Vampire Books Online / The Blood of the Vampire: Part 3

Chapter 11

Mr. Alexander Milliken arrived punctually upon the morrow.

He was a tall, gaunt, weak-kneed man, with a prominent nose and eyes that required the constant use of glasses. Harriet Brandt could not at first determine his relationship to the Baroness, who received him with one of the rough kisses she was wont to bestow on Bobby and herself.

He established himself in the Red House as if he had been a member of the family, and Harriet frequently surprised him engaged in confidential talk with their hostess, which was immediately stopped on her arrival. She perceived that Miss Wynward had an evident dislike for the new-comer, and never addressed him but in the most formal manner and when it was strictly necessary. The Baroness did not go so often to the manufactory after Mr. Milliken’s arrival, but often shut herself up with him in a room with locked doors, after which Mr. Milliken would be much occupied with secretarial work, writing letters with his short-sighted eyes held close to the paper. He was a source of much curiosity to Harriet Brandt, but he need not have been.[Pg 179] He was only that very common and unclean animal—the jackal to Madame Gobelli’s lion.

He was poor and she was rich, so he did all the dirty work which she was unable, or afraid, to do for herself. Mr. Milliken called himself an author and an actor, but he was neither. On account of his accidental likeness to a popular actor, he had once been engaged to play the part of his double at a West-end theatre, but with the waning of the piece, Mr. Milliken’s fame evaporated, and he had never obtained an engagement since. His assumed authorship was built on the same scale. He had occasionally penned anonymous articles for newspapers, which had been inserted without pay, but no one in the literary or any other world knew him by name or by fame. Of late he had attached himself to Madame Gobelli, writing her letters for her (of doing which she was almost incapable), and occasionally dabbling in dirtier work, which she was too cunning to do for herself. Miss Wynward could have told tales of abusive epistles which had been sent through his hand to people, whom the Baroness considered had offended her—of anonymous letters also, which if traced would have landed them both in the County Court. But Mr. Milliken was out at elbows. He found it very convenient to hang about the Red House for weeks together, to the saving of his pocket—receiving douceurs sometimes in actual coin of the realm at the hands of his benefactress, and making himself useful to her in any way in return. Lately, notwithstanding her grand promises to Harriet Brandt of introductions to lords, and princes, the Baroness had thought it would be a very good thing for her favourite jackal if the young heiress took a fancy for[Pg 180] him, and gave him full leave in consequence to go in and conquer if he could. She would praise his appearance and his qualities to the girl, before his very face—calling attention to the fact of what a clever creature he was, and what a fine figure he possessed, and how well he was connected, and advising her in her coarse fashion to cultivate his acquaintance better. She even descended to having visions in the broad daylight, and prophesying the future, for them both.

“’Arriet!” she would suddenly exclaim, “I see a man standing be’ind you!”

“O! gracious!” the girl would reply, jumping in her seat, “I wish you would not say such things, Madame!”

“Rubbish! Why shouldn’t I say ’em, if they’re there? Stop a bit! Let me see ’im plainly! ’E’s got dark ’air, slightly sprinkled with grey—a fine nose—deep-set eyes, with bushy eyebrows—no ’air on ’is face—a tall figure, and long ’ands and feet! ’E’s living in this world too! Do you know anybody that answers to the description?”

“No!” replied the girl, though she recognised it at once as being meant for Mr. Milliken.

“Well! if you don’t know ’im now, you will before long, but it’s my belief you’ve met. And mark my words! you and ’e will be closely connected in life! I shouldn’t wonder if ’e turns out to be your future ’usband!”

“O! nonsense!” exclaimed Harriet, trying to speak lightly, “I’m not going to marry anybody, thank you, Madame Gobelli, unless it’s one of the princes you promised to introduce me to.”

“O! princes are all rubbish!” replied the Baroness, forgetting her former assertions, “they’ve none of them[Pg 181] got any money, and yours wouldn’t go far enough for ’em. They want a gal with something like five thousand a year at ’er back. I’d rather ’ave an Englishman any day, than a dirty little German prince!”

But Harriet Brandt was not the sort of woman to be forced into an intimacy against her will. Born under an hereditary curse, as she undoubtedly had been, and gifted with the fatal propensity of injuring, rather than benefiting those whom she took a fancy for, she was an epicure in her taste for her fellow creatures, and would not have permitted Mr. Alexander Milliken to take a liberty with her, had he been the last man left upon the earth. She avoided his society as much as it was possible to do, without being rude to her hostess, but as the Baroness was continually calling her to her side, it was difficult to do so. Meanwhile the days went on very differently from what she had anticipated when coming to the Red House. Bobby was languid and indifferent to everything but hanging about the place where she might have located herself—sitting on the sofa beside her, with his heavy head on her shoulder, and his weak arm wound about her waist. Miss Wynward feared he must have contracted some species of malaria at the seaside, and Harriet could see for herself that the lad was much altered from the time when they first met—the Baroness alone, either from ignorance or obstinacy, declaring that nothing ailed him but laziness, and she would give him the stick if he didn’t exert himself more. Sometimes Harriet took him out with her—for a drive into the country, or to a concert or matinée in London, but what was that compared to the entertainment of Royalty and Aristocracy, which she had been[Pg 182] promised. And she had not heard a word from Captain Pullen, though her first letter of appeal had been succeeded by two or three more. Such a rebuff would have driven another girl to despondency or tears, but that was not the effect it had on Harriet Brandt. If you throw a bone to a tigress and then try to take it away, she does not weep—she fights for her prey. Harriet Brandt, deprived of the flatteries and attentions of Captain Pullen, did not weep either, but set her pretty teeth together, and determined in her own mind that if she were to give him up she would know the reason why. She was reckless—she did not care what she did to obtain it, but she would learn the truth of his defalcation if she travelled down to Aldershot for the purpose. She was in this mood one day, when the maidservant who answered the door came to tell her that a lady was in the drawing-room, and desired to see her. The Baroness had gone out that afternoon and taken Mr. Milliken with her, so that Harriet was alone. She eagerly demanded the name of her visitor.

“The lady didn’t give me her name,” replied the servant, “but she asked if Miss Brandt was at home, plain enough!”

“Go back and say that I will be with her in a minute!” said Harriet.

She had decided in her own mind that the stranger must be Margaret Pullen, bringing her, doubtless, some news of her brother-in-law. She only stayed to smoothe her hair, which was rather disordered from Bobby laying his head on her shoulder, before, with a heightened colour, she entered the drawing-room. What was her surprise to encounter, instead of Mrs. Pullen, Miss Leyton—Miss[Pg 183] Leyton, who had been so reserved and proud with her at Heyst, and who even though she had sought her out at the Red House, looked as reserved and proud as before. Harriet advanced with an extended hand, but Elinor Leyton did not appear to see the action, as she coldly bowed and sank into her chair again.

Harriet was rather taken aback, but managed to stammer out,

“I am very glad to see you, Miss Leyton! I thought you and Mrs. Pullen had forgotten all about me since leaving Heyst.”

“We had not forgotten, Miss Brandt,” replied Elinor, “but we had a great deal of trouble to encounter in the death of Mrs. Pullen’s baby, and that put everything else for a while out of our minds. But—but—lately, we have had reason to remember your existence more forcibly than before!”

She spoke slowly and with an evident effort. She was as agitated as it was in her nature to be the while, but she did not show it outwardly. Elinor Leyton had at all times the most perfect command over herself. She was dressed on the present occasion with the utmost neatness and propriety, though she had left her home labouring under a discovery which had pierced her to the very soul. She was a woman who would have died upon the scaffold, without evincing the least fear.

“Reason to remember my existence!” echoed Harriet, “I do not understand you.”

“I think you soon will!” said Elinor, as she took three letters from her hand-bag and laid them on the[Pg 184] table, “I do not think you can fail to recognise that handwriting, Miss Brandt!”

Harriet stooped down and read the address upon the envelopes. They were her own letters to Captain Pullen.

“How did you get these?” she demanded angrily, as she seized them in her hand. “Is thieving one of your proclivities, Miss Leyton?”

“No, Miss Brandt, thieving, as you elegantly put it, is not one of my proclivities! But Captain Pullen has been staying in the house of my father, Lord Walthamstowe, at Richmond, and left those letters behind him—thrown in the empty grate just as they are, a proof of how much he valued them! One of the housemaids, whilst setting his room in order after his departure, found them and brought them to me. So I determined that I would return them to your hands myself!”

“And have you read them?” demanded Harriet.

“I have read them! I considered it my duty!”

“Your duty!” replied the other, scornfully, “what duty is there in a mean, dishonourable action like that? What right had you to interfere with things that don’t belong to you? These letters concern myself and Captain Pullen alone!”

“I deny that, Miss Brandt! They concern me quite as much, if not more—Captain Pullen is my affianced husband! We are to be married in the spring!”

“I don’t believe it!” cried Harriet, starting to her feet. “A woman who would read letters not addressed to her, would say anything! You are not engaged to be married to Captain Pullen!”

[Pg 185]

“Indeed! And on what grounds do you refuse to believe my statement?”

“Because he made love to me all the time he was in Heyst! Because he used to kiss me and tell me again and again that I was the only woman who had ever touched his heart! Because he had arranged to follow the Baroness’s party to Brussels, only to be near me, and he would have done so, had you not prevented him!”

Her great eyes were blazing with indignation and mortified vanity—her slender hands were clenched—she looked as if she were about to spring upon her rival and tear her to pieces—whilst Miss Leyton sat there, calm and collected—and smiled at her ravings.

“You are quite mistaken,” she said after a pause, “I have never mentioned your name to Captain Pullen—I had no idea, until those letters fell into my hands, that he had so far forgotten what he owes to me, as to address you in any terms but those of mere acquaintanceship. But now that I do know, it must of course be put a stop to at once and for ever! It was to tell you so, that I came here this afternoon.”

“Put a stop to! Do you imagine that I am going to give up Captain Pullen at your request? You are vastly mistaken!”

“But you must—you shall!” exclaimed Elinor, getting (for her) quite excited. “He is engaged to marry me, and I will not allow him to keep up any communication with you! My decision is final, and you will be good enough to respect it!”

“Your decision is final!” cried Harriet in mocking tones. “Oh! indeed, is it? And what about Ralph’s[Pg 186] decision? Does that count for nothing? What if Ralph refuses to give me up?”

Elinor rose to her feet, trembling with indignation at the other’s boldness.

“You shall not call him ‘Ralph’,” she exclaimed. “How dare you speak of a man who is nothing to you, in such familiar terms?”

“But is he nothing to me?” retorted Harriet, “and am I nothing to him? We must have that question answered first. Ralph told me to call him by his name, and he calls me Hally. How can you prevent our doing so? He loves me—he has told me so—and I shall write to him as often as I choose—yes! and I will take him from you, if I choose, and keep him into the bargain! What do you say to that?”

“I say that you are a bold, brazen girl, not fit for me to associate with, and that I refuse to be contaminated by your presence any longer! Let me go!”

She made an effort to gain the door, as she spoke, but Harriet barred her exit.

“No, no, Miss Leyton,” she said, “you don’t come here to insult me, and then leave before you have heard all I have to say to you! In the first place your assurance to-day is the first I ever heard of your being engaged to marry Captain Pullen. He didn’t take the trouble to make it public. He never mentioned you except to say what a cold, reserved, unpleasant nature you had, and how impossible it would be for a man with any human feeling to get on with you! That is what he thought! And he said it too, when he had his arm round my waist, and his face close to mine. And now he has come to England, I suppose he is afraid to carry on[Pg 187] with me any more, for fear that you should hear of it! But I don’t mean to let him off so easily, I can tell you! He shall answer those letters, which you say he threw away in the grate, but which you are just as likely to have pilfered from his desk, before he is many days older!”

“You cannot make him answer them,” said Elinor, proudly, “whatever you may affirm!”

“Not on paper perhaps, but by word of mouth! I will take them back to him at Aldershot, and see whether he can deny what I have told when he is face to face with me!”

“Surely!—surely!—you would never proceed to so unmaidenly an extremity,” exclaimed Elinor, losing sight for a moment of her indignation in her horror at the idea. “You must not think of such a thing! You would create a scandal in the Camp! You would be despised for it ever after!”

“I can take care of myself!” replied Harriet, boldly, “you need not fear for me! And if even you do get your own way about this matter, you will have the satisfaction all your married life of knowing that your husband was a coward and a traitor to you, even during your engagement, and that you will never be able to trust him further than you can see him, to the end! If you can care for such a husband, take him, for I’m sure I wouldn’t. But he shall answer to me for all that!”

“Oh! Miss Brandt, let me go, pray let me go!” said Elinor in a tone of such unmistakeable pain, that the other involuntarily drew back, and let her push her way past her to the door.

As Miss Leyton disappeared, Harriet Brandt commenced[Pg 188] to pace up and down the length of the drawing-room. It was not the swaying walk of disappointment and despair; it was determined and masterful, born of anger and a longing for revenge. All the Creole in her, came to the surface—like her cruel mother, she would have given over Ralph Pullen to the vivisecting laboratory, if she could. Her dark eyes rolled in her passion; her slight hands were clenched upon each other; and her crimson lips quivered with the inability to express all she felt. Bobby, glancing in upon her from the French windows which opened on the garden, crept to her side and tried to capture her clenched hands, and to keep her restless body still. But she threw him off, almost brutally. At that moment she was brutal.

“Leave me alone,” she exclaimed impatiently, “don’t touch me! Go away!”

“O! Hally,” the boy replied, sympathetically, “what is the matter? Has anyone offended you? Let me know! Let me try to comfort you! Or tell me what I shall do to help you.”

“Do!” cried the girl, contemptuously, “what could you do?—a baby tied to your mother’s apron-string! Leave me to myself, I say! I don’t want you, or anyone! I want to be alone! Boys are of no use! It requires a man to revenge a woman’s wrong!”

The lad, after one long look of bitter disappointment, walked quietly away from the spot, and hid his grief in some sequestered part of the garden. Hally despised him—she, who had kissed him and let him lay his head upon her shoulder and tell her all his little troubles—said he was of no use, when she stood in need of help and comfort! When, if she only knew it, he was ready[Pg 189] to stand up in her defence against twenty men, if need be, and felt strong enough to defeat them all! But she had called him a baby, tied to his mother’s apron-strings. The iron entered into his very soul.

Meanwhile, Elinor Leyton, having blindly found her way out of the Red House, hailed a passing hansom, and gave the driver directions to take her to a certain number in Harley Street, where Margaret Pullen was staying with her godfather, Doctor Phillips. She knew no one else to whom she could go in this great trouble, which made her feel as if her life had suddenly been cut in two. Yet she made no outward moan. Most young women having kept a bold front, as she had done, towards the enemy, would have broken down, as soon as they found themselves alone. But Elinor Leyton was not in the habit of breaking down. As soon as she had started for her destination, she leaned her head upon the back of the cab, closed her eyes and set her teeth fast together. Her face grew deadly pale, and an observer would have noted the trembling of her lips, and the ball which rose and fell in her throat. But she uttered no sound, not even a sigh—her misery was too deep for words.

