CHAPTER XXI

TRIBULATIONS AND TACTICS OF THE COUNTESS

'You have murdered my brother, Rose Jocelyn!'

'Don't say so now.'

Such was the interchange between the two that loved the senseless youth,

as he was being lifted into the carriage.

Lady Jocelyn sat upright in her saddle, giving directions about what was

to be done with Evan and the mare, impartially.

'Stunned, and a good deal shaken, I suppose; Lymport's knees are terribly

cut,' she said to Drummond, who merely nodded. And Seymour remarked,

'Fifty guineas knocked off her value!' One added, 'Nothing worse, I

should think'; and another, 'A little damage inside, perhaps.' Difficult

to say whether they spoke of Evan or the brute.

No violent outcries; no reproaches cast on the cold-blooded coquette; no

exclamations on the heroism of her brother! They could absolutely spare a

thought for the animal! And Evan had risked his life for this, and might

die unpitied. The Countess diversified her grief with a deadly bitterness

against the heartless Jocelyns.

Oh, if Evan dies! will it punish Rose sufficiently?

Andrew expressed emotion, but not of a kind the Countess liked a relative

to be seen exhibiting; for in emotion worthy Andrew betrayed to her his

origin offensively.

'Go away and puke, if you must,' she said, clipping poor Andrew's word

about his 'dear boy.' She could not help speaking in that way--he was so

vulgar. A word of sympathy from Lady Jocelyn might have saved her from

the sourness into which her many conflicting passions were resolving; and

might also have saved her ladyship from the rancour she had sown in the

daughter of the great Mel by her selection of epithets to characterize

him.

Will it punish Rose at all, if Evan dies?

Rose saw that she was looked at. How could the Countess tell that Rose

envied her the joy of holding Evan in the carriage there? Rose, to judge

by her face, was as calm as glass. Not so well seen through, however.

Mrs. Evremonde rode beside her, whose fingers she caught, and twined her

own with them tightly once for a fleeting instant. Mrs. Evremonde wanted

no further confession of her state.

Then Rose said to her mother, 'Mama, may I ride to have the doctor

ready?'

Ordinarily, Rose would have clapped heel to horse the moment the thought

came. She waited for the permission, and flew off at a gallop, waving

back Laxley, who was for joining her.

'Franks will be a little rusty about the mare,' the Countess heard Lady

Jocelyn say; and Harry just then stooped his head to the carriage, and

said, in his blunt fashion, 'After all, it won't show much.'

'We are not cattle!' exclaimed the frenzied Countess, within her bosom.

Alas! it was almost a democratic outcry they made her guilty of; but she

was driven past patience. And as a further provocation, Evan would open

his eyes. She laid her handkerchief over them with loving delicacy,

remembering in a flash that her own face had been all the while exposed

to Mr. George Uplift; and then the terrors of his presence at Beckley

Court came upon her, and the fact that she had not for the last ten

minutes been the serene Countess de Saldar; and she quite hated Andrew,

for vulgarity in others evoked vulgarity in her, which was the reason why

she ranked vulgarity as the chief of the deadly sins. Her countenance for

Harry and all the others save poor Andrew was soon the placid

heaven-confiding sister's again; not before Lady Jocelyn had found cause

to observe to Drummond:

'Your Countess doesn't ruffle well.'

But a lady who is at war with two or three of the facts of Providence,

and yet will have Providence for her ally, can hardly ruffle well. Do not

imagine that the Countess's love for her brother was hollow. She was

assured when she came up to the spot where he fell, that there was no

danger; he had but dislocated his shoulder, and bruised his head a

little. Hearing this, she rose out of her clamorous heart, and seized the

opportunity for a small burst of melodrama. Unhappily, Lady Jocelyn, who

gave the tone to the rest, was a Spartan in matters of this sort; and as

she would have seen those dearest to her bear the luck of the field, she

could see others. When the call for active help reached her, you beheld a

different woman.

The demonstrativeness the Countess thirsted for was afforded her by Juley

Bonner, and in a measure by her sister Caroline, who loved Evan

passionately. The latter was in riding attire, about to mount to ride and

meet them, accompanied by the Duke. Caroline had hastily tied up her

hair; a rich golden brown lump of it hung round her cheek; her limpid

eyes and anxiously-nerved brows impressed the Countess wonderfully as she

ran down the steps and bent her fine well-filled bust forward to ask the

first hurried question.

