Zuleika Dobson Or, An Oxford Love Story

  V

  Luncheon passed in almost unbroken silence. Both Zuleika and the Dukewere ravenously hungry, as people always are after the stress of anygreat emotional crisis. Between them, they made very short work ofa cold chicken, a salad, a gooseberry-tart and a Camembert. The Dukefilled his glass again and again. The cold classicism of his face hadbeen routed by the new romantic movement which had swept over his soul.He looked two or three months older than when first I showed him to myreader.

  He drank his coffee at one draught, pushed back his chair, threw awaythe cigarette he had just lit. "Listen!" he said.

  Zuleika folded her hands on her lap.

  "You do not love me. I accept as final your hint that you never willlove me. I need not say--could not, indeed, ever say--how deeply, deeplyyou have pained me. As lover, I am rejected. But that rejection," hecontinued, striking the table, "is no stopper to my suit. It does butdrive me to the use of arguments. My pride shrinks from them. Love,however, is greater than pride; and I, John, Albert, Edward, Claude,Orde, Angus, Tankerton,* Tanville-Tankerton,** fourteenth Duke ofDorset, Marquis of Dorset, Earl of Grove, Earl of Chastermaine, ViscountBrewsby, Baron Grove, Baron Petstrap, and Baron Wolock, in the Peerageof England, offer you my hand. Do not interrupt me. Do not toss yourhead. Consider well what I am saying. Weigh the advantages you wouldgain by acceptance of my hand. Indeed, they are manifold and tremendous.They are also obvious: do not shut your eyes to them. You, Miss Dobson,what are you? A conjurer, and a vagrant; without means, save such as youcan earn by the sleight of your hand; without position without ahome; all unguarded but by your own self-respect. That you follow anhonourable calling, I do not for one moment deny. I do, however, askyou to consider how great are its perils and hardships, its fatigues andinconveniences. From all these evils I offer you instant refuge. I offeryou, Miss Dobson, a refuge more glorious and more augustly gildedthan you, in your airiest flights of fancy, can ever have hoped for orimagined. I own about 340,000 acres. My town-residence is in St. James'sSquare. Tankerton, of which you may have seen photographs, is the chiefof my country-seats. It is a Tudor house, set on the ridge of a valley.The valley, its park, is halved by a stream so narrow that the deer leapacross. The gardens are estraded upon the slope. Round the house runsa wide paven terrace. There are always two or three peacocks trailingtheir sheathed feathers along the balustrade, and stepping how stiffly!as though they had just been unharnessed from Juno's chariot. Twoflights of shallow steps lead down to the flowers and fountains. Oh,the gardens are wonderful. There is a Jacobean garden of white roses.Between the ends of two pleached alleys, under a dome of branches, isa little lake, with a Triton of black marble, and with water-lilies.Hither and thither under the archipelago of water-lilies, dartgold-fish--tongues of flame in the dark water. There is also a longstrait alley of clipped yew. It ends in an alcove for a pagodaof painted porcelain which the Prince Regent--peace be to hisashes!--presented to my great-grandfather. There are many twistingpaths, and sudden aspects, and devious, fantastic arbours. Are you fondof horses? In my stables of pine-wood and plated-silver seventy areinstalled. Not all of them together could vie in power with one of themeanest of my motor-cars."

  *Pronounced as Tacton.

  **Pronounced as Tavvle-Tacton.

  "Oh, I never go in motors," said Zuleika. "They make one look likenothing on earth, and like everybody else."

