CHAPTER VIII.
THE CHALGROVE EYEBROWS.
We passed into a large, oak-paneled hall, and then up a wide, shallow staircase, carpeted with soft crimson carpet, and lined with large oil paintings, chiefly portraits. At the head of the stairs we were received by Mrs. Cholmondeley, all smiles, diamonds, and blue crêpe. She was surrounded by a crowd which appeared to have overflowed from the reception-rooms. Our hostess passed on my three companions, with three smiles and three hurried nods, but looked at me for quite five seconds, and, putting forth a most dainty hand, drew me affectionately towards her.
“She is in my charge now,” she called after the Miss Bennys. “Thank you so much. Dear me!” she continued, turning to me with a little dry laugh, “do you know that you are a very pretty and distinguished-looking girl, and are bound to be the belle of the evening? Yes, indeed, my charming, blushing Cinderella. Aubrey Price, come here,” beckoning to an extremely lackadaisical young man, who now lazily approached. “I give Miss Hayes into your charge. Take the greatest care of her. Take her to the refreshment-room—the morning-room, you know—and get her tea—or something.”
And, behold! I was launched out there and then into an acquaintance. My cavalier surveyed me, and I surveyed my cavalier, with much gravity. He was fair, slight, rather good-looking, and clean-shaven. He displayed a vast expanse of shirt-front, and wore a pair of exquisitely fitting gloves.
“Well, I suppose we must obey orders,” he answered, “whether you want tea or not.”
We accordingly wended our way to the buffet, where he exerted himself to procure me a cup of coffee, and stood and watched me as I sipped it. I looked up suddenly, and caught his rather small, keen blue eyes fixed on me, and nearly upset the contents of my cup over the front of my immaculate white gown.
“These sort of half-and-half affairs are ghastly,” he remarked, as he took my cup. “Don’t you think so?”
“No; I do not,” I answered bravely, for this fine old house, crowds of gay, well-dressed people, delicious strains of a string band, lights, flowers, pictures, were to my mind extremely enjoyable. “But, of course, I should prefer a real dance.”
“And I should not,” he rejoined energetically. “Here, at least, you can sneak away and go to sleep in a comfortable armchair; but at what you call a ‘real dance,’ upon my word, the way in which hostesses drive and hustle one about is enough to call for the intervention of the police or the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals; and, if you stand against a wall, people trample on your feet!” At the mere recollection of his sufferings, he almost looked as if he was going to cry.
“The remedy is in your own hands,” I replied unfeelingly. “Dance.”
“No, no,”—shaking his head,—“not if I know it. I don’t mind sitting out now and then, just to oblige; but I draw the line at dancing. I’m too old.”
I gazed at him in amazement. He could not be more than four or five-and-twenty at the most.
“Then why do you go to dances, where you are so cruelly ill-used?” I asked; “hustled, as you say, and driven about and trampled on?”
“Oh, I only go when duty calls me, and, thank goodness, that is not often. When the ball is given by one’s cousin’s cousin, or one’s aunt, or some old pal of my governor’s.”
“Then your father is actually alive?”
“Alive! I should think so! And a younger man than I am. He dances, so does my mother.”
“Really! And you go about in a bath-chair?”
“Well, not just yet. I’m not altogether so feeble as I look”—in a bantering tone. “I say, are you staying in the house?”
“No; I have only just arrived.”
“Then”—with much animation—“did you notice if it was freezing when you came along?”
“No; it was just beginning to drizzle.”
“Then that’s all right. You see, the hounds meet here to-morrow, the best draw at this side of the county, and the country is all plain sailing, very sound going. You hunt, of course?”
“No, indeed. But do you?”
“Don’t I? Every one hunts down here. I’ve had fifty days this winter already.”
“Oh, then you are not too decrepit to ride?” I inquired.
He stared at me for a second, and burst into a roar of laughter as he answered—
“I hunt six days a week regular; there’s nothing to touch it.”
“You must require a good many horses.”
“Yes, pretty well; I have thirty, but two of them are dead lame, and three are mere jumping hacks. Would you like to come down-stairs and do the picture-gallery? This blessed demi-semi dance won’t begin for an hour.”
“I should like to see the pictures very much indeed,” I answered; and we made our way slowly back to the head of the stairs. The crowd was immense. There seemed to be two or three hundred people present. The grand staircase was deserted now. Guests had arrived and ebbed away to the ball-room or tea-room. We descended the delightfully shallow stairs side by side, I moving with the dignity due to my rich satin train, which trailed behind me languidly.
