CHAPTER XLIX.
How Lady Glencora Went to Lady Monk's Party.
Lady Monk's house in Gloucester Square was admirably well adapted forthe giving of parties. It was a large house, and seemed to the eyesof guests to be much larger than it was. The hall was spacious, andthe stairs went up in the centre, facing you as you entered the innerhall. Round the top of the stairs there was a broad gallery, with anornamented railing, and from this opened the doors into the threereception-rooms. There were two on the right, the larger of whichlooked out backwards, and these two were connected by an archway, asthough made for folding-doors; but the doors, I believe, never werethere. Fronting the top of the staircase there was a smaller room,looking out backwards, very prettily furnished, and much used by LadyMonk when alone. It was here that Burgo had held that conference withhis aunt of which mention has been made. Below stairs there was thegreat dining-room, on which, on these occasions, a huge buffet waserected for refreshments,--what I may call a masculine buffet, as itwas attended by butlers and men in livery,--and there was a smallerroom looking out into the square, in which there was a femininebattery for the dispensing of tea and such like smaller good things,and from which female aid could be attained for the arrangement ormending of dresses in a further sanctum within it. For such purposesas that now on foot the house was most commodious. Lady Monk, onthese occasions, was moved by a noble ambition to do somethingdifferent from that done by her neighbours in similar circumstances,and therefore she never came forward to receive her guests. Sheensconced herself, early in the evening, in that room at the head ofthe stairs, and there they who chose to see her made their way up toher, and spoke their little speeches. They who thought her to be agreat woman,--and many people did think her to be great,--were wontto declare that she never forgot those who did come, or those who didnot. And even they who desired to describe her as little,--for evenLady Monk had enemies,--would hint that though she never came outof the room, she would rise from her chair and make a step towardsthe door whenever any name very high in fashionable life greetedher ears. So that a mighty Cabinet Minister, or a duchess in greatrepute, or any special wonder of the season, could not fail ofentering her precincts and being seen there for a few moments. Itwould, of course, happen that the doorway of her chamber would becomeblocked; but there were precautions taken to avoid this inconvenienceas far as possible, and one man in livery was employed to gobackwards and forwards between his mistress and the outer world, soas to keep the thread of a passage open.
But though Lady Monk was in this way enabled to rest herself duringher labours, there was much in her night's work which was notaltogether exhilarating. Ladies would come into her small room andsit there by the hour, with whom she had not the slightest wishto hold conversation. The Duchess of St. Bungay would always bethere,--so that there was a special seat in one corner of the roomwhich was called the Duchess' stool. "I shouldn't care a straw abouther," Lady Monk had been heard to complain, "if she would talkto anybody. But nobody will talk to her, and then she listens toeverything."
There had been another word or two between Burgo Fitzgerald and hisaunt before the evening came, a word or two in the speaking of whichshe had found some difficulty. She was prepared with the money,--withthat two hundred pounds for which he had asked,--obtained with whatwiles, and lies, and baseness of subterfuge I need not stop here todescribe. But she was by no means willing to give this over into hernephew's hands without security. She was willing to advance him thismoney; she had been willing even to go through unusual dirt to getit for him; but she was desirous that he should have it only for acertain purpose. How could she bind him down to spend it as she wouldhave it spent? Could she undertake to hand it to him as soon as LadyGlencora should be in his power? Even though she could have broughtherself to say as much,--and I think she might also have done soafter what she had said,--she could not have carried out such aplan. In that case the want would be instant, and the action must berapid. She therefore had no alternative but to entrust him with thebank-notes at once. "Burgo," she said, "if I find that you deceive menow, I will never trust you again." "All right," said Burgo, as hebarely counted the money before he thrust it into his breast-pocket."It is lent to you for a certain purpose, should you happen to wantit," she said, solemnly. "I do happen to want it very much," heanswered. She did not dare to say more; but as her nephew turned awayfrom her with a step that was quite light in its gaiety, she almostfelt that she was already cozened. Let Burgo's troubles be as heavyas they might be, there was something to him ecstatic in the touch ofready money which always cured them for the moment.
"All right," said Burgo, as he thrust the moneyinto his breast-pocket.]
On the morning of Lady Monk's party a few very uncomfortable wordspassed between Mr. Palliser and his wife.
"Your cousin is not going, then?" said he.
"Alice is not going."
"Then you can give Mrs. Marsham a seat in your carriage?"
"Impossible, Plantagenet. I thought I had told you that I hadpromised my cousin Jane."
"But you can take three."
"Indeed I can't,--unless you would like me to sit out with thecoachman."
