London Pride Or When the World Was Younger Part 31

"The desertion of an old friend. The Comte de Malfort has left England."

Lady Fareham turned livid under her rouge. Angela ran to her and leant over her, upon a pretence of rescuing the fan and chiding the dogs; and so contrived to screen her sister's change of complexion from the malignity of her dearest friends.

"Left England! Why, he is confined to his bed with a fever!" Hyacinth said faintly, when she had somewhat recovered from the shock.

"Nay, it seems that he began to go abroad last week, but would see no company, except a confidential friend or so. He left London this morning for Dover."

"No doubt he has business in Burgundy, where his estate is, and at Paris, where he is of importance at the Court," said Hyacinth, as lightly as she could; "but I'll wager anything anybody likes that he will be in London again in a month."

"I'll take you for those black pearls in your ears, ma mie," said Lady Sarah. "His furniture is to be sold by auction next week. I saw a bill on the house this afternoon. It is sudden! Perhaps the Castlemaine had become too exacting!"

"Castlemaine!" faltered Hyacinth, agitated beyond her power of self-control. "Why, what is she to him more than she is to other men?"

"Very little, perhaps," said Sir Ralph, and then everybody laughed, and Hyacinth felt herself sitting among them like a child, understanding nothing of their smiles and shrugs, the malice in their sly interchange of glances.

She sat among them feeling as if her heart were turned to stone. He had left the country without even bidding her farewell-her faithful slave, upon whose devotion she counted as surely as upon the rising of the sun. Whatever her husband might do to separate her from this friend of her girlhood, she had feared no defection upon De Malfort's part. He would always be near at hand, waiting and watching for the happier days that were to smile upon their innocent loves. She had written to him every day during his illness. Good Mrs. Lewin had taken the letters to him, and had brought her his replies. He had not written so often, or at such length, as she, and had pleaded the languor of convalescence as his excuse; but all his billets-doux had been in the same delicious hyperbole, the language of the Pays du Tendre. She sat silent while her visitors talked about him, plucking a reputation as mercilessly as a kitchen wench plucks a fowl. He was gone. He had left the country deep in debt. It was his landlord who had stuck up that notice of a sale by auction. Tailors and shoemakers, perruquiers and perfumers were bewailing his flight.

So much for the sordid side of things. But what of those numerous affairs of the heart-those entanglements which had made his life one long intrigue?

Lady Sarah sat simpering and nodding as Masaroon whispered close in her ear.

Barbara? Oh, that was almost as old as the story of Antony and Cleopatra. She had paid his debts-and he had paid hers. Their purse had been in common. And the handsome maid of honour? Ah, poor silly soul! That was a horrid, ugly business, and his Majesty's part in it the horridest. And Mrs. Levington, the rich silk mercer's wife? That was a serious attachment. It was said that the husband attempted poison, when De Malfort refused him the satisfaction of a gentleman. And the poor woman was sent to die of ennui and rheumatism in a castle among the Irish bogs, where her citizen husband had set up as a landed squire.

The fine company discussed all these foul stories with gusto, insinuating much more than they expressed in words. Never until to-day had they spoken so freely of De Malfort in Lady Fareham's presence; but the story had got about of a breach between Hyacinth and her admirer, and it was supposed that any abuse of the defaulter would be pleasant in her ears. And then, he was ruined and gone; and there is no vulture's feast sweeter than to banquet upon a departed rival's character.

Hyacinth listened in dull silence, as if her sensations were suddenly benumbed. She felt nothing but a horrible surprise. Her lover-her platonic lover-that other half of her mind and heart-with whom she had been in such tender sympathy, in unison of spirit, so subtle that the same thoughts sprang up simultaneously in the minds of each, the same language leapt to their lips, and they laughed to find their words alike. It had been only a shallow woman's shallow love-but trivial woes are tragedies for trivial minds; and when her guests had gradually melted away, dispersing themselves with reciprocal curtsies and airy compliments, elegant in their modish iniquity as a troop of vicious fairies-Hyacinth stood on the hearth where they had left her, a statue of despair.

Angela went to her, when the stately double doors had closed on the last of the gossips and lackeys, and they two were alone amidst the s.p.a.cious splendour. The younger sister hugged the elder to her breast, and kissed her, and cried over her, like a mother comforting her disappointed child.

"Don't heed that shameful talk, dearest. No character is safe with them. Be sure Monsieur de Malfort is not the reprobate they would make him. You have known him nearly all your life. You know him too well to judge him by the idle talk of the town."

