The Pit Town Coronet Volume I Part 14

"Trifle with her fiddlesticks," laughed the girl.

But a knock at the door interrupted them; the discreet Capt entered, bearing a telegram upon a salver.

Mrs. Haggard, to whom the envelope was addressed, tore it open with some anxiety; her face a.s.sumed a pleased expression.

"Order a carriage at once, Capt," she said.

The valet withdrew to execute the command.

The telegram was from Haggard; it was as follows:

"_Spunyarn and I are on the road, and shall reach Geneva by last train. You had better go to the Villa Lambert and arrange for taking up our quarters there, if you like the place. All well--H._"

Georgie handed the paper to her cousin, the latter clapped her hands with glee. In a woman's life there is nothing more delightful than arranging a home, though it be but a temporary one.

The girls hurried to prepare for their drive. And Mrs. Haggard, after attempting to soothe the wounded feelings of her maid, directed her to accompany them.

With Capt on the box, the young wife and her cousin, and their still ruffled attendant, started on the lovely drive along the margin of the lake for the villa which Haggard had secured, should it meet with their mutual approval, as a home for his wife and cousin during his short projected necessary absence in America.

As seen from the lake the Villa Lambert, which stood quite alone, gave one the idea of the place a poet would choose for his meditations. The villa and its terrace were built of white stone, but a large portion of the walls was covered with ivy. The house itself was embedded in a thickly-wooded garden where the trees were just budding into leaf.

Privacy was evidently what had been aimed at in the arrangement of the place. On looking at it one would instinctively say, _here_ is rest. A large _porte cochere_, which had evidently been long unused, was the chief entrance to the place, and a small wicket, pierced by a grille, and surmounted by a big bell in an iron cage, was the only other means of getting into the garden. The active Capt descended, and seizing the substantial handle rang loudly. The bark of a dog was the only answer, but after repeating the summons several times, the trap in the wicket opened and disclosed the surly face of an old Savoyard. The gifted Capt addressed the old man in numerous dialects, but no answering smile of intelligence illuminated the sulky wooden face; the barred aperture was closed with an angry slam, and Capt instantly recommenced his solo upon the bell. Again the trap opened and a weather-beaten crone answered his summons; at length the door itself was unbarred, and Mr. Capt hastened to a.s.sist his mistresses to alight. He explained to them that the guardians of the villa were a Savoyard and his wife, and that the man was probably deaf, but that the woman had expressed her readiness to show them over the house and grounds.

The garden was full of trees and thick with evergreen shrubs; the walls covered, as they are in most gardens on the Continent, with carefully trained espaliers, many of which were already white with blossom, which promised an abundant crop. Huge clumps of narcissus gave out their heavy odour; it was too early for other flowers, save the China roses and fuchsias, whose bright colours enlivened the place. The beds were bordered, as in many foreign gardens, by pieces of plank painted a bright blue; the paths, so different from our hard trim English gravel walks, were loose s.h.i.+ngle, which had been carefully raked. A goat, chained to a peg, grazed on the unmown lawn; the house itself was jealously shut up, storm blinds and jalousies covering every window.

The uncommunicative old gardener continued his interrupted vocation; his wife, quitting the party and entering the house by a back door, suddenly flung open the windows of the drawing-room, and so admitted the visitors.

There is always an air of discomfort about a furnished house, a kind of grim bareness that suggests an asylum or a prison, rather than a home; and in foreign furnished houses this is specially apparent: there are the regulation amount of chairs and tables it is true; if there are any ornaments they are always either damaged or in bad taste: they generally combine both qualities. It was so at the Villa Lambert; but everything was spotlessly clean, everything was scrupulously cared for; the chairs stood ranged against the wall in a melancholy manner, cruel Philistine-looking chairs and guiltless of cus.h.i.+ons. There were two hard formal-looking couches, with straight backs and spider legs. There was a sort of creepy look about the whole place.

"I wonder where the last proprietor hung himself, dear?" whispered Lucy in her cousin's ear.

But from the rather dismal _salon_ they pa.s.sed into a more cheerful room. As the old housekeeper opened the shutters one by one streams of strong sunlight entered the place; the floor was inlaid wood, the walls were panelled to the ceiling, and elaborately carved; the ceiling itself was of polished wood, beautifully veined; the furniture was of oak, heavy and substantial; attempt at ornament there was none, nor was ornament needed, for from the windows of this room one looked out straight over the blue waters of the lake. The cheerful sound of music came from the deck of a big saloon steamer, bearing its crowd of noisy tourists. On the opposite sh.o.r.e, at Villeneuve, were the wooded grounds of the hotel Byron; Chillon, a white spot in the turquoise sea, was plainly visible to the right. The cousins stepped to the open windows and descended the flight of stairs that led from the centre one; it brought them to a little terrace which overhung the lake.

