The Daltons; Or, Three Roads In Life. Volume I

Norwood walked noiselessly to the door of the salon and peeped in. Lady Hester, the Prince, and Jekyl were in earnest conversation in one quarter; while Kate sat apart, apparently engaged with her embroidery-frame, but in reality too deeply sunk in thought to notice the bright tints before her. Norwood entered listlessly, and strolling across the room, took a place beside her. She moved slightly as he drew forward his chair, and, then, as she drew back her flounce, Norwood saw that it was of deep black lace. He coolly took out his pocket-book wherein he had deposited the torn fragment, and, regarding it with attention, saw that it perfectly corresponded with the dress. So leisurely and with such circumspection did he proceed that several minutes elapsed before he looked up.

“You are meditative, my Lord, to-night,” said Kate, at last, making an effort to relieve an awkward situation; “what are you thinking of, pray?”

“Admiring your dress, Miss Dalton, which strikes me as singularly beautiful and becoming.”

“Great praise this, from such an acknowledged judge as Lord Norwood,” said she, smiling.

“I prefer it to antique lace, which in general is too heavy and cumbrous for my taste; I like these fine and delicate tissues, so frail and gossamer-like, not but their frailty, like all other frailty, incurs occasionally a heavy penalty; as here, for instance, you see this has been torn.”

“So it has,” said Kate, with confusion, “and I never noticed it. What a quick eye you must have, my Lord!”

“And a sharp ear, too, Miss Dalton,” said he, significantly; “in fact, I am one of those people whose every-day faculties do duty for what in others goes by the name of cleverness. It ‘s a great pity,” said he, looking down at the dress; “you see, Miss Dalton, what a false step can do.”

“And yet I cannot remember when this occurred,” said she, assuming to misunderstand his equivocal expression.

“Not recall it, not a clew to the mishap?” asked he, shrewdly.

“None,” said she, blushing at the pertinacity with which he clung to the theme; “but it’s of no consequence.”

“Would Miss Dalton think it very singular if I should be able to assist her memory? Would she accept the service as kindly as it was proffered, too?”

“Really, my Lord, you begin to speak in riddles,” said she, more than ever piqued at his persistence.

“And yet,” said he, following out the thread of his own thoughts, “I am assuredly as safe a counsellor as Albert Jekyl.”

Kate grew deadly pale, but never replied to this speech.

“And certainly,” resumed he, “the man who speaks in his own name should ever take precedence of an envoy.”

“My Lord,” said she, firmly, “the very little which I can understand of your words implies a pretension to knowledge and influence over me which I disdain to accept; but still I cannot believe that you seriously mean to insult me.”

“Of course not,” said he; “I have come on a very different errand. If I did passingly allude to bygones, it was to show you that you can afford to be candid when I am frank. We two, united, would walk over the course, and no mistake, that ‘s what I was coming to. I don’t mean to say that the Russian is not richer egad! there ‘s no disputing that, still, as to rank, a peer of Great Britain, I take it, is the equal of any man. Not to remind you of the old adage about ‘a bird in the hand’ I speak frankly, because you are your own mistress.”

“Kate, if Lord Norwood will excuse you, come to me for one instant,” cried Lady Hester.

“Just say yes, before you go, or, if not yes, tell me that I have ground for hope,” whispered Norwood. But she arose without speaking.

“I’ll not stand a ‘hedge,’ by Jove!” said Norwood, sulkily; “play or pay, nothing else for me.”

“Allow me to pass you, my Lord,” said Kate, courteously.

“One word, off or on, Miss Dalton,” said he, rising, and affecting to make way, while he still barred the passage. A proud, disdainful smile was all the reply she vouchsafed.

“All right,” said he, insolently; “only remember how we stand, Miss Dalton, and whenever you want to repair the mischance of your lace flounce, don’t forget the piece is in my keeping;” and he opened the pocket-book as he spoke, and exhibited the fragment before her. Sick with a terror she could neither explain nor realize, she lay back again in her chair, unable to move, while Norwood glided quietly away and left the room.

“Dear Kate, have you forgotten me all this time?” said Lady Hester, whom Kate now perceived was alone on the sofa, Midchekoff and Jekyl having retired into an adjoining gallery, where they walked slowly along, side by side, deep in conversation.

“You shouldn’t have suffered Norwood to engross your attention in that manner, my dear. The Prince has been quite put out by it, and at such a moment, too, and how flushed you are! What has he been saying?”

