CHAPTER XLVII.
LADY HAINAULT'S BLOTTING-BOOK.
In the natural course of events, I ought now to follow Charles in hismilitary career, step by step. But the fact is that I know no more aboutthe details of horse-soldiering than a marine, and therefore I cannot.It is within the bounds of possibility that the reader may congratulatehimself on my ignorance, and it may also be possible that he has goodreason for so doing.
Within a fortnight after Hornby's introduction to Lord Saltire and LadyAscot, he was off with the head-quarters of his regiment to Varna. Thedepot was at Windsor, and there, unknown to Hornby, was Charles,drilling and drilling. Two more troops were to follow the head-quartersin a short time, and so well had Charles stuck to his duty that he wasconsidered fit to take his place in one of them. Before his moustacheswere properly grown, he found himself a soldier in good earnest.
In all his troubles this was the happiest time he had, for he had gotrid of the feeling that he was a disgraced man. If he must wear alivery, he would wear the Queen's; there was no disgrace in that. He wasa soldier, and he would be a hero. Sometimes, perhaps, he thought for amoment that he, with his two thousand pounds' worth of education, mighthave been better employed than in littering a horse, andswash-bucklering about among the Windsor taverns; but he did not thinklong about it. If there were any disgrace in the matter, there was atime coming soon, by all accounts, when the disgrace would be wiped outin fire and blood. On Sunday, when he saw the Eton lads streaming up tothe terrace, the old Shrewsbury days, and the past generally, used tocome back to him rather unpleasantly; but the bugle put it all out ofhis head again in a moment. Were there not the three most famous armiesin the world gathering, gathering, for a feast of ravens? Was not theworld looking on in silence and awe, to see England, France, and Russialocked in a death-grip? Was not he to make one at the merry meeting? Whocould think at such a time as this?
The time was getting short now. In five days they were to start forSouthampton, to follow the head-quarters to Constantinople, to Varna,and so into the dark thunder-cloud beyond. He felt as certain that hewould never come back again, as that the sun would rise on the morrow.
He made the last energetic effort that he made at all. It was like thelast struggle of a drowning man. He says that the way it happened wasthis. And I believe him, for it was one of his own mad impulses, and,like all his other impulses, it came too late. They came branking intosome pot-house, half a dozen of them, and talked aloud about this andthat, and one young lad among them said, that "he would give a thousandpounds, if he had it, to see his sister before he went away, for fearshe should think that he had gone off without thinking of her."
Charles left them, and walked up the street. As he walked, his purposegrew. He went straight to the quarters of a certain cornet, son to themajor of the regiment, and asked to speak to him.
The cornet, a quiet, smooth-faced boy, listened patiently to what he hadto say, but shook his head and told him he feared it was impossible.But, he said, after a pause, he would help him all he could. The nextmorning he took him to the major while he was alone at breakfast, andCharles laid his case before him so well, that the kind old man gave himleave to go to London at four o'clock, and come back by the last trainthat same evening.
The Duchess of Cheshire's ball was the last and greatest which was giventhat season. It was, they say, in some sort like the Duchess ofRichmond's ball before Waterloo. The story I have heard is, that LordGeorge Barty persuaded his mother to give it, because he was sure thatit would be the last ball he should ever dance at. At all events it wasgiven, and he was right; for he sailed in the same ship with Charlesfour days after, and was killed at Balaclava. However, we have nothingto do with that. All we have to do with is the fact, that it was a verygreat ball indeed, and that Lady Hainault was going to it.
Some traditions and customs grow by degrees into laws, ay, and into lawsless frequently broken than those made and provided by Parliament. Allowpeople to walk across the corner of one of your fields for twenty years,and there is a right of way, and they may walk across that field tillthe crack of doom. Allow a man to build a hut on your property, and livein it for twenty years, and you can't get rid of him. He gains a rightthere. (I never was annoyed in either of these ways myself, for reasonswhich I decline to mention; but it is the law, I believe.) There is nolaw to make the young men fire off guns at one's gate on the 6th ofNovember, but they never miss doing it. (I found some of the men usingtheir rifles for this purpose last year, and had to fulminate aboutit.) To follow out the argument, there was no rule in Lord Hainault'shouse that the children should always come in and see their aunt dressfor a ball. But they always did; and Lady Hainault herself, though shecould be perfectly determined, never dared to question their right.