There was something in this,--a tone of loudness, a touch of what hecalled to himself vulgarity,--which made him very angry. So he turnedaway from her, and looked as black as a thundercloud.
"You must know, Plantagenet," she went on, "that it is impossible forthree women dressed to go out in one carriage. I am sure you wouldn'tlike to see me afterwards if I had been one of them."
"You need not have said anything to Lady Jane when Miss Vavasorrefused. I had asked you before that."
"And I had told you that I liked going with young women, and not withold ones. That's the long and the short of it."
"Glencora, I wish you would not use such expressions."
"What! not the long and the short? It's good English. Quite as goodas Mr. Bott's, when he said in the House the other night that theGovernment kept their accounts in a higgledy-piggledy way. You see, Ihave been studying the debates, and you shouldn't be angry with me."
"I am not angry with you. You speak like a child to say so. Then,I suppose, the carriage must go for Mrs. Marsham after it has takenyou?"
"It shall go before. Jane will not be in a hurry, and I am sure Ishall not."
"She will think you very uncivil; that is all. I told her that shecould go with you when I heard that Miss Vavasor was not to bethere."
"Then, Plantagenet, you shouldn't have told her so, and that's thelong--; but I mustn't say that. The truth is this, if you give me anyorders I'll obey them,--as far as I can. If I can't I'll say so. Butif I'm left to go by my own judgement, it's not fair that I should bescolded afterwards."
"I have never scolded you."
"Yes, you have. You have told me that I was uncivil."
"I said that she would think you so."
"Then, if it's only what she thinks, I don't care two straws aboutit. She may have the carriage to herself if she likes, but she shan'thave me in it,--not unless I'm ordered to go. I don't like her, and Iwon't pretend to like her. My belief is that she follows me about totell you if she thinks that I do wrong."
"Glencora!"
"And that odious baboon with the red bristles does the samething,--only he goes to her because he doesn't dare to go to you."
Plantagenet Palliser was struck wild with dismay. He understood wellwho it was whom his wife intended to describe; but that she shouldhave spoken of any man as a baboon with red bristles, was terrible tohis mind! He was beginning to think that he hardly knew how to managehis wife. And the picture she had drawn was very distressing to him.She had no mother; neither had he; and he had wished that Mrs. Marshamshould give to her some of that matronly assistance and guidancewhich a mother does give to her young married daughter. It was true,too, as he knew, that a word or two as to some socially domesticmatters had filtered through to him from Mr. Bott, down at MatchingPriory, but only in such a way as to enable h
im to see what counselit was needful that he should give. As for espionage over hiswife,--no man could despise it more than he did! No man would be lesswilling to resort to it! And now his wife was accusing him of keepingspies, both male and female.
"Glencora!" he said again; and then he stopped, not knowing what tosay to her.
"Well, my dear, it's better you should know at once what I feel aboutit. I don't suppose I'm very good; indeed I dare say I'm bad enough,but these people about me won't make me any better. The duennas don'tmake the Spanish ladies worth much."
"Duennas!" After that, Lady Glencora sat herself down, and Mr.Palliser stood for some moments looking at her.
It ended in his making her a long speech, in which he said a gooddeal of his own justice and forbearance, and something also of herfrivolity and childishness. He told her that his only complaint ofher was that she was too young, and, as he did so, she made a littlegrimace,--not to him, but to herself, as though saying to herselfthat that was all he knew about it. He did not notice it, or, if hedid, his notice did not stop his eloquence. He assured her that hewas far from keeping any watch over her, and declared that she hadaltogether mistaken Mrs. Marsham's character. Then there was anotherlittle grimace. "There's somebody has mistaken it worse than I have,"the grimace said. Of the bristly baboon he condescended to saynothing, and he wound up by giving her a cold kiss, and saying thathe would meet her at Lady Monk's.
When the evening came,--or rather the night,--the carriage wentfirst for Mrs. Marsham, and having deposited her at Lady Monk's, wentback to Park Lane for Lady Glencora. Then she had herself driven toSt. James's Square, to pick up Lady Jane, so that altogether thecoachman and horses did not have a good time of it. "I wish he'dkeep a separate carriage for her," Lady Glencora said to her cousinJane,--having perceived that her servants were not in a good humour."That would be expensive," said Lady Jane. "Yes, it would beexpensive," said Lady Glencora. She would not condescend to make anyremark as to the non-importance of such expense to a man so wealthyas her husband, knowing that his wealth was, in fact, hers. Never tohim or to any other,--not even to herself,--had she hinted that muchwas due to her because she had been magnificent as an heiress. Therewere many things about this woman that were not altogether what ahusband might wish. She was not softly delicate in all her ways; butin disposition and temper she was altogether generous. I do not knowthat she was at all points a lady, but had Fate so willed it shewould have been a thorough gentleman.
