But little more remains to be told concerning the fortunes of Imogen and her husband, now Lord and Lady Fontenaye. They decided on a month’s sojourn in Cairo, where they revelled in the mild climate, and the daily marvels and miraculous sights and sounds—the enchanted Arabian Nights’ surroundings, the veiled women, the Arab horses, the balconies, almost touching across the narrow streets. The old-world presentment of the East was inexpressibly fascinating to Imogen and Sheila, seen for the first time.
They “did” Egypt more or less thoroughly, as they planned not to reach England before April—Imogen declaring that “the cold winds of March” would lay her in an early grave. So they went up the Nile as far as Philæ, filling their minds with such glories and marvels as might suffice for the mental digestion of a lifetime. They rode and explored to their hearts’ content, “Royal Thebes, Egyptian treasure-house of boundless wealth, that boasts her hundred gates”; Luxor, with its labyrinth of courts, and superb colonnades; Karnak, that darkens the horizon with a world of portals, pyramids, and palaces.
“Perhaps we may never see these wonders again,” said Imogen. “But I shall revel in their memories as long as I live. What do you say, Sheila?”
“I feel as if I was just born,” said the excited damsel, “and was just opening my eyes on a new world. Awakening in Heaven, if it’s not wrong to say so, must be something like this.”
“What a charming way of getting over the winter,” said Imogen. “One sees so much of the world in the process, besides meeting people of mark and distinction. Val tells me we may have a fortnight in Paris, for hats and dresses, before arriving in dear old England some time in April, which is a lovely month, if the spring is early. And this year they say it is.”
“‘Oh! to be in England, now that April’s here’,” quoted Lord Fontenaye, who now joined the party; “we shall be comfortably settled in Fontenaye, I hope, before the ‘merry month of May,’ when I shall have the honour of showing you two ‘Cornstalks’ what a London season is like.”
“Oh! and shall we able to ride in the Park?” quoth Sheila, with great eagerness. “I do so long to see the wonderful English horses that one hears so much about—the Four-in-hand and Coaching Clubs too! What a sight it must be! I must have a horse worth looking at, price no object—new saddle, and habit too. Oh! what fun it will be! And you’ll give Mrs. Bl—I mean, her ladyship—a horse too, won’t you?”
“You’re a true Australian, Sheila,” said he. “I believe you all care more about horses, than anything else in the world. Now that the ‘Comstock’ is so encouraging in the way of dividends, I believe it will run to a hundred-and-fifty-guinea hackney or two—with a new landau, a brougham, and other suitable equipages.”
These rose-coloured anticipations were duly realised. A wire was sent from Paris, and the “wandering heir” was duly received and welcomed in the halls of his ancestors. The time-honoured feasting of tenants and “fêting” of the whole countryside was transacted—a comprehensive programme having been arranged by the land steward, a man of great experience and organising faculty. The younger son of the house, it was explained, had always been the more popular one. And now that he had “come to his own,” as the people said, their joy was unbounded. Everything was done on a most liberal scale. Correspondents came down “special” from the great London dailies, by whom full and particular descriptions were sent through all Britain and her colonies, as well as to the ends of the earth generally.
The beauty and gracious demeanour of Lady Fontenaye, and her friend Miss Sheila Maguire, an Australian heiress of fabulous wealth, were descanted upon and set forth in glowing colours. Archives were ransacked for the ancestors of all the Marmions, from the days of Flodden and those earlier times when Robert de Marmion, Lord of Fontenaye in Normandy, followed the Conqueror to England, and after Hastings obtained a grant of the castle and town of Tamworth, and also the manor of Scrivelbaye, in Lincolnshire. Harry Blount, Marmion’s attendant squire, was, according to the custom of the day, a cadet of the house, and being knighted with FitzEustace for gallantry at Flodden, attained to wealth and distinction; eventually through marriage with one of the co-heiresses of the house of Marmion, extinct in default of male heirs, became possessed of the title and estates. Hence, Robert Valentine Blount, the present Lord Fontenaye, has duly succeeded to the ancient tower and town, amid appropriate festivities and rejoicings. We are not aware that his Lordship presented a gold “chain of twelve mark weight” to the pursuivants, or the gentlemen of the press, but that the hospitality was thoughtful, delicate, and unbounded in liberality, no one honoured by its exercise will deny; while the beauty and gracious demeanour of the Lady of the Castle, so efficiently supported in her duties by her friend, the handsome Australian heiress, Miss Maguire of Tumut Park, lent additional lustre to the entertainment.