Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 15

by Plots (and) Counterplots (v1. 1)

  “They came unexpectedly, and you have met before, it seems. You never mentioned that fact, Earl,” said Lady Lennox, with a sharp glance.

  “Why should I? We only met a few times last winter, and I quite forgot that you knew them. But pray tell me who was the fair one with golden locks, whom I frightened away?”

  “The widow of Colonel Vane.”

  “My dear lady, do you mean to tell me that child is a widow?”

  “Yes; and a very lovely one, I assure you. I invited you here expressly to fall in love with her, for George and Harry are too young.”

  “Thank you. Now be so kind as to tell me all about her, for I knew Vane before he went to India.”

  “I can only tell you that he married this lady when she was very young, took her to India, and in a year she returned a widow.”

  “I remember hearing something of an engagement, but fancied it was broken off. Who was the wife?”

  “A Montmorenci; noble but poor, you know. The family lost everything in the revolution, and never regained their former grandeur. But one can see at a glance that she is of high birth—high enough to suit even a Douglas.”

  “Ah, you know our weakness, and I must acknowledge that the best blood in France is not to be despised by the best blood in Scotland. How long have you known her?”

  “Only a few months; that charming Countess Camareena brought her from Paris, and left her when she returned. Mrs. Vane seemed lonely for so young a thing; her family are all gone, and she made herself so agreeable, seemed so grateful for any friendship, that I asked her here. She went into very little society in London, and was really suffering for change and care.”

  “Poor young lady! I will do my best to aid your friendly purpose— for Vane’s sake, if not for her own,” said Douglas, evidently continuing the subject, lest her ladyship should revert to the former one.

  “That reminds me to give you one warning: Never speak to her or before her of the colonel. He died three or four years ago; but when I mentioned him, she implored me to spare her all allusion to that unhappy past, and I have done so. It is my belief that he was not all she believed him to be, and she may have suffered what she is too generous to complain of or confess.”

  “I doubt that; for when I knew him, though weak on some points, Vane was an excellent fellow. She wears no weeds, I observe.”

  “You have a quick eye, to discover that in such an instant,” replied Lady Lennox, smiling.

  “I could scarcely help looking longest at the most striking figure of the group.”

  “I forgive you for it. She left off her weeds by my advice, for the somber colors seemed to oppress and sadden her. Three or four years are long enough to mourn one whom she did not wholly love, and she is too young to shroud herself in sables for a lifetime.”

  “Has she fortune?”

  “The colonel left her something handsome, I suspect, for she keeps both man and maid, and lives as becomes her rank. I ask no questions, but I feel deeply for the poor child, and do my best for her. Now tell me about home, and your dear mother.”

  Earl obeyed, and entertained his hostess till the dressing bell rang.

  Chapter III

  THE IRON RING

  WHEN Douglas entered the drawing rooms, he was instantly seized upon by Major Mansfield, and while he stood listening with apparent interest to that gentleman’s communications, he took a survey of the party before him. The elder ladies were not yet down; Harry Lennox was worshiping Diana with all the frank admiration of a lad of eighteen, and Mrs. Vane was pacing up and down the rooms on the arm of George Lennox, the young master of the house. Few little women would have appeared to advantage beside the tall guardsman; but Mrs. Vane moved with a dignity that seemed to add many inches to her almost fairylike stature, and make her a fit companion for her martial escort. Everything about her was peculiar and piquant. Her dress was of that vivid silvery green which is so ruinous to any but the purest complexion, so ravishing when worn by one whose bloom defies all hues. The skirt swept long behind her, and the Pompadour waist, with its flowing sleeves, displayed a neck and arms of dazzling fairness, half concealed by a film of costly lace. No jewels but an antique opal ring, attached by a slender chain to a singular bracelet, or wide band of enchased gold. A single deep-hued flower glowed on her bosom, and in that wonderful hair of hers a chaplet of delicate ferns seemed to gather back the cloud of curls, and encircle coil upon coil of glossy hair, that looked as if it burdened her small head.

  The young man watched her so intently that the major soon observed his preoccupation, and paused in the middle of his account of a review to ask good-naturedly, “Well, what do you think of the bewitching widow?”