Lucy clapped her hands with delight, her more staid cousin was rapt in pleased astonishment. In an instant the thousand and one well-known descriptions ran through her mind, and she thought of the impa.s.sioned picture of the palace on the Como lake, which Claude Melnotte had poured into Pauline's delighted ear. Ought she not to be happy? Was not her handsome husband the very ideal Claude?

Both girls were enthusiastic; they spent a long afternoon determining this, arranging that. But spring evenings in Switzerland are chilly; Capt suggested their return to the hotel. They reluctantly bade farewell to the little villa; but during all the long drive back they talked of nothing but the furnis.h.i.+ng of the various rooms, the things that must be had, the things they could not do without. All this was argued _pro_ and _con._; colours were vital matters, fas.h.i.+on equally important; but not one thought did the ladies give themselves as to the cost. Happy girls, they were quite right; money in such a case as this was no object. Lucky are they who have not to count the cost, these are the people who are the real privileged cla.s.ses; it's easy enough not to count the cost at all, in fact it's like a pleasant dream, a dream which has an unpleasant awakening at the shrill sounds of the piper who has to be paid.

The girls sat up till midnight, at which time Haggard and his friend were due from Rome. They were both travel-worn and had not much to tell. Their business in Rome had been transacted. No, they were not hungry; they had dined in the sleeping-car.

The next day, as gently as possible, Haggard broke to his wife the fact that it was inc.u.mbent upon him to start at once for his American property. The blow came not unexpectedly, and Georgie made the best of it. But the husband stayed a couple of days in Geneva; there were papers to sign in reference to the little villa, a pair of ponies had to be bought; and the numerous little matters of business to settle, which somehow or other it falls invariably to the lot of man to transact.

The parting came at last; it took place on the platform of the station.

There is among women always a melancholy satisfaction in seeing the very last of the beloved object. Georgie was no exception to the rule.

Spunyarn, who was to accompany his friend, at a discreet distance was laughing and chatting merrily with the younger girl. True that at one time there had been rumours of an attachment between the pair; we, who are behind the scenes, know that both were perfectly heartwhole.

"Will the train never start, Lord Spunyarn? I'm afraid all this will upset my cousin; these partings are dreadful things after all."

"Think what my feelings must be, Miss Warrender. I, who have been congratulated by my friends over and over again in reference to my supposed good luck, and who will have now to face the fire of their chaff at my cruel rejection."

"Your lords.h.i.+p seems to bear it bravely enough."

"With profoundest equanimity, Miss Warrender. I leave the lady who has rejected me, in maiden meditation fancy free, at least, I suppose so; that thought is balm to my wounded soul. Hope, they say, springs eternal in the human breast. Miss Warrender may yet change her mind."

"She will not fail to let you know by telegram should that unlikely event occur, Lord Spunyarn."

"I'm afraid you've destroyed my future peace of mind. I now shall never hear a double knock with equanimity; depend upon it our time has not yet come."

"Yours has at all events, Lord Spunyarn, for if you don't get in you will certainly be left behind."

"Good-bye, then, Miss Warrender; parting is such sweet sorrow, I e'en could say good-bye until to-morrow."

"Now that is very sweet of you. I little thought you were Romeo still."

"Now and ever, Miss Warrender," said the young man with mock pa.s.sion, as they laughingly shook hands, and he hastened to enter the carriage. "One thing I have forgotten, though," he said, "don't let your cousin see the Society papers."

The parting between Haggard and his wife was necessarily what such partings usually are: it was painful to both; it would not be amusing to the reader.

Georgie's eyes were full of tears as her husband embraced her for the last time. He only tore himself from her reluctant arms as the final whistle sounded from the engine. As the train slowly moved from the platform, the girls walked hurriedly along for a few yards. Haggard leant from the window, waving his hand; his wife gazed after the vanis.h.i.+ng train, standing like Niobe, dissolved in tears.

Even Haggard, case-hardened as he was, didn't light his cigar for full twenty minutes.

That evening Lucy Warrender obtained with some difficulty a copy of '_The Sphere_;' this is what she read there:

"Seldom indeed now-a-days do Englishmen fight duels. In this they are wise, for with us the man who fights a duel receives no sympathy, and what is more unpleasant, generally becomes an object of ridicule.

Sometimes, however, a duel is unavoidable. We understand that this was the case in the late unfortunate affair at Rome. The provocation was given by the man who fell. M. Barb.i.+.c.he was well known in London society.

