CHAPTER XXIX.
THE UNRULY MEMBER IS HEARD.
The following morn is bright and glorious, the mountains, ah! the
grandeur of them, their peaks in changing hues as the sun's breath
grows warmer, cut the azure of the heavens, and rest there; one
involuntarily feels on a morning like this one cannot love nature
intensely enough; and now, Old Sol, giving his brightest beams to the
Italian, who loves him, shines into every corner of the Eternal City,
from the King in his palace, and the Pope in the palace of the
Vatican, to the peasant stretched on his door-step; for the good king
Victor Emmanuel is sick, and the bright beams shining through his
window, cheer him; and he thinks of his people who are poor and ill,
and also welcomes the sunbeams for their sake. And his gentle
Holiness, Pius IX, in walking past the great painting of the
Transfiguration, thinks "how glorious it looks in the sun's rays," and
he too was glad. And the lazy peasant lying in the sun, stretched
himself and was glad, for surely many noble ladies and gentlemen would
be abroad in the sweet warm air, and he would beg many _soldi_ and buy
macaroni.
Vaura, usually an early riser, but not having slept until dawn, was
only awakened an hour ago by a sunbeam opening her eyelids, so that it
was luncheon hour ere she made her appearance in the aesthetic little
morning-room, whither Lady Esmondet had ordered it to be brought; on
entering kissed her god-mother, and giving her hand to Lionel, her
eyes drooping under his long gaze,
"You look quite yourself, god-mother mine, after your nights rest,"
she said.
"Yes, I am feeling very well to-day; but your roses are of a pale
tint, how is that?"
"Whose roses could bloom with undimmed lustre surrounded by flowers of
such brilliant colouring?" she answered, evasively, indicating by a
gesture the floral beauties filling the vases and jars, not wishing to
own before Lionel her sweet sleeplessness of the night.
Captain Trevalyon's man now brought letters from the post-office.
"Ah," said Vaura, taking her share, "one from Haughton Hall in the
handwriting of madame, and to me."
On opening it a very well-executed photograph of the Hall fell to the
floor, which Lionel picked up, while Vaura read aloud as follows:
"DEAR MISS VERNON,--
"I enclose you a photo of the Hall as I have made it. It was a perfect
barracks when I saw it first; see what money can do. The American
eagle is a great bird, eh? You must marry money. I shall have a
gentleman here at Christmas with lots of land and a title. The Duchess
of Hatherton would sound well."
"A _bete noire_ of yours," said Lady Esmondet.
"Yes," said Vaura, carelessly, with a shrug of shoulders, going on
with the letter.
"I must also settle Blanche this coming season. You observed, I
suppose, how, much flesh she had; well, she loses weight every month;
secret pining I expect for that naughty"--and Vaura stopped short as
she saw the name, a curl of contempt coming to her lip as she read
silently--"Trevalyon. She thought by his attentions that he loved her,
poor thing; but the Colonel and myself would or could never hear of
such a match, as he has a snug little wife hid away somewhere. I have
Major Delrose a good deal with me. Your uncle doesn't care for him,
neither would you; but the Colonel, dear man, is considerate, and
don't expect everyone to be cut after his cloth; and as you will never
be able to come north in the cold weather you won't meet him. Give my
love to the willowy Marchmonts. We are the gayest of butterflies.
"Your frolicsome,
"KATE HAUGHTON,
"Haughton Hall, Surrey, England.
"MISS VERNON,
"The villa Iberia,
"Rome, Italy.
"November, 1877."
To Delrose at Haughton madame, after mailing above, had said:
"I have settled Miss Vernon at all events; she will not show up at
Christmas. I know she hates the Duke of Hatherton so I told her he is
coming, and I don't know as yet whether he is. It takes a woman to
outwit a woman."
"I cannot see," Delrose had answered, "why you don't want her, Kate."
"Because you are blind, you goose; if she came Trevalyon might, and
you don't want him; and I don't want her, and so I please you, you
ungrateful man."
To Trevalyon by same mail came:
"My own idol, come to me and Delrose shall go; I have written Miss
Vernon that he is here, because I _don't want_ her freezing ladyship.
Everyone says you are so naughty in having a hidden wife; they will
cut you I am sure; but I _love you all the more for your naughtiness_;
only come to yours evermore.--KATE HAUGHTON."