  "I myself," said the Duke, "use them little for that very reason. Areyou interested in farming? At Tankerton there is a model farm whichwould at any rate amuse you, with its heifers and hens and pigs that arelike so many big new toys. There is a tiny dairy, which is called 'HerGrace's.' You could make, therein, real butter with your own hands, andround it into little pats, and press every pat with a different device.The boudoir that would be yours is a blue room. Four Watteaus hang init. In the dining-hall hang portraits of my forefathers--in petto,your forefathers-in-law--by many masters. Are you fond of peasants?My tenantry are delightful creatures, and there is not one of them whoremembers the bringing of the news of the Battle of Waterloo. When anew Duchess is brought to Tankerton, the oldest elm in the park mustbe felled. That is one of many strange old customs. As she is driventhrough the village, the children of the tenantry must strew the roadwith daisies. The bridal chamber must be lighted with as many candles asyears have elapsed since the creation of the Dukedom. If you came intoit, there would be"--and the youth, closing his eyes, made a rapidcalculation--"exactly three hundred and eighty-eight candles. On the eveof the death of a Duke of Dorset, two black owls come and perch on thebattlements. They remain there through the night, hooting. At dawnthey fly away, none knows whither. On the eve of the death of any otherTanville-Tankerton, comes (no matter what be the time of year) a cuckoo.It stays for an hour, cooing, then flies away, none knows whither.Whenever this portent occurs, my steward telegraphs to me, that I, ashead of the family, be not unsteeled against the shock of a bereavement,and that my authority be sooner given for the unsealing and garnishingof the family-vault. Not every forefather of mine rests quiet beneathhis escutcheoned marble. There are they who revisit, in their wrath ortheir remorse, the places wherein erst they suffered or wrought evil.There is one who, every Halloween, flits into the dining-hall, andhovers before the portrait which Hans Holbein made of him, and flingshis diaphanous grey form against the canvas, hoping, maybe, to catchfrom it the fiery flesh-tints and the solid limbs that were his, and soto be re-incarnate. He flies against the painting, only to find himselft'other side of the wall it hangs on. There are five ghosts permanentlyresiding in the right wing of the house, two in the left, and eleven inthe park. But all are quite noiseless and quite harmless. My servants,when they meet them in the corridors or on the stairs, stand aside tolet them pass, thus paying them the respect due to guests of mine; butnot even the rawest housemaid ever screams or flees at sight of them. I,their host, often waylay them and try to commune with them; but alwaysthey glide past me. And how gracefully they glide, these ghosts! It is apleasure to watch them. It is a lesson in deportment. May they never belaid! Of all my household-pets, they are the dearest to me. I am Dukeof Strathsporran and Cairngorm, Marquis of Sorby, and Earl Cairngorm, inthe Peerage of Scotland. In the glens of the hills about Strathsporranare many noble and nimble stags. But I have never set foot in my housethere, for it is carpeted throughout with the tartan of my clan. Youseem to like tartan. What tartan is it you are wearing?"

  Zuleika looked down at her skirt. "I don't know," she said. "I got it inParis."

