CHAPTER XIV

THE COUNTESS DESCRIBES THE FIELD OF ACTION

Now, to clear up a point or two: You may think the Comic Muse is

straining human nature rather toughly in making the Countess de Saldar

rush open-eyed into the jaws of Demogorgon, dreadful to her. She has seen

her brother pointed out unmistakeably as the tailor-fellow. There is yet

time to cast him off or fly with him. Is it her extraordinary heroism

impelling her onward, or infatuated rashness? or is it her mere animal

love of conflict?

The Countess de Saldar, like other adventurers, has her star. They who

possess nothing on earth, have a right to claim a portion of the heavens.

In resolute hands, much may be done with a star. As it has empires in its

gift, so may it have heiresses. The Countess's star had not blinked

balefully at her. That was one reason why she went straight on to

Beckley.

Again: the Countess was a born general. With her star above, with certain

advantages secured, with battalions of lies disciplined and zealous, and

with one clear prize in view, besides other undeveloped benefits dimly

shadowing forth, the Countess threw herself headlong into the enemy's

country.

But, that you may not think too highly of this lady, I must add that the

trivial reason was the exciting cause--as in many great enterprises. This

was nothing more than the simple desire to be located, if but for a day

or two, on the footing of her present rank, in the English country-house

of an offshoot of our aristocracy. She who had moved in the first society

of a foreign capital--who had married a Count, a minister of his

sovereign, had enjoyed delicious high-bred badinage with refulgent

ambassadors, could boast the friendship of duchesses, and had been the

amiable receptacle of their pardonable follies; she who, moreover,

heartily despised things English:--this lady experienced thrills of proud

pleasure at the prospect of being welcomed at a third-rate English

mansion. But then, that mansion was Beckley Court. We return to our first

ambitions, as to our first loves not that they are dearer to us,--quit

that delusion: our ripened loves and mature ambitions are probably

closest to our hearts, as they deserve to be--but we return to them

because our youth has a hold on us which it asserts whenever a

disappointment knocks us down. Our old loves (with the bad natures I know

in them) are always lurking to avenge themselves on the new by tempting

us to a little retrograde infidelity. A schoolgirl in Fallow field, the

tailor's daughter, had sighed for the bliss of Beckley Court. Beckley

Court was her Elysium ere the ardent feminine brain conceived a loftier

summit. Fallen from that attained eminence, she sighed anew for Beckley

Court. Nor was this mere spiritual longing; it had its material side. At

Beckley Court she could feel her foreign rank. Moving with our nobility

as an equal, she could feel that the short dazzling glitter of her career

was not illusory, and had left her something solid; not coin of the realm

exactly, but yet gold. She could not feel this in the Cogglesby saloons,

among pitiable bourgeoises--middle-class people daily soiled by the touch

of tradesmen. They dragged her down. Their very homage was a mockery.

Let the Countess have due credit for still allowing Evan to visit Beckley

Court to follow up his chance. If Demogorgon betrayed her there, the

Count was her protector: a woman rises to her husband. But a man is what

he is, and must stand upon that. She was positive Evan had committed

himself in some manner. As it did not suit her to think so, she at once

encouraged an imaginary conversation, in which she took the argument that

it was quite impossible Evan could have been so mad, and others instanced

his youth, his wrongheaded perversity, his ungenerous disregard for his

devoted sister, and his known weakness: she replying, that undoubtedly

they were right so far: but that he could not have said he himself was

that horrible thing, because he was nothing of the sort: which faith in

Evan's stedfast adherence to facts, ultimately silenced the phantom

opposition, and gained the day.

With admiration let us behold the Countess de Saldar alighting on the

gravel sweep of Beckley Court, the footman and butler of the enemy bowing

obsequious welcome to the most potent visitor Beckley Court has ever yet

embraced.

The despatches of a general being usually acknowledged to be the safest

sources from which the historian of a campaign can draw, I proceed to set

forth a letter of the Countess de Saldar, forwarded to her sister,

Harriet Cogglesby, three mornings after her arrival at Beckley Court; and

which, if it should prove false in a few particulars, does nevertheless

let us into the state of the Countess's mind, and gives the result of

that general's first inspection of the field of action. The Countess's

epistolary English does small credit to her Fallow field education; but

it is feminine, and flows more than her ordinary speech. Besides, leaders

of men have always notoriously been above the honours of grammar.

