Without feeling it incumbent on him to enter into an argument as to the probability of the Baroness’s last suggestion, Anthony Pennell was glad of the digression as it gave him an opportunity of slurring over the dangerous subject of Ralph Pullen’s character.
“The loss of her child was a very great blow to my poor cousin,” he replied, “and she is still suffering from it, bitterly. Else, I have no doubt that you would have seen something of her—and the others,” he added in a lower tone. After a slight interval he ventured to raise his eyes and see how the girl opposite to him had taken what was said, but it did not appear to have made much impression on her— she was, on the contrary, gazing at him with that magnetic glance of hers as though she wanted to read into his very soul.
“Don’t go and say that I want to see ’em,” said the Baroness, as having devoured enough cake and bread and butter to feed an ordinary person for a day, she rose and led the way into another room. “I don’t want to see anybody at the Red ’Ouse that doesn’t want to come and I ’aven’t expected the ladies. But as for Captain Pullen, ’oo made an engagement to follow our party to Brussels, and then never took the trouble to write a line to excuse ’imself for breaking ’is word, why, I say ’e’s a jerry sneak, and you may tell ’im so if you like! We didn’t want ’im. ’E proposed to come ’imself, and I engaged ’is room and everything, and then ’e skedaddled without a word, and I call it beastly be’aviour. You mustn’t mind my plain speaking, Mr. Pennell. I always say what I think! And I would like to break my stick over Captain Pullen’s back and that’s the truth.”
They were walking along the passage now, on their way to the Baron’s library—the Baroness in front with her hand leaning heavily on Pennell’s shoulder and Harriet lingering a little behind. Anthony Pennell pondered a while before he replied. Was this the time to announce Ralph’s intended marriage. How would the girl behind them take it?
He turned slightly and looked at her face as the thought passed through his mind. Somehow the eyes that met his reassured him. He began to think it must be a mistake—that she did not care for Ralph as much as Mrs. Pullen had supposed—that she was only offended perhaps (as her hostess evidently was) by the curt and uncivil manner in which he had treated them both. So he replied, “I have not the slightest excuse to make for my cousin’s conduct, Madame Gobelli. It appears to me that he has treated you with very scant civility and he ought to be ashamed of himself. But as you know, his little niece’s death was very sudden and unexpected and the least he could do was to escort his sister-in-law and Miss Leyton back to England, and since then——”
“Well! and what since then?” demanded the Baroness, sharply.
“Lord Walthamstowe and he have come to an arrangement,” said Pennell, speaking very slowly, “that his marriage with Miss Elinor Leyton shall take place sooner than was at first intended. The Limerick Rangers are under orders for foreign service and Captain Pullen naturally wishes to take his wife out with him and though, of course, all this is no excuse for his omitting to write you a letter, the necessary preparations and the consequent excitement may have put his duty out of his head. Of course,” he continued, “you know that Ralph is engaged to marry Miss Leyton?”
“I ’eard something of it,” replied the Baroness reluctantly, “but one never knows what is true and what is not. Anyway, Captain Pullen didn’t give out the news ’imself! ’E seemed ’appy enough without Miss Leyton, didn’t ’e, ’Arriet?”
But turning round to emphasize her words, she found that Harriet had not followed them into the library. Whereupon she became confidential.
“To tell you the truth, Mr. Pennell,” she continued, “’e just be’aved like a scoundrel to our little ’Arriet there. ’E ran after the gal all day, and spent all ’is evenings in our private sitting-room, gazing at ’er as if ’e would eat ’er, whilst she sang and played to ’im. ’E never said a word about marrying Miss Leyton. It was all ‘’Ally, ’Ally, ’Ally’ with ’im. And if the gal ’adn’t been a deal too clever for ’im, and wise enough to see what a vain zany ’e is, she might ’ave broken ’er ’eart over it. The conceited jackanapes!”
“But she has not fretted,” said Anthony Pennell eagerly.
