CHAPTER XVI.
There were four ladies already in the carriage which was waiting for me at the gate—Lady Mills herself, with another more matronly-looking lady by her side, whose name, I already knew, was Mrs. Cunningham; and on the opposite seat were a younger lady with a rather sharp expression, named Mrs. Clowes, who was considered very clever, and an unmarried one some years older than I. I made the third on that seat; but there was plenty of room for us all. We drove back first to the High Field, that Lady Mills might tell the rest of the party to make haste, or they would be late for dinner. There were some ladies on the drag waiting for the gentlemen, who were now amusing themselves by selling off by auction some of the things remaining on the stalls, while the grooms were busy packing into the inside of the drag the curious collection of purchases made by the whole party. There was a dog-cart waiting, with a gentleman in it smoking; and standing by the horse’s head, also with a cigar in his mouth, was the tall fair gentleman whose face I now seemed to know the best of all. As soon as we drove up, he came to the side of the carriage.
“You are horribly crowded in there; let me take Miss—Miss Christie in the dog-cart.”
“And what will you do with Charlie, Tom?”
“I’ll put Charlie behind.”
“Charlie is getting used to being put behind,” said the eldest lady of all, looking at Mrs. Clowes, and laughing.
“Proper place for a husband, Mrs. Cunningham,” said the fair gentleman.
I afterwards found that the gentleman they called “Charlie” was Captain Clowes.
“Well, will you come, Miss Christie?”
“No, Tom; Miss Christie is better where she is.”
“She couldn’t be better off than with me,” said he, in a gravely innocent tone.
Everybody laughed.
“Take my part, Mrs. Clowes. Don’t all jump upon me at once when I want to make an impression. Could Miss Christie be safer than with me?”
Everybody glanced rather mischievously at Mrs. Clowes; and I saw a faint color rise in her cheeks.
“Not with Charlie behind,” said she; and everybody laughed more than ever.
I was glad Lady Mills would not let me go, though, for I did not care much about the gentleman they called “Tom,” and Laurence did not like him either. It was about seven miles from Geldham to Denham Court. The drive seemed to me beautiful, though the country was flat; the rains had kept everything very green, and the sinking sun warmed the landscape with a golden tint. I looked about me and listened to the ladies’ talk, but did not say much. Some one said I was silent, and some one else said “Tom” would make me talk; but indeed their conversation was so different from any I had ever heard that I could not have joined in it very well, even if I had known them better. Some of them said things which would have sounded quite wicked if they had said them seriously; but they were all in fun, and they seemed to laugh at everything. They laughed a great deal at Sir Jonas, who was Lady Mills’s husband, and she herself imitated the way he would rub his hands and stare up at the ceiling, and say in little jerks he “hoped they had—enjoyed themselves—fine day. Stupid things, bazaars—but bring young people together.”
“And keep the old ones away,” said Mrs. Clowes, in her sharp tones. And everybody laughed very much.
Denham Court was a pretty place built on the side of a slight hill, with the river Doveney running not far from the foot of it. I was shown up into a room that looked out upon greenhouses and cucumber-frames, and from which I had a view of the river, just at a point where it widened out into a broad expanse like a lake. Just then I had not much time to grieve about my quarrel with Laurence and his cruel conduct about the rose; but I did shed a few tears, and wondered whether he would write and ask me to make it up, and thought that I should not be able to enjoy myself at all in this pretty place without him. Then I shook out my muslin frock and put it on, and, when I fastened the black velvet round my throat, with the beautiful flashing pendant on it, and pinned on one side of the lace edging, a little lower down, the red rose Laurence had flung away and I had meekly picked up again, I looked so much nicer than I had thought it possible for me to look that I could not help feeling that life was not quite a blank, and wishing that Laurence could see me.