As usual, the cause of the quarrel was a lady. A correspondent in Rome, upon whose information we can rely, informs us that a blow was struck by Mr. R---- H----, but only after the grossest provocation. The meeting took place within twenty-four hours; unfortunately the result was fatal.

The survivor and the seconds of both parties crossed the frontier at once, but one of the friends of the deceased took the precaution to draw up a _proces verbal_ of the affair before he left, and transmitted it to the authorities. Society in Rome has been stirred to its foundations, for both the parties were well known. The weapons were sabres. We understand that the seconds of Mr. R---- H----, a well-known sporting n.o.bleman and General C----, are, as well as their princ.i.p.al, members of the P----m Club. General C---- is now in England."

To Lucy Warrender, who now heard of the matter for the first time, these initials were no enigma. The cause of Haggard's mysterious detention in Rome, and of their own sudden flitting, became at once clear to her. "It was very thoughtful of Spunyarn," she said to herself; "he was quite right, Georgie certainly shouldn't see this."

The careful Lucy took every precaution. The consequences of the incident at Papayani's ball remained a secret to the young wife.

The ladies were glad of the temporary excitement of their move to the Villa Lambert, which they made the day after the departure of the two men. And now commenced a life of seclusion and retirement, which both of them enjoyed from its very novelty. The old quiet life that they had led at The Warren seemed to recommence once more. They gardened, they drove out, they rowed and sailed upon the lake, but they declined all acquaintances. The life was monotonous enough and devoid of incident.

Hephzibah Wallis had recovered her spirits, her Swiss lover was more attentive than ever; he escorted her on a Sunday evening to the Protestant place of wors.h.i.+p, and though she didn't understand a word, Hephzibah enjoyed the service. In the mysterious rite of "walking out"

going to church together forms an important factor; it is the outward and visible sign of "keeping company;" it is the inevitable step to being "asked in church," a kind of probationary period, a sort of trial trip. Mr. Capt was more loquacious than the British man-servant, under similar circ.u.mstances, would be. He was never tired of drawing out Miss Wallis on the subject of her young mistresses. The juvenile escapades of the younger of them were to him a source of endless amus.e.m.e.nt; he heard all that his inamorata had to tell, nay his interest was so great in her artless narratives that he would make her repeat them over and over again. The Swiss soon found out that in Hephzibah he was dealing with a truthful girl; for the tale, though oft repeated, never varied.

What girl has any secret from the man she loves? Hephzibah Wallis formed no exception to the rule. But it never dawned on her, at least not then, that she was being "pumped." She put down Mr. Capt's complaisance to his interest in her; and though, as servants will, she at times asked him questions about his master, she merely admired him the more when they were dexterously parried, for the confidential valet, in regard to Haggard, ever remained discretion itself.

Great was Georgie's delight when she got the first letter from her husband. Till now they had never been separated; is it to be wondered at, then, that she locked herself up with the treasure? After the usual protestations and the regulation amount of sentiment, sentiment which, hackneyed though it was, brought ready tears of pleasure into the young wife's eyes, Haggard announced his immediate departure by the mail steamer. "I'm off to-morrow, Georgie," he said, "for I find life in London without you perfectly unbearable. I am hastening my departure that we may the sooner meet again," here followed several sentences of the usual thing. The fact was that Haggard found himself once more a sort of lion in spite of himself, but he also detected a rather chilling reception in many quarters; he was most gus.h.i.+ngly received by the least reputable of his lady acquaintances. Mrs. Charmington, in a long _tete-a-tete_ with which she had favoured him, had called him "her hero." But Mrs. Charmington was already on the wane, and as he had no wish to be her hero now he rather fought shy of her. At the Pandemonium he was as popular as ever, rather more so in fact; for since the baccarat affair, particularly as he was away, he had acted as a sort of scapegoat for the sins of the many. It was rather a nuisance, too, to find that wherever he went he excited a considerable amount of attention. Even when seated in the stalls of his favourite theatres, those temples where the sacred lamp of burlesque is so carefully tended, it was annoying to find the glances of all those airily-costumed and magnificently-developed females, who are known as the Lotties and the Totties, concentrated on himself.

He had received no invitation to go down to The Warren, but his father the Justice had written him in no measured terms.

"I had thought," he said, "that by this time you would have got tired of making an a.s.s of yourself; you'd better give old Warrender a wide berth; he is furious."

All these things then tended to make a long stay in town distasteful to Haggard, so he went down to Southampton, took his pa.s.sage for Mexico in that magnificent steam-s.h.i.+p, the "Capua," and he started, feeling himself an ill-used man.

END OF VOL I.