Читать книгу Lady Maude's Mania - Fenn George Manville - Страница 2

The crossing-sweeper, in a special uniform of rags turned up with mud, had made liberal use of his broom wherever it was not wanted, and now stood in front of Lord Barmouth’s house in an attitude as if to draw attention, like a label, to his work – as if in fact morally writing fecit.

Everything had been done to give éclat to the proceedings, while in addition to the presents which had been on view, fair Italia sent music to lend a charm to the wedding; for Luigi Malsano, the handsome dark performer upon the last newly-improved organ, stood at the edge of the pavement and ground, and smiled – smiled till his fine white teeth glistened in the midst of his great black beard, and every now and then took off his soft felt hat, displayed his long black curls, and rolled his eyes at Dolly Preen, the fair, fresh, country lassie – the young ladies’ maid; for Dolly was looking out of the window in company with Justine, her ladyship’s attendant, to see the return of the carriages, and the latter exclaimed —

“Elles sont bêtes ces choses là!” and then as Luigi ground and smiled, and raised his hat, Justine uttered a contemptuous —

“Canaille!”

While Dolly Preen sighed and thought the dark Italian very handsome. She had indulged in the same thought before.

“Voilà!” exclaimed Mademoiselle Justine, as the carriage with its four greys dashed up, and after a little manipulation at the side of the organ, Luigi Malsano rested a well-formed and dirty hand upon the green baize cover of his instrument, and turned out the old ballad —

“’Tis hard to give the hand where the heart can never be.”

For after a great deal of scheming the work of the Countess of Barmouth was crowned. She had secured for her daughter a husband in the shape of the British Resident at the court of the Maharajah of Bistreskin, and to herself of selfs she had whispered like the revengeful gentleman in the French romance —

”ÀONEÙ!”

For it was all over.

The carriages had nearly blocked the street, and the crowd had completed the block. The church had been well filled by friends and those curious people who always attend weddings. The ceremony had been performed by a dean, assisted by a canon, and an honorary chaplain to Her Majesty. The bride looked lovely and calm as a statue, though the six bridesmaids in pale blue had sobbed softly, and mourned like so many doves, as they moistened their lace handkerchiefs with a briny dew of pearls, almost as bright as those of the handsome lockets they wore – all alike, and the presents of the bridegroom. They were bouquets of the choicest exotics inside the church, and without, for the servants were as liberally supplied as they were with favours; and at last the bridegroom’s barouche with four of Newman’s best greys had borne the happy pair back to the paternal mansion in Portland Place.

There had not been a single hitch, and even her ladyship had held up with a fine Niobe-like expression upon her noble features all through the service. Certainly she had turned faint once at the “I will,” but by the help of strong aromatic salts she had recovered herself, and smiled sadly round as if to lend sweetness to the flowers. And now the large party were back in the drawing-room, and preparing to descend to the wedding breakfast.

The fashionable pastry-cooks had been ordered to do their best, and this they had done. There were more of those ghastly sugar plaster edifices on the table than usual; more uneatable traps for the unwary; more hollow mockeries, goodly to the eye, but strange to the taste – preparations that society considers to be de rigueur at a wedding. Still in addition there was all that money could procure; fruit and flowers flourished amidst handsome glass and family plate; the servants were in new liveries, and with plenty of aides stood ready; for Lady Barmouth hoped in marrying one daughter to help on the engagement of the second, saying pensively to herself, “And then I shall feel that I have not lived in vain.”

“I say, how’s the leg?” said a severe-looking gentleman present. “Twinges, eh? Yes, so I suppose. Easy with the good things, mind, or else – you know.”

“Yes, yes, twinges, doctor,” said his lordship, stooping to have a rub at the offending, or rather offended and resenting, limb. “But you are in such a doosed hurry; you always ask me another question before I’ve scarcely had time to answer the first. I remember, I remember – now, hang him! look at that. Confound that Lord Todd! I wish I was his doctor for a week or two.”

For the family practitioner had passed on to talk to somebody else, leaving his lordship slowly passing his tongue over his lips, and trying to add another wrinkle to his forehead, as he wondered whether he could smuggle in two or three glasses of champagne without being seen by her ladyship or Doctor Todd.

“Ah, my dear Mr Melton,” said the latter, “how are you?”

