Chapter XIX
But the spite on’t is, no praise
Is due at all to me;
Love with me hath made mad no staies
Had it any been but she.
Had it any been but she,
And that very face,
There had been at least ere this
Twelve dozen in her place.
SIR JOHN SUCKLING.
Promptly, by an early train, Willie Pitblado arrived with the cash from M’Goldrick, and with that which alike puzzled and provoked me—a brief note from my friend, Jack Studhome, the adjutant, advising me that, from rumours he, Scriven, and Wilford had heard—rumours circulated insidiously, he knew not how or by whom, in the billiard-rooms we frequented, and indeed about Maidstone barracks generally—my visits to a certain romantic cottage near the Reculvers were well known. I might mean no wrong, certainly; but was it judicious or wise to get myself into a scrape with a brother officer?
There was no mistaking the object of this friendly epistle of Jack’s, and it filled me with fresh anger against Berkeley. Who but he could insidiously spread those reports concerning what he alone knew or could affect an interest in! I knew his subtle and crooked mode of working; and his ultimate object was undoubtedly that this rumour against me should ere long reach Chillingham Park.
Yet, removed as I was from head-quarters, I could do nothing in the matter, and for the present had only “to grin and bear it.”
Morning parade over, in obedience to Colonel Beverley’s order, I was putting the troop through a course of sword and lance exercise personally, and was so earnestly engaged in the work of the moment, that I did not perceive a dashing phaeton, drawn by a pair of spanking grey ponies, attended by an outrider in livery, on a showy bay horse, that entered the barrack-yard, and drew up close by, as if its occupants wished to observe the progress of the drill.
After the lapse of a few minutes, Troop Sergeant-Major Stapylton trotted his horse forward, and said—
“Beg pardon, Captain Norcliff, but some friends of yours are waiting for you, sir.”
Turning in my saddle, how great was my surprise to see Lady Louisa and Cora in the phaeton, which was driven by Berkeley, who was attired in a very accurate suit of forenoon mufti. Dismounting, I sheathed my sword, threw my reins to Stapylton, and saying to my lieutenant, Jocelyn—
“Frank, like a good fellow, finish off this piece of drill for me, please,” advanced at once to greet my fair friends, whose visit, I felt, was due to Cora.
“How interesting this is!” said Lady Louisa, presenting her carefully-gloved little hand, with a brilliant smile, as she proceeded to imitate my last order, “Prepare to dismount! one; the lance to be raised out of the bucket, by the right hand sliding down to the extent of the arm; two—ah, I forget two; you are quite an enthusiast.”
Under this banter I detected, or thought so, a deep glance of anxiety and hidden meaning, more especially as she added, “You evidently think more of this drill-sergeant’s work than of me.”
My heart was so filled with sudden joy that I knew not what I said; but I kissed Cora’s hand to conceal my confusion.
“And what of good Sir Nigel, Cora?” I asked.
“Papa comes to England to see you go away, and to take me home,” replied my cousin, in a calm voice; “home to Calderwood, when all is over.”
“All is over?”
“I mean when the army departs.”
“And you are on leave, I perceive, Berkeley?”
“Aw—haw—yes, for a day or so. Doocid bore the work at Maidstone,” he drawled out.
I was obliged as yet to dissemble, though there was an ill-concealed air of smiling triumph about my comrade that gave me considerable uneasiness.
“And now, sir, what have you to say for yourself?” said Lady Louisa, tapping me on the epaulette with her parasol, and speaking with an air of mock severity. “So the rules of society are to be inverted to suit your lancer tastes; the ladies are to wait upon the gentlemen? Quartered actually in Canterbury, and yet you never came near us.”
“Lady Louisa,” I was beginning, yet not knowing what to say, as I could never imagine that she doubted the reason of my non-appearance at Chillingham.
“What am I to think of it?” she continued, smiling.
Berkeley laughed. I believe the fellow thought we were on the eve of a coolness.
“Remember my constitutional timidity,” I urged.
“Timidity in a captain of lancers!” she exclaimed, laughing.
“I ventured to hope that the earl, at least, might have remembered me.”