Since she had returned to London, Margaret Pullen had stayed with Doctor Phillips, for he had insisted that it should be so. The telegram which had conveyed to Colonel Pullen the news of his little daughter’s death, had been answered by one to say that he had applied for immediate leave, and should join his wife as soon as he received it. And Margaret was now expecting his arrival, every day—almost every hour. She looked very sad in her deep mourning dress, as she came forward[Pg 190] to greet Elinor, but as soon as she caught sight of her visitor’s face, she forgot her own trouble in her womanly sympathy for her friend.

“My dear Elinor!” she exclaimed, “what has brought you to town? You have bad news for me—I can read it in your eyes. Nothing wrong with Ralph, I hope!”

She kissed the girl affectionately, and held her hand, but Elinor did not answer. She turned her white face towards her friend, and bit her lips hard, but the words would not come.

“You are suffering, my poor dear,” went on Margaret, tenderly, as she made her sit down, and removed her hat and cloak. “Can’t you trust me with your trouble? Haven’t I had enough of my own? Ah! cry, that’s better. God sends us tears, in order that our hearts may not break! And now, what is it? Is anyone ill at home?”

Elinor shook her head. The tears were rolling slowly one by one, down her marble cheeks, but she jerked them away as they came, as though it were a shame to weep.

After a long pause, she swallowed something in her throat and commenced in a husky voice:

“It concerns Ralph, Margaret! He has been untrue to me! All is over between us!”

“Oh! surely not!” said Margaret, “have you had a full explanation with him? Who told you he had been untrue? Has Ralph asked for a release from his engagement?”

“No! but he shall have it!”

She then went on to tell the story of the finding of Harriet Brandt’s letters in Captain Pullen’s grate—and of the interview she had had with the girl that afternoon.

[Pg 191]

“She did not attempt to deny it,” continued Elinor. “On the contrary she declared that he had made love to her all the time he was at Heyst—that he had said she was the only woman who had ever touched his heart, and that no man with human feelings could be happy with such a cold, reserved nature as mine! And if you could see her letters to him, Margaret—I wish I had not given them to her, but she snatched them from my hand—they were too dreadful! I never read such letters from a woman to a man. I did not know they could be written.”

“But, Elinor, it strikes me that all this time, you have only heard one side of the question. What does it signify what Miss Brandt may say? The only thing of importance to you is, what Ralph will say.”

“But there were her letters—they told their own story! They were full of nothing but ‘dearests’ and ‘darlings,’ and reminders of how he had embraced her in one place, and what he had said to her in another—such letters as I could not write to a man, if it were to save my life!”

“I can quite understand that! Miss Brandt and you possess two totally different natures. And cannot you understand that a girl like that, half educated, wholly ignorant of the usages of society, with a passionate undeveloped nature and a bold spirit, might write as you have described her doing, against the wishes of the recipient of her letters? You say that Ralph threw her epistles in the grate just as they were. Does that look as if he valued them, or felt himself to be guilty concerning their reception?”

“But, Margaret, you know he did make himself conspicuous[Pg 192] with the Gobellis and Miss Brandt at Heyst! I think everyone noticed their intimacy!”

“I noticed it also, and I was very sorry for it, but, Elinor, my dear, it was partly your own fault! You were so much opposed to the idea of your engagement to Ralph being made public, that I feared it might lead to some contretemps. And then,” she continued gently, “don’t be offended if I say that your reserve with him, and your objection to anything like love-making on his part is in itself calculated to drive a young man to society he cares less for!”

“But—but—still—I love him!” said poor Elinor, with a tremendous effort.

“I know you do,” replied Margaret, kissing her again, “and better and more faithfully, perhaps, than half the women who show their love so openly—yet, men are but men, Elinor, and as a rule they do not believe in the affection which is never expressed by caresses and fond words.”

“Well! whether I have been right or wrong, it is over now,” said Miss Leyton, “and Ralph can go to Miss Brandt or anyone else he chooses for amusement. I shall never stand in his way, but I cannot brook an affront, so I shall write and release him from his promise to me at once!”

“No, no, Elinor, you must not do anything so rash! I beg—I implore you, to do nothing, until Ralph has had an opportunity of denying the charges brought against him by this girl. They may be utterly untrue! She may be simply persecuting him. Depend upon it, you have only to ask him for an explanation of those letters, and everything will be satisfactorily cleared up.”

[Pg 193]

“You have more belief in him than I have, Margaret. Miss Brandt has great confidence in her cause. She told me that she had not only taken him from me, but she meant to keep him, and expressed her intention of going down to Aldershot and confronting Ralph with the letters she had written him!”

At this intelligence, Margaret grew alarmed for her friend’s peace of mind.

“No! no! that must never be,” she exclaimed, “that girl must not be permitted to make a scandal in the Camp, and get your name perhaps mixed up with it! It must be prevented.”

“I fancy you will find that a difficult task,” said Elinor; “she seems the most determined young woman I have ever come across. She became so vehement at last, that she frightened me, and I was only too glad to get out of the house.”

“Elinor,” said Mrs. Pullen suddenly, “will you leave this matter in my hands to settle in my own way?”

“What do you intend to do? See Miss Brandt yourself? I advise you not! She will only insult you, as she did me.”

“No! I shall not see her myself, I promise you that, but I will send a proper ambassador to interview Miss Brandt and the Baroness. This sort of thing must not be allowed to go on, and unless Ralph comes forward to second the girl’s assertions (which I am sure he will never do), she and her friend Madame Gobelli must be made to understand that if they don’t behave themselves, the law will be called into requisition to enforce obedience. I should not be at all surprised if the Baroness were not at the bottom of all this.”

[Pg 194]

“At anyrate, it has ruined my life!” said Elinor, mournfully.

“Nonsense! my dear girl, no such thing! It is only an unpleasant episode which will soon be forgotten. But let it make you a little more careful for the future, Elinor. Ralph is a very conceited man. He has been spoilt by the women all his life, ‘pour l’amour de ses beaux yeux.’ He has been used to flattery and attention, and when he doesn’t get it he misses it, and goes where it is to be found. It is rather a contemptible weakness, but he shares it in common with most of his sex, and you have promised, remember, to take him for better or worse!”

“Not yet, thank goodness!” retorted Elinor, with something of her usual spirit. “He and father got talking together about the marriage, the other day, when he was down at Richmond, and fixed it, I believe, for the spring, but they will have to unfix it again now, if I am not mistaken.”

“No such thing,” replied Margaret, “and now you have consented—have you not?—to leave the settlement of this other affair in my hands.”

“If you wish it, Margaret! But, remember, no compromise! If Ralph has really promised this girl what she says, let him keep his promises, for I will have none of him. And now I must go home or they will wonder what has become of me!”

Margaret was not sorry to see her depart, for she was most anxious to summon Anthony Pennell, her husband’s cousin, to her aid, and ask his advice as to what was best to be done in the circumstances.

She had great faith in Anthony Pennell, not only in[Pg 195] his genius, which was an accepted thing, but in his good sense, which is not usually found associated with the higher quality. He was a man of about thirty, with a grand intellect—a sound understanding—a liberal mind, and a sympathetic disposition. He had been originally intended for the Bar, but having “taken silk,” and made a most promising debut, he had suddenly blossomed into an author, and his first novel had taken London by storm.

He had accomplished the rare feat of being lifted up at once on the waves of public opinion and carried over the heads of all his fellows.

Since his first success, he had continued writing—had given up the law in consequence—and was now making a large and steady income.

But Anthony Pennell’s great charm lay in his unassuming manner and modest judgment of his own work. His triumphs were much more astonishing to him than to his friends. In person, he was less handsome than his cousin Ralph Pullen, but much more manly looking, having been a distinguished athlete in his College days, and still finding his best recreation on the cricket field and the golf ground. He was very fair, with a white skin, embrowned here and there by sun and outdoor exercise—short, curly hair—a fine figure, standing six foot high, and the bluest of blue eyes. He was smoking in his own chambers late that afternoon, when he received a telegram from Margaret Pullen, “Can you come over this evening?” and as soon as he had changed his lounging coat, he obeyed her summons.

Chapter 12

Anthony Pennell was a very fresh, pleasant, and good-looking presentment of a young English gentleman, as he entered the room where Margaret was sitting with Doctor Phillips that evening. It had been arranged between them beforehand, that as little as need be should be confided to him of Harriet Brandt’s former history. All that was necessary for him to know, was the danger that threatened to blast the future happiness of Ralph Pullen and Elinor Leyton.

“Well! Mrs. Pullen,” he said, as he shook hands cordially with Margaret and the doctor, “and what important business is it, that you want to consult me upon? I thought, at the very least, that I should meet my cousin Arthur here!”

“If I had had Arthur, perhaps I should not have needed you,” replied Margaret, with a faint smile. “But really, Mr. Pennell, I am in want of advice sorely, and the Doctor agreed with me that you would be the best person to whom I could apply!”

“I am at your service, Madam!” said the young man, gaily, as he seated himself.

Then she told him the story of Harriet Brandt—how Ralph had met her at the Lion d’Or, and devoted his time to her—and how she was persecuting him with letters, and had threatened to follow him to the Camp and interview him there.

“And it must be put a stop to, you know, Mr. Pennell,” she concluded, “not only for Ralph’s sake and Elinor’s, but for the sake of the Walthamstowes and my[Pg 197] husband. I am sure that Arthur would be exceedingly annoyed at any scandal of that sort, and especially as Lord Walthamstowe is so old a friend of his family!”

Anthony Pennell had looked very grave during her recital. After a pause he said,

“Are you sure that Ralph has not given this young lady good cause to run after him?”

“I think not—I hope not! There was very little amusement in Heyst, and this girl, and the people with whom she is now staying—a Baron and Baroness Gobelli, they call themselves—were amongst the visitors to the Lion d’Or. Miss Leyton is rather a stickler for the proprieties, and used to refuse to walk out with Ralph alone in the evenings, and I was too much occupied with my poor darling baby to accompany them,” said Margaret, in a faltering voice, “so Ralph took to going to the Baroness’s private rooms instead, and became intimate with Miss Brandt!”

“You acknowledge then, that he was intimate with her!”

“I think he must have been—because it appears that he had agreed to join their party at Brussels, when—when—my great trouble obliged him to return to England with us instead.”

“Did you know this young lady, Mrs. Pullen?”

“I did, and at one time I was rather intimate with her, that is, before the Baroness took her up, when she passed almost all her time with them.”

“She is, I suppose, very attractive in person?”

“O! dear no, not at all!” cried Margaret, with a woman’s dull appreciation of the charms of one of her own sex, “she has fine eyes, and what men would, I[Pg 198] suppose, call a good figure, but no complexion and an enormous mouth. Not at all pretty, but nice-looking at times,—that is all!”

“Clever?” said Pennell, interrogatively.

“I do not think so! She had just come out of a Convent school and was utterly unused to society. But she has a very good voice and plays well on the mandoline!”

“Ladies are not always the best judges of their own sex,” remarked Anthony, turning to Doctor Phillips, “what do you say, Doctor? Had you an opportunity of appraising Miss Brandt’s beauties and accomplishments for yourself?”

“I would rather say nothing, Mr. Pennell,” replied the Doctor. “The fact is, I knew her parents in the West Indies, and could never believe in anything good coming from such a stock. Whatever the girl may be, she inherits terrible proclivities, added to black blood. She is in point of fact a quadroon, and not fit to marry into any decent English family!”

“O! dear!” exclaimed Mr. Pennell laconically.

“And how do you expect me to help you?” he enquired, after a pause.

“I want you to see the Baroness, or Miss Brandt, and tell them that this girl must cease all communication with Captain Pullen,” said Margaret, “tell them that he is engaged to marry Miss Leyton—that the marriage is fixed to take place next spring, and that the Walthamstowe family will be excessively annoyed if any scandal of this sort occurs to break it off.”

“Do they not know that such an engagement exists?”

“No! that is the unfortunate part of it! Elinor Leyton[Pg 199] is so absurdly scrupulous that she will not have the fact made public, and forbade me to tell Miss Brandt about it! Elinor went to the Red House where Miss Brandt is staying this morning and had a most stormy interview with her. She came here afterwards in a most distressed state of mind. Harriet Brandt had told her that she had secured Ralph Pullen and meant to keep him—that he had told her he loved her—and that Miss Leyton was too cold and prudish a nature for any man to be happy with! Of course Elinor was terribly upset. She seldom shows her feelings, but it was quite impossible for her to disguise them to-day. I begged her to leave the matter in my hands, and she consented to do so. That is why I telegraphed for you.”

“It is rather an awkward predicament!” said Anthony Pennell, thoughtfully, “you will forgive me for saying, Mrs. Pullen, that Ralph is so very likely to have done this sort of thing, that I feel one might be treading on very delicate ground—in fact, putting one’s foot in it—by interfering. You know what Ralph is—selfish and indolent and full of vanity. He considers it far too much trouble to make love (as it is called) to a woman, but he will accept any amount of love that is offered him, so long as it gives him no trouble. If this Miss Brandt is all that you and the doctor here say of her, she may possibly have drawn Ralph on, and taken his languid satisfaction as proof that he agreed to all she said and did. But it will make the dénouement just as unpleasant. Besides, how will Ralph himself take my interference in the matter? He may have some designs on this girl—some ideas in the future connected with her—and will ask what business I had to come between them.”

[Pg 200]

“O! no! Did I not tell you that he had left her letters in his grate!”

“That might be part of his indolent carelessness, or they may have been left there by design, as a means of breaking the ice between himself and Miss Leyton. Is not he, after all, the most proper person to appeal to? Why not wait till your husband returns, and let him speak to his brother?”

“I am so afraid in that case, that Ralph might consider that he had gone too far with Miss Brandt, and honour demanded that he should marry her! And, Mr. Pennell, Doctor Phillips could tell you things, if he chose, to prove to you that Harriet Brandt is not a fit wife for any decent man.”

Anthony Pennell thought again for a few minutes—sitting silent with his hand caressing his smooth chin. Then he said:

“If you are very much bent on my doing what I can in this matter, I see only one way to accomplish it. I must enter the Red House under a flag of truce. Did you know this Baroness Gobelli? Can you tell me what sort of woman she is? I never heard the name before!”

“She is quite a character,” replied Margaret; “I believe her husband is a German Baron, but she was a Mrs. Bates, and is an extraordinary Baroness. A strange mixture also, of vulgarity and refined tastes. She drops all her aspirates, yet talks familiarly of aristocratic and royal titles, she dresses like a cook out on Sundays, and yet has a passion for good paintings and old china.”