'MY DEAREST HARRIET,

'Your note awaited me. No sooner my name announced, than servitors in

yellow livery, with powder and buckles started before me, and bowing one

presented it on a salver. A venerable butler--most impressive! led the

way. In future, my dear, let it be de Saldar de Sancorvo. That is our

title by rights, and it may as well be so in England. English Countess is

certainly best. Always put the de. But let us be systematic, as my poor

Silva says. He would be in the way here, and had better not come till I

see something he can do. Silva has great reliance upon me. The farther he

is from Lymport, my dear!--and imagine me, Harriet, driving through

Fallow field to Beckley Court! I gave one peep at Dubbins's, as I passed.

The school still goes on. I saw three little girls skipping, and the old

swing-pole. SEMINARY FOR YOUNG LADIES as bright as ever! I should have

liked to have kissed the children and given them bonbons and a holiday.

'How sparing you English are of your crests and arms! I fully expected to

see the Jocelyns' over my bed; but no--four posts totally without

ornament! Sleep, indeed, must be the result of dire fatigue in such a

bed. The Jocelyn crest is a hawk in jesses. The Elburne arms are, Or,

three falcons on a field, vert. How heraldry reminds me of poor Papa! the

evenings we used to spend with him, when he stayed at home, studying it

so diligently under his directions! We never shall again! Sir Franks

Jocelyn is the third son of Lord Elburne, made a Baronet for his

patriotic support of the Ministry in a time of great trouble. The people

are sometimes grateful, my dear. Lord Elburne is the fourteenth of his

line--originally simple country squires. They talk of the Roses, but we

need not go so very far back as that. I do not quite understand why a

Lord's son should condescend to a Baronetcy. Precedence of some sort for

his lady, I suppose. I have yet to learn whether she ranks by his birth,

or his present title. If so, a young Baronetcy cannot possibly be a gain.

One thing is certain. She cares very little about it. She is most

eccentric. But remember what I have told you. It will be serviceable when

you are speaking of the family.

'The dinner-hour, six. It would no doubt be full seven in Town. I am

convinced you are half-an-hour too early. I had the post of honour to the

right of Sir Franks. Evan to the right of Lady Jocelyn. Most fortunately

he was in the best of spirits--quite brilliant. I saw the eyes of that

sweet Rose glisten. On the other side of me sat my pet diplomatist, and I

gave him one or two political secrets which astonished him. Of course, my

dear, I was wheedled out of them. His contempt for our weak intellects is

ineffable. But a woman must now and then ingratiate herself at the

expense of her sex. This is perfectly legitimate. Tory policy at the

table. The Opposition, as Andrew says, not represented. So to show that

we were human beings, we differed among ourselves, and it soon became

clear to me that Lady Jocelyn is the rankest of Radicals. My secret

suspicion is, that she is a person of no birth whatever, wherever her

money came from. A fine woman--yes; still to be admired, I suppose, by

some kind of men; but totally wanting in the essentially feminine

attractions.

'There was no party, so to say. I will describe the people present,

beginning with the insignifacants.

'First, Mr. Parsley, the curate of Beckley. He eats everything at table,

and agrees with everything. A most excellent orthodox young clergyman.

Except that he was nearly choked by a fish-bone, and could not quite

conceal his distress--and really Rose should have repressed her desire to

laugh till the time for our retirement--he made no sensation. I saw her

eyes watering, and she is not clever in turning it off. In that nobody

ever equalled dear Papa. I attribute the attack almost entirely to the

tightness of the white neck-cloths the young clergymen of the Established

Church wear. But, my dear, I have lived too long away from them to wish

for an instant the slightest change in anything they think, say, or do.

The mere sight of this young man was most refreshing to my spirit. He may

be the shepherd of a flock, this poor Mr. Parsley, but he is a sheep to

one young person.

'Mr. Drummond Forth. A great favourite of Lady Jocelyn's; an old friend.

