“ZOE VIZARD.”
That day Uxmoor dined alone with his mother, for a wonder, and he told her how Miss Vizard had come round; he told her also about the bull, but so vilely that she hardly comprehended he had been in any danger: these encounters are rarely described to the life, except by us who avoid them—except on paper.
Lady Uxmoor was much pleased. She was a proud, politic lady, and this was a judicious union of two powerful houses in the county, and one that would almost command the elections. But, above all, she knew her son's heart was in the match, and she gave him a mother's sympathy.
As she retired, she kissed him and said, “When you are quite sure of the prize, tell me, and I will call upon her.”
Being alone, Lord Uxmoor lighted a cigar and smoked it in measureless content. The servant brought him a note on a salver. It had come by hand. Uxmoor opened it and read every word straight through, down to “Zoe Vizard;” read it, and sat petrified.
He read it again. He felt a sort of sickness come over him. He swallowed a tumbler of port, a wine he rarely touched; but he felt worse now than after the bullfight. This done, he rose and stalked like a wounded lion into the drawing-room, which was on the same floor, and laid the letter before his mother.
“You are a woman too,” said he, a little helplessly. “Tell me—what on earth does this mean?”
The dowager read it slowly and keenly, and said, “It means—another man.”
“Ah!” said Uxmoor, with a sort of snarl.
“Have you seen any one about her?”
“No; not lately. At Vizard Court there was. But that is all over now, I conclude. It was a Mr. Severne, an adventurer, a fellow that was caught out in a lie before us all. Vizard tells me a lady came and claimed him before Miss Vizard, and he ran away.”
“An unworthy attachment, in short?”
“Very unworthy, if it was an attachment at all.”
“Was he at Vizard Court when she declined your hand?”
“Yes.”
“Did he remain, after you went?”
“I suppose so. Yes, he must have.”
“Then the whole thing is clear: that man has come forward again unexpectedly, or written, and she dismisses you. My darling, there is but one thing for you to do. Leave her, and thank her for telling you in time. A less honorable fool would have hidden it, and then we might have had a Countess of Uxmoor in the Divorce Court some day or other.
“I had better go abroad,” said Uxmoor, with a groan. “This country is poisoned for me.”
“Go, by all means. Let Janneway pack up your things to-morrow.”
“I should like to kill that fellow first.”
“You will not even waste a thought on him, if you are my son.”
“You are right, mother. What am I to say to her?”
“Not a word.”
“What, not answer her letter? It is humble enough, I am sure—poor soul! Mother, I am wretched, but I am not bitter, and my rival will revenge me.”
“Uxmoor, your going abroad is the only answer she shall have. The wisest man, in these matters, who ever lived has left a rule of conduct to every well-born man—a rule which, believe me, is wisdom itself:
“Le bruit est pour le fat, la plainte est pour le sot; L'honnete homme trompe'; s'e'loigne, et ne dit mot.”
“You will make a tour, and not say a word to Miss Vizard, good, bad, nor indifferent. I insist upon that.”
“Very well. Thank you, dear mother; you guide me, and don't let me make a fool of myself, for I am terribly cut up. You will be the only Countess of Uxmoor in my day.”
Then he knelt at her feet, and she kissed his head and cried over him; but her tears only made this proud lady stronger.
Next day he started on his travels.
Now, but for Zoe, he would on no account have left England just then; for he was just going to build model cottages in his own village, upon designs of his own, each with a little plot, and a public warehouse or granary, with divisions for their potatoes and apples, etc. However, he turned this over in his mind while he was packing; he placed certain plans and papers in his dispatch box, and took his ticket to Taddington, instead of going at once to London. From Taddington he drove over to Hillstoke and asked for Miss Gale. They told him she was fixed at Vizard Court. That vexed him: he did not want to meet Vizard. He thought it the part of a Jerry Sneak to go and howl to a brother against his sister. Yet if Vizard questioned him, how could he conceal there was something wrong? However, he went down to Vizard Court; but said to the servant who opened the door, “I am rather in a hurry, sir: do you think you could procure me a few minutes with Miss Gale? You need not trouble Mr. Vizard.”
