The Master of the Ceremonies

by George Manville Fenn

brave, upright, noble young fellow, and so gentle onemoment, and so full of spirit the next. Dear, dear, dear, what a thingit is! He never wastes money in gambling, and wine and follies.Perhaps he would though, if he were as rich as the rest of them. And heought to be."

  She wiped her eyes again, and as she did so the woman's entire aspectchanged. For just then Miss Cora Dean was driven by in a hiredcarriage, her dark eyes flashing, half veiled as they were by the longfringe of lashes, and then she was gone.

  "Ah!" exclaimed Miss Clode angrily, "you are a beauty, sitting up thereas haughty as a duchess, and your wicked old mother lying back there inher silks and satins and laces, as if all Saltinville belonged to you,instead of being drowned. But mind this, my fine madams, I may be onlylittle Miss Clode at the library, but if you work any harm between youto those I love I'll have you both bundled neck and crop out of theplace, or I'll know the reason why.

  "A wretch!" she said, after a pause. "She'd like nothing better than totempt him to follow her. But he won't! No; he's thinking of that girlClaire, and she is not half good enough for him. I don't like them andtheir fine ways. I don't like Denville with his mincing, idiotic airs.How that man can go about as he does with the stain of that poor oldwoman's death at his house astounds me.

  "Well, poor wretch," she said scornfully, "it is his trade, as thismiserable go-between business is mine. Perhaps he has fallen as low asI have; but I don't live as he does--as if he had thousands a year, whenthey are next door to starving and horribly in debt.

  "Ah, well, it is to make a good show in his shop," she went on, speakingvery bitterly--"to dress the window, and sell his girls, and start hisboys.

  "Nice bargain he has made in selling one. There's something more aboutthat wretched little empty-headed child than I know, but I shall findout yet. Surely he does not think of that boy and Drelincourt. Oh, itwould be too absurd. I've not seen the other brother lately. What afamily! And for that boy to be taken with--oh, I must stop it if I can.

  "Mrs Burnett? Yes, I must know about her. There was a great dealgoing on with that poor young artist who went away--and died. There wassome mystery about that, I know, and--"

  "What are you talking about, auntie? I thought there was some one inthe shop, and came to see if you wanted me."

  "Talking? I talking? Oh, nonsense, my dear. I was only thinkingaloud."

  "Well, auntie, it was very loud, for I heard you say you would have tofind out something about Mrs Burnett."

  "You heard me say that? Nonsense!"

  "But I did, auntie; and, do you know, I could tell you something sofunny about her."

  "You could, child?" cried the little woman fiercely.

  "Yes, and about Mr Richard Linnell, too."

  Miss Clode caught the girl by the arm, and held her tightly while sheseemed to be gasping for breath.

  "About May Burnett? about Richard Linnell?"

  "Yes, auntie, for do you know the other night as I was going down by thelower cliff to see if Fisherman Dick had--"

  "Hush!" cried Miss Clode, pressing her arm so sharply that the girlwinced. "Here she is."

  Volume One, Chapter XX.

  BARCLAY'S TENANTS.

  "It was scandalous," Saltinville said, "that she should accept it."

  But she did: a handsome little carriage that came down from Long Acre,and was sent round to the stables, where Cora Dean's ponies were put upand kept now on a shorter allowance of corn.

  The note was a simple one, written in a very large hand that wasdecidedly shaky. There was a coronet on the top, and its owner, LordCarboro', begged Miss Dean's acceptance of the little gift, with hissorrow that he was the cause of the mishap, and his congratulations thatshe was not hurt.

  This was all very refined and in accordance with etiquette. Thepostscript looked crotchety.

  "P.S.--Tell your people not to give them so much corn."

  Cora did so, and said that she should drive out to show the people ofSaltinville that she was no coward.

  "Then I'll go with you, Betsy," said Mrs Dean, "to show 'em I ain't,too: and, you mark my words, this'll be the making of you in society."

  So Cora took her drives as of old, found that she was very much noticedby the gentlemen, very little by the ladies, but waited her time.