Trevalyon, giving a weary sigh on reading above, tearing it in two,
tossed it into the fire; now opening one from his cousin Judith, he
read as follows:
"DEAR COUSIN,--Father is not at all well; the trip across, as I
feared, has been too much for him; the suburbs of New York, our home,
suited him better than foggy London; however, dear father was obliged
to come on business, as he has informed you when last able to write.
He wishes me to enclose to you a scrap from the 'society' columns of
_one_ of _our_ New York newspapers. 'We give a tid-bit of scandal
(from a London paper), in brief, as the hero is a nephew of our Sir
Vincent Trevalyon, of ----. Capt. Trevalyon (of the Towers,
Northumberland), a gay society man, fascinating and handsome, is about
to bring from her seclusion, his hidden wife; some years ago he had
eloped with a friend's spouse, friend now has shuffled off mortal
coil; outcome, my Lady Trevalyon, who will be the sensation of the
coming season.' Father says to tell him on you honour, what truth
there is in above--and I am,
"Yours very sincerely,
"Judith Trevalyon,
"The Langham, London, Nov. 77.
"Capt. Trevalyon,
"The Villa Iberia,
"Rome, Italy."
On reading above, Trevalyon, with sudden impulse, and craving for
sympathy, handed it to his old friend.
"Too bad, too bad, Lionel; how grieved I am for you."
At the same time, Vaura, who had turned again to her lines from
Madame, on reading over, said as she discussed her luncheon.
"This bit of duck will be a palatable _morceau_ as compared with my
letter from Haughton; Madame does not write to please, she merely
pleases to write."
Seeing Trevalyon very grave and silent, she said with kindly intent,
and to change the current of his thought. "I suppose, god-mother, you
have sketched out your plans for the day long before I joined you."
"No, we could come to no decision, so have left it for you to
arrange."
"_Tres bien_ if so, from the glimpse I have through the window, I
suggest that our first trip be to the gardens."
"Happy thought; Lionel, will you ring the bell like a good fellow?"
Somers answering, her mistress said:
"Bring me suitable wraps for the garden, please, and tell Saunders to
do likewise for Miss Vernon."
The maids now appear with out-door robings; Lady Esmondet is made
comfortable, when Lionel goes to Vaura's assistance; 'tis a pretty
red-riding-hood and cloak attached, and contrasts charmingly with her
soft gray cashmere gown, her short brown hair and sweet face look well
coming from the warm red setting of the hood.
"Never mind it; it was never meant to fasten," she says, seeing his
grave eyes on her face, instead of the fastening; he does not speak
but only thinks, "My enemies will not let me call her mine;" she is
sure he can see the colour come and go in her face as her heart beats
irregularly, and says gently, putting up her soft hands, "never mind
it;" for answer he allows the hook and eye to fasten holding her hands
for a moment in his. They then followed their friend through the
French window down the few stone steps to the gardens. There were many
flowers in bloom and the green of the orange and lemon trees was as
rich as when the year was young. The villa of white marble was built
on a gentle rising knoll, prettily wooded, at the foot of which
running through a glade was a tiny streamlet clear as crystal, which
with its ripple and the singing of the birds lent music to the air. On
the highest garden site was built a tower from whence an extensive
view of the city is gained, with its spires and palaces, together with
the violet sea, and the ever changing majestic mountains. The lower
part of the tower is an arbour covered with roses and vines. The
orchard was on the high plateau on which the villa stood, laying in
part at the back and side of the mansion; the lawn and flower garden
were separated from the orchard by a smiling wood nymph and grim satyr
who each held an end of a chain of silver.
"The laughing nymph looks as if bent on making the grim satyr give way
to mirth," said Vaura.
"It is a pretty idea," said Lady Esmondet, "the having one's orchard
so laid out as to be an ornament to one's grounds, instead of as we
do, merely as a place to grow fruit."
"Yes, I think so," said Lionel, "and at my place the lawn is strewn by
acorn, apple and the pear."
"The apple blossom is beautiful," said Vaura; "but whom have we here,"
catching sight of a statue through the trees.
"None other," said Lionel, "than the powerful Populonia who protects
the fruit from storms."
"And placed high enough!" said Vaura "to see the storm a brewing, with
us it would be a great dog _versus_ a small boy."
They now descend terraced steps arched by trellised roses and come to
a fountain fed by a spring down in the deep cool dell.