I had left my room, and was going along the corridor, when I met a man the sight of whom made me start and turn quite cold. For he looked so much like the mysterious visitor at the Alders whom Mr. Rayner had described as “a gentleman,” and whom I had seen two nights before going into the stable with Tom Parkes and Sarah, that I thought it must be he. But this man stood aside for me with the stolidly respectful manner, not of a gentleman, but of a servant; and I hurried past him, feeling quite shocked by the strength of the resemblance; for of course a friend of Mr. Rayner’s, however familiarly he might choose to speak to Tom Parkes and Sarah, would not be a man-servant at Denham Court.
In the hall I met a maid who showed me into the drawing-room, which was empty; so I walked to one of the windows which led into a conservatory, and peeped in. The flowers were so beautiful, the scents so intoxicating, that I crept in step by step with my hands clasped, as if drawn by enchantment; and I had my face close to a large plant covered with white blossoms like lilies, when I saw peeping through the big fan-shaped leaves of a plant behind it the fair mustache and eye-glass of the gentleman they called “Tom.” He was looking intently, not at me, but at the ornament sparkling at my throat. He looked up when I did, and came round to me.
“Nicely-kept place, isn’t it? Sir Jonas is proud of his flowers.”
“I never saw any like them. Look at these. Are they lilies?”
“I believe this is called ‘Eucharistis Amazonia;’ if not, it is something like that. Shall I cut you some?”
“Oh, don’t, don’t! It would be such a pity!”
“I suppose you wouldn’t condescend to wear them?”
“I shouldn’t dare to do so. What would Sir Jonas say if you spoilt his beautiful plants?”
“Sir Jonas wouldn’t say anything; he never does. Even the gardener, a much more important person, wouldn’t say anything to me. I’m a spoilt child here, Miss Christie; so you had better make friends with me, and I’ll get you everything you want.”
“Make friends! Why, I am not your enemy, am I?” said I, laughing.
“Not at present; but you must be careful. Now I will tell you who is my enemy”—and he stooped and looked at the flower at my throat—“the man who gave you that rose.”
I started, and his mouth twitched a little, as if he wanted to smile.
“How do you know it was a man?” I asked, blushing.
“Never mind how I know. I am a magician, and I am not going to give you lessons in the black art for nothing. But look here! I’ll tell you how I know, if you will give it to me in exchange for any flower you like to choose in this place.”
I shook my head.
“I don’t want to exchange it; and I don’t care to have lessons in your black art, thank you.”
“Now that is your nasty pride, Miss Christie. But I suppose one must not expect humility from a lady who wears such diamonds;” and he glanced again at my pendant, as he had done several times while we talked.
“They are not real diamonds,” said I, laughing, and rather pleased for the moment at his mistake. “They are only paste.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Then allow me to congratulate you, Miss Christie, on possessing the very best imitation of the real thing that I have ever seen. I know something of diamonds, and I never was deceived before.”
I was looking at him curiously, for he seemed to speak as if he did not quite believe me.
“Look! I will go to the door,” said I, for the light was fading, “and then, as you are such a good judge, you will be able to tell.”
I walked to the door, and he bent his face down close to mine and examined my pendant carefully. Presently he gave a slight start.
“Am I taking too great a liberty in asking if there are initials on the other side of that?”
“Yes, there are,” said I, surprised.
“And will you tell me what they are?”
I hesitated. If this gentleman persisted in thinking the ornament was made of diamonds, he would think it a very strange thing if he found out that it was Mr. Rayner who had given such a costly present to his child’s governess; so I said quietly—
“I would rather not tell you.”
“I beg your pardon. Will you forgive my curiosity? I have seen only one ornament set exactly like that before; but it was in real diamonds”—and again he looked at me. “I was wondering if it had been exactly imitated in paste by the jeweller who set it, and if the sham twin-brother had, by some curious coincidence, come into your possession.”
“How lovely the real one must be!”
“No lovelier than yours, I assure you.”
“Then doesn’t it seem a pity to spend so much money on real ones?” said I. “What do you think the real one was worth?”
“About fifteen hundred pounds, I believe.”
“And you thought I had on an ornament worth fifteen hundred pounds!” said I, laughing heartily. “Oh, if the person who gave it me could know, how he would laugh!”
He caught at my words.
“He would laugh, would he?”
