Читать книгу Miss Hurd: An Enigma - Anna Katharine Green - Страница 7

Table of Contents

“In life there are meetings which seem like a fate.”

Owen Meredith

It was a new name to me. My curiosity was therefore at once aroused, and to such a pitch that my interest in the late subject of conversation sank before it. Yet I did not pursue my inquiries, perceiving from the tone in which Miss Dalrymple had answered my question, that the presence or absence of the unseen player was of no consequence to her, and therefore should not be to the rest of the guests.

But I listened intently to the few wandering strains that floated, now in perfect melody, and now in such disorder, that they verged upon discord, from behind the curtain that so provokingly shielded the performer from our eyes.

And in that broken music, whose racking strains passed unnoticed in the interest of the conversation which now went on in the large room, I seemed to catch hints of force, and of weird, if inharmonious, beauty, which added to, rather than detracted from, my anxiety to see the unseen musician. I had almost made up my mind to cross the room and lift the curtain which hung between me and this new object of interest, when my own attention and that of every other person in the room, was attracted by the entrance of Mr. Livermore with a strange gentleman. Before the latter had crossed the threshold, he had drawn all eyes his way, and curiosity was rife as to his name and condition.

Mr. Livermore did not leave us long in doubt.

“Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present to you Mr. Murdoch; a gentleman from the far west, with whom, I am sure, you will be delighted to become acquainted.”

Naturally we one and all came forward. As I did so, something—was it the sudden cessation of those strains to which I had been so long listening?—made me glance towards the music room, and I saw for one fleeting instant the face which Gaylord had described.

Instantly I forgot everything else in the world but my art.

I had come three hundred miles to seek an inspiration for my Antigone, and I had found it. Any other thought was for the moment impossible.

I was so impressed, that I forgot all conventionalities, and was about to dart forward and stop the beautiful musician who seemed on the point of leaving the room, when she herself saved me from such a breach of decorum, by pausing where she was, and giving me one look before flitting away.

It was a strange look, an epoch-making glance, which drew a line across my life, and made my past a thing no longer worthy of contemplation. There was passion in her face, and there was suffering also; but both seemed to have received in some way a check, possibly through me; and though I tried to ignore the emotions which this supposition awakened, and turn back to the crowd as if nothing had happened, I felt the consciousness go surging through my blood, that I had not only found a model for my Antigone, but a woman to whose glance my heart responded, and whom I must love, if her soul corresponded to her personality, and she was as great of heart as she was imposing in figure and bearing.

The next instant I was bowing to Mr. Murdoch. And here I received a second shock no less formidable than the first. He had seen her also, and was no more indifferent than myself to the marvellous vision. I saw it in his face, and in the glance which wandered from mine in his anxiety to catch one other glimpse of the now rapidly departing figure. Such women are not seen without emotion, and when the heart is empty a passing glance from such eyes may sow the seed of a life-long passion. I could understand this in him as in myself, but what a revulsion it gave me for an instant to see reflected in his countenance the secret emotions with which my own heart was swelling. I endeavored, however, to hide not only my own feelings but my consciousness of his, and ignoring every other topic of interest that presented itself, I conversed with him for a few minutes, just to see what sort of man he was, and what I might expect from his rivalry, if his present admiration grew into interest and became a living reality like my own.

He was, as I have intimated, a man of fine personal appearance; and as soon as I could steady my thoughts amid the whirl in which they had become involved, I scrutinized him closely to see if I could determine wherein his odd attraction lay, and then I discovered he had no attraction—that is, for me. On the contrary I found myself subtly repelled by him. Yet his figure was fine, his manners polished, and his features regular to a fault. Perhaps the dim consciousness that we had been struck by the charms of the same woman, and were likely to engage in a struggle for her future regard, made me unjust to him. But I had no sooner taken a good look at his face than I disliked him more than I had ever disliked a man before.

But to the ladies present he was a most acceptable addition to the company; and though I had nothing to complain of in their reception of my attentions, I soon saw that my undisputed reign was over and that this Murdoch was likely to have his full share of the smiles and blandishments of the practised coquettes about us.

But for this I cared little, so that the new realm into which I had just thrust my adventurous foot might be left uninvaded by him. My new realm! How dare I say my! Was he not already planning an invasion into it? As I realized my vanity, I laughed; but it was a hollow laugh full of new and but half understood emotions.

To free myself from the thoughts, conjectures, and growing excitement into which this experience had plunged me, I turned towards the ladies.

But they were already flocking around the newcomer, anxious to interest him in the two romantic tales which had been told in their hearing just prior to his entrance; and as they one by one added something to the already confused narrative, I saw his eyes wander from face to face with that self-concentrated air, which in a plain man argues indifference, and in a handsome one that confidence in his own powers of pleasing which makes it unnecessary for him to mark by more than a smile his interest in the conversation addressed to him.

