One of the Six Hundred: A Novel
trifles with interest, and of conversing fluently and gracefully on any
subject--whether she was mistress of it or not mattered little to Lady
Louisa.
She was about my own age, perhaps a few months younger; but in
experience of the fashionable world, and in knowledge of the manners and
ideas of the upper ten thousand, she was a hundred years my senior.
Suffice it to say that I had lost my heart to her--that I thought she
knew it well, but feared or disdained to acknowledge a triumph so small
as the conquest of a lieutenant of lancers among the many others she had
won. So thought I, in the angry humility and jealous bitterness of my
heart.
For a minute I felt as one in a dream. I was sensible that my uncle had
said something about changing his costume, and, suggesting some change
in mine, had apologised, and left me to linger in the corridor, or in
the drawing-room, as I chose; but now a personage, who had been lounging
on a _fauteuil_ in the latter, intent on a volume of _Punch_, and the
soles of whose glazed boots had been towards me, suddenly rose and
approached, in full evening costume.
He proved to be no other than Berkeley of ours, who had been in the room
alone, or, at least, alone with Lady Louisa Loftus. He came slowly
forward, with his sauntering air, as if the exertion of walking was a
bore, and with his eyeglass retained in its place by a muscular
contraction of the right eyebrow. His whole air had the "used-up"
bearing of those miserable Dundrearys who affect to act as if youth,
wealth, and luxury were the greatest calamities that flesh is heir to,
and that life itself was a bore.
"Ah, Norcliff--haw--glad to see you here, old fellow. Haw--heard you
were coming. How goes it with you, and how are all at Maidstone?"
"Preparing for foreign service," said I, curtly, as the tip of his
gloved hand touched mine.
"Horrid bore! Too late to send in one's papers now, or, by Jove, I'd
hook the service. Don't think I was ever meant for it."
"Ere long many more will be of your way of thinking," said I, coolly.
Berkeley had a cold and cunning eye, which never smiled, whatever his
mouth might do. His face was, nevertheless, decidedly handsome, and a
thick, dark moustache concealed a form of lip which, if seen, would have
indicated a thorough sensualist. His head was well shaped; but the
accurate division of his well-oiled head over the centre of the caput
gave him an air of intense insipidity. Mr. De Warr Berkeley never was a
favourite of mine, though we had both joined the lancers on the same
day, and it was with very ill-concealed annoyance I found myself
compelled, with some apparent cordiality, to greet him as a brother
officer and an inmate of my uncle's mansion.
"And--haw--what news from the regiment?" he resumed.
"I really have no news, Berkeley," said I.
"Indeed. You have got a month's leave?"
"Between returns, yes."
"Is the route come?"
"A strange question, when you and I are here."
"Haw--yes, of course--how devilish good."
"It has _not_," said I, coldly; "but we are under orders for foreign
service, and may look to have our leaves cancelled by a telegram any day
or hour."
"The devil--really!"
"Fact, though, however unpleasant it may be. So my uncle, Sir Nigel,
met you at--where was it?"
"Chillingham's shooting-box, in the Highlands."
"I was not aware that you knew the earl."
"Losing my gillies--I think you call them in Scotland--one evening in
the dark, I lost my way, and luckily stumbled on his lordship's shooting
quarters, in a wild and savage place, with one of your infernally
unpronounceable Scotch names."
"Oh, you think changes more euphonious at times; but I suppose your
father, honest man, could have pronounced it with ease," said I,
quietly, for Berkeley's, or Barclay's affectation of being an Englishman
was to me always a source of amusement. "You have to learn Russ yet,
and it will prove, doubtless, more unpalatable than the tongue your
father spoke. In the north, did you appear _en montagnad_?"
"Hey--haw, the devil! no; as the Irish Gil Blas says, 'Every one's legs
can't afford publicity,' and mine are among the number. Leather
breeches, when I don the pink, must be all the length. I don't care
about going, though Lady Louisa pressed me hard to join the Mac Quaig,
the Laird of Mac Gooligan, and other natives in tartan at a gathering.
I had a letter from Wilford yesterday. He writes of a famous match
between Jack Studhome and Craven, on which the whole mess had a heavy
book, that great stakes were pending, and that Craven won, scoring
forty-two running off the red ball; and considering that the pockets of
the table were not bigger than an egg-cup, I think Craven a trump."
"I heard something of this match at morning parade on the day I left;
but being a bad stroke, you know, I seldom play billiards."
"Why was Howard's bay mare scratched at the last regimental race?"
"Don't know," said I, so dryly that he bit his nether lip.
"Some nice people visiting here," said he, staring at me steadily, so
that his eyeglass glared in the light of the lustre, which was now lit;
"and some very odd ones too. Lady Loftus is here, you see, in all her
glory, and with her usual come-kiss-me-if-you-dare kind of look."
"Berkeley, how can you speak thus of one in her position?"
"Well, you-don't-dare-to-do-so-again sort of expression."
"She is my uncle's guest; not a girl in a cigar-shop or a casino!" said
I, with growing _hauteur_.
"Sir Nigel's guest--haw--so am I, and I mean to make the best use of my
time as such. Nice girl, Miss Wilford, from York--cousin of Wilford of
ours--a doocid good style of girl; but have no intentions in that
quarter--can't afford to chuck myself away, as I once heard my groom
observe."