“Not she! I wouldn’t let ’er! She’s meat for Captain Pullen’s master! A gal with fifteen ’undred a year in ’er own ’ands, and with a pair of eyes like that! O! no! ’Arriet can pick up a ’usband worth two of your cousin any day!”
“I should think so indeed,” replied Mr. Pennell fervently. “I have heard Mrs. Pullen mention Miss Brandt, but she did not prepare me for meeting so beautiful a girl. But I can hardly wonder at my cousin running away from her, Madame Gobelli. Knowing himself to be already engaged, Miss Brandt must have proved a most dangerous companion. Perhaps he found his heart was no longer under his own control and thought discretion the better part of valour. You must try and look upon his conduct in the best light you can!”
“O! well! it don’t signify much anyway, for ’e’s no miss at the Red ’Ouse, I can tell you, and ’Arriet could marry to-morrow if she chose, and to a man worthy of ’er. But now you must look at my Spode.”[119]
She walked up to a tall cabinet at one end of the room, which was piled with china, and took up a fragile piece in her hands.
“Do you see that?” she said, turning up the plate and shewing the mark upon the bottom. “There it is, you see! There’s the M. These five pieces are said to be the oldest in existence. And here’s a cup of Limoges.[120] And that’s Majolica. Do you know the marks of Majolica. They’re some of the rarest known! A cross on a shield. The first real bit of china I ever possessed was a Strasbourg.[121] Have you ever seen any Dutch Pottery—marked with an A.P.?[122] I picked that up at an old Jew’s shop in the market in Naples. And this Capo di Monte[123] strange to say, in a back alley in Brighton. There’s nothing I like better than to grub about back slums and look for something good. Some of my best pieces ’ave come out of pawnbrokers’ shops. That plate you’re looking at is old Flemish—more than two ’undred years I believe! It came out of the rag market at Bruges. There used to be first rate pickings to be ’ad at Bruges and Ghent and in Antwerp some years ago, but the English ’ave pretty well cleared ’em out.”
“I never saw a better private collection, Madame Gobelli,” said Anthony Pennell, as he gloated over the delicate morsels of Sèvres and Limoges and Strasbourg. “The Baron should have had an old curiosity and bric-a-brac establishment, instead of anything so prosaic as boots and shoes.”
“O! I couldn’t ’ave ’ad it!” exclaimed the Baroness, “it would ’ave gone to my ’eart to sell a good bargain when I ’ad made it! My cups and saucers and plates and teapots are like children to me, and if I thought my Bobby would sell ’em when I was gone I believe I should rise from my grave and whack ’im.”
The woman became almost womanly as her eyes rested lovingly on her art treasures. It seemed incongruous to Pennell to watch her huge coarse hands, with their thick stumpy fingers and broad chestnut nails, fingering the delicate fabric with apparent carelessness. Cup after cup and vase and plate she almost tossed over each other as she pushed some away to make room for others, and piled them up on the top of one another until he trembled lest they should all come toppling down together.
“You are more used to handle these treasures than I am,” he remarked presently. “I should be too much afraid of smashing something, to move them so quickly as you do.”
“I never broke a bit of china in my life,” returned the Baroness energetically. “I’ve broken a stick over a man’s back more than once, but never ’ad an accident with my plates and dishes. ’Ow do you account for that?”
“You must have a flow of good luck!” said Mr. Pennell, “I am so fearful for mine that I keep all the best under glass!”
“I ’ave more friends to ’elp me than perhaps you know of,” said the Baroness, mysteriously, “but it ain’t only that! I never let a servant dust it! Miss Wynward does it, but
she’s too much afraid to do more than touch ’em with the tip of her feather brush. They come to me sometimes and complain that the china is dirty. ‘Let it be dirty,’ I say, ‘that won’t break it, but if you clean it you will!’ Ha! ha! ha!”
At that moment Harriet Brandt entered the room, moving sinuously across the carpet as a snake might glide to its lair. Anthony Pennell could not take his eyes off that gliding walk of hers. It seemed to him the very essence of grace. It distracted all his attention from the china.
