of
thought. But for this purpose your mind and spirit must be as clear
as a rivulet, in which I may read my changing fancies mirrored. While
engaged with me on this work, no thoughts of either of those disturbing
elements, love or money, must derange your spirit. I can read in your
eyes that you are not mercenary; as to love--you have never loved, and
yet you are keeping back some secret from the world and from me."
Looking closely into the girl's eyes, Mrs. Vandeleur softly smoothed
her forehead with her fingers. Laline was conscious of a sudden and
overpowering desire to confide in the weird little lady, which she
rightly attributed to the magnetism of the latter's touch and gaze.
Disengaging herself by a quick gesture, she rose to her feet, and spoke
with ringing earnestness and unexpected decision.
"If I am to help you in your work, Mrs. Vandeleur," she said, "it is of
no use to begin by trying to paralyse my will and make it subject to
yours. On such terms I could not stay with you. I think your work is
very interesting and fascinating, and that you are exceedingly kind.
I know quite well that I am very easily influenced on one side of my
character; but I have another side, too, or I should not be here now,
nor should I have taken my life into my own hands as I did four years
ago. As to money, I think as you do. As to love and marriage, they are
not for me; they are shut out of my life altogether. I must not think
of them either now or at any future time. If I have a secret, it is not
one to be ashamed of. Why, then, try to force it from me?"
"I know your secret," said Mrs. Vandeleur, quietly--"you are already
married!"