At the last words, Anthony Pennell pricked up his ears.

[Pg 201]

“A passion for old china!” he exclaimed, “then there must be some good in her! Cannot you give me an introduction to the Red House on the plea that I am a connoisseur and am desirous of seeing her collection?”

“Of course I can, but how can you approach these people in amity, with a censure of Miss Brandt’s conduct in your hand? Madame Gobelli is infatuated with Harriet Brandt! I was telling poor Elinor only this afternoon, that I should not be at all surprised if she were at the bottom of all this unpleasantness.”

“She could not be at the bottom of anything unless Ralph had given her cause,” replied Mr. Pennell, who had never had a good opinion of his cousin’s straightforward dealing, “and however it may turn out, I should think he would have a heavy reckoning to settle with Miss Leyton! This is not the first time, remember! You have not forgotten the trouble Arthur had to get him out of that scrape with the laundress’s girl at Aldershot, the year before last!”

“Yes! Arthur told me about it,” replied Margaret. “But you are going to help us, this time, Mr. Pennell, are you not?”

“In so far as procuring an introduction to the Baroness, and taking my opportunity to let her know the true state of affairs with Miss Leyton, yes,” said Mr. Pennell, “but there, my responsibility must cease. Should Ralph have committed himself in writing, or anything of that sort, you must promise to let them fight it out their own way. I daresay there will be no trouble about the matter. I can see how it has occurred at a glance. Ralph has been merely amusing himself with the girl, and she has taken his philandering in earnest. But I wish he would[Pg 202] leave that sort of thing off. It will ruin his married life if he does not!”

“Yes! indeed, and Elinor Leyton really loves him, more, I am sure, than he imagines. She declared this afternoon, that if it were not put a complete stop to, she should break off her engagement. And I think she would be right!”

“So do I,” acquiesced Anthony Pennell. “Well! if these people are ordinarily decent, they will, as soon as they hear the truth, prevent their young friend interfering with another woman’s rights. Write me the introduction, Mrs. Pullen, and I will pay the Red House a visit as soon as its owner gives me leave. And now let us talk of something pleasanter. How soon do you expect Arthur to arrive?”

“Any day,” replied Margaret, “and I am longing so for him to come!”

“Of course you are! Will he remain long in England?”

“Only a few weeks! He has taken three months’ leave. Then, I shall return with him to Hosur.”

“And you like the idea of India?”

“O! anything—anything—to find myself with him again,” she answered feverishly.

The conversation turned upon more indifferent subjects, and armed with the note of introduction to the Baroness, Anthony Pennell presently took his leave. He did not like the task imposed upon him, and he hardly knew how he should set about it, but on consideration he thought he could do no harm by having a look at the young lady, who had taken the fancy of his fickle-minded cousin Ralph, and leaving his future action to[Pg 203] be decided by the interview. He sat down therefore before turning into bed, and wrote a note to the Baroness, enclosing the introduction from Mrs. Pullen, and asking permission to call and inspect her rare collection of china, of which he had heard so much.

His letter reached the Red House on the following morning, at an unfortunate moment, when Madame Gobelli was giving full display to the worst side of her eccentric character.

The Baroness was not a lover of animals, either dogs or horses. She was merciless to the latter and the former she kicked whenever they came in her way. It was considered necessary, however, for the safety of the Red House, that it should be guarded by a watch-dog, and a miserable retriever, which answered to that name, lived in a rotten cask in the stable yard. This unhappy animal, which had neither sufficient food, exercise, nor straw to lie on, was in the habit of keeping up a continuous baying at night, in remonstrance at the cruelty of its treatment, which was a cause of annoyance to the neighbours, who had often written to the Baroness about it in vain.

On the morning in question, a Captain Hill, who lived on one side of the Red House, with his parents, sent in his card to Madame Gobelli and asked for an interview. She admitted him at once. She liked men of all sorts, and particularly if they were young and she could kiss them with impunity, under the pretence that she was old enough to be their mother.

She therefore welcomed Captain Hill quite amiably. She came in from the garden to receive him, attired in a Genoa velvet dress that trailed half a yard on the[Pg 204] damp ground behind, and a coarse Zulu hat perched on her large bullet head. She was attended by Harriet Brandt, who had been making a tour of the premises with her, and was always eager to see anybody who might call at the Red House. Miss Wynward also, who was dusting the china with a feather brush as the visitor was announced, continued her occupation, and without apologising for doing so, or asking leave.

Harriet had not yet been able to determine the exact place which this lady held in the Baroness’s household, for she was treated as one of the family, and yet degraded at times to the position of a servant.

The Baroness expected her to cook, or dust rooms, or darn stockings, or do anything required of her, whilst she introduced her to all her friends as if on a perfect equality with themselves. As she entered the drawing-room through one of the French windows, she shook hands familiarly with Captain Hill, and introduced him to both her companions.

“Well!” she went on, “and so you’ve come to see us at last! I thought you were going to live and die in that tumble-down old place of yours, without so much as a shake of the ’and! I ’ope you’re all well at ’ome!”

The stranger did not seem to know how to receive these civilities. He had not seated himself, but stood in the centre of the room with his hat in his hand, as though he found a difficulty in stating his errand at the Red House.

“Take a chair,” said Madame Gobelli in her rough way, “there’s enough and to spare, and my young friend ’ere won’t eat you!”

Still Captain Hill deliberated about accepting her offer.

[Pg 205]

“Thank you,” he commenced, “but I shall not detain you above a few moments. I came to speak to you about your dog, Madame Gobelli. My parents are both very old, and my mother especially delicate—indeed, I fear that she may never rise from her bed again!”

Here his voice faltered a little, but quickly recovering himself he went on,

“She sleeps very little, and that little has now become impossible to her on account of the incessant barking of your yard dog. I am here to-day by the wish of my mother’s medical attendant, Doctor Parker, to tell you that the noise is seriously affecting her health, and to beg that you will adopt some measures to have the annoyance stopped.”

As the Baroness understood the reason for which her neighbour had called upon her, her countenance palpably changed. The broad smile faded from her face and was replaced by an ominous frown. If there was one thing which she resented above another, it was being called to task for any disturbance in her household. Without taking any notice apparently of Captain Hill’s complaint, she turned to Miss Wynward and said,

“Miss Wynward, come ’ere! Does that dog bark at night?”

“Sometimes, my lady,” replied the governess dubiously.

“I don’t believe it! You’re lying! ’Arriet, does Nelson ever bark so as to disturb anyone?”

“He barks whenever there is a ring at the bell, or a stranger enters the grounds, Madame,” said Harriet, with politic evasion.

“Oh! I assure you he does more than that!” interposed[Pg 206] the visitor, “the poor animal howls without ceasing. Either he is ill, or the servants do not give him sufficient food!”

But at this censure cast upon her domestics whom she bullied from morning till night, the Baroness’s uncontrolled temper burst forth.

“’Ow dare you come ’ere,” she exclaimed loudly, “and bring false accusations against my servants? No one in this ’ouse is kept short of food. What do you mean—a rubbishing fellow like you—by coming ’ere, and accusing the Baron of starving ’is animals? There’s more money spent upon our animals, I bet, than goes in your poverty-stricken ’ouse-’old in a year!”

Captain Hill was now offended, as he well might be.

“I do not know what knowledge you may possess of the exigencies of my parents’ household, Madam,” he replied, “but what I came here to tell you is this—that from whatever cause it may arise, the howling and whining of your dog is a public nuisance and it must be stopped!”

“Must, must!” exclaimed Madame Gobelli, shaking her stick at him, “and pray ’oo’s to make me stop it?”

“I will,” said Captain Hill, “the noise is endangering the life of my mother, and I shall insist upon the animal being destroyed, or taken elsewhere. If you cannot take a friendly hint—if you have so callous a nature that the sufferings of an aged and invalid lady cannot excite your sympathy, the law shall teach you that, whatever you may fail to feel, you cannot annoy your neighbours with impunity!”

“Fine neighbours indeed!” cried the Baroness, her whole face trembling and contorted with passion. “A[Pg 207] beggarly lot of half-pay officers and retired parsons! I’ll soon see if you’ll be allowed to come riding the ’igh ’orse over me! Confound your impudence! Do you know ’oo I am?”

“A Billingsgate fishwoman, I should imagine, from your language! Certainly not a gentlewoman!” said Captain Hill, his eyes blazing with his wrath.

“’Ang you! I’ll soon teach you ’ow to insult a lady that’s connected with Royalty!”

At that, the stranger burst into a derisive laugh.

“Down the back stairs!” he muttered to himself, but Madame Gobelli caught the words.

“Get out of my ’ouse,” she cried. “’Ere, Miss Wynward, see this fellow out at the front door, and never you let ’im in again, or I’ll give you a month’s warning! Down the back stairs indeed! Confound you! If you don’t clear out this very minute, I’ll lay my stick across your back! You’ll make me destroy my dog, will you, and just because your trumpery mother don’t like ’is barking! Go ’ome and tell ’er to ’old ’er own row! And you accuse my servants of not giving ’im enough to eat. You’d be glad enough to see ’is dinner on your own table once or twice a week. Out with you, I say—out with you at once, and don’t let me see your ugly mug and your carroty ’ead in ’ere again, or I’ll set the dog you don’t like upon you.”

Captain Hill had turned white as a sheet with anger.

“You’ll hear more of this, Madam, and from my solicitor next time,” he said. “Heartless, unfeeling woman! How can you call yourself a mother, when you have no pity for a son’s grief at his mother’s illness? Pray God you may not have occasion to remember this[Pg 208] morning, when you have to part from your own son!”

He rushed from the room as he spoke, and they heard the hall door slam after him. For a minute after he left, there was a dead pause between the three women. His last words seemed to have struck the Baroness as with a two-edged sword. She stood silent, staring into vacancy, and breathing hard, whilst Harriet Brandt and Miss Wynward regarded each other with furtive dismay. The silence was broken by Madame Gobelli bursting into a harsh laugh.

“I don’t fancy ’e will show ’is face in my ’ouse again, in an ’urry,” she exclaimed. “It was as good as a play to watch ’im, trying to brave it out! Confound ’is old mother! Why don’t she die and ’ave done with it! I’ve no patience with old people ’anging on in that way, and worrying the ’ole world with their fads! Well! what is it?” she continued to a maid who brought her a letter.

“By the post, my lady!”

The Baroness broke the seal. There was such a look of scare upon her features, that some people might have thought she was glad to have anything to do that should hide it from her companions. The letter was from Anthony Pennell, whose name was familiar to her, as to all the world.

As she finished its perusal, her manner entirely altered. The broad smile broke out on her countenance—her eyes sparkled—one would have thought she could never be in anything but a beaming good temper.

“’Olloa! ’Arriet!” she exclaimed, “’ere’s news for you! ’Oo do you think this letter’s from?”

[Pg 209]

“How can I guess?” replied the girl, though her thoughts had flown at once to Ralph Pullen.

“From Mr. Anthony Pennell, the great author, you know, and own cousin to that rapscallion, Captain Pullen! Now we shall ’ear all about the ’andsome Captain! Mr. Pennell says ’e wants to come ’ere and see my china, but I know better! ’E’s bringing you a message from ’is cousin, mark my words! I can see it written up be’ind you!”

Harriet’s delicate face flushed with pleasure at the news.

“But why shouldn’t Captain Pullen have come himself?” she asked, anxiously.

“I can’t tell you that! Perhaps ’e is coming, be’ind the other, and this is only a feeler! There’s wheels within wheels in these big families, sometimes, you know, and the Pullens are connected with a lot of big-wigs! But we’ll ’ave some news, anyway! You just sit down, my dear, and write Mr. Pennell a pretty note in my name—you write a prettier ’and than I do—and say we shall be very pleased to see ’im to-morrow afternoon, if convenient, and I ’ope ’e will stay to dinner afterwards and be introduced to the Baron—will you?”

“O! yes, of course, Madame, if you wish it!” replied the girl, smiles dimpling her face at the thought of her triumph over Elinor Leyton.

“Now, Miss Wynward, we must ’ave a first-rate dinner to-morrow for Mr. Pennell, and you and Bobby ’ad better dine at one o’clock, or you’ll spoil the table. Let me see! We’ll ’ave——”

But turning to enforce her orders, the Baroness discovered that Miss Wynward had quitted the room.

[Pg 210]

“Why! where ’as the woman gone? Did you see ’er leave the room, ’Arriet?”

“I did not! I was too much occupied listening to you,” replied the girl from the table, where she was inditing the answer to Anthony Pennell’s note.

“’Ere, Miss Wynward! Miss Wynward!” screamed the Baroness from the open door, but no reply came to her call.

“I must go and see after ’er!” she said, as she stumped from the room, as intent upon procuring a good dinner for one young man, as she had been in insulting the other, and turning him from her doors.

Meanwhile Captain Hill, hot and angry, was striding away in the direction of his own home, when he heard a soft voice calling his name in the rear. He turned to encounter the spare, humiliated form of Miss Wynward.

“Captain Hill,” she ejaculated, “I beg your pardon, but may I speak to you for a moment?”

Recognising her as having been in the room, when the Baroness had so grossly insulted him, he waited rather coldly for her to come up with him.

“Don’t think me impertinent or interfering,” faltered Miss Wynward, “but I was so shocked—so distressed—I could not let you go without saying how grieved and sorry I am!”

“I do not quite understand you,” replied Captain Hill.

“O! yes, surely, did you not see me in the room just now! I felt as if I should die of shame! But if you knew what it is to be dependent—to be unable to speak or to expostulate—you would guess perhaps——”

“Yes! Yes! I think I can understand. But pray don’t[Pg 211] distress yourself about it! It was my own fault! I should have addressed her first through my solicitor. But I thought she was a gentlewoman!”

“It is her temper that gets the better of her,” said Miss Wynward in an apologetic tone, “she is not always so bad as she was this morning!”

“That is fortunate for the world at large,” replied Captain Hill, gravely. “I could have forgiven her vulgarity, but not her heartlessness. I can only think that she is a most terrible woman.”

“That is what everybody says,” answered his companion, “but she will admit of no remonstrance. She will have her own way, and the Baron is as powerless to refrain her, as you, or I. But that she should so insult a gentleman like yourself, even descending to oaths and personalities—O! I cannot tell you how much I felt it—how ashamed I was, and how anxious that you should not confound me with anything the Baroness said, or did!”

“Indeed,” said Captain Hill, holding out his hand, “you need have no fear on that score. I hope I know a gentlewoman when I see her! But tell me, since your eyes are open to all this, how is it that a lady like yourself can stay under the roof of so terrible a person? There are plenty of other situations to be had! Why do you not leave her, and go elsewhere?”

He was struck by the look of mingled anxiety and fear with which she regarded him.