“The Baron has just come in,” observed Harriet to her hostess.
“O! well! come along and leave the rest of the china till after dinner,” said Madame Gobelli. “Gustave likes to ’ave ’is dinner as soon as ’e comes ’ome.”
She thrust her arm through that of Anthony Pennell and conducted him to the dining-room where the Baron (without having observed the ceremony of changing his coat or boots) was already seated just as he had come in, at the table. He gave a curt nod to the visitor as Mr. Pennell’s name was mentioned to him, and followed it up immediately by a query whether he would take fish. Mr. Pennell sat out the meal with increasing amazement at every course. He who was accustomed, in consequence of his popularity, to sit at the tables of some of the highest in the land, could liken this one to nothing but a farmhouse dinner. Course succeeded course in rapid succession, and there was no particular fault to find with anything but the utter want of ceremony—the mingling of well-known and aristocratic names with the boot and shoe trade—and the way in which the Baron and Baroness ate and drank filled him with surprise. The climax was reached when Mr. Milliken, who was late for dinner, entered the room and his hostess, before introducing him to the stranger, saluted him with a resounding smack on either cheek.
Pennell thought it might be his turn next and shuddered. But the wine flowed freely and the Baroness, being in an undoubted good humour, the hospitality was unlimited. After dinner, the Baron having settled to sleep in an armchair, Madame Gobelli proposed that the party should amuse themselves with a game of “Hunt the slippers.”
She was robed in an expensive satin dress, but she threw herself down on the ground with a resounding thump, and thrusting two enormous feet into view, offered her slipper as an inducement to commence the game.
Pennell stood aloof, battling to restrain his laughter at the comical sight before him. The Baroness’s foot, from which she had taken the shoe, was garbed in a black woollen stocking full of holes which displayed a set of bare toes. But apparently quite unaware of the ludicrous object she presented, she kept on calling out for Harriet Brandt and Miss Wynward to come and complete the circle at which only Mr. Milliken and herself were seated. But Harriet shrunk backwards and refused to play.
“No! indeed, Madame, I cannot. I do not know your English games!” she pleaded.
“Come on, we’ll teach you!” screamed Madame Gobelli, “’ere’s Milliken, ’e knows all about it, don’t you, Milliken? ’E knows ’ow to look for the slipper under the gal’s petticoats. You come ’ere, ’Arriet, and sit next me, and Mr. Pennell shall be the first to ’unt. Come on!”
But Miss Brandt would not “come on.” She remained seated and declared that she was too tired to play and did not care for les jeux innocents,[124] and she had a headache, and anything and everything, before she would comply with the outrageous request preferred to her.
Madame Gobelli grumbled at her idleness and called her disobliging, but Anthony admired the girl for her steadfast refusal. He did not like to see her in the familiar society of such a woman as the Baroness—he would have liked still less to see her engaged in such a boisterous and unseemly game as “Hunt the slipper.”
He took the opportunity of saying, “Since you are disinclined for such an energetic game, Miss Brandt, perhaps you would oblige me by singing a song! I should so much like to hear the mandoline. Mrs. Pullen has spoken to me of your efficiency on it.”
“If Madame Gobelli wishes it, I have no objection,” replied Harriet.
“O! well! if you are all going to be so disagreeable as not to play a good game,” said the Baroness, as Mr. Milliken pulled her on her feet again, “’Arriet may as well sing to us! But a good romp first wouldn’t ’ave done us any ’arm!”
She adjourned rather sulkily to a distant sofa with Mr. Milliken where they entertained each other whilst Harriet tuned her mandoline and presently let her rich voice burst forth in the strains of “Oh! ma Charmante.”[125] Anthony Pennell was enchanted. He had a passion for music, and it appealed more powerfully to him than anything else. He sat in rapt attention until Harriet’s voice had died away, and then he implored her to sing another song.
“You cannot tell what it is for me, who care more for music than for anything else in this world, to hear a voice like yours. Why! you will create a perfect furore when you go into society. You could make your fortune on the stage, but I know you have no need of that!”
