下载掌阅APP，畅读海量书库
立即打开
Again the spring sunshine was lending perennial youth even to London's dingy streets, and making the very best winter garments look dim and shabby. Hunting was over, and Colonel Ormonde found himself by the will of his wife, once more established in London lodgings—of a dingier and obscurer order than those in which they had enjoyed last season.
Mrs. Ormonde was neither intellectually nor morally strong, but she had one reflex ingredient in her nature, which was to her both a shield and spear. She knew what she wanted, and was perfectly unscrupulous as to the means of getting it. A woman who is pleasantly indifferent to the wants and wishes of her associates, if they happen to clash with her own, is tolerably sure to have her own way on the whole. Now and then, to be sure, she comes to grief; but in her general success these failures can be afforded.
When first the tidings of George Liddell's return and his assertion of his rights reached her, she was terrified and undone by Colonel Ormonde's fury against Katherine, herself, her boys, every one. In short, that gallant officer thought he had done a generous and manly thing, when he married the piquant little widow who had attracted him, although she could only meet her personal expenses and those of her two sons, without contributing to the general house-keeping. This sense of his own magnanimity, backed by the consciousness that it did not cost him too dear, had kept Colonel Ormonde in the happiest of moods for the first years of his married life. Terrible was the awakening from the dream of his own good luck and general "fine-fellowism"; and heavily would the punishment have fallen on his wife had she been a sensitive or high-minded woman. Being, however, admirably suited to the partner of her life, she looked round, as soon as the first burst of despair was over, to see how she could make the best of her position.
She was really vexed and irritated to find how little tenderness or regard her husband felt for her, for she had always believed that he was greatly devoted to her. To both of them the outside world was all in all, and on this Mrs. Ormonde counted largely. Colonel Ormonde could not put her away or lock her up because the provision made by Katherine for the boys failed her, so while she was mistress of Castleford she must have dresses and carriages and consideration. Knowing herself secure on these points, she fearlessly adopted the system of counter-irritation she described to Katherine; and to do her justice, her consciousness that the boys were safe under the care of their aunt, who would be sure to treat them well and kindly, made her the more ready to brave the dangers of her husband's wrath.
"He must behave well before people, or men will say he is a 'cad' to visit his disappointment on his poor little simple-hearted wife," she thought. "He knows that. Then it is an enormous relief that Katherine still clings to the boys, poor dears! She really is a trump; so I have only myself to think of; and Duke shall find that his shabbiness and ill-temper do him no good. It's like drawing his teeth to get my quarter's allowance, beggarly as it is, from him."
Colonel Ormonde's reflections, as he composed a letter to his steward, were by no means soothing. Though it was all but impossible for him to hold his tongue respecting his disappointment, whenever a shade of difference occurred between him and his wife, he was uncomfortably conscious that he often acted like a brute toward the mother of his boy, of whom he was so proud; he was not therefore the more disposed to rule his hasty, inconsiderate temper. The fact that Mrs. Ormonde had her own methods of paying him back disposed him to respect her, and it could not be doubted that in time the friction of their natures would rub off the angles of each, and they would settle down into tolerable harmony, whereas a proud, true-hearted woman in her place would have been utterly crushed and never forgiven.
Ormonde, then, was meditating on his undeserved misfortunes, when the door was somewhat suddenly and vehemently pushed open, and Mrs. Ormonde came in, her eyes sparkling, and evidently in some excitement.
"What's the matter?" asked her husband, not too amiably. "Has that rascally, intruding fellow Liddell kicked the bucket?"
"No; but whom do you think I saw as I was leaving Mrs. Bennett's in Hyde Park Square, you know?"
"How can I tell? The policeman perhaps."
"Nonsense, Duke! I had just come down the steps, and was turn turning toward Paddington, for, as it was early, I thought I would take the omnibus to Oxford Circus (see how careful I am!), when I saw a beautiful dark brougham, drawn by splendid black horse—the coachman, the whole turn-out, quite first rate—come at a dashing pace towards me. I recognized Lord de Burgh inside, and who do you think was sitting beside him?"
"God knows! The Saratoffski perhaps."
"Really, Ormonde, I am astonished at your mentioning that dreadful woman to me.
"Oh! are you? Well, who was De Burgh's companion?"
"Charlie! my Charlie! and Cis was on the front seat. Cis saw me, for he clapped his hands and pointed as they flew past. What do you think of that?"
"By George!" he exclaimed, in capital letters. "I believe he is still after Katherine. If so, she'll have the devil's own luck."