There were some new arrivals in the hall, chiefly men. One of them looked up suddenly, and I saw that it was Mr. Somers. He contemplated me and my cavalier with unconcealed surprise. However, he had evidently made up his mind that I was no ghost, but my own solid self, for as I put my white slipper on the last step, he came forward with an out-stretched hand, and said—
“How do you do, Miss Hayes? You were the last to speed me, and almost the first person I meet when I return home. Hullo, Aubrey,” to my companion, “going strong, eh? How are all the horses?”
“Oh, fairly fit. When did you come back?”
“This afternoon; and my sister put me on duty at once, you see. She is stopping all night for the meet to-morrow, and so am I.”
“So am I,” echoed the other triumphantly.
“How is Mrs. Hayes?” inquired Mr. Somers. “Is she here this evening?”
“She is pretty well, thank you. No, she is not here to-night.”
“Are you staying in the neighborhood?”
“Yes; for the present—at Stonebrook.”
“I’m delighted to hear it. Where are you bound for, Aubrey?”
“We are going to do the pictures. I’m showman.”
“What a preposterous fraud! Miss Hayes, he knows no more of pictures than he does of making a watch! I’ll take you round the gallery; at least, I know a Landseer from a Rubens.”
“Not a little bit of it,” rejoined the other. “Miss Hayes was given into my sole charge—were you not, Miss Hayes?—and I am responsible for her. Go up-stairs—you will find some old friends,” he added, rather significantly.
During this polite competition for my company, Miss Benny and her cousin had been hovering about in our vicinity, and now accosted me—
“Ahem, Miss Hayes, my dear, the dancing will not begin for half an hour; don’t you think you had better come and sit with us till then?”
But I had not forgotten my recent treatment at her hands, and said—
“Oh, thank you, Miss Benny, I am just going to see the pictures, as you recommended, and you know I have sat with you for nearly an hour already in the fly, and you will have me again going back.”
Miss Benny sniffed, glared, and backed herself away in purple wrath.
“I see you are a match for Miss Benny,” said Mr. Somers, with a grin.
“Miss Hayes is a match for most people. She has been pitching into me for not dancing,” said my escort with serene complacency.
“And quite right too, you are a lazy beggar!”
But I noticed that Mr. Somers looked at me with a puzzled air. I dare say he scarcely recognized the meek, shabbily dressed girl of last July in the present Miss Hayes. I was puzzled also—I scarcely recognized myself. I was tête montée; my surroundings, my splendid gown, had transformed me; it was certainly another young woman, a total stranger, who was sauntering about in my body, and treading on air!
“When the dancing begins I shall fetch you, Miss Hayes. I hope you will give me the first waltz,” and he took out a small pencil, “and two others. May I have five and ten?”
“Yes; but I should warn you that I am not an experienced performer.”
“So much the better; you won’t want to steer,” writing rapidly on his shirt cuff.
To my great surprise I saw Mr. Aubrey Price also preparing his shirt cuff for manuscript.
“And I—how many may I have, if you please?”
“Oh, really, I should not like to victimize you,” I protested.
“Nonsense! Shall we say the first square and the pas de quatre?”
“Very well, if it will not be too fatiguing for you,” I replied, and he also scribbled on his cuff; and then we walked on into the picture-gallery.
The gallery was full of people, and between looking at them and the pictures the moments flew. I had not half made the tour of the paintings when I found Mr. Somers already claiming me. We went up-stairs to the dancing-room—two immense drawing-rooms, decorated with flowers and palms. The deep windows held seats, and there were two or three sofas at one end of the ball-room, otherwise it was empty. A string band was stationed in the conservatory. Many couples were swimming round to the strains of the Hydropaten waltz, and in another second Mr. Somers and I had joined them.
The floor was perfect, and the music corresponded. Dancing came to me almost by nature, and I had been extremely well taught; then I was young, slender, tireless. We went round, and round, and round, with an easy swing, until the waltz ceased in one long-drawn-out, wo-begone wail.
“Thank you,” said my partner; “that was a treat! Your estimation of your dancing is too modest. You dance like a South American.”
As I had never seen a South American, I could not say whether that was a compliment or otherwise. Whilst we threaded our way into the tea-room, I noticed that my partner appeared to know every one, and that they all seemed glad to see him. Smiling ladies accosted him and asked when he had come back; men slapped him on the shoulder, and I noticed that some looked hard at him, and then sharply at me. At last we reached our goal, and as he brought me an ice he said—
“Where did you learn to dance?”
“In Paris. I was at school there for four years.”
“Then, of course, you speak French like a native?”
“I can make myself understood.”