“O! Captain Hill, there are reasons that are difficult to explain—that I could not tell to anyone on so short an acquaintance. But the Baroness possesses great power—she could ruin me, I believe she could kill if she chose!”

[Pg 212]

“She threatens you then!”

“Yes!” came from Miss Wynward’s lips, but in almost a whisper.

“Well! this is hardly the time and place to discuss such a question,” said Captain Hill, “but I should much like to see more of you, Miss Wynward! If you have any time at your disposal, will you come over and see my old mother? She is quite confined to her room, but I know it would please her to have a quiet talk with you!”

A light glistened in Miss Wynward’s washed-out eyes, and a smile stole over her countenance.

“Do you really mean it, Captain Hill?”

“I never say anything that I do not mean,” he answered, “I am sure both my parents would be glad to give you their advice, and my dear father, who is a clergyman, though past an active ministry, may be able to be of use to you in a more practical way. At anyrate, you will come and see us. That is a bargain!” and he held out his hand to her again in farewell.

“O! I will—I will, indeed,” exclaimed Miss Wynward, gratefully, “and thank you so very much for the permission. You have put a little hope into my life!”

She seized the hand he proffered her, and kissed it, as an inferior might have done, and then hurried back to the Red House, before he had had time to remonstrate with her on the proceeding.

Chapter 13

When Anthony Pennell received the Baroness’s invitation, penned in the delicate foreign handwriting of Harriet Brandt, he accepted it at once. Being out of[Pg 213] the season, he had no engagement for that evening, but he would have broken twenty engagements, sooner than miss the chance, so unexpectedly offered him, of meeting in an intimate family circle, the girl who appeared to have led his cousin Ralph’s fancy astray. He pictured her to himself as a whitey-brown young woman with thick lips and rolling eyes, and how Ralph, who was so daintily particular where the beau sexe was concerned, could have been attracted by such a specimen, puzzled Anthony altogether. The knowledge that she had money struck him unpleasantly, for he could think of no other motive for Captain Pullen having philandered with her, as he evidently had done. At anyrate, the idea that there was the least chance of allying herself with their family, must be put out of her head, at once and for ever.

Mr. Pennell amused himself with thinking of the scare he should create at the dinner table, by “springing” the news of Ralph’s intended marriage upon them, all at once. Would the young lady have hysterics, he wondered, or faint away, or burst into a passion of tears? He laughed inwardly at the probability! He felt very cruel over it! He had no pity for the poor quadroon, as Doctor Phillips had called her. It was better that she should suffer, than that Elinor Leyton should have to break off her engagement. And, by Margaret Pullen’s account, Miss Brandt had been both defiant and insulting to Miss Leyton. She must be a brazen, unfeeling sort of girl—it was meet that she paid the penalty of her foolhardiness.

It was in such a mood that Anthony Pennell arrived at the Red House at five o’clock in the afternoon, that[Pg 214] he might have the opportunity to inspect the collection of china that had gained him an entrance there.

The Baroness had promised to be home in time to receive him, but he was punctual and she was not. Harriet Brandt was loitering about the garden, which was still pleasant enough on fine days in the middle of September, when the news that Mr. Pennell was in the drawing-room was brought to her by Miss Wynward. Harriet had been very eager to meet Anthony Pennell—not because she was pining after his cousin, but because her feminine curiosity was strong to discover why Ralph had deserted her, and if he had been subjected to undue influence to force him to do so. But now that the time had come, she felt shy and nervous. Suppose he, Mr. Pennell, had seen Miss Leyton meanwhile, and heard all that had taken place between them, when she visited the Red House. And suppose he should take Miss Leyton’s part! Harriet’s mind was full of “supposes” as she turned to Miss Wynward and said,

“O! I can’t go and receive him, Miss Wynward! Mr. Pennell has come to see the Baroness, not me! Cannot you entertain him until she comes home? She will not be long now!”

“Her ladyship’s last words to me, Miss Brandt, were, that if she had not returned from the factory by the time Mr. Pennell arrived, you were to receive him and give him afternoon tea in her stead! I hope you will do as her ladyship desired!”

“Well! I suppose I must then,” replied Harriet, screwing up her mouth, with a gesture of dissatisfaction, “but do send in the tea, quickly, please!”

“It shall be up, Miss Brandt, as soon as I can get[Pg 215] back to make it! Mr. Pennell seems a very pleasant gentleman! I wouldn’t mind if I were you!”

Miss Wynward hurried back to the house, as she spoke, and Harriet walked slowly over the lawn towards the drawing-room windows.

Anthony Pennell, who had been bending over some rare specimens of old Chelsea, looked up suddenly as she approached, and was struck dumb with admiration. She had improved wonderfully in looks since she had been in Europe, though the women who lived with her continually, were slow to perceive it. Her delicate complexion had acquired a colour like that of a blush rose, which was heightened by contrast with her dark, glowing eyes, whilst her hair, by exposure to the rays of the sun, had caught some of its fire and showed ruddily, here and there, in streaks of auburn. Her figure, without having lost its lissom grace, was somewhat fuller, and her manner was altogether more intelligent, and less gauche than it had been. But the dark eyes were still looking for their prey, and the restless lips were incessantly twitching and moving one over the other. She was beautifully dressed that evening—she had not been in London for a month, without finding a way to spend her money—and Anthony Pennell, like most artistic natures, was very open to the influence of dress upon a woman. Harriet wore a frock of the palest lemon colour, cut quite plain, but perfect in every line and pleat and fold, and finished off at the throat with some rare lace, caught up here and there with tiny diamond pins.

“By Jove! what a beautiful girl!” was Mr. Pennell’s inward ejaculation as he saw her drawing nearer the spot where he stood. It was strange that his first[Pg 216] judgment of Harriet Brandt should have been the same as that of his cousin, Ralph Pullen, but it only proves from what a different standpoint men and women judge of beauty. As Harriet walked over the grass, Anthony Pennell noted each line of her swaying figure—each tint of her refined face—with the pretty little hands hanging by her side, and the slumbrous depths of her magnificent eyes. He did not, for one moment, associate her with the idea which he had formed of the West Indian heiress who was bent on capturing his cousin Ralph. He concluded she was another young friend who might be partaking of the Baroness’s hospitality. He bowed low as she entered through the open French window looking as a Georgian or Cashmerian houri might have looked, he thought, if clad in the robes of civilisation. Harriet bowed in return, and said timidly,

“I am so sorry that Madame Gobelli is not here to receive you, but she will not keep you waiting more than a few minutes, I am sure. She particularly said that she would not be later than five o’clock.”

“She has left a very charming substitute in her place,” replied Pennell, with another bow.

“I believe you have come to see the china,” continued Harriet, “I do not know much about it myself, but Miss Wynward will be here in a minute, and she knows the name of every piece, and where it came from!”

“That will be eminently satisfactory,” rejoined Anthony Pennell, “but I happen to be a connoisseur in such things myself. I have one or two charming bits of old Sèvres and Majolica in my chambers, which I think the Baroness would like to see if she will honour[Pg 217] me with a visit to my little place. A lonely bachelor like myself must take up some hobby, you know, to fill his life, and mine happens to be china. Madame Gobelli appears to have some lovely Chelsea there. I would like to steal one or two of those groups on the cabinet. Will you hold the door open for me, whilst I run away with them?”

At this sally, Harriet laughed, and Mr. Pennell thought she looked even handsomer when she laughed than when she was pensive.

“Here is the tea!” she cried nervously, as Miss Wynward appeared with the tray. “O! Miss Wynward, surely Madame cannot be much longer now! Have you looked down the road to see if she is coming?”

“The carriage has just turned into the stable yard,” replied Miss Wynward, and in another minute, the doorway was filled with the ample proportions of the Baroness.

“’Olloa! Mr. Pennell, and so you’ve stolen a march upon me!” was her first greeting, “’ow are you?” extending her enormous hand, “’ave you been looking at the china? Wait till I’ve ’ad my tea; I’ll show you one or two bits that’ll make your mouth water! It’s my ’obby! I used to save my pocket money when I was a little gal to buy china. I remember my grandfather, the Dook of—but there, I ’aven’t known you long enough to let you into family secrets. Let’s ’ave our tea and talk afterwards! I ’ope ’Arriet ’as entertained you well!”

“This young lady—” commenced Anthony Pennell, interrogatively.

“To be sure, Miss ’Arriet Brandt! ’Asn’t she introduced ’erself to you? She’s like a daughter of the ’ouse to us! We look upon ’er as one of our own, Gustave[Pg 218] and me! Miss Brandt from Jamaica! And she knew your cousin, Captain Pullen, too, at Heyst, we all did, and we’re dying to ’ear what ’as become of ’im, for ’e’s never shown ’is face at the Red ’Ouse!”

The murder was out now, and Harriet waited tremblingly for the result! What did Mr. Pennell know? What would he say?

But Mr. Pennell said nothing—he was too much startled to speak. This, Harriet Brandt—this lovely girl, the quadroon of whom both Doctor Phillips and Mrs. Pullen had spoken so disparagingly?—of whom they had said that she was not fit to be the wife of any decent man? Oh! they must be fools and blind—or he was dreaming! The Baroness was not slow to see the look upon his face and to interpret it rightly.

“Are you surprised? You needn’t look so incredulous! I give you my word that this is ’Arriet Brandt—the same young lady that knew Mrs. Pullen and her brother-in-law and Miss Leyton over at Heyst. What sort of a character ’ave they been giving ’er be’ind ’er back?”

“Indeed, I assure you, Madame—” commenced Mr. Pennell, deprecatingly.

“You needn’t take the trouble to tell any tarradiddles about it! I can see it in your face! I didn’t think much of that cousin of yours from the beginning; ’e’s got a shifty sort of look, and as for that cold bit of goods, Miss Leyton, well, all I say is, God ’elp the man that marries ’er, for she’s enough to freeze the sun himself! But I liked Mrs. Pullen well enough, and I was sorry to ’ear that she ’ad lost ’er baby, for she was quite wrapt up in it! But I daresay she’ll soon ’ave another!”

[Pg 219]

Without feeling it incumbent on him to enter into an argument as to the probability of the Baroness’s last suggestion, Anthony Pennell was glad of the digression, as it gave him an opportunity of slurring over the dangerous subject of Ralph Pullen’s character.

“The loss of her child was a very great blow to my poor cousin,” he replied, “and she is still suffering from it, bitterly. Else, I have no doubt that you would have seen something of her—and the others,” he added in a lower tone. After a slight interval, he ventured to raise his eyes and see how the girl opposite to him had taken what was said, but it did not appear to have made much impression on her—she was, on the contrary, gazing at him with that magnetic glance of hers as though she wanted to read into his very soul.

“Don’t go and say that I want to see ’em,” said the Baroness as, having devoured enough cake and bread and butter to feed an ordinary person for a day, she rose and led the way into another room. “I don’t want to see anybody at the Red ’Ouse that doesn’t want to come, and I ’aven’t expected the ladies. But as for Captain Pullen, ’oo made an engagement to follow our party to Brussels, and then never took the trouble to write a line to excuse ’imself for breaking ’is word, why, I say ’e’s a jerry sneak, and you may tell ’im so if you like! We didn’t want ’im. ’E proposed to come ’imself, and I engaged ’is room and everything, and then ’e skedaddled without a word, and I call it beastly be’aviour. You mustn’t mind my plain speaking, Mr. Pennell. I always say what I think! And I would like to break my stick over Captain Pullen’s back and that’s the truth.”

[Pg 220]

They were walking along the passage now, on their way to the Baron’s library—the Baroness in front with her hand leaning heavily on Pennell’s shoulder, and Harriet lingering a little behind. Anthony Pennell pondered awhile before he replied. Was this the time to announce Ralph’s intended marriage. How would the girl behind them take it?

He turned slightly and looked at her face as the thought passed through his mind. Somehow the eyes that met his reassured him. He began to think it must be a mistake—that she did not care for Ralph as much as Mrs. Pullen had supposed—that she was only offended perhaps (as her hostess evidently was) by the curt and uncivil manner in which he had treated them both. So he replied,

“I have not the slightest excuse to make for my cousin’s conduct, Madame Gobelli. It appears to me that he has treated you with very scant civility, and he ought to be ashamed of himself. But as you know, his little niece’s death was very sudden and unexpected, and the least he could do was to escort his sister-in-law and Miss Leyton back to England, and since then——”

“Well! and what since then?” demanded the Baroness, sharply.

“Lord Walthamstowe and he have come to an arrangement,” said Pennell, speaking very slowly, “that his marriage with Miss Elinor Leyton shall take place sooner than was at first intended. The Limerick Rangers are under orders for foreign service, and Captain Pullen naturally wishes to take his wife out with him, and though, of course, all this is no excuse for his omitting to write you a letter, the necessary preparations and the[Pg 221] consequent excitement may have put his duty out of his head. Of course,” he continued, “you know that Ralph is engaged to marry Miss Leyton?”

“I ’eard something of it,” replied the Baroness reluctantly, “but one never knows what is true and what is not. Anyway, Captain Pullen didn’t give out the news ’imself! ’E seemed ’appy enough without Miss Leyton, didn’t ’e, ’Arriet?”

But turning round to emphasise her words, she found that Harriet had not followed them into the library. Whereupon she became confidential.

“To tell you the truth, Mr. Pennell,” she continued, “’e just be’aved like a scoundrel to our little ’Arriet there. ’E ran after the gal all day, and spent all ’is evenings in our private sitting-room, gazing at ’er as if ’e would eat ’er, whilst she sang and played to ’im. ’E never said a word about marrying Miss Leyton. It was all ‘’Ally, ’Ally, ’Ally’ with ’im. And if the gal ’adn’t been a deal too clever for ’im, and wise enough to see what a vain zany ’e is, she might ’ave broken ’er ’eart over it. The conceited jackanapes!”

“But she has not fretted,” said Anthony Pennell eagerly.

“Not she! I wouldn’t let ’er! She’s meat for Captain Pullen’s master! A gal with fifteen ’undred a year in ’er own ’ands, and with a pair of eyes like that! Oh! no! ’Arriet can pick up a ’usband worth two of your cousin any day!”

“I should think so indeed,” replied Mr. Pennell fervently, “I have heard Mrs. Pullen mention Miss Brandt, but she did not prepare me for meeting so beautiful a girl. But I can hardly wonder at my cousin running[Pg 222] away from her, Madame Gobelli. Knowing himself to be already engaged, Miss Brandt must have proved a most dangerous companion. Perhaps he found his heart was no longer under his own control, and thought discretion the better part of valour. You must try and look upon his conduct in the best light you can!”

“Oh! well! it don’t signify much anyway, for ’e’s no miss at the Red ’Ouse, I can tell you, and ’Arriet could marry to-morrow if she chose, and to a man worthy of ’er. But now you must look at my Spode.”

She walked up to a tall cabinet at one end of the room, which was piled with china, and took up a fragile piece in her hands.