The Countess patted her shoulder. 'Safe, dear,' she said aloud, as one

who would not make much of it. And in a whisper, 'You look superb.'

I must charge it to Caroline's beauty under the ducal radiance, that a

stream of sweet feelings entering into the Countess made her forget to

tell her sister that George Uplift was by. Caroline had not been abroad,

and her skin was not olive-hued; she was a beauty, and a majestic figure,

little altered since the day when the wooden marine marched her out of

Lymport.

The Countess stepped from the carriage to go and cherish Juliana's

petulant distress; for that unhealthy little body was stamping with

impatience to have the story told to her, to burst into fits of pathos;

and while Seymour and Harry assisted Evan to descend, trying to laugh off

the pain he endured, Caroline stood by, soothing him with words and

tender looks.

Lady Jocelyn passed him, and took his hand, saying, 'Not killed this

time!'

'At your ladyship's service to-morrow,' he replied, and his hand was

kindly squeezed.

'My darling Evan, you will not ride again?' Caroline cried, kissing him

on the steps; and the Duke watched the operation, and the Countess

observed the Duke.

That Providence should select her sweetest moments to deal her wounds,

was cruel; but the Countess just then distinctly heard Mr. George Uplift

ask Miss Carrington.

'Is that lady a Harrington?'

'You perceive a likeness?' was the answer.

Mr. George went 'Whew!--tit-tit-tit!' with the profound expression of a

very slow mind.

The scene was quickly over. There was barely an hour for the ladies to

dress for dinner. Leaving Evan in the doctor's hand, and telling Caroline

to dress in her room, the Countess met Rose, and gratified her

vindictiveness, while she furthered her projects, by saying:

'Not till my brother is quite convalescent will it be adviseable that you

should visit him. I am compelled to think of him entirely now. In his

present state he is not fit to be, played with.'

Rose, stedfastly eyeing her, seemed to swallow down something in her

throat, and said:

'I will obey you, Countess. I hoped you would allow me to nurse him.'

'Quiet above all things, Rose Jocelyn!' returned the Countess, with the

suavity of a governess, who must be civil in her sourness. 'If you would

not complete this morning's achievement--stay away.'

The Countess declined to see that Rose's lip quivered. She saw an

unpleasantness in the bottom of her eyes; and now that her brother's

decease was not even remotely to be apprehended, she herself determined

to punish the cold, unimpressionable coquette of a girl. Before returning

to Caroline, she had five minutes' conversation with. Juliana, which

fully determined her to continue the campaign at Beckley Court, commence

decisive movements, and not to retreat, though fifty George Uplofts

menaced her. Consequently, having dismissed Conning on a message to Harry

Jocelyn, to ask him for a list of the names of the new people they were

to meet that day at dinner, she said to Caroline:

'My dear, I think it will be incumbent on us to depart very quickly.'

Much to the Countess's chagrin and astonishment, Caroline replied:

'I shall hardly be sorry.'

'Not sorry? Why, what now, dear one? Is it true, then, that a flagellated

female kisses the rod? Are you so eager for a repetition of Strike?'

Caroline, with some hesitation, related to her more than the Countess had

ventured to petition for in her prayers.

'Oh! how exceedingly generous!' the latter exclaimed. How very refreshing

to think that there are nobles in your England as romantic, as courteous,

as delicate as our own foreign ones! But his Grace is quite an

exceptional nobleman. Are you not touched, dearest Carry?'

Caroline pensively glanced at the reflection of her beautiful arm in the

glass, and sighed, pushing back the hair from her temples.

'But, for mercy's sake!' resumed the Countess, in alarm at the sigh, 'do

not be too--too touched. Do, pray, preserve your wits. You weep!

Caroline, Caroline! O my goodness; it is just five-and-twenty minutes to

the first dinner-bell, and you are crying! For God's sake, think of your

face! Are you going to be a Gorgon? And you show the marks twice as long

as any other, you fair women. Squinnying like this! Caroline, for your

Louisa's sake, do not!'

Hissing which, half angrily and half with entreaty, the Countess dropped

on her knees. Caroline's fit of tears subsided. The eldest of the

sisters, she was the kindest, the fairest, the weakest.

'Not,' said the blandishing Countess, when Caroline's face was clearer,

'not that my best of Carrys does not look delicious in her shower. Cry,

with your hair down, and you would subdue any male creature on two legs.

