A Fair Mystery: The Story of a Coquette

While Doris' rich voice filled the room, and Earle sat with the sketches in his hand, she, feigning to be interested in them, said:

"I have never had a chance to thank you, but I thank you now, with all my heart, with gratitude that words cannot express. Can you understand how grateful I am to you, Earle Moray?"

There was a pretty, musical lingering on his name which charmed him. He looked into the proud, fair face, and said, simply:

"A man might be proud to give his life for you, Lady Linleigh. I am happy to think that it was in my power to be of service to you."

"You will keep my secret always, Earle?"

"Always, Lady Linleigh, as I would guard my life or my honor."

"Even after you are married, when it will be most difficult to keep a secret from Doris, you will keep this – you will never let her know that I am her mother?"

"No; you may trust me until death," he said.

Then for some minutes there was silence. Lady Linleigh was the first to break it.

"Do you know how I shall try to reward you, Earle?" she asked.

"I think less of the reward than of the kindness that prompts it," he replied, gratefully.

"I shall do my best to further your interests in life – to help you to reach such a position as shall please Doris. I will hasten your marriage by every means in my power, and I will love you as though you were my own son. Do not look so grateful; they will wonder what I am saying to you. You understand, once and for all, I shall never allude to this again."

The next moment Lady Doris was laughingly accusing the countess of having asked her to sing, in order that she might talk at her ease.

"We are quite a family party," said Lord Linleigh. "Earle, do you play billiards?"

"No," he replied, "I do not."

"Then come at once, and let me give you your first lesson. No man can hope to succeed in this world who cannot play billiards."

Doris went into the billiard-room to see the first lesson given and received, while Lady Estelle pondered over the same problem – did Doris love Earle, or did she not?

On the morning following the earl and the poet had a long conversation. It was a fine spring day, with the odor of early violets and the song of the birds in the air.

"Come out with me, Mr. Moray," said the earl; "we can talk more at ease under the broad blue sky."

Then, as they walked through the stately domain, the earl talked more seriously than he had ever done before.

"Some men," he said, "might object to seeing an engagement of the kind fulfilled. I do not. When Doris, as you knew, had no name, no home, you would have been proud to make her your wife; she, in her turn, should be, and is, I do not doubt, proud to reward your love. Now, it would be very easy for me, Earle, to imitate one of the fathers in heavy comedy, and say: 'Take her – be happy; here are fifty thousand pounds and my blessing.' I repeat, that would be easy, but it would be an injustice to you. I prefer that you shall make a position for yourself, and win her; you will be happier."

"Yes," replied Earle, "a thousand times happier. I love her so dearly – pardon me, my lord – so dearly, that I would work, as Jacob did, seven years to win her, and, because of my great love, they would seem as one day."

"I will take your fortunes in hand," said the earl, "as I told you before. It would be easy to give you one; but I will give you what is far better – the means of making one. I will place you in such a position that it shall not be in the power of any person to say, when he hears of my daughter's marriage, that she had made a mesalliance."

"I thank you, my lord; my deeds, my life shall thank you," said Earle, earnestly.

"You have already," continued the earl, "made for yourself some reputation as a poet; now tell me, have you ever turned your attention to politics?"

The young poet's face glowed again; it was so sweet to him, for her dear sake, this high hope of fame.

"I have studied the leading topics of the day," he replied, modestly.

"I know you have the gift of eloquence, and my first effort on your behalf shall be that you be returned a member for Anderley. The late member died a few weeks since, and I am repeatedly asked to put forward a candidate. You shall be that candidate, Earle Moray, and you shall succeed. When you are M. P. for Anderley, we will talk of the next step."

"I cannot thank you," said Earle, breathlessly; "it would be quite useless for me to try."

"In the meantime there is an appointment in London, in the civil service, vacant, and I think my influence can procure it for you. It will bring you in an income of seven or eight hundred pounds per annum. The expenses of the election will, of course, be mine."

Earle raised his hand to his head with a bewildered expression.

"I think," he said, "I must have had a fairy godmother."