Mrs. Marsham was by no means satisfied with the way in which she wastreated. She would not have cared to go at all to Lady Monk's partyhad she supposed that she would have to make her entry there alone.With Lady Glencora she would have seemed to receive some of thathomage which would certainly have been paid to her companion. Thecarriage called, moreover, before she was fully ready, and thefootman, as he stood at the door to hand her in, had been very sulky.She understood it all. She knew that Lady Glencora had positivelydeclined her companionship; and if she resolved to be revenged, suchresolution on her part was only natural. When she reached Lady Monk'shouse, she had to make her way up stairs all alone. The servantscalled her Mrs. Marsh, and under that name she got passed on into thefront drawing-room. There she sat down, not having seen Lady Monk,and meditated over her injuries.
It was past eleven before Lady Glencora arrived, and Burgo Fitzgeraldhad begun to think that his evil stars intended that he should neversee her again. He had been wickedly baulked at Monkshade, by whatinfluence he had never yet ascertained; and now he thought that thesame influence must be at work to keep her again away from his aunt'shouse. He had settled in his mind no accurate plan of a campaign; hehad in his thoughts no fixed arrangement by which he might do thething which he meditated. He had attempted to make some such plan;but, as is the case with all men to whom thinking is an unusualoperation, concluded at last that he had better leave it to thecourse of events. It was, however, obviously necessary that he shouldsee Lady Glencora before the course of events could be made to doanything for him. He had written to her, making his proposition inbold terms, and he felt that if she were utterly decided against him,her anger at his suggestion, or at least her refusal, would havebeen made known to him in some way. Silence did not absolutely giveconsent, but it seemed to show that consent was not impossible. Fromten o'clock to past eleven he stood about on the staircase of hisaunt's house, waiting for the name which he was desirous of hearing,and which he almost feared to hear. Men spoke to him, and women also,but he hardly answered. His aunt once called him into her room, andwith a cautionary frown on her brow, bade him go dance. "Don't lookso dreadfully preoccupied," she said to him in a whisper. But heshook his head at her, almost savagely, and went away, and did notdance. Dance! How was he to dance with such an enterprise as thatupon his mind? Even to Burgo Fitzgerald the task of running awaywith another man's wife had in it something which prevented dancing.Lady Monk was older, and was able to regulate her feelings with moreexactness. But Burgo, though he could not dance, went down into thedining-room and drank. He took a large beer-glass full of champagneand soon after that another. The drink did not flush his cheeks ormake his forehead red, or bring out the sweat-drops on his brow, asit does with some men; but it added a peculiar brightness to his blueeyes. It was by the light of his eyes that men knew when Burgo hadbeen drinking.
At last, while he was still in the supper room, he heard LadyGlencora's name announced. He had already seen Mr. Palliser come inand make his way up-stairs some quarter of an hour before; but asto that he was indifferent. He had known that the husband was to bethere. When the long-expected name reached his ears, his heart seemedto jump within him. What, on the spur of the moment, should he do?As he had resolved that he would be doing,--that something should bedone, let it be what it might,--he hurried to the dining-room door,and was just in time to see and be seen as Lady Glencora was passingup the stairs. She was just above him as he got himself out into thehall, so that he could not absolutely greet her with his hand; buthe looked up at her, and caught her eye. He looked up, and moved hishand to her in token of salutation. She looked down at him, and theexpression of her face altered visibly as her glance met his. Shebarely bowed to him,--with her eyes rather than with her head, buthe flattered himself that there was, at any rate, no anger in hercountenance. How beautiful he was as he gazed up at her, leaningagainst the wall as he stood, and watching her as she made her slowway up the stairs! She felt that his eyes were on her, and where thestairs turned she could not restrain herself from one other glance.As her eyes fell on his again, his mouth opened, and she fancied thatshe could hear the faint sigh that he uttered. It was a gloriousmouth, such as the old sculptors gave to their marble gods! AndBurgo, if it was so that he had not heart enough to love truly, couldlook as though he loved. It was not in him deceit,--or what men callacting. The expression came to him naturally, though it expressed somuch more than there was within; as strong words come to some men whohave no knowledge that they are speaking strongly. At this momentBurgo Fitzgerald looked as though it were possible that he might dieof love.