“I can scarcely remember,” said Kate, confusedly.

“Well, it’s of no consequence, dear, because I have got something to tell you that would speedily make you forget it. You know, Kate, how I always prophesied wonderful things for you, just as I did before for poor Georgina Elderton, and she married a Rajah afterwards, and died Begum of something ending in ‘Bad.’ Indeed, I might say it ended in bad for herself, poor dear, for I believe she was poisoned. But, to come back, I always said that you also would have astonishing luck. I told Sir Stafford so. The first day I saw you, ‘She ‘ll be like Georgina,’ I said. ‘You ‘ll see that girl in a wonderful position one of these days.’ It is not that men care for their wives more than formerly, I rather fancy the reverse, but they have got a most intense passion just now for beauty. Wealth and good blood were once the only requisites, but they are both disregarded now, in comparison with good looks. I suppose the fashion won’t last, it would be very absurd if it should, but while it is the mode one ought to profit by it. Just as I am wearing all those horrid old brocades of my great-grand-aunt’s, with odious flowers of crimson and yellow, now that the taste in dress is ‘rococo,’ but of course in a year or two people will recover their senses again, and pretty girls without portions be left for sub-alterns in the line, as Providence intended they should. Don’t you think so, dear?”

The brief question at the end of this long rambling speech would possibly have puzzled Kate to reply to, had not Lady Hester been far too much occupied in her own speculations to care for a rejoinder.

“You’ll hear people talk a deal of nonsense about unequal marriages, and they’ll quote Heaven knows what instances of girls, generally Irish ones, picking up princes and royal dukes, and all ending unhappily. Don’t believe a word of it, dearest; there ‘s never misery where there ‘s large fortune. The people who cry in velvet always shed rose-water tears, that don’t hurt the skin or spoil the complexion. Not that I can say so of myself,” added she, with a deep sigh; “but I am a creature apart. I fervently trust nature does not often form similar ones. Buccellini told me that I had a fifth pair of nerves, I assure you he did. It was a very shocking thing, and probably he ought never to have mentioned it to me; but it perfectly explains the excessive sensibility of my whole nature, does n’t it, dear?”

Kate smiled assent, and Lady Hester went on:

“Then, as to religion, my dear, I’m afraid, indeed, we all think too little about it. I ‘m sure I ‘m quite shocked at what I see in society. It was only the other night Lady Grace Morton kept her seat when the Cardinal was speaking to her. I apologized to him for it afterwards, and he said, with such a sweet smile, ‘If these Protestants would only give us back our churches, we ‘d forgive their keeping their chairs.’ The mot was very pretty, in French, and well turned was n’t it? Of course, then, you ‘ll make no obstacle about the Greek Church, which I believe is exactly like your own, only that the priest has a beard, which I think more becoming. It looks affectionate, too; it always gives one the idea of devotion, a girl changing her faith for her husband; and really, in this tiresome age we live in, a new religion is the only new thing one ever hears of. Your excellent family that sweet sister and the dear old papa will probably make a fuss about it; but you know, after all, how absurd that is, and if you were to marry a Chinese, there ‘s no saying what strange creatures you ‘d have to pray to. You ‘ll have to go to Russia, but only for presentation; that over, the Prince will obtain a renewal of his permission to reside abroad; still, if you have to pass a winter at St. Petersburg, it will be far from disagreeable. The women are too fond of caviare and high play; but they dress just as well as in Paris, and wear better diamonds. Midchekoff’s jewels are unequalled; and, now that I think of it, there ‘s one thing I ‘ve set my heart on, and you must positively promise to give me, a little stiletto with an emerald hilt and handle. I have pined for it there ‘s no other word these three years. He wore it in London, and I have never had it out of my thoughts since. You can afford to be very generous, dearest. How I envy you that pleasure! and the delight you ‘ll feel in providing for poor papa and Mary no, Elizabeth, I mean how absurd! I should say Ellen. It was something about that tale of Elizabeth, the Exile of Siberia, was running in my mind. The Prince will do whatever you suggest, and, indeed, he has already hinted about your brother Frank joining the Russian service. He ‘ll have him named an officer in the Emperor’s Guard. You must insist, too, upon La Rocca being your own settled upon yourself. They tell me it ‘s the sweetest spot in the world; and I ‘ll always live there when you don’t want it. I mention this about the settlement, because there ‘s no saying how men will behave. I ‘m sure I never could have anticipated such a return as I have met with from Sir Stafford. And then, you know, with a Russian, one cannot be too guarded. Don’t you agree with me? Well, never mind, you ‘ll perhaps come round to my opinion later. But here comes the Prince, and it will be as well you should retire, dearest. I’ll see you in your dressing-room, and tell you everything.”