I was annoyed with myself, for I had not meant to let out even the sex of the giver of my pendant. He continued—
“He would be pleased, I should think, to have his paste taken for diamonds.”
I did not answer, but only laughed again.
“Have any of the ladies seen it yet, Miss Christie?”
“No; and, for fear they should make the same mistake that you have made, I shall not let them,” said I.
And I had raised my hands to take it off when Mrs. Cunningham and another lady came into the conservatory. The elder lady’s eyes fell upon the unlucky trinket at once.
“What are you taking that off for, my dear? It is just what you want round the throat.”
“Because I have been teased about wearing diamonds, and they are only sham ones; and I don’t want to be teased any more,” said I rather tremulously.
“Never mind Tom, my dear. Don’t take off your pretty pendant for him. They are certainly very like, though,” said she, looking first at them and then into my face. “Here, put them on again and snap your fingers at Tom.”
I raised the velvet obediently, and the gentleman called Tom came softly behind me and took the ends from my trembling fingers, and fastened them himself round my throat again. He first pretended that he had not got them straight, though, and held the velvet a little way from me to try to look at the back of the pendant. But I was prepared for that; and I put my hand round it, as if fearing it might fall, and would not let him see the initials.
After this first experience of the sensation caused by my one ornament, I watched rather curiously its effect upon the rest of the party, as some of them strolled into the conservatory, and when I met the others in the drawing-room and in the general gathering at dinner. Every one looked at me, the one stranger, a good deal, of course; but I noticed that, while my pendant attracted the attention of the ladies, the gentlemen looked more at me myself, and were not scandalized by my unlucky ornament. Sir Jonas, who was a kind, gray-haired gentleman, and looked nearly old enough to be Lady Mills’s father, took me in to dinner; and, although he did not talk much, he encouraged me to chatter to him, and to tell him all about the school-treat, and tried to make me drink a great deal more wine than I wanted.
After dinner, when I was in the drawing-room with the ladies, some of them drew me on to a sofa and pulled me about and petted me just as if I had been a child, and asked me a number of questions about my life at the Alders and “that handsome Mr. Rayner.”
“And is it true that he is such a dreadfully wicked man, Miss Christie?” said one.
“Yes, it is; she is blushing,” said another.
But I was not blushing at all; there was nothing to blush about. I said, laughing—
“No, he is not wicked. The village-people think he is, because he plays the violin and goes to races. He is very kind.”
“Oh, we don’t doubt that, my dear!” said Mrs. Clowes, in a demure tone.
“You think I like him only just because he is kind to me,” said I boldly. “But I shouldn’t like him if he were wicked, however kind he might be.”
“And Mrs. Rayner—is she kind and good too?”
“Oh, yes, she is just as kind!” said I.
This was not quite true; but I knew already enough of these people to be sure they would laugh if I said “No;” and it was not poor Mrs. Rayner’s fault that she was not as nice as her husband. Presently Mrs. Cunningham took me to the other end of the room to look at a portrait of Lady Mills.
“It is no business of mine who gave you that pendant, my dear; but have you any more ornaments of the kind, and, if so, where do you keep them?” she said gravely.
“Oh, I have no more!” I answered, a little surprised at her manner. “And I keep this in an old case in the corner of my desk.”
“Ah, I thought so, from the careless way in which you were going to slip it into your pocket when we caught you in the conservatory. Why, my dear child, I have a set that I value very much—no finer than yours, though—diamonds and cat’s-eyes—and I sleep with them under my pillow, and even my maid doesn’t know where they are.”
I showed my astonishment.
“Believe me, when you travel about on a series of visits, as I am doing now, and are obliged to entrust your dressing-case to a careless maid, it is no unnecessary precaution.”
“But I shouldn’t take so much trouble with my paste pendant,” said I.
She shook her head at me, with a laugh, and said dryly—
“I should with such paste as yours.”