And that reminds me of that most audacious Marquis de Remilla. He saw a

dirty drab of a fruit-girl crying in Lisbon streets one day, as he was

riding in the carriage of the Duchesse de Col da Rosta, and her husband

and duena, and he had a letter for her--the Duchesse. They loved! How

deliver the letter? "Save me!" he cried to the Duchesse, catching her

hand, and pressing his heart, as if very sick. The Duchesse felt the

paper--turned her hand over on her knee, and he withdrew his. What does

my Carry think was the excuse he tendered the Duke? This--and this gives

you some idea of the wonderful audacity of those dear Portuguese--that

he--he must precipitate himself and marry any woman he saw weep, and be

her slave for the term of his natural life, unless another woman's hand

at the same moment restrained him! There!' and the Countess's eyes shone

brightly.

'How excessively imbecile!' Caroline remarked, hitherto a passive

listener to these Lusitanian contes.

It was the first sign she had yet given of her late intercourse with a

positive Duke, and the Countess felt it, and drew back. No more anecdotes

for Caroline, to whom she quietly said:

'You are very English, dear!'

'But now, the Duke--his Grace,' she went on, 'how did he inaugurate?'

'I spoke to him of Evan's position. God forgive me!--I said that was the

cause of my looks being sad.'

'You could have thought of nothing better,' interposed the Countess.

'Yes?'

'He said, if he might clear them he should be happy!

'In exquisite language, Carry, of course.'

'No; just as others talk.'

'Hum!' went the Countess, and issued again brightly from a cloud of

reflection, with the remark: 'It was to seem business-like--the

commerciality of the English mind. To the point--I know. Well, you

perceive, my sweetest, that Evan's interests are in your hands. You dare

not quit the field. In one week, I fondly trust, he will be secure. What

more did his Grace say? May we not be the repository of such delicious

secresies?'

Caroline gave tremulous indications about the lips, and the Countess

jumped to the bell and rang it, for they were too near dinner for the

trace of a single tear to be permitted. The bell and the appearance of

Conning effectually checked the flood.

While speaking to her sister, the Countess had hesitated to mention

George Uplift's name, hoping that, as he had no dinner-suit, he would not

stop to dinner that day, and would fall to the charge of Lady Racial once

more. Conning, however, brought in a sheet of paper on which the names of

the guests were written out by Harry, a daily piece of service he

performed for the captivating dame, and George Uplift's name was in the

list.

'We will do the rest, Conning-retire,' she said, and then folding

Caroline in her arms, murmured, the moment they were alone, 'Will my

Carry dress her hair plain to-day, for the love of her Louisa?'

'Goodness! what a request!' exclaimed Caroline, throwing back her head to

see if her Louisa could be serious.

'Most inexplicable--is it not? Will she do it?'

'Flat, dear? It makes a fright of me.'

'Possibly. May I beg it?'

'But why, dearest, why? If I only knew why!'

'For the love of your Louy.'

'Plain along the temples?'

'And a knot behind.'

'And a band along the forehead?'

'Gems, if they meet your favour.'

'But my cheek-bones, Louisa?'

'They are not too prominent, Carry.'

'Curls relieve them.'

'The change will relieve the curls, dear one.'

Caroline looked in the glass, at the Countess, as polished a reflector,

and fell into a chair. Her hair was accustomed to roll across her

shoulders in heavy curls. The Duke would find a change of the sort

singular. She should not at all know herself with her hair done

differently: and for a lovely woman to be transformed to a fright is hard

to bear in solitude, or in imagination.

'Really!' she petitioned.

'Really--yes, or no?' added the Countess.

'So unaccountable a whim!' Caroline looked in the glass dolefully, and

pulled up her thick locks from one cheek, letting them fall on the

instant.

'She will?' breathed the Countess.

'I really cannot,' said Caroline, with vehemence.

The Countess burst into laughter, replying: 'My poor child! it is not my

whim--it is your obligation. George Uplift dines here to-day. Now do you

divine it? Disguise is imperative for you.'

Mrs. Strike, gazing in her sister's face, answered slowly, 'George? But

how will you meet him?' she hurriedly asked.

'I have met him,' rejoined the Countess, boldly. 'I defy him to know me.

I brazen him! You with your hair in my style are equally safe. You see

there is no choice. Pooh! contemptible puppy!'

'But I never,'--Caroline was going to say she never could face him. 'I

will not dine. I will nurse Evan.'