He went with them to the East. Nothing improper. She is too cold for

that. He is fair, with regular features, very self-possessed, and

ready--your English notions of gentlemanly. But none of your men treat a

woman as a woman. We are either angels, or good fellows, or heaven knows

what that is bad. No exquisite delicacy, no insinuating softness, mixed

with respect, none of that hovering over the border, as Papa used to say,

none of that happy indefiniteness of manner which seems to declare "I

would love you if I might," or "I do, but I dare not tell," even when

engaged in the most trivial attentions--handing a footstool, remarking on

the soup, etc. You none of you know how to meet a woman's smile, or to

engage her eyes without boldness--to slide off them, as it were,

gracefully. Evan alone can look between the eyelids of a woman. I have

had to correct him, for to me he quite exposes the state of his heart

towards dearest Rose. She listens to Mr. Forth with evident esteem. In

Portugal we do not understand young ladies having male friends.

'Hamilton Jocelyn--all politics. The stiff Englishman. Not a shade of

manners. He invited me to drink wine. Before I had finished my bow his

glass was empty--the man was telling an anecdote of Lord Livelyston! You

may be sure, my dear, I did not say I had seen his lordship.

'Seymour Jocelyn, Colonel of Hussars. He did nothing but sigh for the

cold weather, and hunting. All I envied him was his moustache for Evan.

Will you believe that the ridiculous boy has shaved!

'Then there is Melville, my dear diplomatist; and here is another

instance of our Harrington luck. He has the gout in his right hand; he

can only just hold knife and fork, and is interdicted Port-wine and

penmanship. The dinner was not concluded before I had arranged that Evan

should resume (gratuitously, you know) his post of secretary to him. So

here is Evan fixed at Beckley Court as long as Melville stays. Talking of

him, I am horrified suddenly. They call him the great Mel! 'Sir Franks is

most estimable, I am sure, as a man, and redolent of excellent

qualities--a beautiful disposition, very handsome. He has just as much

and no more of the English polish one ordinarily meets. When he has given

me soup or fish, bowed to me over wine, and asked a conventional

question, he has done with me. I should imagine his opinions to be

extremely good, for they are not a multitude.

'Then his lady-but I have not grappled with her yet. Now for the women,

for I quite class her with the opposite sex.

'You must know that before I retired for the night, I induced Conning to

think she had a bad head-ache, and Rose lent me her lady's-maid--they

call the creature Polly. A terrible talker. She would tell all about the

family. Rose has been speaking of Evan. It would have looked better had

she been quiet--but then she is so English!'

Here the Countess breaks off to say, that from where she is writing, she

can see Rose and Evan walking out to the cypress avenue, and that no eyes

are on them; great praise being given to the absence of suspicion in the

Jocelyn nature.

The communication is resumed the night of the same day.

'Two days at Beckley Court are over, and that strange sensation I had of

being an intruder escaped from Dubbins's, and expecting every instant the

old schoolmistress to call for me, and expose me, and take me to the dark

room, is quite vanished, and I feel quite at home, quite happy. Evan is

behaving well. Quite the young nobleman. With the women I had no fear of

him; he is really admirable with the men--easy, and talks of sport and

politics, and makes the proper use of Portugal. He has quite won the

heart of his sister. Heaven smiles on us, dearest Harriet!

'We must be favoured, my dear, for Evan is very

troublesome--distressingly inconsiderate! I left him for a day-remaining

to comfort poor Mama--and on the road he picked up an object he had known

at school, and this creature, in shameful garments, is seen in the field

where Rose and Evan are riding--in a dreadful hat--Rose might well laugh

at it!--he is seen running away from an old apple woman, whose fruit he

had consumed without means to liquidate; but, of course, he rushes bolt

up to Evan before all his grand company, and claims acquaintance, and

Evan was base enough to acknowledge him! He disengaged himself so far

well by tossing his purse to the wretch, but if he knows not how to--cut,

I assure him it will be his ruin. Resolutely he must cast the dust off

his shoes, or he will be dragged down to their level. By the way, as to

hands and feet, comparing him with the Jocelyn men, he has every mark of

better blood. Not a question about it. As Papa would say--We have

Nature's proof.

