CHAPTER XXXI. THE DEFENSE OF MRS. BEAULY.
THE days that elapsed before Major Fitz-David's dinner-party wereprecious days to me.
My long interview with Miserrimus Dexter had disturbed me far moreseriously than I suspected at the time. It was not until some hoursafter I had left him that I really began to feel how my nerves had beentried by all that I had seen and heard during my visit at his house.I started at the slightest noises; I dreamed of dreadful things; I wasready to cry without reason at one moment, and to fly into a passionwithout reason at another. Absolute rest was what I wanted, and (thanksto my good Benjamin) was what I got. The dear old man controlled hisanxieties on my account, and spared me the questions which his fatherlyinterest in my welfare made him eager to ask. It was tacitly understoodbetween us that all conversation on the subject of my visit toMiserrimus Dexter (of which, it is needless to say, he stronglydisapproved) should be deferred until repose had restored my energies ofbody and mind. I saw no visitors. Mrs. Macallan came to the cottage,and Major Fitz-David came to the cottage--one of them to hear what hadpassed between Miserrimus Dexter and myself, the other to amuse me withthe latest gossip about the guests at the forthcoming dinner. Benjamintook it on himself to make my apologies, and to spare me the exertionof receiving my visitors. We hired a little open carriage, and took longdrives in the pretty country lanes still left flourishing within afew miles of the northern suburb of London. At home we sat and talkedquietly of old times, or played at backgammon and dominoes--and so, fora few happy days, led the peaceful unadventurous life which was good forme. When the day of the dinner arrived, I felt restored to my customaryhealth. I was ready again, and eager again, for the introduction to LadyClarinda and the discovery of Mrs. Beauly.
Benjamin looked a little sadly at my flushed face as we drove to MajorFitz-David's house.
"Ah, my dear," he said, in his simple way, "I see you are well again!You have had enough of our quiet life already."
My recollection of events and persons, in general, at the dinner-party,is singularly indistinct.
I remember that we were very merry, and as easy and familiar with oneanother as if we had been old friends. I remember that Madame Mirliflorewas unapproachably superior to the other women present, in the perfectbeauty of her dress, and in the ample justice which she did to theluxurious dinner set before us. I remember the Major's young primadonna, more round-eyed, more overdressed, more shrill and strident asthe coming "Queen of Song," than ever. I remember the Major himself,always kissing our hands, always luring us to indulge in dainty dishesand drinks, always making love, always detecting resemblances betweenus, always "under the charm," and never once out of his characteras elderly Don Juan from the beginning of the evening to the end.I remember dear old Benjamin, completely bewildered, shrinking intocorners, blushing when he was personally drawn into the conversation,frightened at Madame Mirliflore, bashful with Lady Clarinda, submissiveto the Major, suffering under the music, and from the bottom of hishonest old heart wishing himself home again. And there, as to themembers of that cheerful little gathering, my memory finds itslimits--with one exception. The appearance of Lady Clarinda is aspresent to me as if I had met her yesterday; and of the memorableconversation which we two held together privately, toward the close ofthe evening, it is no exaggeration to say that I can still call to mindalmost every word.
I see her dress, I hear her voice again, while I write.
She was attired, I remember, with that extreme assumption of simplicitywhich always defeats its own end by irresistibly suggesting art. Shewore plain white muslin, over white silk, without trimming or ornamentof any kind. Her rich brown hair, dressed in defiance of the prevailingfashion, was thrown back from her forehead, and gathered into a simpleknot behind--without adornment of any sort. A little white ribbonencircled her neck, fastened by the only article of jewelry that shewore--a tiny diamond brooch. She was unquestionably handsome; but herbeauty was of the somewhat hard and angular type which is so often seenin English women of her race: the nose and chin too prominent and toofirmly shaped; the well-opened gray eyes full of spirit and dignity, butwanting in tenderness and mobility of expression. Her manner had allthe charm which fine breeding can confer--exquisitely polite, easilycordial; showing that perfect yet unobtrusive confidence in herselfwhich (in England) seems to be the natural outgrowth of pre-eminentsocial rank. If you had accepted her for what she was, on the surface,you would have said, Here is the model of a noble woman who is perfectlyfree from pride. And if you had taken a liberty with her, on thestrength of that conviction, she would have made you remember it to theend of your life.