And then the gentlemen came in. One of them had brought from town that day a parcel of new waltzes, but the ladies all declined to play them until they had tried them over privately; and the gentlemen seemed so much disappointed that, having turned over the pages and seen that they were perfectly easy, I timidly offered my services. They were really pretty, and, after the difficult music I had had to read with Mr. Rayner, they were like child’s-play to me. When I had got to the end of the first, I received an ovation. The owner of the music was in ecstasies, and those who had begun to dance stopped and joined the rest in a chorus of admiration that made me quite ashamed of myself.
“Didn’t you know that I am a governess?” said I to one gentleman, laughing and blushing.
“Yes; but we thought you were only for show,” said Mrs. Clowes.
And I played the rest of the waltzes, and thought how much nicer it was to play for these people than for those I had met at Mrs. Manners’s tea-party. Then the gentleman they called Tom, whose name I had now found out to be Mr. Carruthers, led me away from the piano, saying I was not to be made a victim all the evening for other people’s amusement; and, telling a gentleman who was talking to me that he and I were going to have a serious conversation and were not to be disturbed, he took me to a deep window where there were seats, and gave me one, while he threw himself into another beside me.
“How beautifully you play!” said he, leaning over my chair and looking at me. “I never knew such a pretty girl as you take the trouble to learn anything properly before.”
I had been so much spoilt that day by flattery that I only answered calmly—
“Why shouldn’t pretty people learn things as well as ugly people, Mr. Carruthers?”
“Don’t call me ‘Mr. Carruthers’; nobody calls me ‘Mr. Carruthers’—at least, nobody nice. If you don’t yet feel equal to saying ‘Tom,’ let the matter remain in abeyance for the present. Now, to continue from the point where I lost my temper, ugly people have to be accomplished and good and all sorts of things, to get a little of the attention that a pretty person can get without any trouble at all.”
“Ah, but it is different if you have to earn your own living! If you are a governess, for instance, people don’t care about what you look like, but about what you know.”
He stroked his mustache meditatively, looked at me, and said—
“Of course; I forgot that. I suppose you have to know a lot to teach. I am sure you know more than any woman in this room.”
“Oh, no, indeed I don’t! They are all a great, great deal cleverer than I am. I couldn’t talk as they do.”
“Heaven forbid!” muttered he, as if to himself. “They know how to chaff—that’s all. Did you ever meet any of them before?”
“Never before to-day.”
“I wonder if you know any of the people I know? Do you know the Temples of Crawley Hall?”
“No.”
“Have you ever been farther west than this—Staffordshire—Derbyshire?”
“No, never.”
He was looking on the ground; he raised and fixed his eyes suddenly on my face as he said—
“Do you know the Dalstons?”
“N-o,” said I, rather hesitatingly.
“Not Lord Dalston, with his different crazes? You speak as if you were not sure.”
“I am sure I don’t know him,” said I. “But I was trying to remember what I have heard about him, for I seem to know the name quite well.”
In the most gravely persistent manner Mr. Carruthers went on probing my memory about Lord Dalston; but I could not even remember where I had heard the name mentioned before. He had to give it up at last; I believe however that he thought it was obstinacy that prevented my telling him.
When, at last, long past the hour when the household at the Alders retired to rest, we dispersed to our rooms, I made a mistake in my corridor, and found myself in one which led to the servants’ wing; and I heard a man’s voice that I knew saying persuasively—
“Don’t be in such a hurry! She won’t be up for half an hour yet, nor my man either. I never get a word with you now.”
Suddenly it flashed upon me whose the voice was. It was the voice I had heard talking to Sarah in the plantation, the voice of Mr. Rayner’s mysterious friend. And the person he was talking to, and with whom he proceeded to exchange a kiss, was Lady Mills’s maid! It was a strange thing, but one about which I could no longer have a doubt. The respectful man-servant I had met before dinner in the corridor and the visitor who was shown into the study at the Alders as a gentleman, and who was yet on familiar terms with Tom Parkes and Sarah, were one and the same person!
I was very sleepy and very much preoccupied with this curious discovery when I got to my room; but, before I went to bed, I put, as I thought, my beautiful but unfortunate pendant safely inside my desk, resolved not to wear it again.