  The Deans lodged at one of the best houses in the Parade--a large,double-fronted place facing the sea, with spacious balcony and open halldoor, and porch ornamented with flowers.

  The little groom sprang down and ran to the ponies' heads as hismistress alighted, and after sweeping her rich dress aside, held out herhand for her mother, who got out of the carriage slowly, and in what wasmeant for a very stately style, her quick beady eyes having shown herthat the windows on either side of the front door were wide open, whileher sharp ears and her nose had already given her notice that thelodgers were at home--a low buzzing mellow hum with a wild refrain inhigh notes, announcing that old Mr Linnell was at work with hisvioloncello to his son's violin, and a faint penetrating perfume--orsmell, according to taste--suggesting that Colonel Mellersh wasindulging in a cigar.

  Mrs Dean's daughter was quite as quick in detecting these signs, and,raising her head and half closing her eyes, she swept gracefully intothe house, unconscious of the fact that Richard Linnell drew back alittle from the window on one side of the door, and that ColonelMellersh showed his teeth as he lay back in his chair beside a smalltable, on which was a dealt-out pack of cards.

  "I should like to poison that old woman," said the Colonel, gatheringtogether the cards.

  "I wish Mr Barclay had let the first floor to some one else, Richard,"said a low pleasant voice from the back of the room. _P-r-r-rm, Pr-um_!

  The speaker did not say _Pr-r-rm, Pr-um_! That sound was produced by anup and down draw of the bow across the fourth string of the oldvioloncello he held between his legs, letting the neck of the instrumentwith its pegs fall directly after into the hollow of his arm, as hepicked up a cake of amber-hued transparent rosin from the edge of amusic stand, and began thoughtfully to rub it up and down the horse-hairof the bow.

  The speaker's was a pleasant handsome face of a man approaching sixty;but though his hair was very grey, he was remarkably well-preserved.His well-cut rather effeminate face showed but few lines, and there wasjust a tinge of colour in his cheeks, such as good port wine might haveproduced: but in this case it was a consequence of a calm, peaceful,seaside life. He was evidently slight and tall, but bent, and in hisblue eyes there was a dreamy look, while a curious twitch came over hisface from time to time as if he suffered pain.

  "It would have been better, father," said Richard Linnell, turning overthe leaves of a music-book with his violin bow, "but we can't pick andchoose whom one is to sit next in this world."

  "No, no, we can't, my son."

  "And I don't think that we ought to trouble ourselves about ourneighbours, so long as they behave themselves decorously here."

  "No, no, my son," said Linnell, senior, thoughtfully. "There's a dealof wickedness in this world, but I suppose we mustn't go about throwingstones."

  "I'm not going to, father, and I'm sure you wouldn't throw one at a maddog."

  "Don't you think I would, Dick?" with a very sweet smile; and the eyesbrightened and looked pleased. "Well, perhaps you are right. Poorbrute! Why should I add to its agony?"

  "So long as it didn't bite, eh, father?"

  "To be sure, Dick; so long as it didn't bite. I should like to runthrough that _adagio_ again, Dick, but not if you're tired, my boy, notif you're tired."

  "Tired? No!" cried the young man. "I could keep on all day."

  "That's right. I'm glad I taught you. There's something sosoul-refreshing in a bit of music, especially when you arelow-spirited."

  "Which you never are, now."

  "N-no, not often, say not often, say not often. It makes me a littlelow-spirited though about that woman and her mother, Dick."

  "I don't see why it should."

 
; "But it does. Such a noble-looking beautiful creature, and such a hard,vulgar, worldly mother. Ah, Dick, beautiful women are to be pitied."

  "No, no: to be admired," said Richard, laughing.

  "Pitied, my boy, pitied," said the elder, making curves in the air withhis bow, while the fingers of his left hand--long, thin, white, delicatefingers--stopped the strings, as if he were playing the bars of somecomposition. "Your plain women scout their beautiful sisters, andtrample upon them, but it is in ignorance. They don't know thetemptations that assail one who is born to good