A Heart-Song of To-day (Disturbed by Fire from the 'Unruly Member'): A Novel
"But I am forgetting my gift to you, and one from dear Uncle Eric,"
and Vaura took from a small box a lovely locket, on one side was a
miniature copy of Haughton; on the other the lovely face of the giver.
"And this from Uncle for you came to me on yesterday;" and Vaura
presented a photo of Col. Haughton.
"How sweet it is to be remembered, Vaura, and it's a good likeness of
your dear uncle. And here is a gift from myself, a mere bagatelle, but
I hope you will like it," and she handed Vaura an acknowledgement from
Worth of an order for a ball-dress, to be at Haughton Hall on the 5th
January, 1878.
"Thanks, god-mother mine, your thoughts are always of some one other
than of Alice Esmondet."
"Not at all, dear."
"I shall be glad to return to England now," and there was a tender
light in Vaura's eyes; "that is, dear god-mother, if you have laid up
a sufficient store of strength."
"I have, _ma chere_, and if the revelry at Haughton isn't too much, I
shall be able not only to stand, but enjoy the season; I feel very
strong, and had I had a happy life--I mean, dear, had I married where
my heart was--all would have been right; this 'eating out the heart
alone' is not good for one. I have taken all the tricks I could, and
made the most of the cards in my hand, but they have not been to my
liking."
"My hand shall follow my heart," said Vaura, earnestly; "how I wish
yours had, dear."
"Yes, it has been hard for me; but Fate, the dealer, is giving you
good cards."
"How think you, godmother; is the game ours?"
"You will win."
"How did you know?" she said, softly, coming over to Lady Esmondet,
and stooping to kiss her.
"By the great light in his eyes when he bade me adieu, and the
heart-shine in your own; it has been the wish, of my life lately; God
is giving you a paradise in life, dear."
"He is."
"This plot to damage Lionel's reputation is a something too mean,"
said Lady Esmondet indignantly; "in Mrs. Clayton's last letter to me
she asks me to 'decline to receive him, unless he publicly
acknowledges his hidden wife;' she says, though 'the women still will
pet him, their husbands are down upon him;' she further says, 'Clayton
says he has no right to run loose with a hidden wife somewhere;' she
says it has been in two or three papers. I declare, Vaura, if it were
not for the feeling I have that we shall be a comfort to your uncle, I
do not care to go to Haughton."
"Poor Lionel," said Vaura, thoughtfully, "he has got himself into a
wasp's nest. Suppose we don't stay at Haughton, excepting for the
ball, then go quietly to your town house."
"Yes, dear, as we pass through London I shall give orders that my
house be in readiness any day to receive us; so, dear, if after we
stay for a short visit we find it a bore, we shall go up."
"And be voted Goths and Vandals for showing our faces before the
season opens; and Mrs. Grundy says 'Come;' what slaves we are!" said
Vaura.
Now there is a tap at the door, and a servant enters with
contributions from the post.
"Any orders, your ladyship?"
"Yes, the landau is to be at the door to take us to St. Peter's in an
hour; at the close of mass we shall drive to the Duchess of Wyesdale,
with whom we lunch; further orders there. And here, Barnes," continued
Lady Esmondet, taking out her purse, "distribute this gold to the
household, excepting to Somers and Saunders, whom I shall attend to
personally; and see that no poor go empty-handed from the villa on
this, the Day of Days."
"Thank you, your ladyship, you are very kind, and we all wish you and
Mademoiselle a good Christmas."
"Thank you, Barnes."
"The man in bottle-green livery coming to the door," said Vaura, as
she left the breakfast-table, "is servant to our friend of Erin."
In a few moments Saunders brought her mistress a beautiful bouquet,
with the card of Sir Dennis, on which was written, "A merry Christmas
to Miss Vernon."
"What think you of the Irishman?" asked Lady Esmondet.
"Oh, I hardly know; he is a great good-natured creature; if his heart
be proportioned to the rest of his frame, the future Lady O'Gormon
will require to be intensely lovable."
"The cards are quite artistic this year," said Lady Esmondet; "but of
yours, I think the one from poor Marie Perrault the most
_recherchee_."
"She encloses me a few lines; poor girl, she makes a great fuss over
the few bits of gold I sent her. I have just read a letter from Mrs.
Wingfield; after a good deal of chit-chat she says: We are staying at
the Lord Elton's place, Surrey, and are quite lively over the
Trevalyon's 'Hidden Wife' story; the men are mad that he runs loose,
while they are held in bondage with the fetters that he should be held
in also. I declare, god-mother dear, one is inclined to think envy is
the motive power that rules the human family."
"Indeed, yes; envy, hatred and malice are a prosperous firm who will
not fail for want of capital."
"This Major Delrose, that the Marchmonts named, must be a sworn enemy
of poor dear Lionel?"
"He is, and of years."
"Ah! an intuitive feeling told me so; and at Rose Cottage; and the
woodland at the outskirts of our grounds hides it from the Hall; and a
man and woman could meet and plot unobserved; but, god-mother mine,
let us away to dress; the first bells are sounding their sweet musical
invitation, and I shall try to forget Mrs. Haughton; for, among
Christ's gifts to men, I perhaps have not valued that most excellent
gift of charity."
Vaura is first robed, but Lady Esmondet enters the hall from her
boudoir in a few moments. They are now in the landau, and rapidly
driven to that most stately of modern sanctuaries, a type in its
magnificent architecture and strength of the pride, riches, and unity
of the wonderful system it represents.
