Kissing the Rod: A Novel. (Vol. 2 of 3)

by Edmund Yates

"Ah, by the bye, where are they going to?"

"Where? To Paradise, of course; but en attendant, I believe, to Switzerland."

And Hester Gould, who had for the first time in her life been wanting in caution, bade Mr. Thacker "good morning;" and that gentleman watched her as she walked away, and said under his breath:

"By Jove, she did play for Streightley, and Miss Guyon beat her!"

So those twain were one flesh, and departed according to prescribed routine for their bridal tour on the Continent. So far the contract had been carried out, the price paid, and the goods delivered into the carriage by Mr. Guyon, who converted a broad smile of triumph into a doleful look of farewell; and who, as the happy pair drove away, turned back into the dining-room to expedite the departure of his guests, in order that he and Lady Henmarsh might have a quiet talk together over the past and the future.

So far all had gone well, thought Robert Streightley, or rather endeavoured to think so, but felt a sad depression and sense of failure at his heart, as, leaning back in the railway-carriage whirling them to Folkestone, he stole occasional glances at his bride, who, paler but lovelier than ever, kept her eyes fixed on a book, the pages of which she never turned, and of which she read never a line. How much did she know, he wondered, of all that had taken place? Not all; he himself had resolutely shrunk from hearing any thing in detail about the transaction in which that man Frere and his proposal were involved; and she--he knew her well enough to know that if she had the smallest suspicion of foul play she would leave him then and there on her marriage-day. No! she knew nothing of that,--she never should know. But there was a something in the dead calm of her face, in the cold clear look of her eyes, in her set lips, and in the quiet tones of the voice in which she briefly replied to his occasional questions after her welfare,--something that made Robert Streightley's heart give a guilty throb, and told him that the first phase of retribution had begun. She might live it down, it would probably pass away; under different circumstances, and surrounded by all the luxuries that money could purchase, the haunting memory of the past might soon be laid at rest; but there are few men, let us hope, who on their wedding-days have, as Robert Streightley had on his, to face the conviction that not merely the love but the tolerance of his wife had yet to be won by him, and that between them lay a mine, partly of his own preparation, any accidental spark blown on to which would shatter their happiness for ever.

And she? In a charming but perfectly natural position, her head bent so as to screen her face as much as possible from her husband, her eyes fixed on her book, she sat there, outwardly cold as a statue, inwardly raging with slighted love, hurt pride, horror of the past, and dread of the future. The occurrences of the last month, so often revolved in her mind, were, as she sat in the railway-carriage, once more brought out of their storehouse, and passed in dreary review: Gordon's strange silence, his absenting himself from their house, his abrupt departure for the Continent, her father's confession of his embarrassments, his proposition for getting rid of them, her friendlessness and despair, the few words spoken to her in the deepening gloom by Robert Streightley, and her reply, which decided all and settled her future--her future! ah, good God! Even the outward semblance of calm was gone as the thought rushed across her; the hot tears welled into her eyes, she set her lips tighter than ever, and with great difficulty restrained a cry of mingled anger and despair.

There was her fate sitting opposite to her: with that man, with whom she had not one thought in common, for whom she had, if any feeling at all, rather a feeling of abhorrence--with him was the rest of her life to be passed. He had bought and paid for her--paid for her? No! a great deal of the purchase-money was yet to come, was to be placed at her disposal; and she would take care that it was speedily spent.

It was some time, however, before she found an opportunity of spending any of the large sum of pocket-money placed at her disposal by her husband, so eagerly were all her wishes anticipated by him. Previous to their marriage he had made his future bride many valuable presents--of dressing-case, jewels, travelling-desk, and elegant costly feminine nick-nacks--all of which had been examined, appraised, and duly extolled by Mr. Guyon; and their bridal tour was almost as expensive as a royal progress. In Robert Streightley the ober-kellner at the Hôtel Disch in Cologne found an easy prey, and sold to him more wicker-covered bottles of the eau than he had ever previously palmed off upon any Englishman. All along the Rhine-border the fiery cross was sent by couriers, and conductors of steam-boats, and drivers of eilwagens; and the landlords of the hotels knew that one of those tolle Engländer who mind no expense was coming on, and forthwith prices were trebled, and cellars were ransacked for the precious wines, the Steinberger Cabinet and the Johannisberg, which none but mad Englishmen ever pay for. No town which they stopped at--and they stopped at nearly all, for the small amount of romance in Katharine's nature was roused by the sight of the castles and crags, of which in her school-girl days she had so often read; and it was the nearest approach to pleasure which she could experience to push aside actual practical life and he dreaming of the past--no town which they stopped at was so poor as not to furnish some trophy for Robert Streightley to lay at his bride's feet. Accompanied by the courier, who made cent per cent upon every transaction, he would go blundering through the narrow streets, looking through the windows at the wares displayed in them, rushing in here and there, and making wild and incongruous purchases, to the intense astonishment of the pipe-smoking burghers, all unaccustomed to such energy. Robert Streightley's greatest pleasure seemed to lie in purchasing presents for his wife; and when they reached Frankfort he was never out of the jewellers' shops on the Zeil, and his courier's whole day was taken up in running to and fro with little packets of hirschhorn and coral trinkets.

It was at Frankfort, a month after their marriage, that they received their first news from home. Streightley had wished to pass his honeymoon untroubled by thoughts of business, and Katharine had been too indifferent to give any directions about her letters; but when Robert called on the British Consul, who was an old correspondent of their house, he found a packet waiting for him, and hurried back with it to Katharine. She was reading a Tauchnitz edition of a novel, and looked languid and distraite.