"Shall we drink from the brook by the way?" half sang Vaura, and
stooping, picked up from a small projection a silver goblet, filling
she handed to Lady Esmondet; there was another which, taking herself,
said, "and now for my toast, 'May the absent Marquis, who has an eye
for the beautiful in Nature and Art be always surrounded by both.'"
"Amen," responded Trevalyon, "which is the best I can do, seeing Del
Castello did not remember me in providing two goblets only."
"Dual solitude," said Vaura in low tones, her god-mother having gone
on.
"The very mention of it makes my heart throb," he whispered.
"What delightful gardens," said Lady Esmondet returning "beside this
fountain, under the shade of olive trees, it must be delightfully cool
the hottest of summer days, and a favourite spot, if one may judge
from the number of seats about."
"'Tis another Eden," said Vaura, "from the mountains yonder to the
green shade of myrtles, olives, and orange trees, lit up by the pink
and red blossoms at their feet."
"You will revel here in the early morning, _ma belle_, if you have the
taste of your childhood."
"You remember me, then?" and the dark eyes look up from under the red
hood.
"I have never forgotten," he says, quietly.
"Don't you think, Vaura, dear?" said Lady Esmondet, "we had better
return to the villa and decide what we shall do with the rest of the
day."
"Yes, I suppose so, dear; though one would fain linger here longer."
As they retrace their steps, Trevalyon, decided for them, that the air
being delightfully warm and balmy, a drive up and down the Corso,
would be pleasant. The fresh air and new scene dispelled all Vaura's
languor, and heightened the spirits of her companions.
"The Corso is even gayer than usual," observed Lady Esmondet.
"And with its best bib and tucker on, if I am any judge of _la
toilette_," said Lionel.
"To receive three _distingues_ travellers," laughed Vaura; "I wonder
who society will jot us down as in her huge note book."
"As the Briton abroad," said Lady Esmondet, "to revel in the sunbeams,
which our gold cannot buy from our leaden skies."
A carriage now passed, in which were seated two ladies, evidently
English, who bowed and smiled to Lady Esmondet and Trevalyon.
"Who are your friends?" enquired Vaura; "I have seen them somewhere,
but forget when and where."
"They are the Duchess of Wyesdale and her daughter, the Lady Eveline
Northingdon," answered Trevalyon, as Lady Esmondet bowed to other
acquaintances.
"The little Duchess, who is insane enough to think Lionel in love with
her," thought his friend, remembering gay Mrs. Wingfield's gossip, and
that her name had been coupled with Trevalyon's; it was only that she
was a foolish little woman, and let society see that she had a
penchant for Captain Trevalyon. At that time the Duke was alive to
bear the title and represent the estate in Wiltshire, the Scottish
moors and shooting box, with the town house in London; very useful in
that way, so his Duchess told herself, and in truth, only in that
character, did the fair, frivolous Lady Wyesdale appreciate her
easygoing fox-hunting spouse.
"You can run the season very well without me," he would say, "while I
do a little shooting; you are just cut out for London, while the
conventionalities bore me."
And so it came to pass, that at their London house, Irene, the
Duchess, (or, as she was commonly called, Posey, from her maiden name
of Poseby, and from her habit of posing on all occasions), reigned in
her own way. In the autumn of '76, the Duke had been called to his
long home; he had been knocking down birds on the Scottish moors.
Coming home late one night to dinner in high spirits, and exultant
over his full bag, he found a telegram from his friend, Gerald Elton,
a keen sportsman, asking him to "telegraph him _immediately_ at
Edinburgh, if he was at the 'Bird cage;' if so, he would join him at
once." "Bless my life," said poor Wyesdale to a friend with him;
"Elton is the very man we want, no end of a shot, and rare fun; but I
must send my telegram off at once, or I'll lose him; but how am I to
come at pen and ink in the 'cage' is more than I know; oh, yes, I
remember when I came down last, Posey would have me take pen and ink
(and a great bore it was) in order to telegraph her of my return;
don't know why women are such a bundle of nerves, they oughtn't to be
nervous at the return of a husband; but where did I put it, hang me if
I know; if I find it the boy can ride over with it, if not I must go
myself; oh! I remember, it's in the other room on a shelf with collars
and cuffs; birds are not particular, so I never wear 'em;" without a
light he went in, feeling along the shelves with his hand, unluckily
for him overturning the inkstand, knocking the penhandle against the
wall, and the rusty pen full of ink, into the palm of his right hand,
where it broke; he and his friend extracted most of it, putting
sticking plaster over the wound. He would not trust a verbal message
to his sleepy keeper, now full of beer; so soon on horseback and away.