"Genius is a fairy godmother," said the earl, laughingly. "We shall all be very happy, Earle. Doris is young – too young to marry yet; a year or two in the great world will not hurt her. I do not think anything will ever take her from you, Earle."

"I am sure of it, my lord. I have full faith in my love."

That very evening Lord Linleigh wrote to London, to secure the appointment of which he had spoken. It was characteristic of him that more than once during the course of that letter-writing he laughed to himself for being sentimental.

"I should have done better," he thought, "to have given the young man something handsome, and have let Doris marry as my daughter ought to marry."

Then, again, he would reproach himself with the thought, and his heart would warm with the consciousness of doing a good and generous action.

It would have been impossible, even had he desired it, to have kept the household in ignorance over Earle.

He had not been there twenty-four hours before the whole body of domestics were interested in his wooing. He was universally admired; the susceptible portion of the establishment declared that he was as handsome as Apollo, with a voice like real music, while languid footmen and knowing grooms declared him to be the "right kind of gentleman."

The Lady Doris had said little, but she had watched him with jealous eyes. If he had failed in any little observance of form or etiquette, she would never have pardoned him; if she had heard even the least hint that he was not perfectly well-bred, that he was not accustomed to the manners of good society, her angry resentment would have known no bounds. As it was, she was flattered by the universal praise and admiration. Earle might have lived with dukes and earls all his life. It never occurred to him, this terrible distance in rank; he did not think of it. As he once said to Doris, "He was a gentleman – a king was no more." She had half anticipated feeling ashamed of him; she found, on the contrary, that she had ample reason to be proud of him.

The earl told his wife and daughter what he hoped and intended to do for Earle. He almost wondered that the countess should be so pleased; her face flushed and her eyes filled with tears.

"You are very good, Ulric," she said, very gently.

He fancied that it was for her daughter's sake that she felt pleased. But there were no tears in his daughter's beautiful eyes.

"I am a deal of trouble to you, papa," she said. "It is not enough that you must have a grown-up daughter, but you must also provide her with a husband! It is rather too hard on you."

"But, Doris, you – you love Earle?" he said, anxiously.

"Oh, yes, I love Earle. It is a thousand pities, though, that he has not a ready-made fortune and position – it would save you so much trouble."

"My dear Doris, there can be no trouble for me where you are concerned; you know how anxious I am that you should be happy. You will be happy with Earle?"

"I am one of those singularly fortunate people, papa, who are happy anywhere," she replied. Then, seeing a very discontented expression on his face, she hastened to add: "Remember how often you have called me a true Studleigh, papa. I find it more in my nature to laugh than to sentimentalize; indeed, under pain of instant execution, I fear that I should not, could not grow sentimental. At the same time believe me no one could be more grateful than I am to you about Earle."

And with that the earl was forced to be content. She sat down to the piano shortly afterward, and he heard the gay voice singing of love and flowers. He looked at her – the same puzzle came to him.

"Has she any heart?" he asked himself.

That was a question which no one yet had been able to answer.

"Earle," said Lady Doris, as they sat together in the morning-room, "do not read any more to me. I always tell you that reading poetry aloud to me is a waste of time and of talent. I want you to talk."

The next moment he had closed the book, and was sitting on the little ottoman at her feet.

"I am only too delighted," he said. "It is not often that my beautiful queen wishes to talk to me."

"Your beautiful queen wishes to know, Earle, what you think of my lady?"

"My lady!" he repeated wonderingly.

"Yes! try and not be dull of understanding – nothing tries me so severely as that. My lady! I mean, of course, the Countess of Linleigh. What do you think of her, Earle?"

"I think she is very kind, very beautiful, very stately, and very charming."

"I agree with you; but do you not think that she is rather sentimental?"

"I hardly know. Why, Doris?"

"She has a fashion of dropping into my dressing-room at all hours, of taking this long hair of mine into her hands, and looking as though she would fain kiss it, of kissing my face, and talking about you."

"That seems very natural, Doris, and very kind," he said.

"When she talks about you, Earle, the tears come into her eyes, and she is so eloquent about love. Do you know what I fancy sometimes?"