"You must learn to quote another style of people to make yourself
understood here. You don't mean to infer that you have any intentions
concerning Lady Louisa!" said I, with an air which was really
impertinent.
"Why not?" he asked, failing completely to see it. "I have often such
attacks, or affections of the heart, as she has given me."
"How?"
"Just as I had the measles or the chicken-pox in childhood--a little
increase of the pulse, a little restlessness at night, and then one gets
over it."
"Take care how you address her in this bantering fashion," said I,
turning sharply away; "excuse me, but now I must dress for dinner."
And preceded by old Mr. Binns, the white-headed old butler, who many a
time in days of yore had carried me on his back, and who now welcomed me
home with a hearty shake of the hand, in which there was nothing
derogatory to me, though Berkeley's eyes opened very wide when he saw
our greeting, I was conducted to my old room in the north wing, where a
cheerful fire was blazing, with two lights on each side of the
toilette-table (the manor-house was amply lit with gas from the
village), and there was Willie Pitblado arranging all my traps and
clothes. But dismissing him to visit his family (to his no small joy),
I was left to my own reflections and proceeded to dress. A subtle and
subdued tone of insolence and jealousy that pervaded the few remarks
made by Berkeley irritated and chafed me; yet he had said nothing with
which I could grapple, or with which I could openly find fault. I was
conscious, too, that my own bearing had been the reverse of courteous
and friendly, and that, if I showed my hand thus, I might as well give
up the cards. Suspicion of his native character, and a foreknowledge of
the man, had doubtless much to do with all this; and while making my
toilet with more than my usual care--conscious that Lady Louisa was
making hers in the next room--I resolved to keep a lynx-like eye upon
Mr. De Warr Berkeley during our short sojourn at Calderwood Glen. My
irritation was no way soothed, or my pique lessened, by the information
that for some time past, and quite unknown to me, he had been residing
here with Lady Louisa, enjoying all the facilities afforded by hourly
propinquity and the seclusion of a country house.
Had he already declared himself? Had he already proposed? The deuce! I
thrust aside the thought, and angrily gave my hair a finishing rasp with
a pair of huge ivory-handled hair-brushes.
*CHAPTER IV.*
And, oh! the memories that cling
Around this old oak-panelled room!
The pine logs flashing through the gloom,
Sun sparkles from life's early spring.
After long years I rest again;
This ancient home it seems to me,
Wearied with travel o'er the sea.
Holds anodyne for carking pain.
As I surveyed my old apartment the memories of other years stole over me
with somewhat of a soothing influence, for when I thought of the past,
the littleness of the present, the evanescent nature of all things could
not fail to impress me.
It was in that room I had the last vivid recollection of my dear
mother's face, on that farewell morning, when with early dawn she stole
in on tiptoe to look for the last time upon her boy as he slept, and
before he went forth into the world beyond her maternal care for ever.
The thunder of a gong in the corridor cut short further reflections,
recalling me to the present; and giving a finishing touch to my costume,
which was not the blue lancer uniform, faced with white, and laced with
gold, but the solemn funereal suit and white necktie of civil life--a
horrid costume that has crept among us, heaven knows how--I descended to
the outer drawing-room, where I found my uncle and cousin marshalling
their guests, of whom there appeared to be a goodly number.
Berkeley had already monopolized Lady Louisa, with whom he was
conversing in a low tone, while busy stroking his moustaches, which were
darkened by the "Guards' dye," and the pointing and twirling of which
afforded him endless employment.
There was no denying that the fellow looked well, and that the result of
riding, drilling, dancing, and fencing had been to impart to him much of
that unmistakable air which, I may say without vanity, belongs
particularly to the officers of our branch of the service.
The odd minutes which precede dinner are seldom very lively, and rather
depress than raise the spirits. To Cora I was a species of "lion;" and
as such underwent, through her, a process of introduction to several
people I cared not a jot about, and never would.
I discussed the weather with General Rammerscales, as if I kept a
rain-gauge and barometer, and was own brother to Admiral Fitzroy;
touched on politics with the M.P., and on clerical innovations with a
divine; kissed Cora's hand in play, and drew near to Lady Louisa, nearer
still to her awful mother, whom I felt the necessity of conciliating to
the utmost. Every one talked in a monotone, except jovial Sir Nigel,
who was always cheery, brisk and bustling about from guest to guest.
With the Countess of Chillingham (who accorded me a calm, but courteous
bow), my uncle, whose costume was a suit of accurate black, led the way
past Binns and a line of liveried and powered gentlemen drawn up in the
corridor.
She was a stately woman, of ample proportions, with a diamond tiara
glittering on her grey hair.
Her face was fine in feature, and very noble in expression, showing that
in youth she must have been beautiful. Her costume was magnificent,
being maroon-coloured velvet over white satin, trimmed with the richest
lace. I rather dreaded her.
She had all the peerage--"the Englishman's second Bible"--committed to
memory; and, through the pages of Burke and Debrett, knew all the
available and suitable heirs presumptive by rote--their ages, rank,
title, and order of precedence; for it was among the strawberry leaves