“I see you are accustomed to under-rate your accomplishments. Shall we go into the next room, and get out of this crush?”
We moved into what was Mrs. Cholmondeley’s boudoir, and was now reserved for sitters-out. Here I recognized several familiar faces. Amongst them the Miss Bennys and their cousin, who were seated in a row watching me. Close beside us, before the fire, stood an animated, not to say noisy group, consisting of half a dozen young men and several girls. One of the latter was the center of attraction; every one of the others seemed to address her, or to wish for her sole attention, and I did not wonder. She appeared to be exceedingly vivacious and amusing, and was pretty and uncommon-looking. Her costume was peculiar, but I rightly guessed it to be the work of a Parisian artiste. The body was of black crêpe de Chine gathered into bands of gold embroidery, the shirt of white brocade, with a thick border of Neapolitan violets; a crimson crêpe scarf was tied negligently round her dainty waist, violets were tucked into her bodice and her hair, which was fair and very abundant. She had penciled, dark eyebrows, and dark gray eyes, which former afforded a striking contrast to her light locks. I never saw any one with a more piquant expression, or with such a wonderfully varied play of features. She wore unusually long gloves, and brandished an enormous black feather fan, as she talked with much volubility. Suddenly she caught sight of my companion, and paused as he said—
“How are you, Miss Chalgrove?”
“Why, Everard!” she exclaimed, “I had no idea you were here, though I knew you were expected. Why did you not come with Maudie?”
“I had only just arrived, and, like you ladies, I had all my unpacking to do, and to dress and fix my hair.”
“But you had no dinner here——?”
“Yes, I had something on the stairs, like the children. Have you had good sport this winter?”
“Capital! I’ve brought one of my gees here; father is here, too. He has brought old Champion.”
“I saw him going very well on Saturday week,” put in a tall, thin man. “From Benson’s Cross, you know. He was quite in the first flight in that second run, you remember.”
And now every one of these people began to talk clamorously, and at once—and all about hunting. Their conversation was extraordinary (to an outsider). Mr. Somers was drawn into the conversation, and was not a whit behind-hand; but just flowed like a tide into the subject, as interested and excited as the most rabid fox-hunter among them. I caught such scraps as—“Got hung up in a nasty corner,” “Miss Flagg at the bottom of a ditch, her saddle in one field, her horse in the other,” “scent catchy,” “foxes not very good,” “drains all open,” “the pace terrific,” “the ladies screaming behind him.” It was all Greek to me.
I stood a little aloof, though not conspicuously so—for the room was full—and watched this girl. She had a loud, clear, far-carrying voice and laugh; she was small, slight, and dazzlingly fair, her fair skin enhanced by her black brows and lashes. Somehow, her face seemed familiar to me; she was like some one I knew. Who could it be? As I meditated, I glanced unconsciously into the great mirror above the chimney-piece, in which we were all reflected, and instantly recognized who it was that she resembled. It was myself! I recalled with a sudden thrill that my own mother’s name was Chalgrove. Perhaps this girl was some connection—perhaps my cousin! More unlikely things might be!
She was smart, popular, pretty, wealthy, and what is known as “in the swim.” She was holding quite a small court on the hearthrug—a gay, quick-witted, and capricious queen.
What a contrast to myself—a poor obscure nobody, and at the present moment nothing more nor less than a mere daw decked out in peacock’s feathers! I gazed at Miss Chalgrove—I had heard of her—Lord Chalgrove’s sole child and heiress. I stared at her contemplatively in the mirror; suddenly she looked up, and our eyes met! Whatever she was about to say died away in a sort of broken sentence, and then she unexpectedly touched me on the arm with her fan, and said with a radiant smile—
“Yes, I see it too! Is it not extraordinary? We are as like as the proverbial two peas; only you are the better looking of the two—the sweet pea, and I am the common or garden pea! Joking apart, we might be sisters. Where did you get the Chalgrove eyebrows and upper lip?”
I colored furiously, for I was instantly the center of attention. It seemed to me that every eye was fastened on my face, and the distinctive Chalgrove features! To my immense relief, Mrs. Cholmondeley at this moment made a sort of swoop into our circle, saying as she did so—
“Come away, my dearest child! you have fallen for your sins into the hunting set. They can talk, think, dream of nothing else. Were they not talking of horses? Oh, Mr. Somers, your sister is looking for you.”
I heard a scrap of another conversation as I was being swept off—the words, “My double—who is she?”
“I see,” continued my hostess, “you are getting on capitally! I’m going to introduce you to Sir Fulke Martin. He asked to be presented. He is immensely rich, so be sure you are very nice to him!”