“O! one never knows what one may have need of,” said Harriet gaily, as she commenced “Dormez ma belle”[126] and sang it to perfection.
“You must have had a very talented singing master,” observed Pennell when the second song was finished.
“Indeed no! My only instructress was a nun in the Ursuline Convent in Jamaica. But I always loved it,” said the girl, as she ran over the strings of her mandoline in a merry little tarantelle which made everyone in the room feel as if they had been bitten by the spider from which it took its name, and wanted above all other things to dance.
How Pennell revelled in the music and the performer! How he longed to hear from her own lips that Ralph’s treatment had left no ill effects behind it.
When she had ceased playing he drew nearer to her, and under the cover of the Baroness’s conversation with Mr. Milliken and the Baron’s snores, they managed to exchange a few words.
“How can I ever thank you enough for the treat you have given me!” he began.
“I am very glad that you liked it!”
“I was not prepared to hear such rare talent! My experience of young ladies’ playing and singing has not hitherto been happy. But you have great genius. Did you ever sing to Mrs. Pullen whilst in Heyst?”
“Once or twice.”
“And to my cousin, Ralph Pullen?”
“Yes!”
“I cannot understand his having treated the Baroness with such scant courtesy. And you also, who had been kind enough to allow him to enjoy your society. You would not have found me so ungrateful. But you have heard doubtless that he is going to be married shortly!”
“Yes! I have heard it!”
“And that has, I suppose, put everything else out of his head! Perhaps it may be as well, especially for his future wife. There are some things which are dangerous for men to remember—such as your lovely voice, for example!”
“Do you think so?” Harriet fixed her dark eyes on him as she put the question.
“I am sure it will be dangerous for me, unless you will give me leave to come and hear it again. I shall not be able to sleep for thinking of it. Do you think the Baroness will be so good as to enrol me as a visitor to the house?”
“You had better ask her!”
“And if she consents, will you sing to me sometimes?”
“I am always singing or playing! There is nothing else to do here. The Baron and Baroness are almost always out and I have no company but that of Bobby and Miss Wynward. It is terribly dull, I can tell you. I am longing to get away, but I do not know where to go.”
“Have you no friends in England?”
“Not one, except Mr. Tarver, who is my solicitor!”
“That sounds very grim. If you will let me count myself amongst your friends, I shall be so grateful.”
“I should like it very much! I am not so ignorant as not to have heard your name and to know that you are a celebrated man. But I am afraid I shall prove a very stupid friend for you.”
“I have no such fear, and if I may come and see you sometimes I shall cou
nt myself a very happy man.”
“I am generally alone in the afternoons,” replied Miss Brandt, sophistically.
In another minute Mr. Pennell was saying good-night to his hostess and asking her permission to repeat his visit at some future time.
“And if you and Miss Brandt would so far honour me, Madame Gobelli, as to come and have a little lunch at my chambers in Piccadilly, I shall feel myself only too much indebted to you. Perhaps we might arrange a matinée or a concert for the same afternoon, if it would please you? Will you let me know? And pray fix as early a date as possible. And I may really avail myself of your kind permission to come and see you again. You may be sure that I shall not forget to do so. Good-night! Good-night, Baron! Good-night, Miss Brandt!” and with a nod to Mr. Milliken he was gone.
“Ain’t ’e a nice fellow? Worth two of that conceited jackanapes ’is cousin,” remarked the Baroness as he disappeared, “what do you think of ’im ’Arriet?”
“O! he is well enough,” replied Miss Brandt with a yawn, as she prepared also to take her departure. “He is taller and broader and stronger looking than Captain Pullen—and he must be very clever into the bargain.”
“And ’e never said a word about ’is books,” exclaimed Madame Gobelli, “only fancy!”
“No! he never said a word about his books,” echoed Harriet.
- CHAPTER XIV -
Anthony Pennell had promised to let Margaret Pullen hear the result of his visit to the Red House, and as he entered her presence on the following evening, she saluted him with the queries,
The Blood of the Vampire Page 23