We got on together admirably. I was introduced as "Mrs. Woodville," byprevious arrangement with the Major--effected through Benjamin. Beforethe dinner was over we had promised to exchange visits. Nothing but theopportunity was wanting to lead Lady Clarinda into talking, as I wantedher to talk, of Mrs. Beauly.
Late in the evening the opportunity came.
I had taken refuge from the terrible bravura singing of the Major'sstrident prima donna in the back drawing-room. As I had hoped andanticipated, after a while Lady Clarinda (missing me from the grouparound the piano) came in search of me. She seated herself by my side,out of sight and out of hearing of our friends in the front room; and,to my infinite relief and delight, touched on the subject of MiserrimusDexter of her own accord. Something I had said of him, when his name hadbeen accidentally mentioned at dinner, remained in her memory, and ledus, by perfectly natural gradations, into speaking of Mrs. Beauly. "Atlast," I thought to myself, "the Major's little dinner will bring me myreward!"
And what a reward it was, when it came! My heart sinks in me again--asit sank on that never-to-be-forgotten evening--while I sit at my deskthinking of it.
"So Dexter really spoke to you of Mrs. Beauly!" exclaimed Lady Clarinda."You have no idea how you surprise me."
"May I ask why?"
"He hates her! The last time I saw him he wouldn't allow me to mentionher name. It is one of his innumerable oddities. If any such feeling assympathy is a possible feeling in such a nature as his, he ought to likeHelena Beauly. She is the most completely unconventional person I know.When she does break out, poor dear, she says things and does thingswhich are almost reckless enough to be worthy of Dexter himself. Iwonder whether you would like her?"
"You have kindly asked me to visit you, Lady Clarinda. Perhaps I maymeet her at your house?"
"I hope you will not wait until that is likely to happen," she said."Helena's last whim is to fancy that she has got--the gout, of all themaladies in the world! She is away at some wonderful baths in Hungaryor Bohemia (I don't remember which)--and where she will go, or what shewill do next, it is perfectly impossible to say.--Dear Mrs. Woodville!is the heat of the fire too much for you? You are looking quite pale."
I _felt_ that I was looking pale. The discovery of Mrs. Beauly's absencefrom England was a shock for which I was quite unprepared. For a momentit unnerved me.
"Shall we go into the other room?" asked Lady Clarinda.
To go into the other room would be to drop the conversation. I wasdetermined not to let that catastrophe happen. It was just possible thatMrs. Beauly's maid might have quitted her service, or might have beenleft behind in England. My information would not be complete until Iknew what had become of the maid. I pushed my chair back a little fromthe fire-place, and took a hand-screen from a table near me; it might bemade useful in hiding my face, if any more disappointments were in storefor me.
"Thank you, Lady Clarinda; I was only a little too near the fire. Ishall do admirably here. You surprise me about Mrs. Beauly. From whatMr. Dexter said to me, I had imagined--"
"Oh, you must not believe anything Dexter tells you!" interposed LadyClarinda. "He delights in mystifying people; and he purposely misledyou, I have no doubt. If all that I hear is true, _he_ ought to knowmore of Helena Beauly's strange freaks and fancies than most people.He all but discovered her in one of her adventures (down in Scotlan
d),which reminds me of the story in Auber's charming opera--what is itcalled? I shall forget my own name next! I mean the opera in which thetwo nuns slip out of the convent, and go to the ball. Listen! How veryodd! That vulgar girl is singing the castanet song in the second act atthis moment. Major! what opera is the young lady singing from?"
The Major was scandalized at this interruption. He bustled into theback room--whispered, "Hush! hush! my dear lady; the 'Domino Noir'"--andbustled back again to the piano.
"Of course!" said Lady Clarinda. "How stupid of me! The 'Domino Noir.'And how strange that you should forget it too!"
I had remembered it perfectly; but I could not trust myself to speak.If, as I believed, the "adventure" mentioned by Lady Clarinda wasconnected, in some way, with Mrs. Beauly's mysterious proceedings on themorning of the twenty-first of October, I was on the brink of the verydiscovery which it was the one interest of my life to make! I held thescreen so as to hide my face; and I said, in the steadiest voice that Icould command at the moment,
"Pray go on!--pray tell me what the adventure was!"