"No," he replied, "I do not."

"You need not look so strangely at me; but I do fancy at times that when she was young, perhaps she loved some one like me, who is dead. What do you think, Earle?"

"It is very possible, darling. I should be so kind to her, Doris, were I in your place."

"I am kind, I never interfere; I let her do just as she likes with me. I am sure, Earle, it is not possible to be any kinder than that."

CHAPTER LVII

THE YEARNINGS OF A MOTHER'S HEART

The appointment was secured. It was hardly probable that the Earl of Linleigh should ask anything from the government and be refused. He was the rising man of the day, and the government was anxious for his support. He had great influence, and it was all needed. When, therefore, he made a special application for this choice bit of patronage, it was agreed on all sides that it would be most unwise to refuse it.

Earle was made perfectly happy. The income of eight hundred pounds a year did not seem such a great or wonderful thing to him as the fact that he was a public man, that his footing was firmly established, and that every day brought him nearer to Doris.

In his simplicity, he often wondered how it was that little paragraphs continually appeared in the leading papers of the day about him. One time it was to the effect that it was not generally known that Earle Moray, Esq., recently appointed to the royal commission service, was the poet with whose last work all England was delighted. Again, that Earle Moray, Esq., the poet, intended to contest the borough of Anderley. He found himself continually mentioned as one of the leading men of the day, one to whom the eyes of the country turned with hope. Earle could not imagine how it was, and in his perplexity he spoke of it to Lord Linleigh.

"If I did not know that it was impossible," he said, "I should imagine some one was always sending little paragraphs to the newspapers about me."

"It is the price of celebrity," said the earl. "A man who wishes to advance with the public must always keep himself before the public eye. You would be surprised how famous these little paragraphs, as you call them, have made you already. People often ask me about Earle Moray. You will have a greater name than this some day, and you will wonder how you have acquired it."

In the meantime he was wonderfully happy. He was not to commence his engagement until the middle of April, and the earl insisted upon it that he should continue at Linleigh Court.

"Lessons in social life are as needful as any others," said Lord Linleigh. "You cannot do better for the next few weeks than spend as much time as possible with Lady Estelle. I will introduce you to the chief magnates of the county; and so you will be acquiring knowledge of one kind, if not of another."

The next great event was a visit from the Duke and Duchess of Downsbury to Linleigh Court. The duke had long desired to go, but the duchess, prouder than himself, constantly refused. At last curiosity prevailed. Lord Linleigh wrote such glowing accounts of his happiness, and such descriptions of the beauty of his daughter and the happiness of his wife, that it was not in human nature to keep away any longer.

Then, indeed, was Lady Doris puzzled. The countess seemed to have but one anxiety: it was not for herself at all, but for Lord Linleigh's daughter – that she should look beautiful, that they should admire her, that she should make the most favorable impression on them, seemed to be her sole desire. The young beauty was highly amused at it. They were talking one morning, and Lady Estelle held a long, shining tress of Doris' hair in her hand.

"I hope," she said, suddenly, "the duchess will admire your hair, Doris."

"Do you, Lady Linleigh?" was the reply, with a little raising of the eyebrows. "I am not very anxious about it myself."

"My darling," said the countess, impulsively, "do not say that. I want my mother to admire and to like, even to love you."

"It is very kind of you, Lady Linleigh, but it is very improbable. I fancy that I remember her grace. She is very tall and stately, is she not? with a proud, high-bred face – not handsome at all, but very aristocratic?"

"Yes," said Lady Estelle, faintly, "that is she."

"Then I am quite sure, dear Lady Linleigh, she will not like me. I must have been quite a child when you paid that memorable visit to Brackenside, but I remember her much better than I remember you, and I am quite sure that she looked as though she would like to shake me."

"But, Doris," said the countess, earnestly, "you must try to make the duchess like you. You will try, will you not, my dear?"

"Will you tell me why, Lady Linleigh?" asked the young girl.

The countess grew pale and agitated.

"Do it to please me, my darling, because I want her to like you – do it for my sake. Will you, Doris?"