  “She reminds me of a little green viper,” replied Douglas coolly.

  “The deuce she does! What put such an odd fancy into your head?” asked the major.

  “The color of her gown, her gliding gait, her brilliant eyes, and poor George’s evident fascination.”

  “Faith! I see the resemblance, and you’ve expressed my feeling exactly. Do you know I’ve tried to fall in love with that woman, and, upon my soul, I can’t do it!”

  “She does not care to fascinate you, perhaps.”

  “Neither does she care to charm George, as I happen to know; yet you see what a deuce of a state he’s getting into.”

  “His youth prevents his seeing the danger before it is too late; and there you have the advantage, Major.”

  “We shall see how you will prosper, Douglas; for you are not a lad of twenty, like George, or an old fellow of forty, like me, and, if rumor does not lie, you have had experiences,’ and understand womankind.” Though he spoke in a tone of raillery, the major fixed a curious eye upon his companion’s countenance. But the dark handsome face remained inscrutably calm, and the only answer he received was a low— “Hush! they are coming. Present me, and I’ll see what I can make of her.”

  Now Douglas was undoubtedly the best parti of the season, and he knew it. He was not a vain man, but an intensely proud one—proud of his ancient name, his honorable race, his ancestral home, his princely fortune; and he received the homage of both men and women as his due. Great, therefore, was his surprise at the little scene which presently occurred, and very visible was his haughty displeasure.

  Lennox and his fair companion approached, the one bending his tall head to listen ardently, the other looking up with a most tempting face, as she talked rapidly, after softening a hard English phrase by an entrancing accent. The major presented his friend with much empressement, and Douglas was prepared to receive the gracious greeting which women seldom failed to give him. But scarcely pausing in her progress, Mrs. Vane merely glanced at him, as his name was mentioned, returned his bow with a slight inclination, and rustled on as if quite oblivious that a direct descendant of the great Scotch earl had been presented to her.

  The major stifled an irrepressible laugh at this unexpected rebuff, and took a malicious pleasure in watching his friend’s eye kindle, his attitude become more stately as he talked on, and deigned to take no notice of an act which evidently much annoyed and amazed him. Just then Lady Lennox entered, and dinner was announced. George beckoned, and Douglas reluctantly joined him.

  “As host, I am obliged to take Mrs. Berkeley down; Harry has monopolized Miss Stuart, and the major belongs to my mother—so I must reluctantly relinquish Mrs. Vane to you.”

  Being a well-bred man, Douglas could only bow, and offer his arm. Mrs. Vane made George happy by a smile, as he left her, then turned to Douglas with a “May I trouble you?” as she gave him her fan and handkerchief to hold, while she gathered up her train and took his arm, as unconcernedly as if he had been a footman. Though rather piqued by her nonchalance, Douglas found something half amusing, half captivating in her demeanor; for, much as he had been courted and admired, few women were quite at ease with the highborn gentleman, whose manners were so coldly charming, whose heart seemed so invulnerable. It was a new sensation to be treated l
ike other men, and set to serve an imperious lady, who leaned upon his arm as if she needed its support, and tranquilly expected the small courtesies which hitherto had been left to his own goodwill and pleasure to offer.

  Whatever the secret of his past might be, and however well he might conceal his real self behind a grave demeanor, Douglas had not yet lost his passion for beautiful women, and though no word was spoken during the short transit from drawing room to dinner table, the power of loveliness and womanhood made itself felt beyond a doubt. The touch of a fair hand upon his arm, the dazzle of white shoulders at his side, the soft scent of violets shaken from the folds of lace and cambric which he held, the glimpse of a dainty foot, and the glance of a vivacious eye, all made the little journey memorable. When they took their places, the hauteur had melted from his manner, the coldness from his face, and with his courtliest air he began a conversation which soon became absorbing—for Mrs. Vane talked with the grace of a French woman, and the intelligence of an English woman.

  When the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, they were found examining some antique jewels, which Lady Lennox had been prevailed upon to show.