Elton arrived in due course, to find his friend with his arm in a
sling, swollen and painful.
"You'd better have a surgeon, old fellow, or you'll not fill another
bag this October."
Not until his arm had turned black would he consent; then the surgeon
was called, he looked grave, saying that a great part of the pen had
not been extracted; that ink, pen, and rust had done their work, and
to save his life the arm must be amputated. This the poor fellow
refused to do, saying he would rather die than sever his good right
hand from his body.--If he could not hold a gun, nor ride Titan with
the hounds he would go. He would be sorry to leave Evy, but Posey
could do very well without him, and breathing a prayer for his soul,
Harold, Duke of Wyesdale, was gone.
And now after her year of fashionable mourning, his widow is pluming
herself in colours, and Dame Rumour hath it that the somewhat fair,
slightly faded dowager Duchess having buried her dead, will not say
nay to another wooer. She was, as usual, posing in a corner of her
carriage, and priding herself on her slight, girlish figure; wore no
wraps; looking blue and chilly, for when one was driving the air was
just fresh enough for something warmer than a gown of pale blue silk.
"Why will women go about looking as if Jack Frost had just given them
a chilly embrace?" said Lionel, his gaze dwelling admiringly on
Vaura's warm beauty, arrayed in short, tight-fitting black velvet
jacket, small white plush bonnet, scarlet feathers and scarlet and
white strings tied at one side of her pretty chin.
"The azure heavens framing fair angels; quite a sufficient robing, and
appropriate; oh! grumbler," laughed Vaura.
"She is no amazon, and should wear other than silken armour, _ma
belle_."
"Cupid's darts can easier penetrate," said Vaura, gaily.
"Not through a chilled heart, as compared with a warm one," he
answers, quietly.
"Can one be cold in Italia. I do believe Old Sol pauses over us in his
chariot, and smiles love-warm smiles upon us all," she continued.
"What a shame to see such pretty beasts in harness, Lionel, as those
attached to our landau," observed Lady Esmondet.
"Yes, they are a fine pair and well matched."
"The one with a mane a trifle the longest," said Vaura, "reminds me of
Oriole that I used to ride when a girl at Haughton."
"Yes," said Trevalyon, "I was just going to ask you if you noticed it.
What merry rides those were! what would I not give to (with my dearly
bought experience of life) commence over again from those days."
"I remember feeling quite the woman in the scamper across country with
you and dear uncle in my long habit; neither of you knew how I hated
to don my short frock on my return."
"You were always a charming little hostess; and a few yards more in a
draper's shop, instead of about your ankles detracted nothing from
your charms."
"I did the best I could in taking time by the forelock, to be able to
put in a word or two with your lordship and Uncle Eric; I read old
periodicals and new, ancient history with modern philosophy and
science notes."
"And they have you now, Vaura dear," said her godmother. "A womanly
woman, every inch of you."
"You are partial, dear; yet I did in those days long for an Ovid and a
metamorphosis."
"Do you remember the day I extricated you and Isabel in the Tower?"
"Yes," she said, a warmer rose coming to her cheek, "but my knight
promised to blot that page from his memory.
"And so he endeavoured; but to no purpose."
"My brave knight was also an unmerciful tyrant."
"In the fines he levied," he said, leaning towards her; "they were the
sweetest he ever had."
A soft light came to Vaura's face, as leaning into her corner she gave
herself up to thoughts of the bygone. And she smiled now her woman's
smile in the eyes that were on her face. And yet sighed as she thought
of the jealousy of her boyish lovers of bygone days, for Roland
Douglas and Guy had rebuked her for so often in the tales she wove for
their amusement, having Lion Heart as the favoured knight.
"My girlish days at Haughton Hall were very, very happy," she said,
quietly.
"And yet you would not go back to them and leave the dear present,"
said Lionel, looking into her eyes with his mesmeric look, and holding
her hand tight as he assisted her from the carriage after Lady
Esmondet, at the door of the villa.
"How know you, my brave lion-heart; you belong to those days, but I am
content."