  "Well," said the Duke, "it is very ugly. The Dalbraith tartan isharmonious in comparison, and has, at least, the excuse of history. Ifyou married me, you would have the right to wear it. You would have manystrange and fascinating rights. You would go to Court. I admit that theHanoverian Court is not much. Still, it is better than nothing. At yourpresentation, moreover, you would be given the entree. Is that nothingto you? You would be driven to Court in my statecoach. It is swung sohigh that the streetsters can hardly see its occupant. It is linedwith rose-silk; and on its panels, and on its hammer-cloth, my armsare emblazoned--no one has ever been able to count the quarterings. Youwould be wearing the family-jewels, reluctantly surrendered to you by myaunt. They are many and marvellous, in their antique settings. I don'twant to brag. It humiliates me to speak to you as I am speaking. ButI am heart-set on you, and to win you there is not a precious stone Iwould leave unturned. Conceive a parure all of white stones--diamonds,white sapphires, white topazes, tourmalines. Another, of rubies andamethysts, set in gold filigree. Rings that once were poison-combs onFlorentine fingers. Red roses for your hair--every petal a hollowedruby. Amulets and ape-buckles, zones and fillets. Aye! know that youwould be weeping for wonder before you had seen a tithe of these gauds.Know, too, Miss Dobson, that in the Peerage of France I am Duc d'Etretatet de la Roche Guillaume. Louis Napoleon gave the title to my father fornot cutting him in the Bois. I have a house in the Champs Elysees. Thereis a Swiss in its courtyard. He stands six-foot-seven in his sto
ckings,and the chasseurs are hardly less tall than he. Wherever I go, there aretwo chefs in my retinue. Both are masters in their art, and furiouslyjealous of each other. When I compliment either of them on some dish,the other challenges him. They fight with rapiers, next morning, in thegarden of whatever house I am occupying. I do not know whether you aregreedy? If so, it may interest you to learn that I have a third chef,who makes only souffles, and an Italian pastry-cook; to say nothing ofa Spaniard for salads, an Englishwoman for roasts, and an Abyssinian forcoffee. You found no trace of their handiwork in the meal you have justhad with me? No; for in Oxford it is a whim of mine--I may say a pointof honour--to lead the ordinary life of an undergraduate. What I eatin this room is cooked by the heavy and unaided hand of Mrs. Batch,my landlady. It is set before me by the unaided and--or are you inerror?--loving hand of her daughter. Other ministers have I none here. Idispense with my private secretaries. I am unattended by a single valet.So simple a way of life repels you? You would never be called upon toshare it. If you married me, I should take my name off the books of myCollege. I propose that we should spend our honeymoon at Baiae. I havea villa at Baiae. It is there that I keep my grandfather's collection ofmajolica. The sun shines there always. A long olive-grove secretes thegarden from the sea. When you walk in the garden, you know the sea onlyin blue glimpses through the vacillating leaves. White-gleaming from thebosky shade of this grove are several goddesses. Do you care for Canova?I don't myself. If you do, these figures will appeal to you: they are inhis best manner. Do you love the sea? This is not the only house of minethat looks out on it. On the coast of County Clare--am I not Earl ofEnniskerry and Baron Shandrin in the Peerage of Ireland?--I have anancient castle. Sheer from a rock stands it, and the sea has alwaysraged up against its walls. Many ships lie wrecked under that loudimplacable sea. But mine is a brave strong castle. No storm affrightsit; and not the centuries, clustering houris, with their caresses canseduce it from its hard austerity. I have several titles which for themoment escape me. Baron Llffthwchl am I, and... and... but you canfind them for yourself in Debrett. In me you behold a Prince of the HolyRoman Empire, and a Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Garter. Lookwell at me! I am Hereditary Comber of the Queen's Lap-Dogs. I am young.I am handsome. My temper is sweet, and my character without blemish. Infine, Miss Dobson, I am a most desirable parti."

  "But," said Zuleika, "I don't love you."

  The Duke stamped his foot. "I beg your pardon," he said hastily. "Iought not to have done that. But--you seem to have entirely missed thepoint of what I was saying."

  "No, I haven't," said Zuleika.

  "Then what," cried the Duke, standing over her, "what is your reply?"

  Said Zuleika, looking up at him, "My reply is that I think you are anawful snob."

  The Duke turned on his heel, and strode to the other end of the room.There he stood for some moments, his back to Zuleika.

  "I think," she resumed in a slow, meditative voice, "that you are, withthe possible exception of a Mr. Edelweiss, THE most awful snob I haveever met."

  The Duke looked back over his shoulder. He gave Zuleika the stingingreprimand of silence. She was sorry, and showed it in her eyes. She feltshe had gone too far. True, he was nothing to her now. But she had lovedhim once. She could not forget that.

  "Come!" she said. "Let us be good friends. Give me your hand!" He cameto her, slowly. "There!"

  The Duke withdrew his fingers before she unclasped them. Thattwice-flung taunt rankled still. It was monstrous to have been calleda snob. A snob!--he, whose readiness to form what would certainly beregarded as a shocking misalliance ought to have stifled the charge, notmerely vindicated him from it! He had forgotten, in the blindness of hislove, how shocking the misalliance would be. Perhaps she, unloving, hadnot been so forgetful? Perhaps her refusal had been made, generously,for his own sake. Nay, rather for her own. Evidently, she had felt thatthe high sphere from which he beckoned was no place for the likes ofher. Evidently, she feared she would pine away among those strangesplendours, never be acclimatised, always be unworthy. He had thought tooverwhelm her, and he had done his work too thoroughly. Now he must tryto lighten the load he had imposed.

  Seating himself opposite to her, "You remember," he said, "that there isa dairy at Tankerton?"

  "A dairy? Oh yes."

  "Do you remember what it is called?"

  Zuleika knit her brows.

  He helped her out. "It is called 'Her Grace's'."

  "Oh, of course!" said Zuleika.