Lady Glencora was met at the top of the stairs by Lady Monk, who cameout to her, almost into the gallery, with her sweetest smile,--sothat the newly-arrived guest, of course, entered into the smallroom. There sat the Duchess of St. Bungay on her stool in the corner,and there, next to the Duchess, but at the moment engaged in noconversation, stood Mr. Bott. There was another lady there, whostood very high in the world, and whom Lady Monk was very glad towelcome--the young Marchioness of Hartletop. She was in slightmourning; for her father-in-law, the late Marquis, had died not yet quite six months since. Very beautiful she was, and one whosepresence at their houses ladies and gentlemen prized alike. She neversaid silly things, like the Duchess, never was troublesome as topeople's conduct to her, was always gracious, yet was never led awayinto intimacies, was without peer the best-dressed woman in London,and yet gave herself no airs;--and then she was so exquisitelybeautiful. Her smile was loveliness itself. There were, inde
ed,people who said that it meant nothing; but then, what should thesmile of a young married woman mean? She had not been born in thepurple, like Lady Glencora, her father being a country clergyman whohad never reached a higher grade than that of an archdeacon but sheknew the ways of high life, and what an exigeant husband would demandof her, much better than poor Glencora. She would have spoken of noman as a baboon with a bristly beard. She never talked of the longand the short of it. She did not wander out o' nights in winter amongthe ruins. She made no fast friendship with ladies whom her lord didnot like. She had once, indeed, been approached by a lover since shehad been married,--Mr. Palliser himself having been the offender,--butshe had turned the affair to infinite credit and profit, had gainedher husband's closest confidence by telling him of it all, had yetnot brought on any hostile collision, and had even dismissed herlover without annoying him. But then Lady Hartletop was a miracle ofa woman!
Lady Glencora was no miracle. Though born in the purple, she wasmade of ordinary flesh and blood, and as she entered Lady Monk'slittle room, hardly knew how to recover herself sufficiently forthe purposes of ordinary conversation. "Dear Lady Glencora, do comein for a moment to my den. We were so sorry not to have you atMonkshade. We heard such terrible things about your health." LadyGlencora said that it was only a cold,--a bad cold. "Oh, yes; weheard,--something about moonlight and ruins. So like you, you know.I love that sort of thing, above all people; but it doesn't do;does it? Circumstances are so exacting. I think you know LadyHartletop;--and there's the Duchess of St. Bungay. Mr. Palliser washere five minutes since." Then Lady Monk was obliged to get to herdoor again and Lady Glencora found herself standing close to LadyHartletop.
"We saw Mr. Palliser just pass through," said Lady Hartletop, who wasable to meet and speak of the man who had dared to approach her withhis love, without the slightest nervousness.
"Yes; he said he should be here," said Lady Glencora.
"There's a great crowd," said Lady Hartletop. "I didn't think Londonwas so full."
"Very great." said Lady Glencora, and then they had said to eachother all that society required. Lady Glencora, as we know, couldtalk with imprudent vehemence by the hour together if she liked hercompanion but the other lady seldom committed herself by more wordsthan she had uttered now,--unless it was to her tirewoman.
"How very well you are looking," said the Duchess. "And I heard youhad been so ill." Of that midnight escapade among the ruins it wasfated that Lady Glencora should never hear the last.
"How d'ye do, Lady Glencowrer?" sounded in her ear, and there was agreat red paw stuck out for her to take. But after what had passedbetween Lady Glencora and her husband to-day about Mr. Bott, she wasdetermined that she would not take Mr. Bott's hand.
"How are you, Mr. Bott?" she said. "I think I'll look for Mr. Palliserin the back room."
"Dear Lady Glencora," whispered the Duchess, in an ecstasy of agony.Lady Glencora turned and bowed her head to her stout friend. "Do letme go away with you. There's that woman, Mrs. Conway Sparkes, coming,and you know how I hate her." She had nothing to do but to take theDuchess under her wing, and they passed into the large room together.It is, I think, more than probable that Mrs. Conway Sparkes had beenbrought in by Lady Monk as the only way of removing the Duchess fromher stool.
Just within the dancing-room Lady Glencora found her husband,standing in a corner, looking as though he were making calculations.
"I'm going away," said he, coming up to her. "I only just camebecause I said I would. Shall you be late?"
"Oh, no; I suppose not."
"Shall you dance?"
"Perhaps once,--just to show that I'm not an old woman."
"Don't heat yourself. Good-bye." Then he went, and in the crush ofthe doorway he passed Burgo Fitzgerald, whose eye was intently fixedupon his wife. He looked at Burgo, and some thought of that youngman's former hopes flashed across his mind,--some remembrance, too,of a caution that had been whispered to him; but for no moment did asuspicion come to him that he ought to stop and watch by his wife.
Can You Forgive Her? Page 51