“Do you see that?” she said, turning up the plate and showing the mark upon the bottom, “there it is, you see! There’s the M. These five pieces are said to be the oldest in existence. And here’s a cup of Limoges. And that’s Majolica. Do you know the marks of Majolica? They’re some of the rarest known! A cross on a shield. The first real bit of china I ever possessed was a Strasbourg. Have you ever seen any Dutch Pottery—marked with an A.P.? I picked that up at an old Jew’s shop in the market in Naples. And this Capo di Monte, strange to say, in a back alley in Brighton. There’s nothing I like better than to grub about back slums and look for something good. Some of my best pieces ’ave come out of pawnbrokers’ shops. That plate you’re looking at is old Flemish—more than two ’undred years, I believe! It came out of the rag market at Bruges. There used to be first-rate pickings to be ’ad at Bruges and Ghent and in Antwerp some years ago, but the English ’ave pretty well cleared ’em out.”

[Pg 223]

“I never saw a better private collection, Madame Gobelli,” said Anthony Pennell, as he gloated over the delicate morsels of Sèvres and Limoges and Strasbourg. “The Baron should have had an old curiosity and bric-a-brac establishment, instead of anything so prosaic as boots and shoes.”

“O! I couldn’t ’ave ’ad it!” exclaimed the Baroness, “it would ’ave gone to my ’eart to sell a good bargain when I ’ad made it! My cups and saucers and plates and teapots are like children to me, and if I thought my Bobby would sell ’em when I was gone, I believe I should rise from my grave and whack ’im.”

The woman became almost womanly as her eyes rested lovingly on her art treasures. It seemed incongruous to Pennell, to watch her huge coarse hands, with their thick stumpy fingers and broad chestnut nails, fingering the delicate fabric with apparent carelessness. Cup after cup and vase and plate she almost tossed over each other, as she pushed some away to make room for others, and piled them up on the top of one another, until he trembled lest they should all come toppling down together.

“You are more used to handle these treasures than I am,” he remarked presently, “I should be too much afraid of smashing something, to move them so quickly as you do.”

“I never broke a bit of china in my life,” returned the Baroness energetically. “I’ve broken a stick over a man’s back, more than once, but never ’ad an accident with my plates and dishes. ’Ow do you account for that?”

“You must have a flow of good luck!” said Mr.[Pg 224] Pennell, “I am so fearful for mine that I keep all the best under glass!”

“I ’ave more friends to ’elp me than perhaps you know of,” said the Baroness, mysteriously, “but it ain’t only that! I never let a servant dust it! Miss Wynward does it, but she’s too much afraid to do more than touch ’em with the tip of her feather brush. They come to me sometimes and complain that the china is dirty. ‘Let it be dirty,’ I say, ‘that won’t break it, but if you clean it, you will!’ Ha! ha! ha!”

At that moment Harriet Brandt entered the room, moving sinuously across the carpet as a snake might glide to its lair. Anthony Pennell could not take his eyes off that gliding walk of hers. It seemed to him the very essence of grace. It distracted all his attention from the china.

“The Baron has just come in,” observed Harriet to her hostess.

“Oh! well! come along and leave the rest of the china till after dinner,” said Madame Gobelli. “Gustave likes to ’ave ’is dinner as soon as ’e comes ’ome.”

She thrust her arm through that of Anthony Pennell, and conducted him to the dining-room, where the Baron (without having observed the ceremony of changing his coat or boots) was already seated just as he had come in, at the table. He gave a curt nod to the visitor as Mr. Pennell’s name was mentioned to him, and followed it up immediately by a query whether he would take fish. Mr. Pennell sat out the meal with increasing amazement at every course. He, who was accustomed, in consequence of his popularity, to sit at the tables of some of the highest in the land, could liken this one to[Pg 225] nothing but a farmhouse dinner. Course succeeded course, in rapid succession, and there was no particular fault to find with anything, but the utter want of ceremony—the mingling of well-known and aristocratic names with the boot and shoe trade—and the way in which the Baron and Baroness ate and drank, filled him with surprise. The climax was reached when Mr. Milliken, who was late for dinner, entered the room, and his hostess, before introducing him to the stranger, saluted him with a resounding smack on either cheek.

Pennell thought it might be his turn next, and shuddered. But the wine flowed freely, and the Baroness, being in an undoubted good humour, the hospitality was unlimited. After dinner, the Baron having settled to sleep in an armchair, Madame Gobelli proposed that the party should amuse themselves with a game of “Hunt the slippers.”

She was robed in an expensive satin dress, but she threw herself down on the ground with a resounding thump, and thrusting two enormous feet into view, offered her slipper as an inducement to commence the game.

Pennell stood aloof, battling to restrain his laughter at the comical sight before him. The Baroness’s foot, from which she had taken the shoe, was garbed in a black woollen stocking full of holes, which displayed a set of bare toes. But, apparently quite unaware of the ludicrous object she presented, she kept on calling out for Harriet Brandt and Miss Wynward to come and complete the circle at which only Mr. Milliken and herself were seated. But Harriet shrank backwards and refused to play.

[Pg 226]

“No! indeed, Madame, I cannot. I do not know your English games!” she pleaded.

“Come on, we’ll teach you!” screamed Madame Gobelli, “’ere’s Milliken, ’e knows all about it, don’t you, Milliken? ’E knows ’ow to look for the slipper under the gal’s petticoats. You come ’ere, ’Arriet, and sit next me, and Mr. Pennell shall be the first to ’unt. Come on!”

But Miss Brandt would not “come on”. She remained seated, and declared that she was too tired to play and did not care for les jeux innocents, and she had a headache, and anything and everything, before she would comply with the outrageous request preferred to her.

Madame Gobelli grumbled at her idleness and called her disobliging, but Anthony admired the girl for her steadfast refusal. He did not like to see her in the familiar society of such a woman as the Baroness—he would have liked still less to see her engaged in such a boisterous and unseemly game as “Hunt the slipper.”

He took the opportunity of saying,

“Since you are disinclined for such an energetic game, Miss Brandt, perhaps you would oblige me by singing a song! I should so much like to hear the mandoline. Mrs. Pullen has spoken to me of your efficiency on it.”

“If Madame Gobelli wishes it, I have no objection,” replied Harriet.

“Oh! well! if you are all going to be so disagreeable as not to play a good game,” said the Baroness, as Mr. Milliken pulled her on her feet again, “’Arriet may as[Pg 227] well sing to us! But a good romp first wouldn’t ’ave done us any ’arm!”

She adjourned rather sulkily to a distant sofa with Mr. Milliken, where they entertained each other whilst Harriet tuned her mandoline and presently let her rich voice burst forth in the strains of “Oh! ma Charmante.” Anthony Pennell was enchanted. He had a passion for music, and it appealed more powerfully to him than anything else. He sat in rapt attention until Harriet’s voice had died away, and then he implored her to sing another song.

“You cannot tell what it is for me, who cares more for music than for anything else in this world, to hear a voice like yours. Why! you will create a perfect furore when you go into society. You could make your fortune on the stage, but I know you have no need of that!”

“Oh! one never knows what one may have need of,” said Harriet gaily, as she commenced “Dormez, ma belle”, and sang it to perfection.

“You must have had a very talented singing-master,” observed Pennell when the second song was finished.

“Indeed no! My only instructress was a nun in the Ursuline Convent in Jamaica. But I always loved it,” said the girl, as she ran over the strings of her mandoline in a merry little tarantelle, which made everyone in the room feel as if they had been bitten by the spider from which it took its name, and wanted above all other things to dance.

How Pennell revelled in the music and the performer! How he longed to hear from her own lips that Ralph’s treatment had left no ill effects behind it.

When she had ceased playing, he drew nearer to[Pg 228] her, and under the cover of the Baroness’s conversation with Mr. Milliken and the Baron’s snores, they managed to exchange a few words.

“How can I ever thank you enough for the treat you have given me!” he began.

“I am very glad that you liked it!”

“I was not prepared to hear such rare talent! My experience of young ladies’ playing and singing has not hitherto been happy. But you have great genius. Did you ever sing to Mrs. Pullen whilst in Heyst?”

“Once or twice.”

“And to my cousin, Ralph Pullen?”

“Yes!”

“I cannot understand his having treated the Baroness with such scant courtesy. And you also, who had been kind enough to allow him to enjoy your society. You would not have found me so ungrateful. But you have heard doubtless that he is going to be married shortly!”

“Yes! I have heard it!”

“And that has, I suppose, put everything else out of his head! Perhaps it may be as well, especially for his future wife. There are some things which are dangerous for men to remember—such as your lovely voice, for example!”

“Do you think so?” Harriet fixed her dark eyes on him, as she put the question.

“I am sure it will be dangerous for me, unless you will give me leave to come and hear it again. I shall not be able to sleep for thinking of it. Do you think the Baroness will be so good as to enrol me as a visitor to the house?”

“You had better ask her!”

[Pg 229]

“And if she consents, will you sing to me sometimes?”

“I am always singing or playing! There is nothing else to do here. The Baron and Baroness are almost always out, and I have no company but that of Bobby and Miss Wynward. It is terribly dull, I can tell you. I am longing to get away, but I do not know where to go.”

“Have you no friends in England?”

“Not one, except Mr. Tarver, who is my solicitor!”

“That sounds very grim. If you will let me count myself amongst your friends, I shall be so grateful.”

“I should like it very much! I am not so ignorant as not to have heard your name and to know that you are a celebrated man. But I am afraid I shall prove a very stupid friend for you.”

“I have no such fear, and if I may come and see you sometimes, I shall count myself a very happy man.”

“I am generally alone in the afternoon,” replied Miss Brandt, sophistically.

In another minute Mr. Pennell was saying good-night to his hostess and asking her permission to repeat his visit at some future time.

“And if you and Miss Brandt would so far honour me, Madame Gobelli, as to come and have a little lunch at my chambers in Piccadilly, I shall feel myself only too much indebted to you. Perhaps we might arrange a matinée or a concert for the same afternoon, if it would please you? Will you let me know? And pray fix as early a date as possible. And I may really avail myself of your kind permission to come and see you again. You may be sure that I shall not forget to do[Pg 230] so. Good-night! Good-night, Baron! Good-night, Miss Brandt!” and with a nod to Mr. Milliken he was gone.

“Ain’t ’e a nice fellow? Worth two of that conceited jackanapes, ’is cousin,” remarked the Baroness as he disappeared, “what do you think of ’im, ’Arriet?”

“Oh! he is well enough,” replied Miss Brandt with a yawn, as she prepared also to take her departure, “he is taller and broader and stronger looking than Captain Pullen—and he must be very clever into the bargain.”

“And ’e never said a word about ’is books,” exclaimed Madame Gobelli, “only fancy!”

“No! he never said a word about his books,” echoed Harriet.

Chapter 14

Anthony Pennell had promised to let Margaret Pullen hear the result of his visit to the Red House, and as he entered her presence on the following evening, she saluted him with the queries,

“Well! have you been there? Have you seen her?”

To which he answered soberly,

“Yes! I have been there and I have seen her!”

“And what do you think of her? What did she say? I hope she was not rude to you!”

“My dear Mrs. Pullen,” said Pennell, as he seated himself, and prepared for a long talk, “you must let me say in the first place, that I should never have recognised Miss Brandt from your description of her! You led me to expect a gauche schoolgirl, a half-tamed savage, or a juvenile virago. And I am bound to say that she struck me as belonging to none of the species. I sent your[Pg 231] note of introduction to Madame Gobelli, and received a very polite invitation in return, in accordance with which I dined at the Red House yesterday.”

“You dined there!” exclaimed Margaret with renewed interest. “Oh! do tell me all about it, from the very beginning. What do you think of that dreadful woman, the Baroness, and her little humpty Baron, and did you tell Miss Brandt of Ralph’s impending marriage?”

“My dear lady, one question at a time, if you please. In the first place I arrived there rather sooner than I was expected, and Madame Gobelli had not returned from her afternoon drive, but Miss Harriet Brandt did the honours of the tea-table in a very efficient manner, and with as much composure and dignity as if she had been a duchess. We had a very pleasant time together until the Baroness burst in upon us!”

“Are you chaffing me?” asked Margaret, incredulously. “What do you really think of her?”

“I think she is, without exception, the most perfectly beautiful woman I have ever seen!”

“What!” exclaimed his companion.

She had thrown herself back in her armchair, and was regarding him as if he were perpetrating some mysterious joke, which she did not understand.

“How extraordinary; how very extraordinary!” she exclaimed at length, “that is the very thing that Ralph said of her when they first met.”

“But why extraordinary? There are few men who would not endorse the opinion. Miss Brandt possesses the kind of beauty that appeals to the senses of animal creatures like ourselves. She has a far more dangerous quality than that of mere regularity of feature. She[Pg 232] attracts without knowing it. She is a mass of magnetism.”

“O! do go on, Mr. Pennell! Tell me how she received the news you went to break to her!”

“I never broke it at all. There was no need to do so. Miss Brandt alluded to the magnificent Captain Pullen’s marriage with the greatest nonchalance. She evidently estimates him at his true value, and does not consider him worth troubling her head about!”

“You astonish me! But how are we to account then for the attitude she assumed towards Miss Leyton, and the boast she made of Ralph’s attentions to her?”

“Bravado, most likely! Miss Leyton goes to the Red House all aflame, like an angry turkey cock, and accuses Miss Brandt of having robbed her of her lover, and what would you have the girl do? Not cry Peccavi, surely, and lower her womanhood? She had but one course—to brave it out. Besides, you have heard only one side of the question, remember! I can imagine Miss Leyton being very ‘nasty’ if she liked!”

“You forget the letters which Miss Brandt wrote to Ralph and which were found in his empty grate at Richmond!”

“I do not! I remember them as only another proof of how unworthy he is of the confidence of any woman.”

“Really, Mr. Pennell, you seem to be all on Miss Brandt’s side!”

“I am, and for this reason. If your ideas concerning her are correct, she displayed a large amount of fortitude whilst speaking of your brother-in-law yesterday. But my own belief is, that you are mistaken—that Miss Brandt is too clever for Ralph, or any of you—and[Pg 233] that she cares no more for him in that way than you do. She considers doubtless that he has behaved in a most ungentlemanly manner towards them all, and so do I. I did not know what excuse to make for Ralph! I was ashamed to own him as a relation.”

“Harriet Brandt did then confide her supposed wrongs to you!”

“Not at all! When she mentioned Ralph’s name, it was like that of any other acquaintance. But when she was out of the room, the Baroness told me that he had behaved like a scoundrel to the girl—that he had never confided the fact of his engagement to her, but run after her on every occasion, and then after having promised to join their party in Brussels, and asked Madame Gobelli to engage his room for him, he left for England without even sending her a line of apology, nor has he taken the least notice of them since!”

