A Heart-Song of To-day (Disturbed by Fire from the 'Unruly Member'): A Novel
in debt; the life of a country squire palled upon him, when at his
father's death he returned at his mother's wish as heir; pity he was
obliged to leave the army. The outcome is this marriage for gold to
redeem the place from the Jews, lost for distraction's, sake. However,
a-something occurred on my yielding to dear little Vaura's wish to go
and induce him to return, and he has been a saved man ever since,
giving up the dice from the time of his hurried return in consequence
of a telegram he received before I reached him; I don't know what the
motive power was, as he did not confide and, as a matter of course, I
did not force his confidence. The Hall is still in debt but he manages
to keep the Jews quiet and to make a decent living out of a few
tenants. The lovely Vaura has her mother's portion. 'Tis an ill wind
that blows nobody good, and his becoming a slave of the ring will be
for my good as the old place will again be open and Vaura Vernon, the
woman now, will again grace it by her presence, and until she marries,
lend a new brightness, a new distraction to my life. Jove! now I come
to think of it she will surely marry next season, and I shall not have
her long; with her face, form, colouring, eyes and the sweet syren
voice that the men are raving of, some one of them will make her say
him yea; then the spice of originality about her is refreshing, also
having had so much of the companionship of Lady Esmondet, she is a
woman of common-sense and of the world, no mere conventional doll. Had
Haughton not been blind and have married my friend what a paradise the
Hall would have been to me? Until Vaura married I must always remember
that contingency. 'Tis absurd of dear Lady Esmondet wishing me to
range myself, she knows my resolve not to wed is as earnest as though
I was in the garb of a monk. I feel bothered and unsettled; how I wish
I had been at Park Lane to-night; a trip to the Highlands would have
been the very tonic I require. Sir Andrew Clarke could not prescribe
better, but it is too late now, its a horrible bore to go up to
Northumberland and the 'Towers' alone, though when one has had as much
trouble with one's tenants as I, one must victimise oneself, I
suppose. 'Tis a grand old place, picturing as it does the feudal
times, if only it were not so desolate. I wonder what Lady Esmondet or
Vaura would think of it, how lovely she would look standing in the
Tower windows with the fresh air blowing her beautiful hair and her
gown close about her; but I forget it is late, and I am dreaming, her
hair will be confined in some womanly fashion and she is not for me,
no, Mars, you and I are lonely wanderers," and the dog is patted, the
lights are out while the weary man throws himself on his couch to pass
a restless night with heavy sleep at sunrise.
CHAPTER IV.
OF MADAME.
At eleven o'clock the following day Mrs. Tompkins leisurely sips her
cocoa as she breaks her fast in the pretty morning room at No. ----
Eaton Square, her step-daughter, an American born and bred, is her
companion, a tiny young woman all pale tints, colourless face, sharp
features, sharp little eyes always watery, always with a red rim about
them giving the paleness of their blue a pink shade. When off guard
the mouth is resolute, the eyes wearing a stealthy cunning look; the
mask on, 'tis an old-child face with a wondering expression of
innocence about it. The grasshopper in the Park yonder might claim
kinship and Darwin there find the missing link in the wee figure
clothed in its robe of grass green, all waist and elbows. She had no
love for her step-mother whom she had been taught by hirelings to
consider her natural enemy and with whom she could only cope with
subtle craftiness.
Mrs. Tompkins' maid now enters with a note upon a salver; on reading
it her mistress simply writing the word "come" on the reverse side of
one of her cards, seals with her monograph, addressing the envelope to
"Colonel Haughton" she smiles as she thinks "I shall soon seal with my
crest."
"Take this to the servant, Masoff, and give my strict orders to Peter
to admit only Colonel Haughton or Capt. Trevalyon until after
luncheon."
"Yes, madam."
"And, Mason, bid Sarah be in readiness to attend Miss Tompkins, who
will drive to Bayswater in half an hour for the day. John will have
the close carriage at the door."
"Yes, madam."
Here is the heart wish of Blanche fulfilled, but she does not show it,
saying:
"Why must I go to that stupid place, step-momma? Such a mean crowd."
"Because I wish it; at all events, you pretend such affection for your
old school-teachers when with them, that to cover your aversion to
visit them it is my duty to insist on your going there when a drive
would benefit you. Should their nephew, Sir Tilton Everly, be with
them, tell him (as I want him to-morrow) he may as well return with
you."
Blanche made a _moue_, saying poutingly, while feeling that a
_billet-doux_ was safe in her pocket:
"I was due at the Tottenham's this morning: Cis was coming shopping;"
which was a romance of the moment.
"Tell John to drive around to Gloucester Square, and you can take her
with you."
"No, I shall not. What do you want Sir Tilton for? Might be
Vanderbilt, the fuss you make over him."
"I know you dislike him; mere envy, Blanche, for his devotion to
myself, which is absurd," with a satisfied glance at the mirror
opposite. "Men being born hunters will hunt you for the golden dollar;
me, for myself. So as you have breakfasted, away; try and be civil to
Sir Tilton, and bring him back to dinner with you at eight o'clock;
ta-ta."
As Miss Tompkins paced the corridors to her own apartments she
muttered:
"I'll be even with you some day, Mrs. T.; didn't see you fool my popa
nine years for nothing, and take all his kisses and more than two
millions of money from me, when you didn't care a cent for him; 'twas
the black-bearded major, not popa's lean jaws then; now, it's Capt.