“Quite well, doctor,” said the young man addressed, as he passed his hand over his crisp golden beard, and smiled pleasantly at the medical man, whose eyes were playing all over the room, and who now crossed to where the young bride was standing.

“I say,” he exclaimed, “I did not congratulate you in the church. God bless you, my dear! may you be very happy. And only the other day you were a baby, eh?”

He nodded, smiled, and passed on to where a very elderly-looking fair young man, elaborately dressed, was talking to a stout mamma – the mother of two of the bridesmaids.

The withered-looking gentleman, who blinked a good deal, and seemed as if the light was too strong for him, turned to speak to the doctor as he approached.

“Well,” said the latter – “better?”

“Yas, I think so; yas, doctor, but you know I can’t think what ails my constitution.”

“I can,” thought the doctor, as he turned away looking sharply round the room; “luxury, late hours, too much money, and nothing sensible to do. Blasé fool! Oh, there she is.”

He crossed as quickly as the crowded state of the room would allow him to where Lady Maude was standing, and made her start as he said sharply —

“I say, when’s your turn coming?”

“Never, I hope, doctor,” was the reply, as a little hand was placed in his, “never, if it is to make me so wretched as poor darling Di. Do say something kind to her if you have a chance.”

“Hum – ha – yes,” he said thoughtfully, as he retained the little hand and seemed to be examining a patient. “Don’t seem bright, eh?”

“Oh, no, doctor,” whispered Maude. “But I’m so glad you’ve come.”

“That’s right, my dear; I would come. So I will when you are married – the same as I did when you were born,” he said to himself. Then aloud – “I say, when you marry, my dear, you marry for love.”

“I will, doctor,” cried the girl with her blue eyes flashing, and just then Luigi of the organ struck up a languishing waltz. “But I really am so glad you’ve come. Do talk to papa and cheer him up. He is so low-spirited. Couldn’t you give him a tonic?”

“Wish I could,” said the doctor. “Tincture of youth. No, my dear. I can’t make the old young. Glad I’ve come, eh? There’s my little friend Tryphie yonder. But they are going to move, I see.”

Her ladyship was still very pensive, and gazed appealingly round from one to the other of her guests; but her eyes were wonderfully wide open, and she moved about like a domestic field-marshal determined to carry out her social campaign with éclat.

“Sir Grantley,” she said, softening her voice down to a contralto coo as she laid her fan on the arm of the elderly young man, whose face on one side was all eye-glass and wrinkles, on the other blank, “will you take down my daughter?”

“Charmed, I’m shaw,” was the hesitating reply, as a puzzled look came over the baronet’s face; “but her husband, don’t you know?”

“I mean Lady Maude,” said her ladyship, with a winning smile.

“Yes, of course; beg pardon, I’m shaw,” said the baronet hastily, and he crossed the room with her ladyship in a weak-kneed fashion, and apparently suffering from tight boots.

But it so happened that a flank movement had been set on foot by Viscount Diphoos.

“Charley, old man,” he was saying to the visitor with the fair beard, who now, as he stood in one of the windows, showed himself to be a fine, broad-shouldered fellow of about eight or nine and twenty, with a fair Saxon forehead half-way down to his brows, where it became ruddily tanned, as if by exposure to the air. “Charley, old man, go across and nail Maude at once, or the old lady will be handing her over to that wretched screw, Wilters. – Have you seen Tryphie?”

“There she is, over in the far corner, talking to the doctor,” said the young man addressed – a bosom friend of the viscount: Charley Melton, the son of a country gentleman with a very small income and no prospects, unless a cousin in the navy should kindly leave this world in his favour, when he would be heir to a title and a goodly domain.

He crossed the room quickly to where Lady Maude was standing, and a curious, conscious look appeared on the girl’s face as he approached. There was a warm rosy hue in her cheeks as their eyes met, and then, happy and palpitating, she let her little fingers press very timidly the strong muscular arm that held them to the side within which beat – beat – beat, rather faster than usual, Charley Melton’s heart, a habit it had had of late when fortune had thrown him close to his companion.

Her ladyship saw the movement as she was approaching with Sir Grantley Wilters, and darted an angry look at her daughter and another at her son. Then, with her face all smiles, she brought up her light cavalry and took her son in the flank in his turn.

“So sorry, Sir Grantley,” she said sweetly; “we were too late. Will you take down my niece?”

“Yas, delighted,” said Sir Grantley, screwing the whole of his face up till it formed a series of concentric circles round his eye-glass. “But who is that fellow?”