"No, no; I have never known him. He has always worn a mask. He is as false as Satan. Don't talk to me-don't kiss me, child. You have smeared my face horribly with your kisses and tears. Your pity drives me mad. How can you understand these things-you who have never loved any one? What can you know of what women feel? There, silly fool! you are trembling as if I had hit you," as Angela withdrew her arms suddenly, and stood aloof. "I have been a virtuous wife, sister, in a town where scarce one woman in ten is true to her marriage vows. I have never sinned against my husband; but I have never loved him. Henri had my heart before I knew what the word, love meant; and in all these years we have loved each other with the purest, n.o.blest affection-at least he made me believe my love was reciprocated. We have enjoyed a most exquisite communion of thought and feeling. His letters-you shall read his letters some day-so n.o.ble, so brilliant-all poetry, and chivalry, and wit. I lived upon his letters when fate parted us. And when he followed us to England, I thought it was for my sake that he came-only for me. And to hear that he was her lover-hers-that woman! To know that he came to me-with sweetest words upon his lips-knelt to kiss the tips of my fingers-as if it were a privilege to die for-from her arms, from her caresses-the wickedest woman in England-and the loveliest!"

"Dear Hyacinth, it was a childish dream-and you have awakened! You will live to be glad of being recalled from falsehood to truth. Your husband is worth fifty De Malforts, did you but know it. Oh, dearest, give him your heart who ought to be its only master. Indeed he is worthy. He stands apart-an honourable, n.o.bly thinking man in a world that is full of libertines. Be sure he deserves your love."

"Don't preach to me, child! If you could give me a sleeping-draught that would blot out memory for ever-make me forget my childhood in the Marais-my youth at St. Germain-the dances at the Louvre-all the days when I was happiest: why, then, perhaps, you might make me in love with Lord Fareham."

"You will begin a new life, sister, now De Malfort is gone."

"I will never forgive him for going!" cried Hyacinth, pa.s.sionately. "Never-never! To give me no note of warning! To sneak away like a thief who had stolen my diamonds! To fly for debt, too, and not come to me for money! Why have I a fortune, if not to help those I love? But-if he was that woman's lover-I will never see his face again-never speak his name-never-from the moment I am convinced of that h.e.l.lish treason-never! Her lover! Lady Castlemaine's! We have laughed at her, together! Her lover! And there were other women those spiteful wretches talked about just now-a tradesman's wife! Oh, how hateful, how hateful it all is! Angela, if it is true, I shall go mad!"

"Dearest, to you he was but a friend-and though you may be sorry he was so great a sinner, his sins cannot concern your happiness--"

"What! not to know him a profligate? The man to whom I gave a chaste woman's love! Angela, that night, in the ruined abbey, I let him kiss me. Yes, for one moment I was in his arms-and his lips were on mine. And he had kissed her-the same night perhaps. Her tainted kisses were on his lips. And it was you who saved me! Dear sister, I owe you more than life-I might have given myself to everlasting shame that night. G.o.d knows! I was in his power-her lover-judging all women, perhaps, by his knowledge of that--"

The epithet which closed the sentence was not a word for a woman's lips; but it was wrung from the soreness of a woman's wounded heart.

Hyacinth flung herself distractedly into her sister's arms.

"You saved me!" she cried, hysterically. "He wanted me to go to Dover with him-back to France-where we were so happy. He knelt to me, and I refused him; but he prayed me again and again; and if you had not come to rescue me, should I have gone on saying no? G.o.d knows if my courage would have held out. There were tears in his eyes. He swore that he had never loved any one upon this earth as he loved me. Hypocrite! Deceiver-liar! He loved that woman! Twenty times handsomer than ever I was-a hundred times more wicked. It is the wicked women that are best loved, Angela, remember that. Oh, bless you for coming to save me! You saved Fareham's life in the plague year. You saved me from everlasting misery. You are our guardian angel!"

"Ah, dearest, if love could guard you, I might deserve that name--"

It was late in the same evening that Lady Fareham's maid came to her bed-chamber to inquire if she would be pleased to see Mrs. Lewin, who had brought a pattern of a new French bodice, with her humble apologies for waiting on her ladys.h.i.+p so late.

Her ladys.h.i.+p would see Mrs. Lewin. She started up from the sofa where she had been lying, her forehead bound with a handkerchief steeped in Hungary water. She was all excitement.

"Bring her here instantly!" she said, and the interval necessary to conduct the milliner up the grand staircase and along the gallery seemed an age to Hyacinth's impatience.