"Now listen to me. As Wilton Street was quite near, I went on there to gather what I could from Miss Payne. She was at home, and a little less sour and silent then usual. She was sorry, she said, the boys were out. They have been with her for a week, and Lord de Burgh had been most kind. He had taken them to the Zoological Gardens and Madame Tussaud's, and just now had called for them to go to the circus. Isn't it wonderful? Do try and picture De Burgh at Madame Tussaud's."
"There is only one way of accounting for such strange conduct," returned the Colonel, thoughtfully. "He means to marry your sister. This would change the face of affairs considerably."
"Yes; it would be delightful."
"I'm not so sure of that," returned Ormonde, seriously. "Now that he is in love—and you know he is all fire and tow—he makes a fuss about the boys; but wait till he is married, and he will try to shift them back on you. Why should he put up with his wife's nephews any more than I do with my wife's sons?"
"Because he is more in love, and a good deal richer," returned Mrs. Ormonde.
"More in love! Bosh! In the middle of the fever, you mean. Of course that will pass over."
"Really men are great brutes," observed Mrs. Ormonde, philosophically.
"And women awful fools," added her husband.
"Well, perhaps so," she returned, with a slight smile and a sharp glance.
"Seriously, though," resumed Colonel Ormonde, "it's all very well for Katherine to make a good match, and if De Burgh is fool enough to be in earnest, it will be a splendid match for her; but things may be made rather rough for me. That fellow De Burgh has the queerest crotchets, and doesn't hesitate to air them. He'd think nothing of slapping my shoulder in the club before a dozen members, and asking me if I meant to leave my wife's brats on his hands."
"Do you really think so? Oh, Katherine would never let him. She dearly loves the boys."
"Wait till she has a son of her own."
"Even so. She has her faults, I know. Her temper is rather violent, her ideas are too high-flown and nonsensical, and she won't take advice, but she never would injure me , I am sure of that."
An inarticulate grunt from Colonel Ormonde, as he fixed his double glass on his nose and took up his pen again.
"Duke," resumed Mrs. Ormonde, after a pause, "don't you think I had better go and see Katherine? You know we never had any quarrel, and that Mrs. Needham she lives with gives very nice parties."
"Parties! By Jove! you'd go to old Nick for a party. What good will it do you to meet a pack of beggarly scribblers?"
"They may not have money, Duke, but they have manners , and something to say for themselves," she retorted. "Never mind about the parties. Don't you think I would better call on Katherine?"
"Do as you like but consider that she has behaved very badly—with extreme insolence; but I don't want to influence you." This in a tone of magnanimity, as he began to write with an air of profound attention.
Mrs. Ormonde made a swift contemptuous grimace at his back, and said, in mellifluous tones: "Very well, dear. I may as well go at once, and perhaps she will come with me to that dressmaking ally of hers, Miss Trant. I hear she is raising her prices, but she will not do so to me if I am with her original patroness."
"Oh, do as you like; only don't send me in a long milliner's bill."
"I am sure, Duke, my clothes never cost you much."
"Not so far, but the future looks rather blue."
To this she made no reply. Leaving the room noiselessly, she retired to give a touch of kohl to her eyes, a dust of pearl powder to her cheeks, and then started on her mission of inquiry and reconciliation.
It is not to be denied that Katherine was greatly touched by De Burgh's thoughtful kindness to her boys. She had been a good deal troubled about their holidays, for she did not like to take full advantage of Mrs. Needham's kind permission to absent herself as much as she liked in order to be with them, and she well knew that in Miss Payne's very orderly establishment the two restless, active little fellows would be a most discordant ingredient. Above all, she wanted them to have a very happy holiday, as she feared their cloudless sunny days were numbered.
The second morning, therefore, after she had deposited them in Wilton Street, when she went to inquire for them, and found that Lord de Burgh had called and carried them off to have luncheon with him first, and to spend the afternoon at the Zoological Gardens after, she could hardly credit her ears.
"I must say," observed Miss Payne, "that I am agreeably surprised. I had no idea Lord de Burgh was so straightforward and well-disposed a man. A little abrupt, and would not stand any nonsense, I fancy, but a sterling character. He has tact too. He always spoke of the boys as his cousin Colonel Ormonde's step-sons. He might be a good friend to them, Katherine."
"No doubt," she replied, thoughtfully.
"He will send his butler or house-steward to take them to Kew Gardens to-morrow; but I dare say he will call and tell you himself."
"He is wonderfully good," said Katherine, feeling puzzled and oppressed. "I will go back, then, as fast as I can, and get my work done by six o'clock; then I may spend the evening here with you and the boys."
"Pray do, if you can manage it."