“Friend of my son,” said her ladyship in the most confidential way. “Very nice manly fellow, and that sort of thing. Tryphie, my dear, Sir Grantley Wilters will take you down,” she continued, as she stopped before a little piquante, creamy-skinned girl with large hazel eyes, abundant dark-brown hair, and a saucy-looking little mouth. She had a well-shaped nose, but her face was freckled as liberally as nature could arrange it without making the markings touch: but all the same she was remarkably bright and pretty.

“Sold!” muttered Tom, spitefully, as he saw her ladyship beaming upon him after striking him in his tenderest part. But he was consoled a little the next moment as Maude gave him a grateful glance, looking as happy and bright as Melton himself, while as Tryphie took the proffered arm of Sir Grantley Wilters, whose face expressed pain above and a smile below, the sharp little maiden made a moue with her lips expressive of disgust at her partner, and gave Diphoos a glance which made him feel decidedly better.

“I don’t like that fellow, Tom, my boy,” said Lord Barmouth, sidling up to his son, and bending down for a furtive rub at his leg. “Damme, Tom, I don’t believe he’s forty, and he looks as old as I do. If her ladyship means him to marry little Tryphie there, I shan’t – shan’t like – like – Damme, it would be too bad.”

“Hang it all, gov’nor; don’t talk like that,” cried Tom, impatiently.

“No, no, certainly not, my boy, certainly not; but I say, Tom, that’s a doosed nice boy that young Charley Melton. I like the look of him. He’s a manly sort of a fellow. Your uncle and I were at Eton with his father years ago. I say, Tom,” he continued, rubbing his leg, “he wouldn’t make a bad match for our Maude. Yes, yes, my dear; I’m coming.”

“Anthony, for shame!” whispered her ladyship. “They are all waiting. Lady Rigby. I’ve been looking for you. Take her down at once.”

The earl crossed over to make himself agreeable to Lady Rigby, the stout mamma; and the hostess took counsel with herself.

“Either would do,” she said. “But Mr Melton’s attentions will bring Sir Grantley to the point.”

A few minutes later the guests were seated at the wedding breakfast, while Dolly Preen again leaned out of the window, having returned there after attending to the bride, to whom two fresh pocket-handkerchiefs were supplied. Luigi of the organ was still below, handsome and smiling as he scented good things, and he played on as Mistress Preen listened and thought of love and marriage, and music, and how handsome Italian men were, and ended by doing as she had done for many weeks, wrapping a three-penny piece up in many papers and dropping it into Luigi’s soft felt hat. For how could she offer coppers to such a man as that!

She was not the only one who dreamed of love, for Justine Framboise, her ladyship’s maid, was enjoying a pleasant flirtation with Monsieur Hector Launay, Coiffeur de Paris, from Upper Gimp Street, Marylebone, a gentleman whose offices were largely in request in Portland Place, and who that morning had left his place of business in charge of a boy, so that he might perform certain capillary conjuring tricks, and then stay and look in the eyes of the fair Justine – a French young lady, who would have been a fortune to her father if she had been a dentist’s daughter, so liberally did she show her fine white teeth.

The said flirtation took place upon the stairs, and Perkins, the bride’s new maid, took interest therein, to the neglect of her packing and the annoyance of Henry, the Resident’s man, with whom she was to ride in the rumble, and then second-class to Paris that day on the honeymoon trip. For Monsieur Hector, with all the gallantry of the fair city from which he hailed, had called Perkins, in Henry’s hearing, une demoiselle charmante.

“Like his furren imperdence,” as Henry said, and then the said Henry had to go in and stand behind his master’s chair. As soon after three parts of a bottle of champagne was passed upstairs with a glass by a kindly disposed waiter, the packing of the newly-married lady went on worse than ever, and several travelling-cases were left unfastened in the bedroom.

“I say,” whispered Tom, going behind her ladyship’s chair, “you are never going to let the gov’nor speak?”

“Yes, certainly. He must,” said her ladyship in a decisive tone; and she turned to the guest on her right.

“But he’ll break down as sure as a gun,” remonstrated the son.

“I have prompted him, and he knows what to say,” replied her ladyship. “Go back to your place.”

“Oh, just as you like,” grumbled Tom; and he returned to his seat, determined in his own mind to stand behind his father’s chair, and to prompt him to the best of his ability.