  “How well those diamonds look in Diana’s dark hair. Ah, my dear, a coronet becomes you vastly. Does it not?” said Mrs. Berkeley, appealing to Douglas, who was approaching.

  “So well that I hope you will soon see one rightfully there, madam,” he answered, with a glance that made Diana’s eyes fall, and Mrs. Berkeley look radiant.

  Mrs. Vane saw the look, divined its meaning, and smiled a strange smile, as she looked down upon the jewels that strewed her lap.

  Mrs. Berkeley mistook her attitude for one of admiration and envy, and said, “You wear no ornaments but flowers, I observe; from choice, doubtless, for, as you are the last of your race, you must possess many of the family relics.”

  Mrs. Vane looked up, and answered with an indescribable mixture of simplicity and dignity, “I wear flowers because I have no other ornaments. My family paid the price of loyalty with both life and fortune; but I possess one jewel which I value above all these—a noble name.”

  A banished princess might have so looked, so spoken, as, gathering up the glittering mass in her white hands, she let it fall again, with an air of gentle pride. Douglas gave her a glance of genuine admiration, and Diana took the diamonds from her hair, as if they burdened her. Mrs. Berkeley saw that her shot had failed, but tried again, only to be more decidedly defeated.

  “Very prettily done, my dear; but I really thought you were going to say that your most valuable jewel was the peculiar bracelet you wear. Is there any charming legend or mystery concerning it? I fancied so, because you never take it off, however out of taste it may be; and otherwise your dress is always perfect.”

  “I wear it in fulfillment of a vow, and the beauty of the ring atones for the ugliness of the bracelet. Does it not?”

  As she spoke, Mrs. Vane extended an exquisitely molded arm and hand to Douglas, who answered with most unusual gallantry, “The beauty of the arm would render any fetter an ornament.”

  He bent to examine the jewel as he spoke, and Mrs. Vane whispered, below her breath, “You have offended Diana; pray make your peace. I should be desolated to think my poor arm had estranged you, even for an hour.”

  So entirely was he thrown off his guard by this abrupt address, that he whispered eagerly, “Do my actions interest her? Have I any cause for hope? Does she—”

  There he paused, recovered his self-possession, but not his countenance—for an angry flush stained his dark cheek, and he fixed a look upon Mrs. Vane that would have daunted any other woman. She did not seem to see it, for her head drooped till her face was hidden, and she sat absently playing with the little chain that shone against her hand. George Lennox looked fiercely jealous; Diana turned pale; Mrs. Berkeley frowned; and good, unconscious Lady Lennox said blandly, “Apropos to heirlooms and relics, I was telling these ladies about your famous iron ring, Earl. I wish you had it here to show them.”

  “I am happy to be able to gratify your ladyship’s wish. I never leave without it, for I use it as my seal. I will ring for it.”

  Mrs. Vane lifted her head with an air of interest as Douglas gave an order, and his servant presently put a small steel-bound case into his hand. Opening this with a key that hung upon his watch guard, he displayed the famous relic. Antique, rusty, and massive it was, and on its shield the boar’s head and the motto of the house.

  “You say you use this as a signet ring; why do you not have your arms cut on some jewel, and set in a more graceful setting? This device is almost effaced, and the great ring anything but ornamental to one’s hand or chatelaine,” said Mrs. Vane, curiously examining the ring as it was passed to her.

  “Because I am superstitious and believe that an especial virtue lies in this ancient bit of iron. The legend goes that no harm can befall its possessor, and as I have gone scatheless so far, I hold fast to the old faith.”

  As Douglas turned to hear and answer Mrs. Vane’s question, Harry Lennox, with the freedom of a boy, had thrown back the lid of the case, which had been opened with peculiar care, and, lifting several worn papers, disclosed two objects that drew exclamations of surprise from several of the party. A satin slipper, of fairylike proportions, with a dull red stain upon its sole, and what looked like a ring of massive gold, till the lad lifted it, when coil after coil unwound, till a long curl of human hair touched the ground.

  “My faith! That is the souvenir of the beautiful danseuse Virginie Varens, about whom you bored me with questions when you showed me that several years ago,” said the major, staring with all his eyes.