Lord de Burgh's remarkable conduct troubled Katherine a good deal. How ought she to act? Certainly he would not put himself out of the way for Cis and Charlie, had he not wished to please her, or really interested himself in them for her sake. Ought she to encourage him by accepting these very useful and kindly attentions? How could she reject them without saying as plainly by action as in words, "I know you are pressing your suit upon me, and I will not have it," which, after all, might be a mistake; besides, she would thus deprive her nephews of much pleasure. She could not come to a conclusion; she must let herself drift. But the question tormented her, and it was with an effort she banished it, and applied herself to her task of arranging her chief's notes.
Mrs. Needham was exceedingly busy that afternoon, and did not go out, as she had some provincial and colonial letters to finish, and had a couple of engagements in the evening. She and her secretary therefore wrote diligently till about half-past five, when Ford, the smart parlor-maid, announced that "the gentleman" and two little boys were in the drawing-room.
"Good gracious!" cried Mrs. Needham, slipping off her glasses. "This is growing interesting. I shall go and speak to Lord de Burgh myself. Besides, I want to see your boys, my dear. How funny it sounds!"
"Do, Mrs. Needham. I will come."
Lord de Burgh was glaring absently out of the window, and the boys were eagerly examining the diverse and sundry objects thickly scattered around. They had wonderfully dirty hands and faces, their jackets were splashed as if with some foaming beverage, the knees of their knickerbockers were grubby with gravel and grass, and they had generally the aspect of having done wildly what they listed for some hours.
"Lord de Burgh, I suppose?" said Mrs. Needham, in loud and cheerful accents. "I am very pleased to see you" (De Burgh bowed); "and you, my dears—I am very glad to see you too, especially if you will be so good as not to touch my china!"
"We haven't broken anything!" cried Cecil, coming up to her and giving her a dingy little paw, while he stared in her face. "Where is auntie?"
"She'll be here directly. This is Charlie: what a sweet little fellow! Why, your eyes are like your aunt's."
"Do you think so?" said De Burgh, drawing near. "They are lighter—a good deal lighter."
"Perhaps so. The shape and expression are like, though. And so you have been to see the lions and tigers?"
"And the bears," put in Charlie.
"Isn't Lord de Burgh kind to take you—"
"He is! he's a jolly chap!" cried Cecil, warmly. "I shouldn't mind living with him."
"Nor I either," added Charlie.
Here Katherine made her appearance, a conscious look in her eyes, a flitting blush on her cheek. The boys immediately flew to hug and kiss her, barely allowing her to shake hands with De Burgh. Then, when she sat down on the sofa, Charlie established himself on her knee and Cecil knelt on the sofa, the better to put his arms round her neck.
"What dreadfully dirty little boys! What have you been doing to yourselves?"
"Oh, we have been on the elephant and the camel, and in the ostrich cart. Then Charlie tumbled down in the monkey-house. Oh, how funny the monkeys are! and he" (pointing to Lord de Burgh) "took us to dinner. Such a beautiful dinner in a lovely room! He says he will take us to the circus."
"I'll ask him to take you too, auntie!" cried Charlie.
"Oh yes!" echoed Cecil. "You'll take her, Lord de Burgh, won't you? I don't think auntie ever saw a circus."
"If you promise to be very good, and that your aunt too will be quiet and well-behaved, I may be induced to let her come," returned De Burgh, his deep-set eyes glittering with fun and anticipated pleasure.
"Thank you," said Katherine, laughing, as soon as her delighted nephew ceased kissing her.
"And you'll come?—the day after to-morrow? I will call for the boys, bring them round here."
"If I have nothing special—" she began.
"Certainly not; I will take care of that," cried Mrs. Needham, "It is such a great thing to get a little amusement for the poor little fellows, and so very kind of Lord de Burgh to take so much trouble."
"It is indeed. I really don't know how to thank you enough," said Katherine. "Mrs. Needham, I must really take them to wash their hands; they are so terribly dirty!"
"No; ring the bell; Ford will manage them nicely, and bring them back in a few minutes." Mrs. Needham rang energetically as she spoke, and the young gentlemen were speedily marched off.
"I am afraid I am not a wise child's guide," said De Burgh, laughing; "but they ran and tumbled about till they got into an awful pickle. They are really capital little fellows, and most amusing. When do they go back to school?"
"In about ten days—on the 25th. I assure you I quite dread their going to this Wandsworth place. They have been asking, entreating me to let them go back to Sandbourne, but I think Cis at last grasps the idea that it is a question of money."
"It's an early initiation for him," observed De Burgh, as if to himself. Then, eagerly: "You'll be sure to come with us on Friday, Miss Liddell? The boys will enjoy the performance ever so much more if you are with them."
Katherine looked for half a second at Mrs. Needham, who nodded and frowned in a very energetic and affirmative way. "I shall be very glad to enjoy it with them," she said, hesitatingly, "if Mrs. Needham can spare me."