They behaved very well. Flora brought in a broken picture-broom, which,stuck into an old straw hat of Archy's, served her for feathers. Shealso made unto herself a newspaper fan. Gus had an old twelfth-cakeornament on his breast for a star, and a tape round his neck for agarter. In this guise they represented the Duke and Duchess of Cheshire,and received their company in a corner, as good as gold. As for Archy,he nursed his cat, sucked his thumb, and looked at his aunt.
Mary was "by way of" helping Lady Hainault's maid, but she was veryclumsy about it, and her hands shook a good deal. Lady Hainault, at lastlooking up, saw that she was deadly pale, and crying. So, instead oftaking any notice, she dismissed the children as soon as she could, as afirst step towards being left alone with Mary.
Gus and Flora, finding that they must go, changed the game, and madebelieve that they were at court, and that their aunt was the Queen. Sothey dexterously backed to the door, and bowed themselves out. Archy waslord chamberlain, or gold stick, or what not, and had to follow them inthe same way. He was less successful, for he had to walk backwards,sucking his thumb, and nursing his cat upside down (she was a patientcat, and was as much accustomed to be nursed that way as any other). Hegot on very well till he came to the door, when he fell on the back ofhis head, crushing his cat and biting his thumb to the bone. Gus andFlora picked him up, saying that lord chamberlains never cried when theyfell on the backs of their heads. But Archy, poor dear, was obliged tocry a little, the more so as the dear cat had bolted upstairs, with hertail as big as a fox's, and Archy was afraid she was angry with him,which seemed quite possible. So Mary had to go out and take him to thenursery. He would stop his crying, he said, if she would tell him thestory of Ivedy Avedy. So she told it him quite to the end, where thebaffled old sorcerer, Gongolo, gets into the plate-warmer, with histhree-farthings and the brass soup-ladle, shuts the door after him, anddisappears for ever. After which she went down to Lady Hainault's roomagain.
Lady Hainault was alone now. She was sitting before her dressing-table,with her hands folded, apparently looking at herself in the glass. Shetook no notice of what she had seen; though, now they were alonetogether, she determined that Mary should tell her what was thematter--for, in truth, she was very anxious to know. She never looked atMary when she came in; she only said--
"Mary, my love, how do I look?"
"I never saw you look so beautiful before," said Mary.
"I am glad of that. Hainault is so ridiculously proud of me, that Ireally delight in looking my best. Now, Mary, let me have the necklace;that is all, I believe, unless you would like me to put on a littlerouge."
Mary tried to laugh, but could not. Her hands were shaking so that thejewels were clicking together as she held them. Lady Hainault saw thatshe must help her to speak, but she had no occasion; the necklace helpedher.
It was a very singular necklace, a Hainault heirloom, which LadyHainault always wore on grand occasions to please her husband. There wasno other necklace like it anywhere, though some folks who did not own itsaid it was old-fashioned, and should be reset. It was a collar of ninepoints, the ends of brilliants, running upwards as the points broadenedinto larger rose diamonds. The eye, catching the end of the points, wasdazzled with y
ellow light, which faded into red as the rays of thelarger roses overpowered the brilliants; and at the upper rim the softcrimson haze of light melted, overpowered, into nine blazing greatrubies. It seemed, however, a shame to hide such a beautiful neck bysuch a glorious bauble.
Mary was trying to clasp it on, but her fingers failed, and down wentthe jewels clashing on the floor. The next moment she was down too, onher knees, clutching Lady Hainault's hand, and saying, or trying to say,in spite of a passionate burst of sobbing, "Lady Hainault, let me seehim; let me see him, or I shall die."
Lady Hainault turned suddenly upon her, and laid her disengaged handupon her hair. "My little darling," she said, "my pretty little bird."