'Looking out on a beautiful lawn, and the moon, and all sorts of trees, I

must now tell you about the ladies here.

'Conning undid me to-night. While Conning remains unattached, Conning is

likely to be serviceable. If Evan, would only give her a crumb, she would

be his most faithful dog. I fear he cannot be induced, and Conning will

be snapped up by somebody else. You know how susceptible she is behind

her primness--she will be of no use on earth, and I shall find excuse to

send her back immediately. After all, her appearance here was all that

was wanted.

'Mrs. Melville and her dreadful juvenile are here, as you may

imagine--the complete Englishwoman. I smile on her, but I could laugh. To

see the crow's-feet under her eyes on her white skin, and those ringlets,

is really too ridiculous. Then there is a Miss Carrington, Lady Jocelyn's

cousin, aged thirty-two--if she has not tampered with the register of her

birth. I should think her equal to it. Between dark and fair. Always in

love with some man, Conning tells me she hears. Rose's maid, Polly,

hinted the same. She has a little money.

'But my sympathies have been excited by a little cripple--a niece of Lady

Jocelyn's and the favourite grand-daughter of the rich old Mrs.

Bonner--also here--Juliana Bonner. Her age must be twenty. You would take

her for ten. In spite of her immense expectations, the Jocelyns hate her.

They can hardly be civil to her. It is the poor child's temper. She has

already begun to watch dear Evan--certainly the handsomest of the men

here as yet, though I grant you, they are well-grown men, these Jocelyns,

for an untravelled Englishwoman. I fear, dear Harriet, we have been

dreadfully deceived about Rose. The poor child has not, in her own right,

much more than a tenth part of what we supposed, I fear. It was that Mrs.

Melville. I have had occasion to notice her quiet boasts here. She said

this morning, "when Mel is in the Ministry"--he is not yet in Parliament!

I feel quite angry with the woman, and she is not so cordial as she might

be. I have her profile very frequently while I am conversing with her.

'With Grandmama Bonner I am excellent good friends,--venerable silver

hair, high caps, etc. More of this most interesting Juliana Bonner

by-and-by. It is clear to me that Rose's fortune is calculated upon the

dear invalid's death! Is not that harrowing? It shocks me to think of it.

'Then there is Mrs. Shorne. She is a Jocelyn--and such a history! She

married a wealthy manufacturer--bartered her blood for his money, and he

failed, and here she resides, a bankrupt widow, petitioning any man that

may be willing for his love AND a decent home. AND--I say in charity.

'Mrs. Shorne comes here to-morrow. She is at present with--guess, my

dear!--with Lady Racial. Do not be alarmed. I have met Lady Racial. She

heard Evan's name, and by that and the likeness I saw she knew at once,

and I saw a truce in her eyes. She gave me a tacit assurance of it--she

was engaged to dine here yesterday, and put it off--probably to grant us

time for composure. If she comes I do not fear her. Besides, has she not

reasons? Providence may have designed her for a staunch ally--I will not

say, confederate.

'Would that Providence had fixed this beautiful mansion five hundred

miles from L-----, though it were in a desolate region! And that reminds

me of the Madre. She is in health. She always will be overbearingly

robust till the day we are bereft of her. There was some secret in the

house when I was there, which I did not trouble to penetrate. That little

Jane F----was there--not improved.

'Pray, be firm about Torquay. Estates mortgaged, but hopes of saving a

remnant of the property. Third son! Don't commit yourself there. We dare

not baronetize him. You need not speak it--imply. More can be done that

way.

'And remember, dear Harriet, that you must manage Andrew so that we may

positively promise his vote to the Ministry on all questions when

Parliament next assembles. I understood from Lord Livelyston, that

Andrew's vote would be thought much of. A most amusing nobleman! He

pledged himself to nothing! But we are above such a thing as a commercial

transaction. He must countenance Silva. Women, my dear, have sent out

armies--why not fleets? Do not spare me your utmost aid in my extremity,

my dearest sister.