“You knew that I was at Chillingham Park, it appears?” she observed, with a pretty air of pique.
“Yes,” said I, soothed by her glance of fond reproach; “Sir Nigel’s letter told me so.”
“Yet you never came even once to visit us, and I longed so much to see you, for I had a good deal to gossip about concerning our residence at Calderwood.”
“But the earl omitted to leave a card, and your mamma never wrote; and then the rules of society!” I urged, still harping on my grievance.
“The rules of fiddlesticks! When did lovers ever heed them?” she asked, in a rapid whisper, while Berkeley addressed a few words to Jocelyn, and while her dark and sparkling eyes flashed a glance that made me forget all. “Well, here are the cards of papa and mamma, with an express invitation to Chillingham. You will dine with us this evening, won’t you?”
“With pleasure.”
“Papa and mamma are to dine at the Priory, but on another day you shall see them.”
“And the hour?”
“Eight.”
“Eight!” I repeated, for that was the very hour of my appointment with Agnes Auriol, and the park lay in an opposite direction from the barracks. Here was a dilemma! But I resolved, if possible, to keep faith with both, and said—
“Excuse me, pray; but on reflection I find it impossible to be present at that hour.”
“Indeed!”
“But I shall present myself soon after in the drawing-room.”
“What prevents you?” she asked, raising her dark eyebrows.
“Duty, unfortunately.”
“In that case I must excuse you. Allegiance to me should not precede that which you owe to the Queen. Till this evening, then, adieu.”
She presented her hand, and bowed with inimitable grace. I took it in mine, and lingering, would, I am sure, have kissed it, but for the troop close by, and dozens of idlers who were lolling at the barrack windows in their shell-jackets or shirt-sleeves. There was a glorious smile on her bright face that contrasted strongly with the sad and wistful glance of Cora’s soft dark eyes; and, as the phaeton swept away from the barrack-square, I forgot to bid adieu to Berkeley, though I wished him in very warm quarters indeed. I forgot even to address Cora, or rejoin the troop. I forgot all about Studhome’s letter and its import; and, leaving Jocelyn to finish the drill as he pleased, walked mechanically to my quarters, filled by a great revulsion of feeling, and remembering only that Louisa loved me—loved me still! Of that day’s close could I have foreseen the end! I counted the hours that intervened between the time that I should be at the park. I resolved, if possible, to leave nothing undone to gain the good opinion of the earl and countess; and, on after thought, I regretted that I had excused my appearance at dinner, and believed that I might have paid my last visit to the cottage at the Reculvers an hour or so earlier, and performed my task of philanthropy, even at the risk of being seen; though, sooth to say, I rather dreaded that event, circumstanced as I was with Louisa; and since the clouds that lowered upon my horizon were dispersed now, the unfortunate victim of Berkeley could be of no further use to me.
Berkeley had been watching my interview with Louisa narrowly, and took in our whole situation at a glance, or thought he did so.
He feared that Lady Louisa’s gaiety was a little too spasmodic to be real, in one who was usually calm and reserved; and, hence, that it cloaked some deeper emotion than met the eye. My sensation at her appearance, and during the whole interview, must have been apparent even to a less interested spectator than Berkeley, and his whole soul became stirred by emotions of jealousy, rivalry, and revenge!
Having had the full entrée of Chillingham Park for the last month and more, he had, as he conceived, made a fair lodgment, to use a military phrase, in the body of the place—that he had the cards in his own hands, and should lose no time in discovering how Lady Louisa was affected towards him.
Cool, vain, insolent, and unimpassioned, this blasé parvenu thought over his plans while the phaeton rolled along the Canterbury Road; and the aristocratic aspect of the coroneted gate and castellated lodge, the far extent of green sward stretching under the stately elms, closely shorn and carefully rolled—sward that had never been ploughed since the days, perhaps, when the Scot and Englishman measured their swords at Flodden and Pinkey, kindled brighter the fire of ambition with him, and made him resolve at all hazards to supplant me.
One fact he had resolved on—that, though the days of bodily assassination had gone out of English society, or existed only in the pages of sensational romance, if he failed to obtain Louisa Loftus, that I should never succeed.