  "Do you know WHY it is called so?"

  "Well, let's see... I know you told me."

  "Did I? I think not. I will tell you now... That cool out-house datesfrom the middle of the eighteenth century. My great-great-grandfather,when he was a very old man, married en troisiemes noces a dairy-maidon the Tankerton estate. Meg Speedwell was her name. He had seen herwalking across a field, not many months after the interment of hissecond Duchess, Maria, that great and gifted lady. I know not whether itwas that her bonny mien fanned in him some embers of his youth, or thathe was loth to be outdone in gracious eccentricity by his crony the Dukeof Dewlap, who himself had just taken a bride from a dairy. (You haveread Meredith's account of that affair? No? You should.) Whether it wasveritable love or mere modishness that formed my ancestor's resolve,presently the bells were ringing out, and the oldest elm in the park wasbeing felled, in Meg Speedwell's honour, and the children were strewingdaisies on which Meg Speedwell trod, a proud young hoyden of a bride,with her head in the air and her heart in the seventh heaven. The Dukehad given her already a horde of fine gifts; but these, he had said,were nothing--trash in comparison with the gift that was to ensure forher a perdurable felicity. After the wedding-breakfast, when all thesquires had ridden away on their cobs, and all the squires' ladies intheir coaches, the Duke led his bride forth from the hall, leaning onher arm, till they came to a little edifice of new white stone, veryspick and span, with two lattice-windows and a bright green doorbetween. This he bade her enter. A-flutter with excitement, sheturned the handle. In a moment she flounced back, red with shame andanger--flounced forth from the fairest, whitest, dapperest dairy,wherein was all of the best that the keenest dairy-maid might need. TheDuke bade her dry her eyes, for that it ill befitted a great lady to beweeping on her wedding-day. 'As for gratitude,' he chuckled, 'zounds!that is a wine all the better for the keeping.' Duchess Meg soon forgotthis unworthy wedding-gift, such was her rapture in the other, the soaugust, appurtenances of her new life. What with her fine silk gownsand farthingales, and her powder-closet, and the canopied bed she sleptin--a bed bigger far than the room she had slept in with her sisters,and standing in a room far bigger than her father's cottage; andwhat with Betty, her maid, who had pinched and teased her at thevillage-school, but now waited on her so meekly and trembled sofearfully at a scolding; and what with the fine hot dishes that were setbefore her every day, and the gallant speeches and glances of the fineyoung gentlemen whom the Duke invited from London, Duchess Meg was quitethe happiest Duchess in all England. For a while, she was like a childin a hay-rick. But anon, as the sheer delight of novelty wore away, shebegan to take a more serious view of her position. She began to realiseher responsibilities. She was determined to do all that a great ladyought to do. Twice every day she assumed the vapours. She schooledherself in the mysteries of Ombre, of Macao. She spent hours over thetambour-frame. She rode out on horse-back, with a riding-master. She hada music-master to teach her the spinet; a dancing-master, too, to teachher the Minuet and the Triumph and the Gaudy. All these accomplishmentsshe found mighty hard. She was afraid of her horse. All the morning, shedreaded the hour when it would be brought round from the stables. Shedreaded her dancing-lesson. Try as she would, she could but stamp herfeet flat on the parquet, as though it had been the village-green. Shedreaded her music-lesson. Her fingers, disobedient to her ambition,clumsily thumped the keys of the spinet, and by the notes of the scorepropped up before her she was as cruelly perplexed as by the black
andred pips of the cards she conned at the gaming-table, or by the redand gold threads that were always straying and snapping on hertambour-frame. Still she persevered. Day in, day out, sullenly, sheworked hard to be a great lady. But skill came not to her, and hopedwindled; only the dull effort remained. One accomplishment she didmaster--to wit, the vapours: they became for her a dreadful reality. Shelost her appetite for the fine hot dishes. All night long she lay awake,restless, tearful, under the fine silk canopy, till dawn stared herinto slumber. She seldom scolded Betty. She who had been so lusty and soblooming saw in her mirror that she was pale and thin now; and the fineyoung gentlemen, seeing it too, paid more heed now to their wine andtheir dice than to her. And always, when she met him, the Duke smiledthe same mocking smile. Duchess Meg was pining slowly and surely away...One morning, in Spring-time, she altogether vanished. Betty, bringingthe cup of chocolate to the bedside, found the bed empty. She raised thealarm among her fellows. They searched high and low. Nowhere was theirmistress. The news was broken to their master, who, without comment,rose, bade his man dress him, and presently walked out to the placewhere he knew he would find her. And there, to be sure, she was,churning, churning for dear life. Her sleeves were rolled above herelbows, and her skirt was kilted high; and, as she looked back over hershoulder and saw the Duke, there was the flush of roses in her cheeks,and the light of a thousand thanks in her eyes. 'Oh,' she cried, 'whata curtsey I would drop you, but that to let go the handle were to spoilall!' And every morning, ever after, she woke when the birds woke, rosewhen they rose, and went singing through the dawn to the dairy, there topractise for her pleasure that sweet and lowly handicraft which she hadonce practised for her need. And every evening, with her milking-stoolunder her arm, and her milk-pail in her hand, she went into the fieldand called the cows to her, as she had been wont to do. To those other,those so august, accomplishments she no more pretended. She gave themthe go-by. And all the old zest and joyousness of her life came backto her. Soundlier than ever slept she, and sweetlier dreamed, under thefine silk canopy, till the birds called her to her work. Greater thanever was her love of the fine furbelows that were hers to flaunt in, andsharper her appetite for the fine hot dishes, and more tempestuous herscolding of Betty, poor maid. She was more than ever now the cynosure,the adored, of the fine young gentlemen. And as for her husband, shelooked up to him as the wisest, kindest man in all the world."

