CHAPTER XIX.—A COMEDY OF ERRORS.
“T There now, I consider I’ve done the polite in the first style of fashion and elegance,” observed Harry, self-complacently, as he rejoined his wife; “Horace D’Almayne himself could not have polished off the young woman more handsomely, for all his moustaches.”
“How you do hate that poor Mr. D’Almayne!” returned Alice, laughing. “Do you know, I think you are jealous of him.”
“I was once, and that’s the truth—very savage it made me too; for if you could have been fascinated by such a puppy as that, I felt I had mistaken your character in toto, and that the Alice I loved was a creature of my own imagination, not a reality—but I soon saw my error.”
Alice glanced at him archly. “Are you quite sure you did not fall into a greater mistake when you fancied yourself so certain of my indifference?” she inquired.
Harry fixed his eyes upon her with a look of inquiry, which, when he saw that she was joking, changed to an expression of tenderness;—“I could not look in that dear face, where every thought can be read as in a book, and remain jealous for five minutes,” he answered.
Alice made no reply, unless placing her little hand in that of her husband, with a confiding gesture, can be called so.
The wind continuing fresh, the unfortunate Countess did not re-appear; but Coverdale and his wife, being so happily constituted that the tossing produced no ill effects upon them, remained upon deck till the vessel reached Dover. Amid the scene of confusion attending the arrival of a steamer, Harry, having secured his luggage, was standing sentinel over a moderately-sized pyramid, which he had caused to be erected of the same, when Alice, then seated upon a large black trunk, which she had seduced her husband into buying in the Rue St. Honoré, and which would very easily have held her, bonnet, cloak, and all, suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, Harry! do look at that young exquisite who has just come on board; why he’s the very moral, as the old women say, of the person we’ve been discussing—Mr. D’Almayne!”
“By Jove, he’s more than the moral!” returned Coverdale, as the individual thus alluded to advanced towards them bowing and smiling, “it’s the veritable Horace himself, I vow—talk of the devil——. My dear fellow, how are you? who’d have thought of seeing you here! You’ve not turned Custom-house officer, have you? I’ve nothing contraband about me, except this morning’s Galignani; if you are inclined to make a seizure of that, you’re very welcome.”
“You’re nearer the mark than you imagine, my dear sir,” was the reply; “though not exactly a professional attaché to the Customs, I must own that I am here as an amateur in that capacity—my object being to facilitate the transmission of a lady’s luggage.”
“Yes?—how interesting! I hope she’s young and pretty,” observed Alice. “Come Mr. D’Almayne, having let us so far into the secret, it’s no use to affect the mysterious, so tell us who and where she is.”
“Where she is, perhaps you may be able to inform me, my dear Mrs. Coverdale,” replied D’Almayne, smoothing his moustaches. “The object of my search is a young German lady, the Countess Bertha von Rosenthal, to whom I have promised my friend, the Honourable Mrs. Botherby, to act as preux chevalier. Accordingly I came down by train this morning, provided with an order from the Board of Customs to the people here to pass the Countess’s luggage unexamined, and show her every attention which may facilitate her transit; thence I am to escort her and her property to Park Lane; by all which ‘double, double, toil and trouble,’ I secure an early introduction to, and confer a favour upon, a young and lovely heiress.”
“That’s my Countess, as sure as fate!” exclaimed Harry. “She said her name was Bertha”—and he then related to D’Almayne the circumstances with which the reader has already been made acquainted. “And,” he continued in conclusion, as a female figure, leaning on the arms of the soubrette and Don Whiskerandos, emerged from the ladies’ cabin—“and here she comes, looking rather poorly still—nothing of the water-witch about her, at all events. Have you met before, or shall I introduce you?”
“Do, by all means, mon cher; we are total strangers to each other,” was the reply. And with an injunction to Alice to remain where she was till he should return, Harry seized D’Almayne’s arm, and hurried him away. Before two minutes had elapsed, Coverdale returned alone.
“It’s all right,” he said: “but come along; D’Almayne’s order will clear our luggage also, and we can all get away together.”
Then ensued a grand scena of bustle and confusion, during which, supported by her husband’s stalwart arm, Alice caught glimpses of D’Almayne smiling to show his white teeth, and striving vigorously to enact the part of guardian angel to the rich young heiress.
“That puppy is in his glory now,” observed Coverdale, snappishly; “I dare say that silly woman will take him at his own price, and believe in him to any extent to which he may like to lead her—perhaps marry him after all, and make him Count von Rosenthal: that would suit his complaint exactly, the fortune-hunting young humbug!”
“My dear Harry, what words!” exclaimed Alice. “You are really quite savage to-day; I shall be obliged to take Mr. D’Almayne under my protection, if you go on so.”
“No need to do that, my dear,” returned Harry, his face resuming its usual bright, kind expression, as his glance fell upon his wife; “your protégé is quite certain to take the best possible care of himself—now come along;” and in another five minutes they had left the vessel and entered a railroad-carriage, in which the Countess and D’Almayne had already established themselves.
The journey to London was a very agreeable one;—the Countess, having recovered with marvellous celerity the moment she placed her pretty little foot on terra firma, exerted herself to make up for lost time, and succeeded so well that D’Almayne, who became more and more empressé and devoted every moment, determined, if he should be able to ascertain beyond a doubt that her fortune was as large as it had been represented, to give up every other speculation, and devote all his energies to secure the hand and purse of this fascinating foreigner. As they approached the London Bridge terminus the Countess, turning to her new guardian, inquired whether it was very far to Park Lane:
“About half an hour’s drive. The carriage will, I trust, be there to meet this train; though, owing to our having avoided all delay at the Custom-house, we shall be in town some two hours sooner than the other steam-boat passengers. However, if we arrive earlier than is expected, it will only be an agreeable surprise to our kind friend, Mrs. Botherby.”
“Mais oui!” returned the Countess with a look of innocent perplexity; “and who may be cette chere Madame Bodairebie?”
“Mrs. Botherby, my dear Countess,” returned D’Almayne, who began to think his charming friend must be slightly insane, “Mrs. Botherby—the Honourable Mrs. Botherby—is the lady who obtained for me the pleasure of rendering you this slight service.”
“Quelle drôle de chose. I shall not know some Mrs. Bodairebie no veres,” was the astounding reply.
“But—but—” stammered D’Almayne, as an idea occurred to him sufficiently alarming to surprise him out of his usual sang froid, “excuse me—but surely you are the Countess Bertha von Rosenthal?”
A peal of silvery laughter was the only reply the unhappy exquisite was at first able to obtain; but, as soon as she could recover herself, the mysterious lady began: “Milles pardons! I am so rude to make a laugh at you, but I am so gay I alvays must laugh ven I see a ridiculous thing in front of—bah—vot you call before me. Mon cher Monsieur, you have, I know not how, tumbled into a delusion. I am not at all zie Countess Bertha von Rosenthal, but zie Countess Bertha Hasimoff, en route to stay viz my friend, Lady St. Clare, in Park Lane, London, till my hosband shall capture zie permission of die Czar to leave Petersburg and transport himselfs after me.”
Coverdale, Alice, and the Countess Hasimoff, glanced first at D’Almayne, then at one another, and then—but if they were heartless enough to laugh consumedly, we will draw a veil over such unfeeling conduct.