"Of course I can,"—briskly. "Lord de Burgh, if you care for music—not severe classical music, you know—ballads, recitatives, and that sort of thing—Hyacinth O'Hara, the new tenor, and Mr. Merrydew, that wonderful mimic and singer, are coming to me next Tuesday; I shall be delighted to see you."
"Not so delighted, I am sure, as I shall be to come," returned De Burgh, with unusual suavity.
"Very well—half past nine. Don't be late, and don't forget."
"No danger of forgetting, I assure you."
"By-the-bye," resumed Mrs. Needham, as if seized with a happy thought, "Angela Bradley receives on Sunday afternoons at their delightful villa at Wimbledon all through the season. Her first 'at home' will be the Sunday after next. I am sure she will be delighted to see any friend of Miss Liddell's."
"If Miss Liddell will be so good as to answer for me, I shall be most happy to present myself. To make sure of being properly backed up, suppose I call here for Miss Liddell and yourself, and and drive you down?
"Is it not rather far off to make arrangements?" asked Katherine, growing somewhat uneasy at thus drifting into a succession of of engagements with the man she half liked, half dreaded.
"Far off!" echoed Mrs. Needham. "You don't call ten days far off? But I must run away and finish my letter. A journalist is the slave of her pen. Good morning, Lord de Burgh. I'll send the boys to you, Katherine."
"That is an admirable and meritorious woman," and De Burgh, drawing a chair beside the sofa where Katherine sat. "Why are you so savagely opposed to anything like friendly intercourse with me—so reluctant to let me do anything for you? Do you think I am such a cad as to think that anything I could do would entitle me to consider you under an obligation?"
"No, indeed, Lord de Burgh! I believe you to be too true a gentleman for—"
"For what? I see you are afraid of giving me what is called, in the slang of the matrimonial market, encouragement. Just put all that out of your mind, Let me have a little enjoyment, however things may end, and, believe me, I'll never blame you. I am not going to trouble you with my hopes and wishes, not at least for some time; and then, whatever the upshot, on my head be it."
"But I cannot bear to give you pain."
"Then don't—"
"Auntie, we are quite clean. Won't you come back to tea at Miss Payne's? Do make her come, Lord de Burgh."
"Ah, it is beyond my powers to make her do anything."
"I cannot come now, my darlings; but I will be with you about half past six, and we'll have a game before you go to bed."
"Come along, boys; we have intruded on your aunt long enough. Don't forget the circus on Friday, Miss Liddell."
Another hug from Cis and Charlie, a slight hand pressure from their newly found playfellow, and Katherine was left to her own reflections.
The expedition to the circus was most successful. It was on his way from Wilton Street to call for Katherine, on this occasion, that De Burgh encountered Mrs. Ormonde. Need we say that she lost no time in making the proposed call on her sister-in-law; unfortunately Katherine was out; so Mrs. Ormonde was reduced to writing a requisition for an interview with her boys and their aunt.
This was accordingly planned at Miss Payne's house, and Mrs. Ormonde was quite charming, playful, affectionate, tearful, repentant, apologetic for "Ormonde," and deeply moved at parting from her boys, who where somewhat awed by this display of feeling. Still she did not succeed in breaking the "cold chain of silence" which Katherine persisted in "hanging" over the events of the past week.
"So De Burgh took the boys about everywhere?" said Mrs. Ormonde, as Katherine went downstairs with her when she was leaving, and they were alone together. "It is something new for him to play the part of children's maid; and, do you know, he only left cards on us, and never asked to come in."
"He was always good-natured," returned Katherine, with some embarrassment; "and, you remember, he used to notice Cis and Charlie at Castleford a good deal."
"Yes; after you came," significantly. "Never mind, Katie dear, I am not going to worry you with troublesome questions; but I am sure no one in the world would be more delighted than myself did you make a brilliant match."
"Believe me, there will never be anything brilliant about me, Ada."
"Well, we'll see. When do you take the boys to school?
"On Wednesday; should you like to come and see the place?"
"I should like it of all things, but I mustn't, dear."
"I do hope the school may prove all I expect; but the change will be bad for Charlie. He had lost nearly all his nervousness; strange teachers and a new system may bring it back."
"Oh, I hope not. Does he still stop short and speechless, and then laugh as if it were a good joke, when he is puzzled or frightened?"
"Very rarely, I believe. I will write to you the day after I leave the boys at Wandsworth. They don't like going at all, poor dears.'
"Well, we shall not be much longer in town, I am sorry to say, and I want a few things from Miss Trant before I go. I suppose she will not raise her prices to me?"
"Oh no, I am sure she will not."