  Mrs. Vane had exclaimed with the rest, but her color faded perceptibly, her eye grew troubled, and when Harry leaned toward her to compare the long tress with her own, she shrank back with a shudder. Diana caught a muttered ejaculation from Douglas, saw Mrs. Vane’s discomposure, and fixed a scrutinizing gaze upon her. But in a moment those obedient features resumed their former calm, and, with a little gesture of contrition, Mrs. Vane laid the long curl beside one of her own, saying tranquilly:

  “Pardon, that I betrayed an instinctive shrinking from anything plebeian. The hair of the dancer is lighter than mine, you see; for this is pure gold, and mine is fast deepening to brown. Let me atone for my rudeness thus; and believe me, I can sympathize, for I, too, have loved and lost.”

  While speaking, she had refolded the lock, and, tying it together with a little knot of ribbon from her dress, she laid it back into its owner’s hand, with a soft glance and a delicate dropping of the voice at the last words.

  If it was a bit of acting, it was marvelously well done, and all believed it to be a genuine touch of nature. Diana looked consumed with curiosity, and Douglas answered hastily, “Thanks for the pity, but I need none. I never saw this girl, and as for love—”

  He paused there, as if words unfit for time and place were about to pass his lips. His eye grew fierce, and his black brows lowered heavily, leaving no doubt on the mind of any observer that hate, not love, was the sentiment with which he now regarded the mysterious danseuse. An uncomfortable pause followed as Douglas relocked the case and put it in his pocket, forgetting, in his haste, the ring he had slipped upon his finger.

  Feeling that some unpleasant theme had been touched upon, Lady Lennox asked for music. Diana coldly declined, but Mrs. Vane readily turned to the piano. The two elder ladies and the major went to chat by the fire; Lennox took his brother aside to administer a reproof; and Douglas, after a moment of moody thoughtfulness, placed himself beside Diana on the couch which stood just behind Mrs. Vane. She had begun with a brilliant overture, but suddenly passed to a softer movement, and filled the room with the whispering melody of a Venetian barcarole. This seeming caprice was caused by an intense desire to overhear the words of the pair behind her. But though she strained her keen ear to the utmost, she caught only broken fragments of their low-toned conversation, and these fragments filled her with disquiet.

/>   “Why so cold, Miss Stuart? One would think you had forgotten me.”

  “I fancied the forgetfulness was yours.”

  “I never shall forget the happiest hours of my life. May I hope that you recall those days with pleasure?”

  There was no answer, and a backward glance showed Mrs. Vane Diana’s head bent low, and Douglas watching the deepening color on her half-averted cheek with an eager, ardent glance. More softly murmured the boat song, and scarcely audible was the whispered entreaty:

  “I have much to say; you will hear me tomorrow, early, in the park?”

  A mute assent was given, and, with the air of a happy lover, Douglas left her, as if fearing to say more, lest their faces should betray them. Then the barcarole ended as suddenly as it had begun, and Mrs. Vane resumed the stormy overture, playing as if inspired by a musical frenzy. So pale was she when she left the instrument that no one doubted the fact of her needing rest, as, pleading weariness, she sank into a deep chair, and leaning her head upon her hand, sat silent for an hour.

  As they separated for the night, and Douglas stood listening to his young host’s arrangements for the morrow, a singular-looking man appeared at the door of an anteroom and, seeing them, paused where he stood, as if waiting for them to precede him.

  “Who is that, George? What does he want?” said Douglas, drawing his friend’s attention to the dark figure, whose gleaming eyes belied his almost servile posture of humility and respect.

  “Oh, that is Mrs. Vane’s man, Jitomar. He was one of the colonel’s Indian servants, I believe. Deaf and dumb, but harmless, devoted, and invaluable—she says. A treacherous-looking devil, to my mind,” replied Lennox.

  “He looks more like an Italian than an Indian, in spite of his Eastern costume and long hair. What is he after now?” asked Earl.

  “Going to receive the orders of his mistress. I would gladly change places with him, heathen as he is, for the privilege of serving her. Good night.”