And with this assurance Kate retired, with a head and heart as full as ever young lady’s felt.

Kate was hastening to her room, when a short, quick step behind her made her turn round, and she saw Purvis endeavoring to overtake her.

“Oh! I have you at last,” said he, puffing for breath; “and what a ch-chase I ‘ve had for it! I ‘ve been in five rooms already, and nearly had a f-f-fight with that Frenchwoman of Lady Hester’s. She ‘s a regular T-T-Tartar, she is, and almost boxed my ears for looking into a small case where my Lady’s r-ringlets are kept ha! ha! ha! I saw them, though, two long and two short, and a pl-pl-plait for the back of the head. How she m-m-makes up at night!”

“I must say that you have the strangest mode of requiting hospitality,” said Kate, haughtily.

“It ‘s all very well to talk of hospi-hospi-hospi – ” Here a fit of gaping brought on coughing, which, after a violent struggle, ended in the forced utterance of the last syllable of the word, but with such fatigue and exhaustion that he seemed scarcely able to continue; at last, however, he did resume. “It’s all very well to talk of that, but we got in here by our own cl-cl-cleverness; at least by Zoe’s.”

“Less good-natured persons would find another word for it, Mr. Purvis.”

“So they would. Haggerstone called it a Ricketty stratagem. No matter; we ‘re in ha! ha! ha! and he ‘s out. The pr-pr-proof of the pu-pu-pudding – ”

“Will you excuse me, sir, if I say I must leave you?”

“Don’t go, don’t go; I’ve something very important to to tell you. And first, Zoe my sister Zoe wants to see you. The cook has been most im-im-impertinent to her. She says it was ginger she put in the maca-maca-roni, instead of P-P – Parmesan; all his truffles are only Piedmontese. That is n’t all: don’t be in such a h-hurry. They ‘ve changed the wine, too. We had Ch-Ch-Chambertin yesterday, and they ‘ve given us P-Pomard to-day. How is that to be borne?”

“I really see but one remedy for it, sir,” said Kate, scornfully.

“So Zoe said; that ‘s exactly her opinion. They must be sent away. Zoe knows a very ti-ti-tidy cook. He ‘s not a a top-sawyer, you know, but he can r-roast a bit of beef, and make a c-capital rice-pudding, and he ‘ll come for six dollars a month. Wouldn’t that be a sa-saving? Zoe told him to c-call to-day, and speak to La-Lady Hester.”

“He will find that difficult, sir,” said Kate, dryly.

“And as for the b-butler, such a j-j-jackanapes I never saw; and Zoe would advise you to take little Pierrette, the fellow you see every day at the Pergola; he sells the tickets outside the door. He looks r-r-ragged enough now, but when he ‘s dressed – ”

“You must see, sir,” interposed Kate, “that these are all details in which it would be both indelicate and impertinent for me to intrude an opinion about.”

“Not when you li-live in the house; not when you’re dome-dome-domesticated with the family. We ‘re all in the same bo-boat now; and Zoe says somebody must steer it. Now Lizetta, Zoe’s maid, would keep the k-keys herself.”

“Pray remember, sir, this is Lady Hester Onslow’s house.”

“Egad! it w-won’t be long so, if she goes on as she’s d-doing. Martha saw the meat-cart come in this morning, and I had a p-p-peep into the servants’ hall when the fl-flunkeys were feeding, and such w-w-waste, such re-reckless – ”

“Good-evening, Mr. Purvis; I cannot stay longer,” said Kate. And, before he could interpose a word, she hastened from the spot, and, passing rapidly up the stairs, gained her own room, leaving Purvis to bethink him over the mass of things he had not touched upon, and on which he had mainly intended to debate.

CHAPTER XXXVIII. AN ARRIVAL

LET us go back a few hours in our history, and follow the short and burly figure which, emerging from the travelling-carriage in the courtyard of the palace, pushed his way through the noisy throng of duns, and entered the house.

“How are you, Proctor how is your master?” said he, as he threw off his great-coat, and unrolled a capacious muffler from his throat. “How is Sir Stafford?”