The breakfast went on amidst the pleasant tinkle of glass and plate, the conversation grew louder, there was the frequent pop of champagne corks, and the various couples grew too much engrossed to notice what took place with their neighbours.

“Maude,” said Charley Melton at last, “if you were put to the test, should you give up any one you loved, and accept a comparative stranger because he could do as that man has done – load you with diamonds?”

She turned her eyes to his with a reproachful look, and the colour suffused her face.

“No one can hear what I say,” he whispered, with his eyes fixed upon his plate. “But listen to me. I feel that it is almost madness, but I love you very, very dearly. You know it – you must know it. Ever since we met, six months since, you have been my sole thought. I ought not to speak, but I cannot keep it back waiting for an opportunity that may never come. And if some day I awoke to the fact that I had made no declaration and another had carried you off, I believe I should go mad. Give me one word of hope. I am very poor – terribly poor, but times may change, and money does not provide all the happiness of life. – Not one word? Have I been deceived? Was I mad to think that you met me these many times with pleasure? Give me one word – one look.”

“I mustn’t,” said Lady Maude, colouring. “Mamma is giving you one.”

Charley Melton gave an unintentional kick under the table, touching his opposite neighbour so hard that he turned reproachfully to the gentleman at his side.

“Oh, Lady Maude!” groaned Charley in tragic tones.

There was a hearty laugh here at some sally made by the doctor, and Maude whispered back in a husky voice —

“I dare not look at you;” and he saw that the colour was mounting to her temples.

“One word then,” he whispered, as the conversation waxed louder, but there was no reply.

“Maude,” he said, in a low deep voice, “I will not believe you to be cold – heartless.”

“Oh no,” she sighed.

“Then give me one word to tell me that I may hope.”

Still no reply, as the lady sat playing with the viands upon her plate; then her face turned slightly towards him; her long lashes lifted softly, her eyes rested for a moment upon his, and he drew a long breath of relief, turning composed and quiet the next moment as he leaned towards her, saying —

“I never felt what it was to be truly happy until now.”

“Nonsense?” said the doctor loudly, after just finishing a very medical story – one he always told after his third glass of champagne, “I can assure you it is perfectly true. Good – isn’t it? She really did elope with her music-master. Fact, – twins.”

Several ladies looked shocked, for Lady Rigby, the stout mamma, an old patient, had laughed loudly, and then wiped her mouth with her lace handkerchief as if to take off the smile of which she felt rather ashamed, for her countenance afterwards looked preternaturally solemn.

The earl had escaped the usual supervision, and he also had partaken of a glass of champagne or two – or three – and he thoroughly enjoyed the doctors story.

“It puts me in mind of one,” he said, with a chuckle. “You know it, doctor. If the ladies will excuse its being a little indelicate. Quite medical though, quite.”

“I am quite sure that Lord Barmouth would not say anything shocking,” said the stout mamma, and she began to utter little dry coughs, suggestive of mittens, and muffins, and tea.

“Of course not – of course not, I – I – I wouldn’t say it – say it on any consideration,” said his lordship, chuckling. “It – it – was about a friend of mine who built a house by Primrose Hill, he – he – he! It’s quite a medical story, doctor, over the railway, you know.”

“The old girl will be down upon him directly,” thought Tom.

“Capital story,” said the doctor, laughing, and glancing sidewise at her ladyship. “There’ll be an eruption directly,” he added to himself.

“He – he – he!” laughed his lordship; “her ladyship never lets me tell this story, does she, my dears?” he continued, smiling at his daughters, “but I assure you, ladies, it’s very innocent. I used to go and see him when he had furnished the place, over the railway, and every now and then there used to be quite a rumble and quiver when the trains went through the tunnel! Why, I said to him, one day – ‘Why, my dear fellow, I – I – I’ eh? – eh? – eh? Bless my heart what was it I said to him, Tom?”

“Pain, father,” said Diphoos, grinning, for he had noticed the look of relief that appeared upon the ladies’ faces when the hope came that the dreadful old gentleman had forgotten the story. There would not have been much Tom left if their looks had been lightning, for his words set the old gentleman off again.

“Yes, to be sure: I said to him, ‘My dear fellow’ – just after one of these rumbling noises made by the train in the tunnel – ‘my dear boy, you must call in the doctor, or lay down some more good port wine.’ – ‘Why?’ he said. – ‘Because,’ I replied, ‘your house always sounds to me as if it had got a pain in its cellar!’ Eh! He – he! devilish good that, wasn’t it?”