  "And the fine young gentlemen," said Zuleika, "did she fall in love withany of them?"

  "You forget," said the Duke coldly, "she was married to a member of myfamily."

  "Oh, I beg your pardon. But tell me: did they ALL adore her?"

  "Yes. Every one of them, wildly, madly."

  "Ah," murmured Zuleika, with a smile of understanding. A shadow crossedher face, "Even so," she said, with some pique, "I don't suppose she hadso very many adorers. She never went out into the world."

  "Tankerton," said the Duke drily, "is a large house, and mygreat-great-grandfather was the most hospitable of men. However," headded, marvelling that she had again missed the point so utterly, "mypurpose was not to confront you with a past rival in conquest, but toset at rest a fear which I had, I think, roused in you by my somewhatfull description of the high majestic life to which you, as my bride,would be translated."

  "A fear? What sort of a fear?"

  "That you would not breathe freely--that you would starve (if I may usea somewhat fantastic figure) among those strawberry-leaves. And so Itold you the story of Meg Speedwell, and how she lived happily everafter. Nay, hear me out! The blood of Meg Speedwell's lord flows inmy veins. I think I may boast that I have inherited something of hissagacity. In any case, I can profit by his example. Do not fear thatI, if you were to wed me, should demand a metamorphosis of your presentself. I should take you as you are, gladly. I should encourage you to bealways exactly as you are--a radiant, irresistible member of the uppermiddle-class, with a certain freedom of manner acquired through alife of peculiar liberty. Can you guess what would be my principalwedding-gift to you? Meg Speedwell had her dairy. For you, would bebuilt another outhouse--a neat hall wherein you would perform yourconjuring-tricks, every evening except Sunday, before me and my tenantsand my servants, and before such of my neighbours as might care to come.None would respect you the less, seeing that I approved. Thus inyou would the pleasant history of Meg Speedwell repeat itself. You,practising for your pleasure--nay, hear me out!--that sweet and lowlyhandicraft which--"

  "I won't listen to another word!" cried Zuleika. "You are the mostinsolent person I have ever met. I happen to come of a particularly goodfamily. I move in the best society. My manners are absolutely perfect.If I found myself in the shoes of twenty Duchesses simultaneously, Ishould know quite well how to behave. As for the one pair you can offerme, I kick them away--so. I kick them back at you. I tell you--"

  "Hush," said the Duke, "hush! You are over-excited. There will be acrowd under my window. There, there! I am sorry. I thought--"

  "Oh, I know what you thought," said Zuleika, in a quieter tone. "I amsure you meant well. I am sorry I lost my temper. Only, you might havegiven me credit for meaning what I said: that I would not marry you,because I did not love you. I daresay there would be great advantagesin being your Duchess. But the fact is, I have no worldly wisdom. To me,marriage is a sacrament. I could no more marry a man about whom I couldnot make a fool of myself than I could marry one who made a fool ofhimself about me. Else had I long ceased to be a spinster. Oh my friend,do not imagine that I have not rejected, in my day, a score of suitorsquite as eligible as you."