“Ah! but you know the reason of his sudden departure!” cried Margaret, her soft eyes welling over with tears.

“My dear Mrs. Pullen,” said Anthony Pennell, sympathetically, “even at that sad moment, Ralph might have sent a telegram, or scratched a line of apology. We have to attend to such little courtesies, you know, even if our hearts are breaking! And how can you excuse his not having called on them, or written since? No wonder the Baroness is angry. She did not restrain her tongue in speaking of him yesterday. She said she never wished to see his face again.”

“Does she know that Elinor went to the Red House?”

“I think not! There was no mention of her name!”

[Pg 234]

“Then I suppose we may at all events consider the affair une chose finie?”

“I hope so, sincerely! I should not advise Master Ralph to show his face at the Red House again. The Baroness said she longed to lay her stick across his back, and I believe she is quite capable of doing so!”

“Oh! indeed she is,” replied Margaret, smiling, “we heard a great many stories of her valour in that respect from Madame Lamont, the landlady of the Lion d’Or. Has Miss Brandt taken up her residence altogether with Madame Gobelli?”

“I think not! She told me her life there was very dull, and she should like to change it.”

“She is in a most unfortunate position for a young girl,” remarked Margaret, “left parentless, with money at her command, and in a strange country! And with the strange stigma attached to her birth—”

“I don’t believe in stigmas being attached to one’s birth,” returned Pennell hastily, “the only stigmas worth thinking about, are those we bring upon ourselves by our misconduct—such a one, for instance, as my cousin Ralph has done with regard to Miss Brandt! I would rather be in her shoes than his. Ralph thinks, perhaps, that being a stranger and friendless she is fair game—”

“Who is that, taking my name in vain?” interrupted a languid voice at the open door, as Captain Pullen advanced into the room.

Margaret Pullen started and grew very red at being detected in discussing her brother-in-law’s actions, but Anthony Pennell, who was always ruffled by his cousin’s affected walk and drawl, blurted the truth right out.

“I was,” he replied, hardly touching the hand which[Pg 235] Captain Pullen extended to him, “I was just telling Mrs. Pullen of the high estimation in which your name is held at the Red House!”

It was now Ralph’s turn to grow red. His fair face flushed from chin to brow, as he repeated,

“The Red House! what Red House?”

“Did they not mention the name to you? I mean the residence of Madame Gobelli. I was dining there yesterday.”

“Dining there, were you? By Jove! I didn’t know you were acquainted with the woman. Isn’t she a queer old party? Baroness Boots, eh? Fancy your knowing them! I thought you were a cut above that, Anthony!”

“If the Gobellis were good enough for you to be intimate with in Heyst, I suppose they are good enough for me to dine with in London, Ralph! I did not know until last evening, however, that you had left them to pay for your rooms in Brussels, or I would have taken the money over with me to defray the debt.”

Ralph had seated himself by this time, but he looked very uneasy and as if he wished he had not come.

“Did the old girl engage rooms for me?” he stammered. “Well! you know the reason I could not go to Brussels, but of course if I had known that she had gone to any expense for me, I would have repaid her. Did she tell you of it herself?” he added, rather anxiously.

“Yes! and a good many more things besides. As you have happened to come in whilst we are on the question, I had better make a clean breast of it. Perhaps you have heard that Miss Leyton has been to the Red House and had an interview with Miss Brandt!”

[Pg 236]

“Yes! I’ve just come from Richmond, where we’ve had a jolly row over it,” grumbled Ralph, pulling his moustaches.

“Your family all felt that sort of thing could not go on—that it must end one way or the other—and therefore I went to the Red House, ostensibly to view Madame Gobelli’s collection of china, but in reality to ascertain what view of the matter she and Miss Brandt took—and to undeceive them as to your being in a position to pursue your intimacy with the young lady any further.”

“And what the devil business have you to meddle in my private affairs?” demanded Captain Pullen rousing himself.

“Because, unfortunately, your mother happened to be my father’s sister,” replied Pennell sternly, “and the scrapes you get in harm me more than they do yourself! One officer more or less, who gets into a scrape with women, goes pretty well unnoticed, but I have attained a position in which I cannot afford to have my relations’ names bandied about as having behaved in a manner unbecoming gentlemen.”

“Who dares to say that of me?” cried Ralph angrily.

“Everybody who knows of the attention you paid Miss Brandt in Heyst,” replied Anthony Pennell, boldly, “and without telling her that you were already engaged to be married. I do not wonder at Miss Leyton being angry about it! I only wonder she consents to have any more to do with you in the circumstances.”

“O! we’ve settled all that!” said Ralph, testily, “we had the whole matter out at Richmond this afternoon, and I’ve promised to be a good boy for the future, and[Pg 237] never speak to a pretty woman again! You need not wonder any more about Elinor! She is only glad enough to get me back at any price!”

“Yes? And what about Miss Brandt?” enquired Pennell.

“Is she worrying about this affair?” asked Captain Pullen, quickly.

“Not a bit! I think she estimates your attentions at their true value. I was alluding to the opinion she and her friends must have formed of your character as an officer and a gentleman.”

“O! I’ll soon set all that right! I’ll run over to the Red House and see the old girl, if you two will promise not to tell Elinor!”

“I should not advise you to do that! I am afraid you might get a warm reception. I think Madame Gobelli is quite capable of having you soused in the horse-pond. You would think the same if you had heard the names she called you yesterday.”

“What did she call me?”

“Everything she could think of. She considers you have behaved not only in a most ungentlemanly manner towards her, but in a most dishonourable one to Miss Brandt. She particularly told me to tell you that she never wished to see your face again.”

“Damn her!” exclaimed Captain Pullen, wrathfully, “and all her boots and shoes into the bargain. A vulgar, coarse old tradesman’s wife! How dare she——”

“Stop a minute, Ralph! The Baroness’s status in society makes no difference in this matter. You know perfectly well that you did wrong. Let us have no more discussion of the subject.”

[Pg 238]

Captain Pullen leaned back sulkily in his chair.

“Well! if I did flirt a little bit more than was prudent with an uncommonly distracting little girl,” he muttered presently, “I am sure I have had to pay for it! Lord Walthamstowe insists that if I do not marry Elinor before the Rangers start for Malta the engagement shall be broken off, so I suppose I must do it! But it is a doosid nuisance to be tied up at five-and-twenty, before one has half seen life! What the dickens I am to do with her when I’ve got her, I’m sure I don’t know!”

“O! you will find married life very charming when you’re used to it!” said Pennell consolingly, “and Miss Leyton is everything a fellow could wish for in a wife! Only you must give up flirting, my boy, or if I mistake not, you’ll find you’ve caught a tartar!”

“I expect to have to give up everything,” said the other with a sour mouth.

As soon as he perceived a favourable opportunity, Anthony Pennell rose to take his leave. He did not wish to quarrel with Ralph Pullen about a girl whom he had only seen once, at the same time he feared for his own self-control, if his cousin continued to mention the matter in so nonchalant a manner. Pennell had always despised Captain Pullen for his easy conceit with regard to women, and it seemed to him to have grown more detestably contemptible than before. He was anxious therefore to quit the scene of action. But, to his annoyance, when he bade Margaret good-evening, Ralph also rose and expressed his wish to walk with him in the direction of his chambers.

[Pg 239]

“I suppose you couldn’t put me up for the night, old chappie!” he said with his most languid air.

“Decidedly not!” replied Pennell. “I have only my own bedroom, and I’ve no intention of your sharing it. Why do you not go back to Richmond, or put up at an hotel?”

“Doosid inhospitable!” remarked Captain Pullen, with a faded smile.

“Sorry you think so, but a man cannot give what he does not possess. You had better stay and keep your sister-in-law company for a little while. I have work to do and am going straight home!”

“All right! I’ll walk with you a little way,” persisted Ralph, and the two young men left the house together.

As soon as they found themselves in the street, Captain Pullen attacked his cousin, eagerly.

“I say, Pennell, what is the exact direction of the Red House?”

“Why do you want to know?” enquired his companion.

“Because I feel that I owe the Baroness a visit. I acknowledge that I was wrong not to write and make my apologies, but you must know what it is—with a deuce of a lot of women to look after, and the whole gang crying their eyes out, and everything thrown on my shoulders, coffin, funeral, taking them over from Heyst to England, and all—it was enough to drive everything else out of a man’s head. You must acknowledge that.”

“You owe no excuses to me, Pullen, neither do I quite believe in them. You have had plenty of time[Pg 240] since to remedy your negligence, even if you did forget to be courteous at the moment!”

“I know that, and you’re quite right about the other thing. I had more reasons than one for letting the matter drop. You are a man and I can tell you with impunity what would set the women tearing my eyes out. I did flirt a bit with Harriet Brandt, perhaps more than was quite prudent in the circumstances—”

“You mean the circumstance of your engagement to Miss Leyton?”

“Yes and No! If I had been free, it would have been all the same—perhaps worse, for I should not have had a loophole of escape. For you see Miss Brandt is not the sort of girl that any man could marry.”

“Why not?” demanded Pennell with some asperity.

“Oh! because—well! you should hear old Phillips talk of her and her parents. They were the most awful people, and she has black blood in her, her mother was a half-caste, so you see it would be impossible for any man in my position to think of marrying her! One might get a piebald son and heir! Ha! ha! ha! But putting all that aside, she is one of the demndest fascinating little women I ever came across—you would say so too, if you had seen as much of her as I did—I can’t tell you what it is exactly, but she has a drawing way about her, that pulls a fellow into the net before he knows what he is about. And her voice, by Jove!—have you heard her sing?”

“I have, but that has nothing to do that I can see with the subject under discussion. You, an engaged man, who had no more right to philander with a girl, than if you had been married, appear to me to have[Pg 241] followed this young lady about and paid her attentions, which were, to say the least of them, compromising, never announcing the fact, meanwhile, that you were bound to Miss Leyton. After which, you left her, without a word of explanation, to think what she chose of your conduct. And now you wish to see her again, in order to apologise. Am I right?”

“Pretty well, only you make such a serious matter out of a little fun!”

“Well, then, I repeat that if you are wise, you will save yourself the trouble, Ralph! Miss Brandt is happily too sensible to have been taken in by your pretence of making love to her. She estimates you at your true value. She knows that you are engaged to Elinor Leyton—that you were engaged all the time she knew you—and, I think, she rather pities Miss Leyton for being engaged to you!”

But this point of view had never presented itself before to the inflated vanity of Ralph Pullen.

“Pities her!” he exclaimed, “the devil!”

“I daresay it seems incomprehensible to you that any woman should not be thankful to accept at your hands the crumbs that may fall from another’s table, but with regard to Miss Brandt, I assure you it is true! And even were it otherwise, I am certain Madame Gobelli would not admit you to her house. You know the sort of person she is! She can be very violent if she chooses, and the names she called you yesterday, were not pretty ones. I had much trouble, as your relative, to stand by and listen to them quietly. Yet I could not say that they were undeserved!”

“O well! I daresay!” returned Ralph, impatiently.[Pg 242] “Let us allow, for the sake of argument, that you are right, and that I behaved like a brute! The matter lies only between Hally Brandt and myself. The old woman has nothing to do with it! She never met the girl till she went to Heyst. What I want to do is to see Hally again and make my peace with her! You know how easily women are won over. A pretty present—a few kisses and excuses,—a few tears—and the thing is done. I shouldn’t like to leave England without making my peace with the little girl. Couldn’t you get her to come to your chambers, and let me meet her there? Then the Baroness need know nothing about it!”

“I thought you told us just now, that you had had a reconciliation with Miss Leyton on condition that you were to be a good boy for the future. Does that not include a surreptitious meeting with Miss Brandt?”

“I suppose it does, but we have to make all sorts of promises where women are concerned. A nice kind of life a man would lead, if he consented to be tied to his wife’s apron-strings, and never go anywhere, nor see anyone, of whom she did not approve. I swore to everything she and old Walthamstowe asked me, just for peace’s sake,—but if they imagine I’m going to be hampered like that, they must be greater fools than I take them for!”

“You must do as you think right, Pullen, but I am not going to help you to break your word!”

“Tell me where the Red House is! Tell me whereabouts Hally takes her daily walks!” urged Captain Pullen.

“I shall tell you nothing—you must find out for yourself!”

[Pg 243]

“Well! you are damned particular!” exclaimed his cousin, “one would think this little half-caste was a princess of the Blood Royal. What is she, when all’s said and done? The daughter of a mulatto and a man who made himself so detested that he was murdered by his own servants—the bastard of a——”

“Stop!” cried Pennell, so vehemently that the passers-by turned their heads to look at him, “I don’t believe it, and if it is true, I do not wish to hear it! Miss Brandt may be all that you say—I am not in a position to contradict your assertions—but to me she represents only a friendless and unprotected woman, who has a right to our sympathy and respect.”

“A friendless woman!” sneered Captain Pullen, “yes! and a doosid good-looking one into the bargain, eh, my dear fellow, and much of your sympathy and respect she would command if she were ugly and humpbacked. O! I know you, Pennell! It’s no use your coming the benevolent Samaritan over me! You have an eye for a jimper waist and a trim ancle as well as most men. But I fancy your interest is rather thrown away in this quarter. Miss Brandt has a thorny path before her. She is a young lady who will have her own way, and with the glorious example of the Baroness the way is not likely to be too carefully chosen. To tell the truth, old boy, I ran away because I was afraid of falling into the trap. The girl wishes intensely to be married, and she is not a girl whom men will marry, and so—we need go no further. Only, I should not be surprised if, notwithstanding her fortune and her beauty, we should find Miss Harriet Brandt figuring before long, amongst the free lances of London.”

[Pg 244]

“And you would have done your best to send her there!” replied Anthony Pennell indignantly, as he stopped on the doorstep of his Piccadilly chambers. “But I am glad to say that your folly has been frustrated this time, and Miss Brandt sees you as you are! Good-night!” and without further discussion, he turned on his heel and walked upstairs.

“By Jove!” thought Ralph, as he too went on his way, “I believe old Anthony is smitten with the girl himself, though he has only seen her once! That was the most remarkable thing about her—the ease with which she seemed to attract, looking so innocent all the while, and the deadly strength with which she resisted one’s efforts to get free again. Perhaps it is as well after all that I should not meet her. I don’t believe I could trust myself, only speaking of her seems to have revived the old sensation of being drawn against my will—hypnotised, I suppose the scientists would call it—to be near her, to touch her, to embrace her, until all power of resistance is gone. But I do hope old Anthony is not going to be hypnotised. He’s too good for that.”

Meanwhile Pennell, having reached his rooms, lighted the gas, threw himself into an armchair, and rested his head upon his hands.

“Poor little girl!” he murmured to himself. “Poor little girl!”