'You have faced him, my dear,' said the Countess, 'and you are to change

your head-dress simply to throw him off his scent.'

As she spoke the Countess tripped about, nodding her head like a girl.

Triumph in the sense of her power over all she came in contact with,

rather elated the lady.

Do you see why she worked her sister in this roundabout fashion? She

would not tell her George Uplift was in the house till she was sure he

intended to stay, for fear of frightening her. When the necessity became

apparent, she put it under the pretext of a whim in order to see how far

Caroline, whose weak compliance she could count on, and whose reticence

concerning the Duke annoyed her, would submit to it to please her sister;

and if she rebelled positively, why to be sure it was the Duke she

dreaded to shock: and, therefore, the Duke had a peculiar hold on her:

and, therefore, the Countess might reckon that she would do more than she

pleased to confess to remain with the Duke, and was manageable in that

quarter. All this she learnt without asking. I need not add, that

Caroline sighingly did her bidding.

'We must all be victims in our turn, Carry,' said the Countess. 'Evan's

prospects--it may be, Silva's restoration--depend upon your hair being

dressed plain to-day. Reflect on that!'

Poor Caroline obeyed; but she was capable of reflecting only that her

face was unnaturally lean and strange to her.

The sisters tended and arranged one another, taking care to push their

mourning a month or two ahead and the Countess animadverted on the vulgar

mind of Lady Jocelyn, who would allow a 'gentleman to sit down at a

gentlewoman's table, in full company, in pronounced undress': and

Caroline, utterly miserable, would pretend that she wore a mask and kept

grimacing as they do who are not accustomed to paint on the cheeks, till

the Countess checked her by telling her she should ask her for that

before the Duke.

After a visit to Evan, the sisters sailed together into the drawing-room.

'Uniformity is sometimes a gain,' murmured the Countess, as they were

parting in the middle of the room. She saw that their fine figures, and

profiles, and resemblance in contrast, produced an effect. The Duke wore

one of those calmly intent looks by which men show they are aware of

change in the heavens they study, and are too devout worshippers to

presume to disapprove. Mr. George was standing by Miss Carrington, and he

also watched Mrs. Strike. To bewilder him yet more the Countess persisted

in fixing her eyes upon his heterodox apparel, and Mr. George became

conscious and uneasy. Miss Carrington had to address her question to him

twice before he heard. Melville Jocelyn, Sir John Loring, Sir Franks, and

Hamilton surrounded the Countess, and told her what they had decided on

with regard to the election during the day; for Melville was warm in his

assertion that they would not talk to the Countess five minutes without

getting a hint worth having.

'Call to us that man who is habited like a groom,' said the Countess,

indicating Mr. George. 'I presume he is in his right place up here?'

'Whew--take care, Countess--our best man. He's good for a dozen,' said

Hamilton.

Mr. George was brought over and introduced to the Countess de Saldar.

'So the oldest Tory in the county is a fox?' she said, in allusion to the

hunt. Never did Caroline Strike admire her sister's fearful genius more

than at that moment.

Mr. George ducked and rolled his hand over his chin, with 'ah-um!' and

the like, ended by a dry laugh.

'Are you our supporter, Mr. Uplift?'

'Tory interest, ma--um--my lady.'

'And are you staunch and may be trusted?'

''Pon my honour, I think I have that reputation.'

'And you would not betray us if we give you any secrets? Say "'Pon my

honour," again. You launch it out so courageously.'

The men laughed, though they could not see what the Countess was driving

at. She had for two minutes spoken as she spoke when a girl, and

George--entirely off his guard and unsuspicious--looked unenlightened. If

he knew, there were hints enough for him in her words.

If he remained blind, they might pass as air. The appearance of the

butler cut short his protestation as to his powers of secresy.

The Countess dismissed him.

'You will be taken into our confidence when we require you.' And she

resumed her foreign air in a most elaborate and overwhelming bow.

She was now perfectly satisfied that she was safe from Mr. George, and,

as she thoroughly detested the youthful squire, she chose to propagate a

laugh at him by saying with the utmost languor and clearness of voice, as

they descended the stairs:

'After all, a very clever fox may be a very dull dog--don't you think?'

Gentlemen in front of her, and behind, heard it, and at Mr. George's

expense her reputation rose.

Thus the genius of this born general prompted her to adopt the principle

in tactics--boldly to strike when you are in the dark as to your enemy's

movements.