Vaura wears a robe of seal brown velvet and tight jacket of seal fur,
a small _ecru_ velvet bonnet with scarlet geraniums among the lace.
Lady Esmondet wishes Lionel could see the sweet face, and the far-away
look in the great expressive eyes. The vast building was crowded to
the doors; the singing of mass grand to sublimity, and "the holy
organ's rolling sound was felt on roof and floor," its vibrations
thrilling the hearts of the worshippers. The majestic grandeur of the
interior of this stately edifice, with its many altars, was on this
holy festival, enhanced by many beautiful decorations, chaste in
design and of costly value. Rare gems, vessels of gold, and vessels of
silver, the gifts of princes, sparkled on altars of perfect
workmanship, while beauteous flowers raised their heads from priceless
vases, trying in vain, with their sweet odour to drown the fumes of
incense, wafted from the censor in the hands of the acolytes.
High mass being concluded, Lady Esmondet, with Vaura, slowly emerged
from the sacred edifice. O'Gormon and a young Italian attached to the
Quirinal having waited for them at the door, conducted them to their
landau, when with warm Christmas greetings they parted to meat for
lunch with the Duchess of Wyesdale. On reaching their destination they
found their slender waisted hostess, with her daughter, the Lady
Eveline Northingdon, with a few English and Italian notabilities,
assembled in the _salons_. The Duchess looked blank on seeing that
Capt. Trevalyon was not in attendance; for to tell the truth, she had
only invited Lady Esmondet and Miss Vernon because she could not very
well bid Trevalyon to lunch and ignore his hostess.
For though he had only given her a few careless flatteries, they were
her food; still he had looked into her eyes and smiled. It was only a
way he had, but she was a silly little woman, and vain, telling
herself that in the old days she was sure he loved her hopelessly, but
the Duke then lived, and British law was in the way, a woman could not
marry more than one man at one time. She little knew that the mighty
eagle, as he soars to his home in the mountain heights, with his bold
glance wooing the sun, would as soon love the puny night hawk as would
Lionel Trevalyon waste his heart's strongest feelings on such a frail
butterfly as Posey Wyesdale.
So, now, on the _entree_ of our friends without Trevalyon the Duchess,
as she greeted them, called out in her thin treble,
"Where's my truant cavalier? You have never come without him? That
would be too cruel."
"We have; simply because he has left Rome and Italy."
"Left Rome without bidding me _adieu_," screamed Posey, "how cruel!
Eveline, ring for my drops; the shock makes me feel quite faint. Tell
me how, and why, Lady Esmondet?"
"His uncle, Sir Vincent was dying,--is now probably over the border."
"To a death-bed! how unfortunate! What shall I do without him for my
tableaux?" she was moved to tears--for the tableaux.
"What a pity the mighty Angel of Death would not stay his hand even
for the tableaux of an English Duchess!" said Lady Esmondet, with
veiled cynicism.
"Yes, I think he was very cruel," sobbed the Duchess.
"Never mind, mamma," said Eveline, soothingly "Some one else can take
his place, and perhaps Capt. Trevalyon will now be a baronet, and that
will be so nice. You like him, so it will make it all right."
"So it will," said Posey, drying her eyes, "if it's so, is it, Lady
Esmondet?"
"Yes, Lady Wyesdale, Capt. Trevalyon succeeds to the baronetcy."
Lady Esmondet's remark was carried with different variations to the
end of the _salon_, where Vaura sat. She was immediately besieged with
questions.
"What is this rumour, Miss Vernon," asked an Englishman; "is Trevalyon
to be raised to the peerage?"
"For his looks of an Adonis and many fascinations," cried one.
"No, for his many _affaires de coeur_," laughed another.
"Or that his 'hidden wife' is coming forth," said a London man, who
read the news.
"More likely for some knightly act, by his Queen rewarded," echoed a
soft-voiced Italian.
"Or his vote is promised for the war supply," said the London man.
"_Carita, carita_!" said Vaura, laughingly, and turning to the London
man, "You forget the party motto, 'no bribery,' Mr. Howard, and if you
all lend an ear, I shall tell you that instead of a peerage, our
friend, as far as I know, is plain Capt. Trevalyon."
"Heresy, Miss Vernon, for he is not 'plain,' and you women will have
it that he is a peer in our age."
"A peerless way of putting it, Mr. Howard," laughed Vaura.
"Luncheon is served, my lady," said the butler.
"Somebody take in everybody," said the Duchess. "We always go to
luncheon _sans ceremonie_."
And so fate willed Signor Castenelli (the young Italian who had
accompanied them to the landau) to Vaura. The table was gay with
Sevres china and _majolica_ ware, but the viands were poor and scanty,
and the victuals few and far between. One man of healthy appetite
could easily have laid bare dishes that had been prepared for seven,
when five morning callers having been invited to remain, so lessened
the _morceau_ for each guest. The Duchess having decided on getting
all her wardrobe from the magic scissors of Worth, had determined to
retrench in the matter of wines, etc., not putting faith in the adage
that "the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."
"Believe me," she would say to her butterfly friends, "I know men's
tastes, and they would rather feast their eyes than their stomachs."
You may be very wise, Posey Wyesdale, but trust me, a man has no eyes
for either you or your gown, if after a long ride or much calling he
finally, in an evil hour, succumbs to your invitation to lunch and you
give him a mouthful of chicken and one slice of wafer-like bread and
butter, the mighty whole washed down with a cup of weak tea or thin
wine; rather would he (curled darling though he be) return to the