Trevalyon, who is as handsome as the Prince of Wales, and too awfully
nice for anything. Never mind, you'll be sold as bad as one of
Barnum's. I handle my million when I come of age, which will be New
Year's day, 1878; then you'll see if all the men love you, and think
me a fright just because I havn't your big black eyes and catlike
ways."
Two footmen in dark green livery, with yellow facings, having removed
the _debris_ of breakfast, Madame, alone, consults her mirror, which
reflects her rose-pink gown (the reds in all shades being her colour),
which fits her _embonpoint_ figure like a glove; slightly over the
medium height, black browed, determined, daring and impulsive; a woman
who will have her way where her appetites are concerned; easy-going
when steering her own way with her own crew down life's current, while
with a coldly cruel smile her oar crushes the life-blood from any
obstacle in her course. She touches a bell, her maid appears.
"Mason, what do you think; am I paler than usual?"
"No, ma'am, you are looking very well."
"So my mirror tells me; nevertheless, as I am to say yes to a second
husband this morning," and the large white teeth show as she smiles,
"I think a slight blush would be becoming."
"Perhaps so, ma'am, but I like your white skin, it shows off your
black hair and eyes real well, better than all the English colour; and
so you are going to marry again, ma'am; well, I thought the gentlemen
wouldn't leave you alone long, ma'am."
And the confidential maid applies with skill a slight touch of rouge
to the cheek, which only has colour when the somewhat fierce temper
causes the blood to mount.
"There, that will do; don't prate of what I have told you."
"I have kept your secrets for ten years, ma'am."
"You have, and may you keep them as many more, and here is a gold
dollar for the term;" and her mistress tossed her carelessly two fives
in the precious metal. "See that I am not disturbed, and only admit as
I have given orders."
Alone she moves towards the hangings, through the opening in which
Major Delrose had stealthily watched the night before, and through
which she passes, giving him as she does only a passing thought. 'Tis
a pretty room, this boudoir of Madame, with its gaily-painted
hangings, its windows in stained glass, letting in the sweet June
breath from the park. Too great a display of wealth, perhaps, but in
the taste of the best New York artists, who revel in the gorgeous, and
who have had full play for their talents at No. ---- Eaton Square. The
black-brow'd mistress picks up a novel (Mrs. Southworth's last); when,
throwing herself onto a lounge, her well-shaped feet encased in her
favourite black satin boots stretched out, she endeavours to get the
thread of the tale; but thought is too busy, the book falls to the
floor as her reverie grows deeper.
"No, he will not come; my idol, my king. I saw it in his eyes; he is
pre-occupied with Miss Vernon, and I hate her;" and a cruel look comes
to the mouth and eyes. "But stay, perhaps he does love me, but is
unselfish enough to let his friend win; if I was even half sure of
this I should make short work of stately Col. Houghton; but no, a man
would not love me by halves," and for an instant her thoughts flew to
Major Delrose. "Let me see now what is my plot or game; with George,
my ambition would not be gratified, for he has no estate; nor could I
ever bask in the presence of the man I adore; by marrying the Colonel
I gain both ends. Then his niece, Miss Vernon, is in my path; she is
haughty; I shall so act upon this trait by showing her my dislike to
her presence as to rid myself forever of it; let her beware! vitriol
and Mason would do their work; yes, I must keep friendly with Delrose;
her haughty spirit will aid me here; this 'hidden wife' story once
afloat, and a royal princess would as soon sign a contract with a
prophet of Utah. I fear the fierce, passionate temper of George; but
my woman's wit will be brought to play to keep him quiet; Trevalyon
will necessarily have a surer footing at Haughton than he, as in this
case I shall see; in an underhand way the Colonel has his wish, and
the pith of all my musings is that if George will not aid me in
reviving the Fanny Clarmont, hidden wife scandal, _I shall do it
without him_. One thing in my favour is, that as he swears against
matrimony, people will say the secret reason is out of--Why! Eleven
forty-five; my future spouse should soon appear; how my heart would
beat, and every pulse throb and burn, if it were my king; now, I am as
cool as the czar of Wall Street. My sleeves fit well; this make suits
me," and she pushed to the wrist her bracelets of the golden dollar.
"And my boots also; I do take as much pride in my foot as the men do
in their moustache. What am I gaining in return for myself and my
gold? A great place and name, and also revenge on my father, whom I
may meet, and who kept me from position, not allowing me to know even
his whole name--Vivian only, this and nothing more; he, a British
officer, in a mad impulse (I am like him) marries my mother, nobody's
daughter, and a ballet dancer, during a run he made to New York city
just thirty-five years ago; my sire repents in sackcloth and ashes,
dragging us with him; sells out; living by his wits anyhow and
anywhere, chiefly at gaming places abroad. At a German suburb once he
had left us, my late husband came to our cottage to enquire his road;
as he was an American, my mother nearly swallow'd him whole; I did, on
seeing his diamonds and knowing of his wealth; Lincoln Tompkins,
beautiful! cognomen, and a 'cosmopolitan laundry' millionaire; my
proud father nearly offered to kill me on his return, but in spite of
the haughty Vivian we were married; and at his death he left me a rich