Anthony Pennell was a Socialist in the best and truest sense of the world. He loved his fellow creatures, both high and low, better than he loved himself. He wanted all to share alike—to be equally happy, equally comfortable—to help and be helped, to rest and depend upon one another. He knew that the dream was only a dream—that[Pg 245] it would never be fulfilled in his time, nor any other; that some men would be rich and some poor as long as the world lasts, and that what one man can do to alleviate the misery and privation and suffering with which we are surrounded, is very little. What little Pennell could do, however, to prove that his theories were not mere talk, he did. He made a large income by his popular writings and the greater part of it went to relieve the want of his humbler friends, not through governors and secretaries and the heads of charitable Societies, but from his own hand to theirs. But his Socialism went further and higher than this. Money was not the only thing which his fellow creatures required—they wanted love, sympathy, kindness, and consideration—and these he gave also, wherever he found that there was need. He set his face pertinaciously against all scandal and back-biting, and waged a perpetual warfare against the tyranny of men over women; the ill-treatment of children; and the barbarities practised upon dumb animals and all living things. He was a liberal-minded man, with a heart large enough and tender enough to belong to a woman—with a horror of cruelty and a great compassion for everything that was incapable of defending itself. He was always writing in defence of the People, calling the attention of those in authority to their misfortunes; their evil chances; their lack of opportunity; and their patience under tribulation. For this purpose and in order to know them thoroughly, he had gone and lived amongst them; shared their filthy dens in Whitechapel, partaken of their unappetising food in Stratford; and watched them at their labour in Homerton. His figure and his kindly face were well-known in some of[Pg 246] the worst and most degraded parts of London, and he could pass anywhere, without fear of a hand being lifted up against him, or an oath called after him in salutation. Anthony Pennell was, in fact, a general lover—a lover of Mankind.

And that is why he leant his head upon his hand as he ejaculated with reference to Harriet Brandt, “Poor little girl.”

It seemed so terrible in his eyes that just because she was friendless, and an orphan, just because her parents had been, perhaps, unworthy, just because she had a dark stream mingling with her blood, just because she needed the more sympathy and kindness, the more protection and courtesy, she should be considered fit prey for the sensualist—a fit subject to wipe men’s feet upon!

What difference did it make to Harriet Brandt herself, that she was marked with an hereditary taint? Did it render her less beautiful, less attractive, less graceful and accomplished? Were the sins of the fathers ever to be visited upon the children?—was no sympathetic fellow-creature to be found to say, “If it is so, let us forget it! It is not your fault nor mine! Our duty is to make each other’s lives as happy as possible and trust the rest to God.”

He hoped as he sat there, that before long, Harriet Brandt would find a friend for life, who would never remind her of anything outside her own loveliness and loveable qualities.

Presently he rose, with a sigh, and going to his bookcase drew thence an uncut copy of his last work, “God and the People.” It had been a tremendous success,[Pg 247] having already reached the tenth edition. It dealt largely, as its title indicated, with his favourite theory, but it was light and amusing also, full of strong nervous language, and bristling every here and there, with wit—not strained epigrams, such as no Society conversationalists ever tossed backward and forward to each other—but honest, mirth-provoking humour, arising from the humorous side of Pennell’s own character, which ever had a good-humoured jest for the oddities and comicalities of everyday life.

He regarded the volume for a moment as though he were considering if it were an offering worthy of its destination, and then he took up a pen and transcribed upon the fly leaf the name of Harriet Brandt—only her name, nothing more.

“She seems intelligent,” he thought, “and she may like to read it. Who knows, if there is any fear of the sad destiny which Ralph prophesies for her, whether I may not be happy enough to turn her ideas into a worthier and more wholesome direction. With an independent fortune, how much good might she not accomplish, amongst those less happily situated than herself! But the other idea—No, I will not entertain it for a moment! She is too good, too pure, too beautiful, for so horrible a fate! Poor little girl! Poor, poor little girl!”

Chapter 15

The holiday season being now over, and the less fashionable people returned to town, Harriet Brandt’s curiosity was much excited by the number of visitors who called at the Red House, but were never shewn into the drawing-room. As many as a dozen might arrive in the course of an afternoon and were taken by Miss Wynward straight upstairs to the room where Madame Gobelli and Mr. Milliken so often shut themselves up together. These mysterious visitors were not objects of charity either, but well-dressed men and women, some of whom came in their own carriages, and all of whom appeared to be of the higher class of society. The Baroness had left off going to the factory, also, and stayed at home every day, apparently with the sole reason of being at hand to receive her visitors.

Harriet could not understand it at all, and after having watched two fashionably attired ladies accompanied by a gentleman, ascend the staircase, to Madame Gobelli’s room, one afternoon, she ventured to sound Miss Wynward on the subject.

“Who were the ladies who went upstairs just now?” she asked.

“Friends of the Baroness, Miss Brandt!” was the curt reply.

“But why do they not come down to the drawing-room[Pg 249] then? What does Madame Gobelli do with them in that little room upstairs? I was passing one day just after someone had entered, and I heard the key turned in the lock. What is all the secrecy about?”

“There is no secrecy on my part, Miss Brandt. You know the position I hold here. When I have shewn the visitors upstairs, according to my Lady’s directions, my duty is done!”

“But you must know why they come to see her!”

“I know nothing. If you are curious on the subject, you must ask the Baroness.”

But Harriet did not like to do that. The Baroness had become less affectionate to her of late—her fancy was already on the wane—she no longer called the attention of strangers to her young friend as the “daughter of the house”—and Harriet felt the change, though she could scarcely have defined where it exactly lay. She had begun to feel less at home in her hostess’s presence, and her high spirit chafed at the alteration in her manner. She realised, as many had done before her, that she had out-stayed her welcome. But her curiosity respecting the people who visited Madame Gobelli upstairs was none the less. She confided it to Bobby—poor Bobby who grew whiter and more languid ever day—but her playful threat to invade the sacred precincts and find out what the Baroness and her friends were engaged upon, was received by the youth with horror. He trembled as he begged her not to think of such a thing.

“Hally, you mustn’t, indeed you mustn’t! You don’t know—you have no idea—what might not happen to you, if you offended Mamma by breaking in upon her[Pg 250] privacy. O! don’t, pray don’t! She can be so terrible at times—I do not know what she might not do or say!”

“My dear Bobby, I was only in fun! I have not the least idea of doing anything so rude. Only, if you think that I am frightened of your Mamma or any other woman, you are very much mistaken. It’s all nonsense! No one person can harm another in this world!”

“O! yes, they can—if they have help,” replied the boy, shaking his head.

“Help! what help? The help of Mr. Milliken, I suppose! I would rather fight him than the Baroness any day—but I fear neither of them.”

“O! Hally, you are wrong,” said the lad, “you must be careful, indeed you must—for my sake!”

“Why! you silly Bobby, you are actually trembling! However, I promise you I will do nothing rash! And I shall not be here much longer now! Your Mamma is getting tired of me, I can see that plainly enough! She has hardly spoken a word to me for the last two days. I am going to ask Mr. Pennell, to advise me where to find another home!”

“No! no!” cried the lad, clinging to her, “you shall not leave us! Mr. Pennell shall not take you away! I will kill him first!”

He was getting terribly jealous of Anthony Pennell, but Harriet laughed at his complaints and reproaches as the emanations of a love-sick schoolboy. She was flattered by his feverish longing for her society, and his outspoken admiration of her beauty, but she did not suppose for one moment that Bobby was capable of a lasting, or dangerous, sentiment.

[Pg 251]

Mr. Pennell had become a familiar figure at the Red House by this time. His first visit had been speedily succeeded by another, at which he had presented Harriet Brandt with the copy of his book—an attention, which had he known it, flattered her vanity more than any praises of her beauty could have done. A plain woman likes to be told that she is good-looking, a handsome one that she is clever. Harriet Brandt was not unintelligent, on the contrary she had inherited a very fair amount of brains from her scientific father—but no one ever seemed to have found it out, until Anthony Pennell came her way. She was a little tired of being told that she had lovely eyes, and the most fascinating smile, she knew all that by heart, and craved for something new. Mr. Pennell had supplied the novelty by talking to her as if her intellect were on a level with his own—as if she were perfectly able to understand and sympathise with his quixotic plans for the alleviation of the woes of all mankind—with his Arcadian dreams of Liberty, Equality and Fraternity,—and might help them also, if she chose, not with money only, but by raising her own voice in the Cause of the People. Harriet had never been treated so by anyone before, and her ardent, impetuous, passionate nature, which had a large amount of gratitude in its composition, fixed itself upon her new friend with a vehemence which neither of them would find it easy to overcome—or to disentangle themselves from. Her love (eager to repair the void left by the desertion of Captain Pullen) had poured itself, by means of looks and sighs and little timid, tender touches upon Anthony Pennell like a mountain torrent that had burst its bounds, and he had been responsive—he had opened[Pg 252] his arms to receive the flood, actuated not only by the admiration which he had conceived for her from the first, but by the intense, yearning pity which her loneliness and friendlessness had evoked in his generous, compassionate nature. In fact they were desperately in love with each other, and Harriet was expecting each time he came, to hear Anthony Pennell say that he could no longer live without her. And Bobby looked on from a little distance—and suffered. The next time that Mr. Pennell came to see her, Harriet confided to him the mystery of the upstairs room, and asked his opinion as to what it could possibly mean.

“Perhaps they are people connected with the boot trade,” suggested Anthony jestingly, “does Madame keep a stock of boots and shoes up there, do you think?”

“O! no! Mr. Pennell, you must not joke about it! This is something serious! Poor Bobby grew as white as a sheet when I proposed to make a raid upon the room some day and discover the mystery, and said that his mother was a terrible woman, and able to do me great harm if I offended her!”

“I quite agree with Bobby in his estimate of his Mamma being a terrible woman,” replied Mr. Pennell, “but it is all nonsense about her being able to harm you! I should soon see about that!”

“What would you do?” asked Harriet, with downcast eyes.

“What would I not do to save you from anything disagreeable, let alone anything dangerous. But the Baroness is too fond of you, surely, to do you any harm!”

Harriet pursed up her lips.

[Pg 253]

“I am not so sure about her being fond of me, Mr. Pennell! She used to profess to be, I know, but lately her manner has very much altered. She will pass half a day without speaking a word to me, and they have cut off wine and champagne and everything nice from the dinner table. I declare the meals here are sometimes not fit to eat. And I believe they grudge me the little I consider worthy my attention.”

“But why do you stay here, if you fancy you are not welcome?” asked Pennell, earnestly, “you are not dependent on these people or their hospitality.”

“But where am I to go?” said the girl, “I know no one in London, and Miss Wynward says that I am too young to live at an hotel by myself!”

“Miss Wynward is quite right! You are far too young and too beautiful. You don’t know what wicked men and women there are in the world, who would delight in fleecing an innocent lamb like you. But I can soon find you a home where you could stay in respectability and comfort, until—until——”

“Until what,” asked Harriet, with apparent ingenuousness, for she knew well enough what was coming.

They were seated on one of those little couches made expressly for conversation, where a couple can sit back to back, with their faces turned to one another. Harriet half raised her slumbrous black eyes as she put the question, and met the fire in his own. He stretched out his arms and caught her round the waist.

“Hally! Hally! you know—there is no need for me to tell you! Will you come home to me, dearest? Don’t ever say that you are friendless again! Here is[Pg 254] your friend and your lover and your devoted slave for ever! My darling—my beautiful Hally, say you will be my wife—and make me the very happiest man in all the world!”

She did not shrink from his warm wooing—that was not her nature! Her eyes waked up and flashed fire, responsive to his own; she let her head rest on his shoulder, and turned her lips upwards eagerly to meet his kiss, she cooed her love into his ear, and clasped him tightly round the neck as if she would never let him go.

“I love you—I love you,” she kept on murmuring, “I have loved you from the very first!”

“O! Hally, how happy it makes me to hear you say so,” he replied, “how few women have the honesty and courage to avow their love as you do. My sweet child of the sun! The women in this cold country have no idea of the joy that a mutual love like ours has the power to bestow. We will love each other for ever and ever, my Hally, and when our bodies are withered by age, our spirits shall still go loving on.”

He—the man whose whole thoughts hitherto had been so devoted to the task of ameliorating the condition of his fellow-creatures, that he had had no time to think of dalliance, succumbed as fully to its pleasures now, as the girl whose life had simply been a ripening process for the seed which had burst forth into flower. They were equally passionate—equally loving—equally unreserved—and they were soon absorbed in their own feelings, and noticed nothing that was taking place around them.

But they were not as entirely alone as they imagined.[Pg 255] A pale face full of misery was watching them through one of the panes in the French windows, gazing at what seemed like his death doom, too horribly fascinated to tear himself away. Bobby stood there and saw Hally—his Hally, as he had often fondly called her, without knowing the meaning of the word—clasped in the arms of this stranger, pressing her lips to his, and being released with tumbled hair and a flushed face, only to seek the source of her delight again. At last Bobby could stand the bitter sight no longer, and with a low moan, he fled to his own apartment and flung himself, face downward on the bed. And Anthony Pennell and Harriet Brandt continued to make love to each other, until the shadows lengthened, and six o’clock was near at hand.

“I must go now, my darling,” he said at last, “though it is hard to tear myself away. But I am so happy, Hally, so very, very happy, that I dare not complain.”

“Why cannot you stay the evening?” she urged.

“I had better not! I have not been asked in the first instance, and if what you say about the Baroness’s altered demeanour towards yourself be true, I am afraid I should find it difficult to keep my temper. But we part for a very short time, my darling! The first thing to-morrow, I shall see about another home for you, where I can visit you as freely as I like! And as soon as it can ever be, Hally, we will be married—is that a promise?”

“A promise, yes! a thousand times over, Anthony! I long for the time when I shall be your wife!”

“God bless you, my sweet! You have made my future life look all sunshine! I will write to you as soon[Pg 256] as ever I have news and then you will lose no time in leaving your present home, will you?”

“Not an instant that I can help,” replied Harriet, eagerly; “I am longing to get away. I feel that I have lost my footing here!”

And with another long embrace, the lovers parted. As soon as Anthony had left her, Harriet ran up to her room, to cool her feverish face and change her dress for dinner. She was really and truly fond of the man she had just promised to marry, and if anything could have the power to transform her into a thinking and responsible woman, it would be marriage with Anthony Pennell. She was immensely proud that so clever and popular a writer should have chosen her from out the world of women to be his wife, and she loved him for the excellent qualities he had displayed towards his fellow men, as well as for the passionate warmth he had shewn for herself. She was a happier girl than she had ever been in all her life before, as she stood, flushed and triumphant, in front of her mirror and saw the beautiful light in her dark eyes, and the luxuriant growth of her dusky hair, and the carmine of her lips, and loved every charm she possessed for Anthony’s sake. She felt less vexed even with the Baroness than she had done, and determined that she would not break the news of her intended departure from the Red House, that evening, but try to leave as pleasant an impression behind her as she could! And she put on the lemon-coloured frock, though Anthony was not there to see it, from a feeling that since he approved of her, she must be careful of her appearance for the future, to do justice to his opinion.