'As for Strike, I refuse to speak of him. He is insufferable and next to

useless. How can one talk with any confidence of relationship with a

Major of Marines? When I reflect on what he is, and his conduct to

Caroline, I have inscrutable longings to slap his face. Tell dear Carry

her husband's friend--the chairman or something of that wonderful company

of Strike's--you know--the Duke of Belfield is coming here. He is a

blood-relation of the Elburnes, therefore of the Jocelyns. It will not

matter at all. Breweries, I find, are quite in esteem in your England. It

was highly commendable in his Grace to visit you. Did he come to see the

Major of Marines? Caroline is certainly the loveliest woman I ever

beheld, and I forgive her now the pangs of jealousy she used to make me

feel.

'Andrew, I hope, has received the most kind invitations of the Jocelyns.

He must come. Melville must talk with him about the votes of his

abominable brother in Fallow field. We must elect Melville and have the

family indebted to us. But pray be careful that Andrew speaks not a word

to his odious brother about our location here. It would set him dead

against these hospitable Jocelyns. It will perhaps be as well, dear

Harriet, if you do not accompany Andrew. You would not be able to account

for him quite thoroughly. Do as you like--I do but advise, and you know I

may be trusted--for our sakes, dear one! I am working for Carry to come

with Andrew. Beautiful women always welcome. A prodigy!--if they wish to

astonish the Duke. Adieu! Heaven bless your babes!'

The night passes, and the Countess pursues:

'Awakened by your fresh note from a dream of Evan on horseback, and a

multitude hailing him Count Jocelyn for Fallow field! A morning dream.

They might desire that he should change his name; but "Count" is

preposterous, though it may conceal something.

'You say Andrew will come, and talk of his bringing Caroline. Anything to

give our poor darling a respite from her brute. You deserve great credit

for your managing of that dear little good-natured piece of obstinate

man. I will at once see to prepare dear Caroline's welcome, and trust her

stay may be prolonged in the interest of common humanity. They have her

story here already.

'Conning has come in, and says that young Mr. Harry Jocelyn will be here

this morning from Fallow field, where he has been cricketing. The family

have not spoken of him in my hearing. He is not, I think, in good odour

at home--a scapegrace. Rose's maid, Polly, quite flew out when I happened

to mention him, and broke one of my laces. These English maids are

domesticated savage animals.

'My chocolate is sent up, exquisitely concocted, in plate of the purest

quality--lovely little silver cups! I have already quite set the fashion

for the ladies to have chocolate in bed. The men, I hear, complain that

there is no lady at the breakfast-table. They have Miss Carrington to

superintend. I read, in the subdued satisfaction of her eyes (completely

without colour), how much she thanks me and the institution of chocolate

in bed. Poor Miss Carrington is no match for her opportunities. One may

give them to her without dread.

'It is ten on the Sabbath morn. The sweet churchbells are ringing. It

seems like a dream. There is nothing but the religion attaches me to

England; but that--is not that everything? How I used to sigh on Sundays

to hear them in Portugal!

'I have an idea of instituting toilette-receptions. They will not please

Miss Carrington so well.

'Now to the peaceful village church, and divine worship. Adieu, my dear.

I kiss my fingers to Silva. Make no effort to amuse him. He is always

occupied. Bread!--he asks no more. Adieu! Carry will be invited with your

little man .... You unhappily unable .... She, the sister I pine to see,

to show her worthy of my praises. Expectation and excitement! Adieu!'

Filled with pleasing emotions at the thought of the service in the quiet

village church, and worshipping in the principal pew, under the blazonry

of the Jocelyn arms, the Countess sealed her letter and addressed it, and

then examined the name of Cogglesby; which plebeian name, it struck her,

would not sound well to the menials of Beckley Court. While she was

deliberating what to do to conceal it, she heard, through her open

window, the voices of some young men laughing. She beheld her brother

pass these young men, and bow to them. She beheld them stare at him

without at all returning his salute, and then one of them--the same who

had filled her ears with venom at Fallow field--turned to the others and

laughed outrageously, crying--

'By Jove! this comes it strong. Fancy the snipocracy here--eh?'

What the others said the Countess did not wait to hear. She put on her

bonnet hastily, tried the effect of a peculiar smile in the mirror, and

lightly ran down-stairs.