"You must let me see him. You could not be so cruel. I always loved him,not like a sister, oh! not like a sister, woe to me. As you love LordHainault; I know it now."
"My poor little Mary. I always thought something of this kind."
"He is coming to-night. He sails to-morrow or next day, and I shallnever see him again."
"Sails! where for?"
"I don't know; he does not say. But you must let me see him. He don'tdream I care for him, Lady Hainault. But I must see him, or I shalldie."
"You shall see him; but who is it? Any one I know?"
"Who is it? Who could it be but Charles Ravenshoe?"
"Good God! Coming here to-night! Mary, ring the bell for Alwright. Sendround to South Audley Street for Lord Saltire, or William Ravenshoe, orsome of them. They are dying to catch him. There is something more intheir eagerness than you or I know of. Send at once, Mary, or we shallbe too late. When does he come? Get up, my dear. My poor little Mary. Iam so sorry. Is he coming here? And how soon will he come, dear? Do becalm. Think what we may do for him. He should be here now. Stay, I willwrite a note--just one line. Where is my blotting-book? Alwright, get myblotting-book. And stay; say that, if any one calls for Miss Corby, heis to be shown into the drawing-room at once. Let us go there, Mary."
Alwright had meanwhile, not having heard the last sentence, departed tothe drawing-room, and possessed herself of Lady Hainault's portfolio,meaning to carry it up to the dressing-room; then she had remembered themessage about any one calling being shown up to the drawing-room, andhad gandered down to the hall to give it to the porter; after which shegandered upstairs to the dressing-room again, thinking that LadyHainault was there, and missing both her and Mary from having gonedownstairs. So, while she and Mary were looking for the blotting-bookimpatiently in the drawing-room, the door was opened, and the servantannounced, "A gentleman to see Miss Corby."
He had discreetly said a gentleman, for he did not like to say anHussar. Mary turned round and saw a man all scarlet and gold before her,and was frightened, and did not know him. But when he said "Mary," inthe old, old voice, there came such a rush of bygone times, bygonewords, scenes, sounds, meetings and partings, sorrows and joys, into herwild, warm little heart, that, with a low, loving, tender cry she ran tohim and hid her face on his bosom.[6]
And Lady Hainault swept out of the room after that unluckyblotting-book. And I intend to go after her, out of mere politeness, tohelp her to find it. I will not submit to be lectured for making anaposiopesis. If any think they could do this business better than I, letthem communicate with the publishers, and finish the story forthemselves. I decline to go into that drawing-room at present. I shallwander upstairs into my lady's chamber, after that goosey-ganderAlwright, and see what she has done with the blotting-book.
Lady Hainault found the idiot of a woman in her dressing-room, lookingat herself in the glass, with the blotting-book under her arm. The maidlooked as foolish as people generally do who are caught looking atthemselves in the glass. (How disconcerting it is to be found standingon a chair before the chimney-glass, just to have a look at your entirefigure before going to a party!)[7] But Lady Hainault said nothing toher; but, taking the book from under her arm, she sat down and fiercelyscrawled off a note to Lord Saltire, to be opened by any of them, to saythat Charles Ravenshoe was then in her house, and to come in God's name.
"I have caged their bird for them," she said out loud when she had justfinished and was folding up the letter; "they will owe me a good turnfor this."
The maid, who had no notion anything was the matter, had beensurreptitiously looking in the glass again, and wondering whether hernose was really so very red after all. When Lady Hainault spoke thusaloud to herself, she gave a guilty start, and said, "Immediately, mylady," which you will perceive was not exactly appropriate to theoccasion.
"Don't be a goose, my good old Alwright, and don't tread on my necklace,Alwright; it is close at your feet."
So it was. Lying where Mary had dropped it. Alwright thought she musthave knocked it off the dressing-table; but when Lady Hainault told herthat Miss Corby had dropped it there, Alwright began to wonder why herLadyship had not thought it worth while to pick it up again.