[Pg 257]

Madame Gobelli appeared to be in a worse temper than usual that evening. She stumped in to the dining-room and took her seat at table without vouchsafing a word to Harriet, although she had not seen her since luncheon time. She found fault with everything that Miss Wynward did, and telling her that she grew stupider and stupider each day, ordered her to attend her upstairs after dinner, as she had some friends coming and needed her assistance. The ex-governess did not answer at first, and the Baroness sharply demanded if she had heard her speak.

“Yes! my lady,” she replied, slowly, “but I trust that you will excuse my attendance, as I have made an engagement for this evening!”

Madame Gobelli boiled over with rage.

“Engagement! What do you mean by making an engagement without asking my leave first? You can’t keep it! I want you to ’elp me in something and you’ll ’ave to come!”

“You must forgive me,” repeated Miss Wynward, firmly, “but I cannot do as you wish!”

Harriet opened her eyes in amazement. Miss Wynward refusing a request from Madame Gobelli. What would happen next?

The Baroness grew scarlet in the face. She positively trembled with rage.

“’Old your tongue!” she screamed. “You’ll do as I say, or you leave my ’ouse.”

“Then I will leave your house!” replied Miss Wynward.

Madame Gobelli was thunderstruck! Where was this insolent menial, who had actually dared to defy her,[Pg 258] going? What friends had she? What home to go to? She had received no salary from her for years past, but had accepted board and lodging and cast-off clothes in return for her services. How could she face the world without money?

“You go at your peril,” she exclaimed, hoarse with rage, “you know what will ’appen to you if you try to resist me! I ’ave those that will ’elp me to be revenged on my enemies! You know that those I ’ate, die! And when I ’ave my knife in a body, I turn it! You ’ad better be careful, and think twice about what you’re going to do.”

“Your ladyship cannot frighten me any longer,” replied Miss Wynward, calmly, “I thank God and my friends that I have got over that! Nor do I believe any more in your boasted powers of revenge! If they are really yours, you should be ashamed to use them.”

“Gustave!” shrieked the Baroness, “get up and put this woman from the door. She don’t stop in the Red ’Ouse another hour! Let ’er pack up ’er trumpery and go! Do you ’ear me, Gustave? Turn ’er out of the room!”

“Mein tear! mein tear! a little patience! Miss Wynward will go quietly! But the law, mein tear, the law! We must be careful!”

“Damn the law!” exclaimed the Baroness. “’Ere, where’s that devil Bobby? Why ain’t ’e at dinner? What’s the good of my ’aving a ’usband and a son if neither of ’em will do my bidding!”

Then everyone looked round and discovered that Bobby was not at the table.

“Where’s Bobby?” demanded the Baroness of the servant in waiting.

[Pg 259]

“Don’t know, I’m sure,” replied the domestic, who like most of Madame Gobelli’s dependents, talked as familiarly with her as though they had been on an equality. “The last time I saw ’im was at luncheon.”

“I will go and look for him,” said Miss Wynward quietly, as she rose from table.

“No! you don’t!” exclaimed the Baroness insolently, “you don’t touch my child nor my ’usband again whilst you remain under this roof. I won’t ’ave them polluted by your fingers. ’Ere, Sarah, you go upstairs and see if Bobby’s in ’is room. It’ll be the worse for ’im if ’e isn’t.”

Sarah took her way upstairs, in obedience to her employer’s behest, and the next minute a couple of shrieks, loud and terrified, proceeded from the upper story. They were in Sarah’s voice, and they startled everyone at the dinner table.

“Oh! what is that?” exclaimed Harriet, as her face grew white with fear.

“Something is wrong!” said Miss Wynward, as she hastily left the room.

The Baroness said nothing, until Miss Wynward’s voice was heard calling out over the banisters,

“Baron! will you come here, please, at once!”

Then she said,

“Gustave! ’elp me up,” and steadying herself by means of her stick, she proceeded to the upper story, accompanied by her husband and Harriet Brandt. They were met on the landing by Miss Wynward, who addressed herself exclusively to the Baron.

“Will you send for a doctor at once,” she said eagerly, “Bobby is very ill, very ill indeed!”

[Pg 260]

“What is the matter?” enquired the stolid German.

“It’s all rubbish!” exclaimed Madame Gobelli, forcing her way past the ex-governess, “’ow can ’e be ill when ’e was running about all the morning? ’Ere, Bobby,” she continued, addressing the prostrate figure of her son which was lying face downward on the bed, “get up at once and don’t let’s ’ave any of your nonsense, or I’ll give you such a taste of my stick as you’ve never ’ad before! Get up, I say, at once now!”

She had laid hold of her son’s arm, and was about to drag him down upon the floor, when Miss Wynward interposed with a face of horror.

“Leave him alone!” she cried, indignantly. “Woman! cannot you see what is the matter? Your son has left you! He is dead!”

The Baroness was about to retort that it was a lie and she didn’t believe it, when a sudden trembling overtook her, which she was powerless to resist. Her whole face shook as if every muscle had lost control, and her cumbersome frame followed suit. She did not cry, nor call out, but stood where the news had reached her, immovable, except for that awful shaking, which made her sway from head to foot. The Baron on hearing the intelligence turned round to go downstairs and dispatch William, who was employed in the stables, in search of a medical man. Miss Wynward took the lifeless body in her arms and tenderly turned it over, kissing the pallid face as she did so—when Harriet Brandt, full of mournful curiosity, advanced to have a look at her dead playmate. Her appearance, till then unnoticed, seemed to wake the paralysed energies of the Baroness into life.[Pg 261] She pushed the girl from the bed with a violence that sent her reeling against the mantelshelf, whilst she exclaimed furiously,

“Out of my sight! Don’t you dare to touch ’im! This is all your doing, you poisonous, wicked creature!”

Harriet stared at her hostess in amazement! Had she suddenly gone mad with grief?

“What do you mean, Madame?” she cried.

“What I say! I ought to ’ave known better than to let you enter an ’ouse of mine! I was a fool not to ’ave left you be’ind me at Heyst, to practise your devilish arts on your army captains and foreign grocers, instead of letting you come within touch of my innocent child!”

“You are mad!” cried Harriet. “What have I done? Do you mean to insinuate that Bobby’s death has anything to do with me?”

“It is you ’oo ’ave killed ’im,” screamed the Baroness, shaking her stick, “it’s your poisonous breath that ’as sapped ’is! I should ’ave seen it from the beginning. Do you suppose I don’t know your ’istory? Do you think I ’aven’t ’eard all about your parents and their vile doings—that I don’t know that you’re a common bastard, and that your mother was a devilish negress, and your father a murderer? Why didn’t I listen to my friends and forbid you the ’ouse?”

“Miss Wynward!” said Harriet, who had turned deadly white at this unexpected attack, “what can I say? What can I do?”

“Leave the room, my dear, leave the room! Her ladyship is not herself! She does not know what she is saying!”

“Don’t I?” screamed Madame Gobelli, barring the[Pg 262] way to the door, “I am telling ’er nothing but the truth, and she doesn’t go till she ’as ’eard it! She has the vampire’s blood in ’er and she poisons everybody with whom she comes in contact. Wasn’t Mrs. Pullen and Mademoiselle Brimont both taken ill from being too intimate with ’er, and didn’t the baby die because she carried it about and breathed upon it? And now she ’as killed my Bobby in the same way—curse ’er!”

Even when reiterating the terrible truth in which she evidently believed, Madame Gobelli showed no signs of breaking down, but stood firm, leaning heavily on her stick and trembling in every limb.

Harriet Brandt’s features had assumed a scared expression.

“Miss Wynward!” she stammered piteously, “Oh! Miss Wynward! this cannot be true!”

“Of course not! Of course not!” replied the other, soothingly, “her ladyship will regret that she has spoken so hastily to you to-morrow.”

“I shan’t regret it!” said the Baroness sturdily, “for it is the truth! Her father and her mother were murderers who were killed by their own servants in revenge for their atrocities, and they left their curse upon this girl—the curse of black blood and of the vampire’s blood which kills everything which it caresses. Look back over your past life,” she continued to Harriet, “and you’ll see that it’s the case! And if you don’t believe me, go and ask your friend Dr. Phillips, for ’e knew your infamous parents and the curse that lies upon you!”

“Madame! Madame!” cried Miss Wynward, “is this a moment for such recrimination? If all this were true,[Pg 263] it is no fault of Miss Brandt’s! Think of what lies here, and that he loved her, and the thought will soften your feelings!”

“But it don’t!” exclaimed the Baroness, “when I look at my dead son, I could kill ’er, because she has killed ’im.”

And in effect, she advanced upon Harriet with so vengeful a look that the girl with a slight cry, darted from the room, and rushed into her own.

“For shame!” said Miss Wynward, whose previous fear of the Baroness seemed to have entirely evaporated, “how dare you intimidate an innocent woman in the very presence of Death?”

“Don’t you try to browbeat me!” replied the Baroness.

“I will tell you what I think,” said Miss Wynward boldly, “and that is, that you should blush to give way to your evil temper in the face of God’s warning to yourself! You accuse that poor girl of unholy dealings—what can you say of your own? You, who for years past have made money by deceiving your fellow creatures in the grossest manner—who have professed to hold communication with the spiritual world for their satisfaction when, if any spirits have come to you, they must have been those of devils akin to your own! And because I refused to help you to deceive—to take the place of that miserable cur Milliken and play cheating tricks with cards, and dress up stuffed figures to further your money-getting ends, you threatened me with loss of home and character and friends, until, God forgive me, I consented to further the fraud, from fear of starving. But now, thank Heaven, I have no more fear of you![Pg 264] Yes! you may shake your stick at me, and threaten to take my life, but it is useless! This,” pointing to the dead boy upon the bed, “was the only tie I had to the Red House, and as soon as he is dressed for his grave, I shall leave you for ever!”

“And where would you go?” enquired the Baroness. The voice did not sound like her own; it was the cracked dry voice of a very old woman.

“That is no concern of yours, my lady,” replied Miss Wynward, as she prepared to quit the room. “Be good enough to let me pass! The inexcusable manner in which you have insulted that poor young lady, Miss Brandt, makes me feel that my first duty is to her!”

“I forbid you—” commenced Madame Gobelli in her old tone, but the ex-governess simply looked her in the face and passed on. She made the woman feel that her power was gone.

Miss Wynward found Harriet in her own room, tossing all her possessions into her travelling trunks. There was no doubt of her intention. She was going to leave the Red House.

“Not at this time of night, my dear,” said Miss Wynward, kindly, “it is nearly nine o’clock.”

“I would go if I had to walk the street all night!” replied Harriet, feverishly.

Her eyes were inflamed with crying, and she shook like an aspen leaf.

“Oh! Miss Wynward, such awful things to say! What could she mean? What have I done to be so cruelly insulted? And when I am so sorry for poor Bobby too!”

[Pg 265]

She began to cry afresh as she threw dresses, mantles, stockings, and shoes one on the top of the other, in her endeavour to pack as quickly as possible.

“Let me help you, dear Miss Brandt! It is cruel that you should be driven from the house in this way! But I am going too, as soon as the doctor has been and dear Bobby’s body may be prepared for burial. It is a great grief to me, Miss Brandt; I have had the care of him since he was five years old, and I loved him like my own. But I am glad he is dead! I am glad he has escaped from it all, for this is a wicked house, a godless, deceiving and slanderous house, and this trouble has fallen on it as a Nemesis. I will not stay here a moment longer now he has gone! I shall join my friends to-morrow.”

“I am glad you have friends,” said Harriet, “for I can see you are not happy here! Do they live far off? Have you sufficient money for your journey? Forgive my asking!”

Miss Wynward stooped down and kissed the girl’s brow.

“Thank you so much for your kind thought, but it is unnecessary. You will be surprised perhaps,” continued Miss Wynward, blushing, “but I am going to be married.”

“And so am I,” was on Harriet’s lips, when she laid her head down on the lid of her trunk and began to cry anew. “Oh! Miss Wynward, what did she mean? Can there be any truth in it? Is there something poisonous in my nature that harms those with whom I come in contact? How can it be? How can it be?”

[Pg 266]

“No! no! of course not!” replied her friend, “Cannot you see that it was the Baroness’s temper that made her speak so cruelly to you? But you are right to go! Only, where are you going?”

“I do not know! I am so ignorant of London. Can you advise me?”

“You will communicate with your friends to-morrow?” asked Miss Wynward anxiously.

“Oh! yes! as soon as I can!”

“Then I should go to the Langham Hotel in Portland Place for to-night at all events! There you will be safe till your friends advise you further. What can I do to help you?”

“Ask Sarah or William to fetch a cab! And to have my boxes placed on it! There is a douceur for them,” said Harriet, placing a handsome sum in Miss Wynward’s hand.

“And you will not see the Baroness again?” asked her companion.

“No! no! for God’s sake, no. I could not trust myself! I can never look upon her face again!”

In a few minutes the hired vehicle rolled away from the door, bearing Harriet Brandt and her possessions to the Langham Hotel, and Miss Wynward returned to the room where Bobby lay. Madame Gobelli stood exactly where she had left her, gazing at the corpse. There were no tears in her eyes—only the continuous shaking of her huge limbs.

“Come!” said Miss Wynward, not unkindly, “you had better sit down, and let me bring you a glass of wine! This terrible shock has been too much for you.”

[Pg 267]

But the Baroness only pushed her hand away, impatiently.

“Who was that driving away just now?” she enquired.

“Miss Brandt! You have driven her from the house with your cruel and unnecessary accusations. No one liked Bobby better than she did!”

“Has the doctor arrived?”

“I expect so! I hear the Baron’s voice in the hall now!”

Almost as she spoke, the Baron and the doctor entered the room. The medical man did what was required of him. He felt the heart and pulse of the corpse—turned back the eyelids—sighed professionally, and asked how long it was since it had happened.

He was told that it was about an hour since they had found him.

“Ah! he has been dead longer than that! Three hours at the least, maybe four! I am afraid there must be an inquest, and it would be advisable in the interests of science to have a post mortem. A great pity, a fine grown lad—nineteen years old, you say—shall probably detect hidden mischief in the heart and lungs. I will make all the necessary arrangements with the Baron. Good evening!”

And the doctor bowed himself out of sight again.

“It is quite true then,” articulated the Baroness thickly. “He is gone!”

“Oh! yes, my lady, he is gone, poor dear boy! I felt sure of that!”

“It is quite certain?”

[Pg 268]

“Quite certain! The body is already stiffening!”

The Baroness did not utter a sound, but Miss Wynward glancing at her, saw her body sway slowly backwards and forwards once or twice, before it fell heavily to the ground, stricken with paralysis.