I thought I understood his abstraction, and in a few minutes was satisfied that I had not misread him, for with that elaborate air of carelessness which is invariably assumed to hide a too deep interest in the topic broached, he asked Miss Dalrymple if some of the ladies would not favor us with music; and when Miss Tewksbury rose in response to the call, he plainly showed, for all his endeavors to hide it, so much disappointment both at the performer and the performance, that I was forced to recognize that it was not music that he wanted, but another glimpse of the unknown musician.

I was still further assured of this, when one of the young gentlemen, more used to the ways of the house than either he or myself, observed in an offhand way:

“And where’s Miss Hurd; and why does she not play for us to-night?”

For the words were no sooner uttered than Murdoch’s eyes passed directly to the music-room door, and I discovered from their look and the flashing glint of eagerness they betrayed, that my realm, if I dared to call such an unknown country mine, had not only been invaded, but seized upon, at least in anticipation, though my own enjoyment of it was as yet but a few moments old.

An immoderate anger at once possessed me, which was not allayed by Miss Dalrymple curtly remarking:

“Miss Hurd was here a short time ago. I do not understand why she has left, but if you wish to hear her I can readily call her back.”

Wish to hear her! Did we wish to hear her? I think that at least Murdoch and myself, different as we were in appearance and temperament, and different as our opinions were likely to be upon most topics, felt enough alike on this one, to show the same hesitation in replying.

But there were others who had no reason for keeping still, and presently I had the doubtful satisfaction of seeing a servant despatched for Miss Hurd, who, from the tone of condescension latent in this command, evidently occupied a subordinate position in the house, which did not entitle her to the respect and consideration usually bestowed upon a guest.

Fired from that moment with a resolve to hide my feelings, if not subdue them, I barely allowed myself one glance at Murdoch, who had evidently followed my lead, and now showed a totally unconcerned countenance; after which I proceeded at once to Miss Tewksbury’s side, and turned over the leaves of the song she attempted to warble, with as much assiduity as if I were not listening with all my ears for a step on the stairs.

Happily the song was finished before the step became a reality, else I might not have been able to preserve the commonplace character I had assumed. For when Miss Hurd re-entered, I was surprised to find her even more beautiful and impressive than the hasty glimpse I had obtained of her had led me to expect. There was a quiet grandeur in her now thoroughly composed features, which made her an uncommon figure in a modern drawing-room. She looked as much out of place in that cluster of laughing, chattering demoiselles as a marble image in a toy shop; and though she bowed and smiled with conventional politeness as she advanced towards the piano, which was quickly vacated at her approach, I saw that the emotions which had infused such character into her features some little time before, were by no means at an end, but merely held in check by the force of her powerful will. Without glancing to the right or left, she sat down at the piano. Being by virtue of my former attentions to Miss Tewksbury quite near the instrument, and thus close to the new performer, I retained my place for the advantage it offered me of studying her and the details of her remarkable beauty.

She was a dark woman—that is, her hair was of that ebon hue which, in some lights, gleams with a purple lustre, and her eyes, if not black, were rendered so conspicuous by the long lashes that curled above them, and by the heavy markings that underlay them on her otherwise colorless cheeks, that they had all the effect of the darkest and most unfathomable of orbs. Her nose was exquisitely formed and her chin modelled in a way which left nothing even to the imagination of a sculptor, but her cheeks lacked fulness, and there was a discrepancy between the weight and intellectual predominance of her forehead and the gentle, almost pleading lines of the lower face, which, while adding greatly to her expression, made her face far from perfect in a purely artistic point of view. But what force it expressed, what fire, what intensity! It made my heart burn to look at her; and when the music, with which she seemed to be expressing some wild and pent up emotion, rose and swelled into fiery climaxes, she appeared, to my excited fancy, like some poet’s creation, or the potent heroine of some world-famed tragedy.

Suddenly I remembered Murdoch. As he was not in the same room with myself, I took the first opportunity that offered of peering into the adjoining apartment, where I saw him professedly leaning over Miss Dalrymple, but in reality gazing at Miss Hurd with an intentness and an open admiration that for a moment angered me and made me wish to step between him and the unconscious object of his too obtrusive homage.

But my impulses were as yet under the control of my judgment; so I stilled the jealous pang, and even succeeded in subduing my own emotions sufficiently to remain unembarrassed, when, the weird piece over, she vouchsafed me one quick glance before rising.

The next moment she was on her way to the door; but Mr. Livermore did not allow her to depart so unceremoniously. Advancing from the other room, he stopped her on the threshold, and pointing out Murdoch, said with some condescension in his tone, “Here is a gentleman who desires to be introduced to you, Miss Hurd.”

With a set smile and a haughty air, which, however out of keeping with her position in the household, took on dignity from the superb lines of her incomparable form and the serious if not sombre character of her countenance, she advanced and greeted the stranger, who bowed low and almost deprecatingly before her; while Miss Dalrymple stood back and smiled with a thin, fine air of conscious graciousness, that so irritated me that I approached in my turn, and with less outward show of interest, but I dare say with more true feeling, demanded an introduction also.