“Oh, Dr. Grounsell, glad you’ve come, sir. It will be a real pleasure to my master to see you again, sir.”

“How is he, man, how ‘s the gout?”

“Poorly, very poorly, sir. Things have gone badly here, doctor, since you left us,” said he, with a sigh.

“Yes, yes; I know it all; I have heard all about that. But his health tell me of his health.”

“Greatly broken, sir. No sleep o’ nights without opium, and no real rest even with that.”

“And his spirits?”

“Broken too, sir. He’s not what you remember him, sir, nor anything like it. No pleasant joke, sir, when anything goes amiss, as it used to be; no turning it off with a merry laugh! He ‘s fretful and impatient about the merest trifles, and he that never wanted attendance is now always complaining that he ‘s neglected, and deserted and forsaken by all the world.”

“Does the Captain come often to see and sit with him?”

“Every day, sir; but these visits do rather harm than good. Sir Stafford is vexed at what goes on in the house; and Master George, I don’t know how it is, but he don’t calm him down, and they have oftentimes angry words together; not but my master is frequently in the wrong, and taxes the young gentleman with what he can’t help; for you see, sir, my Lady – ”

“D – n! I mean, tell me about Sir Stafford; it is of him I want to hear. Does he read?”

“He makes me read to him every day, sir, all about the money-market and railroad shares; sometimes twice over, indeed; and when I ask if he would n’t like to hear about what goes on in politics, he always says, ‘No, Proctor, let’s have the City article again.’”

“And his letters does n’t he read them?”

“The Captain reads them for him, sir; and now and then writes the answers, for he can’t hold a pen himself! Oh, you ‘ll not know him when you see him! He that was so large and fine a man, I lift him in and out of bed as if he were a baby.”

“Has he no acquaintance here?”

“None, sir.”

“Are there no inquiries after his health?”

“Yes, sir; there’s plenty of people he used to give money to when he was up and about poor actors, and painters, and the like they come every day to know how he is. Some of them leave begging letters, which I never give him; but most go away without a word.”

“And his countrymen here are there none who ask after him?”

“No, sir. The only English we ever see visit my Lady, and never come to this side of the house at all.”

“Does Miss Dalton come to inquire for him?”

“Every morning and every night too, sir. I suppose it must be without my Lady’s orders, or even knowledge; for once, when Sir Stafford was sitting up in his dressing-room, and I asked her if she would n’t like to come in and sit a few minutes with him, she turned away without speaking; and I saw, from her manner, that she was crying.”

“What are all these people outside, who are they?”

“My Lady’s tradespeople, sir. They’ve heard she’s going for a few weeks to Como, and they ‘ve come with all their bills, as if she was a runaway.”

“Go and tell them to leave this, send them away, Proctor. It would do your master great injury were he to overhear them. Say that everything shall be paid in a day or two; that Sir Stafford remains here, and is responsible for all.”

Proctor hastened out on his errand, and the doctor sat down and covered his face with his hands.

“Poor Stafford! is all your trustful affection come to this? Is it thus that your unbounded generosity, your noble hospitality, are requited?”

When Proctor returned, he proceeded to detail, for the doctor’s information, the various events which had occurred during his absence. With most, Grounsell was already acquainted, and listened to the particulars without surprise or emotion.

“So it is, so it is,” muttered he to himself; “there may be more cant of virtue, a greater share of hypocrisy in our English morals, but, assuredly, these things do not happen with us as we see them here. There would seem a something enervating in the very air of the land, that a man like him should have sunk down into this besotted apathy! When can I see him, Proctor?”

“He ‘s dozing just now, sir; but about midnight he wakes up and asks for his draught. If that won’t be too late for you – ”

“Too late for me! Why, what else have I travelled for, night and day, without intermission? Be cautious, however, about how you announce me. Perhaps it would be better I should see the Captain first.”

“You ‘ll scarcely find him at home, sir, at this hour; he generally comes in between three and four.”

“Show me to his room. I ‘ll write a few lines for him in case we don’t meet.”

Proctor accompanied the doctor across the courtyard, and, guiding him up a small stair, reached the terrace off which George Onslow’s apartment opened. The window-shutters of the room were not closed, nor the curtains drawn; and in the bright light of several candles that shone within, Grounsell saw two figures seated at a table, and busily engaged in examining the details of a case of pistols which lay before them.