No one enjoyed that feeble joke as well as the narrator who used to recollect it about once a year, and try to fire it off; but unless his son was there to prompt him, it rarely made more than a flash in the pan.

It was observable that the conversation became very loud just then, and Charley Melton seized the opportunity to whisper a few words to Lady Maude – words which deepened the colour on her cheeks.

They were interrupted by the clapping of hands, for just then the host rose, and Tom stole gently behind him, taking the seat he had vacated, and preparing himself for the break down he anticipated.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said his lordship, gazing meekly round like a very old Welsh mutton, “I – I – I, believe me, never rose upon such an occasion as this, and – er – and – er.”

He gazed piteously at her ladyship at the other end of the table, and at whose instigation, a message having been sent by Robbins the butler, he had risen.

“I say I have never before risen upon such an occasion as this, but I hope that my darling child who is about to – to – to – to – eh, what did you say, Tom my boy.”

“Hang it, go on, governor. Quit your roof – paternal roof,” whispered Tom.

“Quit your paternal roof, will shine – yes, shine in her new sphere as an ornament to society, as her mother has been before her. A woman all love, all gentleness, and sweetness of disposition.”

“Oh, hang it governor; draw it mild,” whispered Tom.

“Yes, mild,” said his lordship, “mild to a fault. Eh? bless me, what is the matter?”

It was a favourable opportunity for a display of emotion, and her ladyship displayed it beautifully for the assembled company to study and take a lesson in maternal and wifely tenderness. Her beloved child was being handed over to the tender mercies of a man – was about to leave her home – about to be torn away.

Her ladyship burst into an agony of tears – of wild sobbing – for she was a model of all the virtues; but when virtues were made, nature selected another pattern and this one was cast aside.

A sympathetic coo ran round the table, tears were shed, and Tom winked at Charley Melton, who kept his countenance.

Then her ladyship declared that it was “so foolish,” and that she was “quite well now”; and other speeches good and bad were made. And at last the bridegroom’s carriage was at the door; the bride was handed in; there was the usual cheering; white satin slippers and showers of rice were thrown, and the carriage rolled away. For Lady Barmouth had achieved one of the objects of her life – a brilliant match for her elder daughter – leaving her free to execute her plans for Maude.

All had been en règle so far: the hall was filled with company; the sound of wheels was still to be heard rolling down the broad thoroughfare: when “I say, look out,” whispered Tom to his friend. “There she goes.”

It was a coarse way of expressing himself, but “there” “she” did go – to wit her ladyship. Sir Grantley Wilters, whom she hoped some day to call son, was close at hand. It was quite time for her maternal feelings to assert themselves again, and they did, for she sank heavily into the nearest arms.

They were not her husband’s but those of the baronet, most rotten reeds upon which a lady might lean. The result was that as Lady Barmouth gave way, Sir Grantley did the same, and both would have fallen heavily but for Doctor Todd, who seized the baronet in time, and with extraneous help her ladyship was placed in the porter’s great chair.

“Salts, and a little air: she has only fainted,” said the doctor.

By all the rules of family etiquette as observed in the best society, Maude should have run to her mother’s side, and made one in a pathetic group: but just at the same moment she encountered Charley Melton’s eyes, let her own rest upon them as a singular thrill ran through her, till she wrenched them away and encountered Sir Grantley Wilters’ eye-glass, and directly after she recalled a promise she had made to herself.

“Open that door a little,” said the doctor – “ajar. Some fresh air.”

Luigi Malsano was back in the street, and the organ struck up once more, “’Tis hard to give the hand where the heart can never be,” while at the same moment a dismal howl came from the doorstep and a head was thrust in, to be followed by a body rather out of proportion.

It was only Charley Melton’s ugly bull-dog Joby, who had followed his master to the house, and been waiting on step and in area for the said master to come. He had several times made an attempt to enter, but had been driven back by Robbins the butler, and thought of going back to his master’s chambers, but at last the opportunity had come, and he too found his way in, for Luigi’s music nearly drove him mad.

Meanwhile the Resident’s young wife was being carried towards Charing Cross en route for Brindisi – the Suez Canal – India – right away out of the country, and out of this story, leaving the stage clear for her sister’s important scene.