Lady Clarinda was quite flattered by my eager desire to hear the comingnarrative.
"I hope my story will be worthy of the interest which you are so good asto feel in it," she said. "If you only knew Helena--it is _so_ likeher! I have it, you must know, from her maid. She has taken a woman whospeaks foreign languages with her to Hungary and she has left the maidwith me. A perfect treasure! I should be only too glad if I could keepher in my service: she has but one defect, a name I hate--Phoebe. Well!Phoebe and her mistress were staying at a place near Edinburgh, called(I think) Gleninch. The house belonged to that Mr. Macallan who wasafterward tried--you remember it, of course?--for poisoning his wife. Adreadful case; but don't be alarmed--my story has nothing to do withit; my story has to do with Helena Beauly. One evening (while she wasstaying at Gleninch) she was engaged to dine with some English friendsvisiting Edinburgh. The same night--also in Edinburgh--there was amasked ball, given by somebody whose name I forget. The ball (almostan unparalleled event in Scotland!) was reported to be not at all areputable affair. All sorts of amusing people were to be there. Ladiesof doubtful virtue, you know, and gentlemen on the outlying limits ofsociety, and so on. Helena's friends had contrived to get cards, andwere going, in spite of the objections--in the strictest incognito, ofcourse, trusting to their masks. And Helena herself was bent on goingwith them, if she could only manage it without being discoveredat Gleninch. Mr. Macallan was one of the strait-laced people whodisapproved of the ball. No lady, he said, could show herself at suchan entertainment without compromising her reputation. What stuff! Well,Helena, in one of her wildest moments, hit on a way of going to the ballwithout discovery which was really as ingenious as a plot in a Frenchplay. She went to the dinner in the carriage from Gleninch, having sentPhoebe to Edinburgh before her. It was not a grand dinner--a littlefriendly gathering: no evening dress. When the time came for going backto Gleninch, what do you think Helena did? She sent her maid back in thecarriage, instead of herself! Phoebe was dressed in her mistress's cloakand bonnet and veil. She was instructed to run upstairs the moment shegot to the house, leaving on the hall table a little note of apology(written by Helena, of course!), pleading fatigue as an excuse for notsaying good-night to her host. The mistress and the maid were aboutthe same height; and the servants naturally never discovered thetrick. Phoebe got up to her mistress's room safely enough. There, herinstructions were to wait until the house was quiet for the night, andthen to steal up to her own room. While she was waiting, the girl fellasleep. She only awoke at two in the morning, or later. It didn't muchmatter, as she thought. She stole out on tiptoe, and closed the doorbehind her. Before she was at the end of the corridor, she fancied sheheard something. She waited until she was safe on the upper story,and then she looked over the banisters. There was Dexter--so likehim!--hopping about on his hands (did you ever see it? the mostgrotesquely horrible exhibition you can imagine!)--there was Dexter,hopping about, and looking through keyholes, evidently in search of theperson who had left her room at two in the morning; and no doubt takingPhoebe for her mistress, seeing that she had forgotten to take hermistress's cloak off her shoulders. The next morning, early, Helena cameback in a hired carriage from Edinburgh, with a hat and mantle borrowedfrom her English friends. She left the carriage in the road, and gotinto the house by way of the garden--without being discovered, thistime, by Dexter or by anybody. Clever and daring, wasn't it? And, asI said just now, quite a new version of the 'Domino Noir.' You willwonder, as I did, how it was that Dexter didn't make mischief in themorning? He would have done it no doubt. But even he was silenced (asPhoebe told me) by the dreadful event that happened in the house on thesame day. My dear Mrs. Woodville! the heat of this room is certainly toomuch for you, take my smelling-bottle. Let me open the window."
I was just able to answer, "Pray say nothing! Let me slip out into theopen air!"
I made my way unobserved to the landing, and sat down on the stairs tocompose myself where nobody could see me. In a moment more I felt a handlaid gently on my shoulder, and discovered good Benjamin looking atme in dismay. Lady Clarinda had considerately spoken to him, and hadassisted him in quietly making his retreat from the room, while hishost's attention was still absorbed by the music.
"My dear child!" he whispered, "what is the matter?"
"Take me home, and I will tell you," was all that I could say.
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