“That will do, Proctor,” said Grounsell; “you may leave me now. I’ll be with you at twelve.” And thus saying, he gently pushed him towards the door of the terrace, which he closed and bolted after him, and then noiselessly returned to his former place.

There were few things less congenial to Grounsell’s nature than playing the spy. It was a part he thoroughly detested, nor did he think that it admitted of defence or palliation; still, the whole habit of his mind through life had impressed him with a disparaging opinion of himself. The limited sphere of his duties, the humble routine of his daily walk, and the very few friendships he had inspired, all tended to increase this impression, till at last he looked upon himself as one who could only be useful by the sacrifice of personal feeling and the abnegation of all self-esteem; and thus he would have declined to know another man for what he deemed of no consequence in himself. His fault was not thinking too well of others, but thinking too meanly of himself.

The scene before him now was enough to suggest deep anxiety. Notes and letters littered the floor and the table; the embers of a large fire of papers lay on the hearth; open drawers and boxes stood on every side; all betokening preparation, the object of which the pistol-case sufficiently indicated. As they sat with their backs to the window, Grounsell could not recognize the figures; but the voice of one proclaimed him to be George Onslow.

“And where is this place on the way to Arezzo?” asked he.

“No; on the opposite side of the city, off the high-road to Bologna. It is a little park, surrounding a summer palace of the Grand Duke, they call Pratolino,” said the other. “They all agree that it is the best spot to be found; no molestation, nor interference of any kind; and a capital breakfast of fresh trout to be had at the inn.”

“An interesting consideration for such as have good appetites,” said Onslow, laughing.

“I never saw a Frenchman who had not, on such an occasion,” rejoined the other, snapping the pistol as he spoke. “I like these straight stocks; you are almost always certain of your man, with a stiff arm and a low aim.”

“I don’t know that I ‘ve forgotten anything, Norwood,” said Onslow, rising and pacing the room with folded arms.

“You ‘ve written to the governor?”

“Yes; and mentioned those acceptances,” said Onslow, with a sneering severity that the other never seemed to notice. “You’re quite safe, whatever happens.”

“Hang it, man, I wasn’t thinking of that; curse the money, it never entered my thoughts.”

“My father will pay it,” said George, dryly, and continued his walk.

“As you have alluded to it, I hope you spoke of it as a loan, anything like a play transaction suggests a mess of scandal and stories.”

“I have called it a debt, and that is quite sufficient.”

“All right whatever you like. And now about this girl. Do you intend to let this mystery continue, or do you think that, under the circumstances, Lady Hester should still retain her as a friend and companion?”

“I know of nothing to her disparagement, nor have I yet met one who does. That there are circumstances which she does not deem fitting to entrust to my keeping is no just cause of allegation against her.”

“You are very honorable to say so, George; but I must confess it is more than she deserves at your hands.”

“How do you mean?”

“That she means to take the Russian, that’s all.”

“Well, and why not? Would not such a match be a brilliant one for a girl of much higher rank and pretension?”

“What’s the use of all this fencing, man?” said Norwood, half angrily, “I know better how matters stand. Do you remember the night you lost so heavily at Macao? Well, I was lying stretched on the sofa, yonder, by the light of the fire only, when the door opened, and she stepped gently in.”

“What, Kate Dalton?”

“Yes, Kate Dalton. Oh! impossible, if you like deny it as much as you please, but she has not equal hardihood, that I can tell you; and if she had, here is the proof that could condemn her, this fragment of her lace flounce was caught in the door as she banged it in her escape; and this very evening I compared it with the dress in question; ay, and showed her the rent from which it came.”

Twice did George compel Norwood to repeat over this story; and then sat down, overwhelmed with sorrow and shame.

“You swear to me, then, Onslow, that you never saw her here, never knew of her coming?” said he, after a long silence between them.

“Never, I swear!” said the other, solemnly.

“Then, some other is the fortunate man, that’s all. How good if it should turn out to be Jekyl!” And he laughed heartily at the absurdity of the conceit.

“No more of this,” said Onslow, passionately. “The tone of the society we live in here would seem to warrant any or every imputation, even on those whose lives are spotless; and I know of no greater degradation than the facility of our belief in them. In this instance, however, my conscience is at ease; and I reject, with contempt, the possibility of a stain upon that girl’s honor.”

“The sentiment does more credit to your chivalry than your shrewdness, George,” said the Viscount, sarcastically.