The girl laughed – a low, rippling laugh, that had no music in it.

"I will do anything, Lady Linleigh – anything to please her, but if my own mother were living, provided that I loved her myself, I should not be very anxious for any one else to love her."

Lady Estelle drew back with something like repulsion in her face.

"You are mistaken; you cannot judge. It is only natural that we wish every one to love and admire what we love ourselves."

Doris looked at her with laughing eyes.

"I cannot see it. I should like every one, for instance, to admire Earle, but I do not care about any one loving him."

Lady Linleigh sat in silence for some minutes, then looking up, she said:

"We will not argue over it, my dear child; but you will promise to be very nice to the duchess, and try to win her liking?"

"Certainly, I promise, Lady Linleigh. Tell me, is the duchess a lady of great importance?"

"Yes, she is, indeed, she has much influence at court and in society."

"Then I will do all I can, not only to make her like me, but to make her speak favorably of me. Shall you be pleased, then, dear Lady Linleigh?"

Yes, she would be pleased; but she owned to herself, with a deep sigh, that it was impossible to arouse any deep or true feeling, any noble sentiment, any generous idea, in the girl's mind. Appeal to her vanity, her interest, her ambition, you were sure to find some answering chord. Appeal to anything else was utterly in vain.

Lady Doris laughed to herself as the countess, with something like disappointment in her face, quitted the room.

"I have heard the proverb, 'Love me, love my dog,'" she said to herself. "I never heard, 'Love me, love my mother.'"

Still, the fact that the coming visitor was a duchess, and a person of very great importance, the wife of one of the wealthiest dukes in England, was not without its influence on her; she resolved, therefore, to be most charming and gracious.

She was secretly amused at Lady Linleigh's anxiety over her dress. On the day when the visitors were expected, she said to her:

"Take great pains with your toilet this evening, Doris – wear that set of pearls and rubies."

"If the duke were a widower," laughed Lady Doris to herself, "I should feel sure that the countess wanted me to make a conquest."

She was awed and impressed, in spite of herself, when she stood before the Duchess of Downsbury. The duke she remembered well; she felt no especial awe of him; she could tell, from the expression of his face, that he thought her beautiful. She was accustomed by this time to see men fall prostrate, as it were, before her beauty, but there was something in the high-bred, stately duchess before which my Lady Doris owned herself vanquished. She did not understand the emotion in Lady Linleigh's face as she led her to the duchess.

"Mamma," she said in a voice that trembled, "this is Lady Doris Studleigh, my husband's daughter."

The jeweled hands of the duchess trembled as they lay for one half minute on the golden head.

"I am pleased to see you," she said. "You are very fair; I hope you are as good as you are fair."

Lady Doris wondered why, for one half minute, every one around her looked so solemn, why her father's debonair face had lost its color, why Lady Estelle turned so hastily away, why Earle stood looking on with a strange light in his eyes. It was droll. Then she dismissed the thought. They were all more or less sentimental, and there was no accounting for sentimental people at all.

She was destined the same evening to feel a little more surprised. There had always been the most perfect harmony and sympathy of taste between the earl and his daughter, they resembled each other so closely. Lady Doris felt half inclined to dislike the duchess; her exclusiveness, her hauteur, awed her after a fashion that was rather disagreeable than otherwise. As usual, she went to the earl for sympathy.

"Papa," she said, "the worst enemy her grace ever had could not call her lively."

"She is no longer young; liveliness is one of the attributes of youth, you know, Doris."

"Yes, but a little more of it would certainly not hurt her, papa."

The earl went to his daughter and laid his hand on her shoulder.

"Doris," he said, "I want to speak to you most particularly, and I want you to pay the greatest attention to what I have to say."

She looked up in wonder at this preamble.

"Let me impress upon you," he said, "that it is my earnest wish that you should treat the duke and duchess with all the respect, attention, and affection that lies in your power. You cannot show them too much, and the more you show them the better shall I be pleased. They are my wife's parents."