  "As eligible? Who were they?" frowned the Duke.

  "Oh, Archduke this, and Grand Duke that, and His Serene Highness theother. I have a wretched memory for names."

  "And my name, too, will soon escape you, perhaps?"

  "No. Oh, no. I shall always remember yours. You see, I was in love withyou. You deceived me into loving you..." She sighed. "Oh, had you butbeen as strong as I thought you... Still, a swain the more. That issomething." She leaned forward, smiling archly. "Those studs--show methem again."

  The Duke displayed them in the hollow of his hand. She touched themlightly, reverently, as a tourist touches a sacred relic in a church.

  At length, "Do give me them," she said. "I will keep them in a littlesecret partition of my jewel-case." The Duke had closed his fist. "Do!"she pleaded. "My other jewels--they have no separate meanings for me.I never remember who gave me this one or that. These would be quitedifferent. I should always remember their history... Do!"

  "Ask me for anything else," said the Duke. "These are the one thing Icould not part with--even to you, for whose sake they are hallowed."

  Zuleika pouted. On the verge of persisting, she changed her mind, andwas silent.

  "Well!" she said abruptly, "how about these races? Are you going to takeme to see them?"

  "Races? What races?" murmured the Duke. "Oh yes. I had forgotten. Do youreally mean that you want to see them?"

  "Why, of course! They are great fun, aren't they?"

  "And you are in a mood for great fun? Well, there is plenty of time. TheSecond Division is not rowed till half-past four."

  "The Second Division? Why not take me to the First?"

  "That is not rowed till six."

  "Isn't this rather an odd arrangement?"

  "No doubt. But Oxford never pretended to be strong in mathematics."

  "Why, it's not yet three!" cried Zuleika, with a woebegone stare at theclock. "What is to be done in the meantime?"

  "Am not I sufficiently diverting?" asked the Duke bitterly.

  "Quite candidly, no. Have you any friend lodging with you here?"

  "One, overhead. A man named Noaks."

  "A small man, with spectacles?"

  "Very small, with very large spectacles."

  "He was pointed out to me yesterday, as I was driving from the Station... No, I don't think I want to meet him. What can you have in commonwith him?"

  "One fra
ilty, at least: he, too, Miss Dobson, loves you."

  "But of course he does. He saw me drive past. Very few of the others,"she said, rising and shaking herself, "have set eyes on me. Do let us goout and look at the Colleges. I do need change of scene. If you were adoctor, you would have prescribed that long ago. It is very bad for meto be here, a kind of Cinderella, moping over the ashes of my love foryou. Where is your hat?"

  Looking round, she caught sight of herself in the glass. "Oh," shecried, "what a fright I do look! I must never be seen like this!"

  "You look very beautiful."

  "I don't. That is a lover's illusion. You yourself told me that thistartan was perfectly hideous. There was no need to tell me that. Icame thus because I was coming to see you. I chose this frock in thedeliberate fear that you, if I made myself presentable, might succumb atsecond sight of me. I would have sent out for a sack and dressed myselfin that, I would have blacked my face all over with burnt cork, only Iwas afraid of being mobbed on the way to you."

  "Even so, you would but have been mobbed for your incorrigible beauty."

  "My beauty! How I hate it!" sighed Zuleika. "Still, here it is, and Imust needs make the best of it. Come! Take me to Judas. I will change mythings. Then I shall be fit for the races."

  As these two emerged, side by side, into the street, the Emperorsexchanged stony sidelong glances. For they saw the more than normalpallor of the Duke's face, and something very like desperation in hiseyes. They saw the tragedy progressing to its foreseen close. Unable tostay its course, they were grimly fascinated now.