I received it, and, selfish mortal that I am, was gratified to note that the color, which had not risen at the sight of the other’s fine figure and handsome countenance, rushed faintly to her cheeks as she responded to my greeting.

The slight contraction of Miss Dalrymple’s forehead convinced me I had made a mistake, but I had spirit enough to ignore this discovery, and also to ignore Mr. Murdoch’s one quick glance of surprised displeasure; but I likewise had consideration enough for them both, not to add fuel to the fire by any undue attentions in a quarter thus openly frowned upon; and after the few common phrases which follow all such enforced introductions, I moved away and left the field to the enemy.

How he improved it, I cannot say, for I was drawn almost immediately into a close consultation, which forbade the least attention to what went on behind me, but when startled by a sudden movement of departure in the room, I turned to see who was leaving, I not only perceived that it was Miss Hurd, but also that it was not from Murdoch she was withdrawing, but from Mr. and Mrs. Livermore.

He whom I now half unconsciously designated as my rival was on the other side of the room, but he was watching her, and when she turned at the door and glanced back with a smile, he started forward, but was stopped by her words, which, to the surprise of every one present, were directed to the whole room:

“I have a warning to give,” said she, in a light, rich tone, which completed the charm of this remarkable woman: “When I was at the village store to-day, I heard that more than one house in this vicinity has been entered by burglars during the past week. Would it not then be well for you all to lock your doors?”

The suddenness, the incongruity of this odd bit of advice thrown thus curiously into the bubbling effervescence of the lightest of talk, by one who was hardly granted the right to speak there at all, caused a feeling of astonishment to spread through the room, in the midst of which she departed.

I, who was perhaps even more surprised than the rest, felt as if a black wing had suddenly flapped between me and some wonderful picture; and shaken by vague doubts that were totally out of harmony with the scene in which I found myself, I sauntered from the room into the one more especially devoted to the gentlemen, where, I thought, if chance served me well, I might find solitude at this hour, and a chance to think, without too much danger of interruption.

But for some reason, or the same reason, perhaps, there were two disturbed souls in the house that night; and before I had time to seat myself, Mr. Murdoch walked into the room with a frown on his brow which quite altered the aspect of his naturally composed and quiet cast of features.

I had rather have seen any other person in the house, but having no cause to shun this man I nodded and welcomed him with some off-hand words which seemed to take his fancy; for he drew up a chair to my side and sat down.

“Let us talk,” said he. “A little chat with the ladies is well enough directly after dinner, when the mind naturally seeks diversion; but after the clock has struck ten the time has come for something more solid.”

And we did talk; ignoring naturally the one topic I dared to think, even then, was of the supremest interest to us both, and launching into others which were current at the time.

I found him keen, well-read, and of a firm, but narrow turn of mind. Though no artist, he was composed of such stuff as patrons are made of, and while his taste did not meet with my highest approval, it had sufficient claims on my regard to win from me a certain amount of respect. But I could not like him, nor could I suppress some show of impatience as the selfish streak in him came uppermost, or when I saw that, notwithstanding his many advantages of wealth, position, and an extraordinarily fine presence, he possessed a callousness on some topics which would have discredited a man whose instincts had never been modified by education. Yet I own that I was severe upon him, and that in the course of conversation other qualities came to light of so generous and genial a nature that if my judgment had not been warped by prejudice I should certainly have put him down in my mind as one whom any man might feel proud to own as his friend.

At eleven o’clock we separated, each going to his own room; but I did not retire till long after that, and not till I had had one other slight adventure to crown the excitement of this long and eventful evening.

I had heard most, if not all, the inmates of the house come upstairs to their rooms, and the silence which, in so full a dwelling settles down but slowly, had spread at last from one end of the hall to the other. My room, which was in the northeast corner of the house, overlooked the forest, and I was taking a final look at the weird shapes of the midnight trees nodding through my open window, when some instinct,—was it of the heart or the imagination? bade me open my door once more and cast a final glance down the hall.

I did so, and was startled to behold, in the narrow passage-way at the other extremity of the house, a flitting figure, too noble in its proportions not to be speedily recognized as that of Miss Hurd, passing from door to door, and halting a moment at each as if impelled by some inward uneasiness to ascertain if her warning had been obeyed and each door duly locked according to her own whimsical suggestion.

It was a sight too weird to be forgotten, and I returned to my own room to spend the night in dreams in which three figures of an ominous and disturbing nature mixed and jostled each other in a gray mist which enwrapped both them and myself. One was the woman swinging a roughened stick over a titanic shoulder; another, the silent, form of the stricken Sister of Mercy, drooping her head before the implacable finger of her pursuer; and the third, the living, burning image of the mysterious musician, halting in the dead of night before a door, like a watcher beside a tomb, or Nemesis on the track of the guilty.