“Yes, my laud. Certainly, my laud. Please step in the morning-room, my laud. Mr. Vizard is out.”
That was fortunate, and Miss Gale came down to him directly.
Fanny took that opportunity to chatter and tell Mademoiselle Klosking all about Lord Uxmoor and his passion for Zoe. “And he will have her, too,” said she, boldly.
Lord Uxmoor told Miss Gale he had called upon business. He was obliged to leave home for a time, and wished to place his projects under the care of a person who could really sympathize with them, and make additions to them, if necessary. “Men,” said he, “are always making oversights in matters of domestic comfort: besides, you are full of ideas. I want you to be viceroy with full power, and act just as you would if the village belonged to you.”
Rhoda colored high at the compliment.
“Wells, cows, granary, real education—what you like” said he. “I know your mind. Begin abolishing the lower orders in the only way they can be got rid of—by raising them in comfort, cleanliness, decency, and knowledge. Then I shall not be missed. I'm going abroad.”
“Going abroad?”
“Yes. Here are my plans: alter them for the better if you can. All the work to be done by the villagers. Weekly wages. We buy materials. They will be more reconciled to improved dwellings when they build them themselves. Here are the addresses of the people who will furnish money. It will entail traveling; but my people will always meet you at the station, if you telegraph from Taddington. You accept? A thousand thanks. I am afraid I must be off.”
She went into the hall with him, half bewildered, and only at the door found time to ask after Zoe Vizard.
“A little better, I think, than when she came.”
“Does she know you are going abroad?”
“No; I don't think she does, yet. It was settled all in a hurry.”
He escaped further questioning by hurrying away.
Miss Gale was still looking after him, when Ina Klosking came down, dressed for a walk, and leaning lightly on Miss Dover's arm. This was by previous consent of Miss Gale.
“Well, dear,” said Fanny, “what did he say to you?”
“Something that has surprised and puzzled me very much.” She then related the whole conversation, with her usual precision.
Ina Klosking observed quietly to Fanny that this did not look like successful wooing.
“I don't know that,” said Fanny, stoutly. “Oh, Miss Gale, did you not ask him about her?”
“Certainly I did; and he said she was better than when she first came.”
“There!” said Fanny, triumphantly.
Miss Gale gave her a little pinch, and she dropped the subject.
Vizard returned, and found Mademoiselle Klosking walking on his gravel. He offered her his arm, and was a happy man, parading her very slowly, and supporting her steps, and purring his congratulations into her ear. “Suppose I were to invite you to dinner, what would you say?”
“I think I should say, 'To-morrow.'”
“And a very good answer, too. To-morrow shall be a fete.”
“You spoil me?”
“That is impossible.”
It was strange to see them together; he so happy, she so apathetic, yet gracious.
Next morning came a bit of human nature—a letter from Zoe to Fanny, almost entirely occupied with praises of Lord Uxmoor. She told the bull story better than I have—if possible—and, in short, made Uxmoor a hero of romance.
Fanny carried this in triumph to the other ladies, and read it out. “There!” said she. “Didn't I tell you?”
Rhoda read the letter, and owned herself puzzled. “I am not, then,” said Fanny: “they are engaged—over the bull; like Europa and I forgot who—and so he is not afraid to go abroad now. That is just like the men. They cool directly the chase is over.”
Now the truth was that Zoe was trying to soothe her conscience with elegant praises of the man she had dismissed, and felt guilty.
Ina Klosking said little. She was puzzled too at first. She asked to see Zoe's handwriting. The letter was handed to her. She studied the characters. “It is a good hand,” she said; “nothing mean there.” And she gave it back.
But, with a glance, she had read the address, and learned that the post town was Bagley.
All that day, at intervals, she brought her powerful understanding to bear on the paradox; and though she had not the facts and the clew I have given the reader, she came near the truth in an essential matter. She satisfied herself that Lord Uxmoor was not engaged to Zoe Vizard. Clearly, if so, he would not leave England for months. She resolved to know more; and just before dinner she wrote a line to Ashmead, and requested him to call on her immediately.