"Put it on while I seal this letter will you? I cannot trust you,Alwright; I must go myself." She went out of the room and quickly downstairs to the hall. All this had taken but a few minutes; she hadhurried as much as was possible, but the time seems longer to us,because, following my usual plan of playing the fool on importantoccasions, I have been telling you about the lady's-maid's nose. Shewent down quickly to the hall, and sent off one of the men to SouthAudley Street, with her note, giving him orders to run all the way, andpersonally to see Lady Ascot, or some one else of those named. Afterthis she came upstairs again.
When she came to the drawing-room door, Charles was standing at it."Lady Hainault," he said, "would you come here, please? Poor Mary hasfainted."
"Poor thing," said Lady Hainault. "I will come to her. One word, Mr.Ravenshoe. Oh, do think one instant of this fatal, miserable resolutionof yours. Think how fond we have all been of you. Think of the love thatyour cousin and Lady Ascot bear for you, and communicate with them. Atall events, stay ten minutes more, and see one of them. I must go topoor Mary."
"Dear Lady Hainault, you will not change my resolution to stand alone.There is a source of disgrace you probably know nothing of. Besides,nothing short of an Order in Council could stop me now. We sail for theEast in twenty-four hours."
They had just time for this, very hurriedly spoken, for poor little Maryhad done what she never had done before in her life, fainted away. LadyHainault and Charles went into the drawing-room.
Just before this, Alwright, coming downstairs, had seen her most sacredmistress standing at the drawing-room door, talking familiarly andearnestly to a common soldier. Her ladyship had taken his hand in hers,and was laying her other hand upon his breast. Alwright sat down on thestairs.
She was a poor feeble thing, and it was too much for her. She wasCasterton-bred, and had a feeling for the honour of the family. Herfirst impulse was to run to Lord Hainault's dressing-room door and lockhim in. Her next was to rock herself to and fro and moan. She followedthe latter of these two impulses. Meanwhile, Lady Hainault had succeededin bringing poor Mary to herself. Charles had seen her bending over thepoor little lifeless body, and blessed her. Presently Lady Hainaultsaid, "She is better now, Mr. Ravenshoe; will you come and speak toher?" There was no answer. Lady Hainault thought Charles was in thelittle drawing-room, and had not heard her. She went there. It was dimlylighted, but she saw in a moment that it was empty. She grew frightened,and hurriedly went out on to the stairs. There was no one there. Shehurried down, and was met by the weeping Alwright.
"He is safe out of the house, my lady," said that brilliant genius. "Isaw him come out of the drawing-room, and I ran down and sent the hallporter on a message, and let him out myself. Oh, my lady! my lady!"
Lady Hainault was a perfect-tempered woman, but she could not standthis. "Alwright," she said, "you are a perfect, hopeless, imbecileidiot. Go and tell his lordship to come to me instantly. Instantly! doyou hear? I wouldn't," she continued to herself when Alwright was gone,"face Lord Saltire alone after this for a thousand pounds."
What was the
result of Charles's interview with Mary? Simply this. Thepoor little thing had innocently shown him, in a way he could notmistake, that she loved him with all her heart and soul. And, when heleft that room, he had sworn an oath to himself that he would use allhis ingenuity to prevent her ever setting eyes on him again. "I am lowand degraded enough now," he said to himself; "but if I gave that poorinnocent child the opportunity of nourishing her love for me, I shouldbe too low to live."
He did not contemplate the possibility, you see, of raising himself toher level. No. He was too much broken down for that. Hope was deadwithin him. He had always been a man of less than average strength ofwill; and two or three disasters--terrible disasters they were,remember--had made him such as we see him, a helpless, drifting log uponthe sea of chance. What Lord Welter had said was terribly true, "CharlesRavenshoe is broken-hearted." But to the very last he was a just,honourable, true, kind-hearted man. A man in ten thousand. Call himfool, if you will. I cannot gainsay you there. But when you have saidthat you have finished.
Did he love Mary? Yes, from this time forward, he loved her as she lovedhim; and, the darker the night grew, that star burned steadily and moresteadily yet. Never brighter, perhaps, than when it gleamed on theturbid waters, which whelm the bodies of those to whose eyesight allstars have set for ever.