"Well? Have you a letter for me?" she asked, when her woman had retired, and Mrs. Lewin had bustled and curtsied across the room.

"In truly, my lady; and I have to ask your ladys.h.i.+p's pardon for not bringing it early this morning, when his honour gave it to me with his own hand out of 'his travelling carriage. And very white and wasted he looked, dear gentleman, not fit for a voyage to France in this severe weather. And I was to carry you his letter immediately; but, eh, gud! your ladys.h.i.+p, there was never such a business as mine for surprises. I was putting on my cloak to step out with your ladys.h.i.+p's letter, when a coach, with a footman in the royal undress livery, sets down at my door, and one of the d.u.c.h.ess's women had come to fetch me to her Highness; and there I was kept in her Highness's chamber half the morning, disputing over a paduasoy for the Shrove Tuesday masquerade-for her Highness gets somewhat bulky, and is not easy to dress to her advantage or to my credit-though she is a beauty compared with the Queen, who still hankers after her hideous Portuguese fas.h.i.+ons--"

"And employs your rival, Madame Marifleur--"

"Marifleur! If your ladys.h.i.+p knew the creature as well as I do, you'd call her Sally Cramp."

"I never can remember a low English name. Marifleur seems to promise all that there is of the most graceful and airy in a ruffled sleeve and a ribbon shoulder-knot."

"I am glad to see your ladys.h.i.+p is in such good spirits," said the milliner, wondering at Lady Fareham's flushed cheeks and brilliant eyes.

They were brilliant with a somewhat gla.s.sy brightness, and there was a touch of hysteria in her manner. Mrs. Lewin thought she had been drinking. Many of her customers ended that way-took to cognac and ratafia, when choicer pleasures were exhausted and wrinkles began to show through their paint.

Hyacinth was reading De Malfort's letter as she talked, moving about the room a little, and then stopping in front of the fireplace, where the light from two cl.u.s.ters of wax candles shone down upon the finely written page.

Mrs. Lewin watched her for a few minutes, and then produced some pieces of silk out of her m.u.f.f.

"I made so bold as to bring your ladys.h.i.+p some patterns of Italian silks which only came to hand this morning," she said. "There is a cherry-red that would become your ladys.h.i.+p to the T."

"Make me a gown of it, my excellent Lewin-and good night to you."

"But sure your ladys.h.i.+p will look at the colour? There is a pattern of amber with gold thread might please you better. Lady Castlemaine has ordered a Court mantua--"

Lady Fareham rang her hand-bell with a vehemence that suggested anger.

"Show Mrs. Lewin to her coach," she said shortly, when her woman appeared.

"When you have done that you may go to bed; I want nothing more to-night."

"Mrs. Kirkland has been asking to see your ladys.h.i.+p."

"I will see no one to-night. Tell Mrs. Kirkland so, with my love."

She ran to the door when the maid and milliner were gone, and locked it, and then ran back to the fireplace, and flung herself down upon the rug to read her letter.

"Cherie, when this is handed to you, I shall be sitting in my coach on the dull Dover road, with frost-clouded windows and a heart heavier than your leaden skies. Loveliest of women, all things must end; and, despite your childlike trust in man's virtue, you could scarce hope for eternity to a bond that was too strong for friends.h.i.+p and too weak for love. Dearest, had you given yourself that claim upon love and honour which we have talked of, and which you have ever refused, no lesser power than death should have parted us. I would have dared all, conquered all, for my dear mistress. But you would not. It was not for lack of fervid prayers that the statue remained a statue; but a man cannot go on wors.h.i.+pping a statue for ever. If the Holy Mother did not sometimes vouchsafe a sign of human feeling, even good Catholics would have left off kneeling to her image.

"Or, shall I say, rather, that the child remains a child-fresh, and pure, and innocent, and candid, as in the days when we played our jeu de volant in your grandmother's garden-fit emblem of the light love of our future years. You remained a child, Hyacinth, and asked childish love-making from a man. Dearest, accept a cruel truth from a man of the world-it is only the love you call guilty that lasts. There is a stimulus in sin and mystery that will fan the flame of pa.s.sion and keep love alive even for an inferior object. The ugly women know this, and make lax morals a subst.i.tute for beauty. An innocent intrigue, a b.u.t.terfly affection like ours, will seldom outlive the b.u.t.terfly's brief day. Indeed, I sometimes admire at myself as a marvel of constancy for having kept faith so long with a mistress who has rewarded me so sparingly.