That day she dined with Vizard and the ladies. She sat at Vizard's right hand, and he told her how proud, and happy he was to see her there.
She blushed faintly, but made no reply.
She retired soon after dinner.
All next day she expected Ashmead.
He did not come.
She dined with Vizard next day, and retired to the drawing-room. The piano was opened, and she played one or two exquisite things, and afterward tried her voice, but only in scales, and somewhat timidly, for Miss Gale warned her she might lose it or spoil it if she strained the vocal chord while her whole system was weak.
Next day Ashmead came with apologies.
He had spent a day in the cathedral town on business. He did not tell her how he had spent that day, going about puffing her as the greatest singer of sacred music in the world, and paving the way to her engagement at the next festival. Yet the single-hearted Joseph had really raised that commercial superstructure upon the sentiments she had uttered on his first visit to Vizard Court.
Ina now held a private conference with him. “I think,” said she, “I have heard you say you were once an actor.”
“I was, madam, and a very good one, too.”
“Cela va sans dire. I never knew one that was not. At all events, you can disguise yourself.”
“Anything, madam, from Grandfather Whitehead to a boy in a pinafore. Famous for my make-ups.”
“I wish you to watch a certain house, and not be recognized by a person who knows you.”
“Well, madam, nothing is infra dig, if done for you; nothing is distasteful if done for you.”
“Thank you, my friend. I have thought it well to put my instructions on paper.”
“Ay, that is the best way.”
She handed him the instructions. He read them, and his eyes sparkled. “Ah, this is a commission I undertake with pleasure, and I'll execute it with zeal.”
He left her, soon after, to carry out these instructions, and that very evening he was in the wardrobe of the little theater, rummaging out a suitable costume, and also in close conference with the wigmaker.
Next day Vizard had his mother's sables taken out and aired, and drove Mademoiselle Klosking into Taddington in an open carriage. Fanny told her they were his mother's sables, and none to compare with them in the country.
On returning, she tried her voice to the harmonium in her own antechamber, and found it was gaining strength—like herself.
Meantime Zoe Vizard met Severne in the garden, and told him she had written to Lord Uxmoor, and he would never visit her again. But she did not make light of the sacrifice this time. She had sacrificed her own self-respect as well as Uxmoor's, and she was sullen and tearful.
He had to be very wary and patient, or she would have parted with him too, and fled from both of them to her brother.
Uxmoor's wounded pride would have been soothed could he have been present at the first interview of this pair. He would have seen Severne treated with a hauteur and a sort of savageness he himself was safe from, safe in her unshaken esteem.
But the world is made for those who can keep their temper, especially the female part of the world.
Sad, kind, and loving, but never irritable, Severne smoothed down and soothed and comforted the wounded girl; and, seeing her two or three times a day—for she was completely mistress of her time—got her completely into his power again.
Uxmoor did not reply.
She had made her selection. Love beckoned forward. It was useless to look back.
Love was omnipotent. They both began to recover their good looks as if by magic; and as Severne's passion, though wicked, was earnest, no poor bird was ever more completely entangled by bird-lime than Zoe was caught by Edward Severne.
Their usual place of meeting was the shrubbery attached to Somerville Villa. The trees, being young, made all the closer shade, and the gravel-walk meandered, and shut them out from view.
Severne used to enter this shrubbery by a little gate leading from the meadow, and wait under the trees till Zoe came to him. Vizard's advertisements alarmed him, and he used to see the coast clear before he entered the shrubbery, and also before he left it. He was so particular in this that, observing one day an old man doddering about with a basket, he would not go in till he had taken a look at him. He found it was an ancient white-haired villager gathering mushrooms. The old fellow was so stiff, and his hand so trembling, that it took him about a minute to gather a single fungus.
To give a reason for coming up to him, Severne said, “How old are you, old man?”
“I be ninety, measter, next Martinmas-day.”
“Only ninety?” said our Adonis, contemptuously; “you look a hundred and ninety.”
He would have been less contemptuous had he known that the mushrooms were all toad-stools, and the village centenaire was Mr. Joseph Ashmead, resuming his original arts, and playing Grandfather Whitehead on the green grass.