"I suppose," thought Doris, "he expects they will leave him a fortune. However, I must trim my bark according to the sea I have to sail on."

So she promised to show all deference, all homage, all respect. She did so. The duke admired her beyond everything; he thought her one of the most beautiful, most graceful, one of the cleverest girls he had ever met. But the duchess did not like her; she had never forgotten her first impression, that the girl was both vain and wanting in goodness. She tried to like her, to make the most of her beauty, her talent, but there was no real warmth in her heart toward her daughter's child. Earle, on the contrary, won her honest liking. In her own mind, although she knew that Doris was the daughter of Lord Linleigh, and the descendant of the Herefords, she thought her inferior to Earle Moray. So this strangely assorted household remained until the time drew near when the earl thought of going to London.

The Duke of Downsbury had promised to do his best in helping to forward the fortunes of Earle Moray. He by this time had recovered from the shock his daughter's story had inflicted on him; still, he considered it best, for many reasons, that the secret should be kept. Lady Doris wondered often how it happened that she was so great a favorite with the duke. He made her costly and beautiful presents; he liked to ride out with her; he enjoyed watching her beautiful face.

"Your daughter is unique," he said one day to Lady Estelle, and her face grew white as she heard the words.

"My daughter!" she repeated. "It seems so strange, papa, to hear that; no one has ever called her 'my daughter' before."

How the gentle heart yearned over her, the proud young beauty, in the flush of her triumph, never knew. She looked upon Lady Linleigh's great love for her as rather tiresome than otherwise; it was annoying to her that she should be visited every evening, and that the countess should study so attentively her every look and word. More than once she spoke impatiently of it to Earle, and wondered that he looked so gravely at her.

"It seems to me," she cried, "that every one studies Lady Linleigh a great deal more than they study me."

She wondered why it was that the fair, proud face was always so tender for her; why the calm eyes always rested on her with a loving light; why the voice that never varied for others, faltered and grew so loving when speaking to her. Once or twice it occurred to her that if her own mother had been living, she could not have shown greater affection for her than did Lady Estelle Linleigh.

CHAPTER LVIII

BEFORE THE QUEEN

Such a May day! like one of those that the poets of old described when they wrote of mead and honey. A flash of heaven's own sunshine, a murmur of heaven's own music, a foretaste of the golden glories of summer which were soon to shine over the land. A May day, when, in the green heart of England, the hawthorn was budding, the perfume of violets filled the air, the cuckoo remained lord of the meadows, the wood pigeons began to coo, the butterflies to coquette with sweet spring flowers – a very carnival of nature.

London had never looked so bright or so gay. The queen had thrown off the black mantle of sorrow, and had come forth once more to gladden the hearts of her faithful people. She had opened Parliament, and a series of royal fetes had been announced that cheered the whole city with the hope of future prosperity. Trade, commerce, literature, and art were all encouraged; as all drooped in her absence, so they all revived in the gracious promise of her serene presence.

There was to be on the third of May a grand drawing-room. Great excitement was caused by the announcement that the Countess of Linleigh and the Lady Doris Studleigh were both on this eventful day to be presented, the countess on her marriage, the Lady Doris as a debutante.

Rumor was very busy. There was nothing to wonder about over the countess – she was well-known for many London seasons; she had been a belle and a reigning beauty, she was married at last to a popular nobleman, and would doubtless take her place as one of the queens of society; she would give brilliant fetes, head the gayeties of the season. Hyde House would doubtless become one of the most fashionable resorts of the day; but there all sensation about her ceased.

With Lady Doris it was different; more curiosity was felt to see Lord Linleigh's daughter than his wife. People heard that she was a regular Studleigh, and the memory of the handsome, debonair race was still living among them.

In the time of Charles the Second there had been ladies of the Studleigh family whose names were proverbs for beauty, wit, and recklessness. Strange stories were told of deeds of fun and daring that in people less noble would have been called crimes.

And now on the great world – always a little blase, a little tired of itself, always athirst for novelty – a new star was to shine – a Studleigh, with all the fatal, witching beauty of her race, and the inheritance of wit that was always pointed.