Kitabı oku: «Fickle Fortune», sayfa 7

CHAPTER VII

The day on which the young Lord of Ettersberg attained his majority had come and gone, being celebrated with much splendour. The Countess judged this a fitting occasion for the display of all the grandeur of which Ettersberg was capable, and displayed it accordingly was in fullest measure. In the spacious, brilliantly lighted apartments of the castle there gathered a gay and numerous throng, for whom the fête, besides its more immediate cause, had yet another and a special interest. The young couple, who had been quietly betrothed at Brunneck some weeks previously, in the presence only of members of the two families, now made their first appearance together in public, and were accordingly overwhelmed by the congratulations of their friends. The news of the engagement had, as may be supposed, created a considerable stir in the neighbourhood; but the astounding fact was in some small degree explained by a report of the incident which had brought it about. It was easy to understand how the Countess, carried away by her gratitude, had held out the hand of reconciliation to a man whose courage and presence of mind had saved her life, how in such a moment her class-prejudices had given way, and she had consented to an alliance which, so it was said, she had at first vehemently opposed. Equally intelligible was it that after such an episode the Councillor should have yielded up his long-cherished grudge against the Ettersberg family; especially as the Dornau lawsuit had been decided in his favour, and his stubborn pride had thus received satisfaction. On the whole, Count Edmund's choice provoked envy rather than hostile attack, particularly among his younger compeers. The heiress of Brunneck and Dornau was no unfitting consort, even for a Count von Ettersberg. Similar marriages were constantly arranged where no such romantic inclination prevailed, where the rich heiress was not, as in this case, a youthful, beautiful, and accomplished lady.

But whatever might be the judgment passed on them in private, the young engaged couple were, of course, met on all sides by flattering speeches and the most amiable expressions of interest.

Baron Heideck did not honour the castle with his presence on the occasion, though, in his quality of guardian to the heir, he had been confidently expected. He did not surrender his point so easily as the Countess, but persisted in his exclusive views. Fortunately, Edmund had wisely arranged that the news of his engagement should reach his uncle in the capital precisely at the time it was made generally public. The Countess could not possibly recede now, and any interference on her brother's part would come too late. Nevertheless, the Baron wrote a stern letter, reproaching his sister with her weak and foolish compliance, and would not understand how anyone could be so carried away by the emotion of the moment as to offer up their 'principles.' He did not know how the mother's love had secretly been at work, undermining her stern resolve, and paving the way for the sudden concession. It so angered him that he went the length of refusing to be present at the coming festivities. By his mother's express wish, Edmund wrote to him, begging him to reconsider this decision, but he merely sent a short cool note in reply, declaring that his official duties would not permit him to leave town just then; all the formalities attendant on the coming of age should be settled by writing.

Edmund bore the blow with much philosophy, but the Countess was greatly annoyed. She had always been guided by her brother's opinion, and now felt his displeasure the more keenly that in her heart she shared his way of thinking. She saw, however, that having gone so far, the position she had taken up must be maintained before the world. So she set herself to the task before her, and with much tact and charming affability of manner convinced everyone that the consent, which in truth circumstances had wrung from her, had been spontaneously and freely given.

Supported by her son and his promised bride, the Countess received the guests as they arrived. Her toilette was sumptuous and in finest taste, and the fact that she was still a very beautiful woman had never made itself so triumphantly manifest as on this occasion. At her side stood her future daughter-in-law, radiant in all the bloom and grace of early youth; yet the elder lady's beauty shone undimmed by the contrast. Edmund's eyes rested now and again with loving admiration on his handsome, proud mother, who seemed to claim his attention in almost equal degree with his affianced bride.

'The Countess looks magnificent to-day,' said the Councillor, going up to his cousin. 'Magnificent, upon my word! and she knows how to do this sort of thing–that, one must admit. It is all proportionate and on a grand scale, and the lady has a wonderful talent of making herself the life and centre of the whole affair. She sees everything, has something pleasant to say to everyone. Hedwig may learn much from her in this respect.'

'You seem fond of extremes,' remarked Aunt Lina, who had retired to a quiet corner seat, whence she could observe at ease all that was going on. 'From a most unreasonable dislike you have gone over to boundless admiration of the Countess. Why, I noticed you even kissed her hand just now.'

'What, don't I please you even yet?' asked Rüstow, in a tone of offence. 'You wrung from me a solemn promise that I would make myself agreeable tonight, and now that I am doing everything in my power to keep my word–making extraordinary efforts, in fact–you won't even acknowledge it.'

Aunt Lina smiled rather mischievously.

'Oh, but indeed I do! I admire the "extraordinary efforts" quite as much as the rest of the company, who really do not know what to make of it. People are accustomed to see you shrouded in a sort of thundercloud, and this sudden sunshine puzzles them. But I have one question to ask, Erich. What has gone wrong between Hedwig and Oswald von Ettersberg? They avoid each other openly in a manner which almost courts attention.'

'Gone wrong? Nothing, so far as I know. Hedwig cannot endure this cousin, and I fancy he does not care much for her.'

The last words betrayed some little pique. Evidently the Councillor could not understand anyone not caring much for his daughter.

'But there must be some grounds for this mutual dislike. Young Ettersberg's manners are not particularly agreeable, I must say.'

'Ah, but he has a real genius for farming and agriculture generally. Now, if he were the heir coming into his own, things would wear a very different aspect here. He sees clearly how the estates are being mismanaged; and the other day, when he was over at Brunneck, he gave me some hints and information which will lead me to take serious steps myself, if Edmund will not act. We talked the matter over thoroughly.'

'Yes, and at great length,' rejoined the lady. 'It almost seemed to me as if Herr von Ettersberg held you to the conversation purposely, that he might not have to listen to all Edmund's tender speeches to his beloved.'

'I am afraid he has some nonsensical high-flying notions in his head,' said Rüstow. 'The marriage does not meet with his high approval. I saw that the very day of the accident. He received us here at Ettersberg, and when Edmund lifted his future wife out of the carriage, my young gentleman looked as if the skies had fallen upon him; he darted a glance at the pair which by no means pleased me. However, he recovered himself in a minute, and was very polite, expressing regret at his aunt's accident, and wishes for his cousin's happiness, but in a cool, half-hearted sort of way which showed that both were forced. He does not appear to possess much heart, but a genius for farming he has, and no mistake.'

'Did that flattering compliment refer to me?' asked Edmund, who just then drew near with Hedwig, and overheard the last words.

Rüstow turned.

'To you, no! We were talking of your cousin. You, I am sorry to say, have no practical gifts that I have been able to discover.'

'None in the world,' Edmund laughingly assured him. 'That was made plain to me the other day when I was over at Brunneck, and you were engrossed in one of your endless debates about forest-culture and drainage. Hedwig and I only caught a word here and there, but that was enough to make us yawn.'

'These are views which promise well for a landed proprietor, I must say,' remarked the Councillor tartly. 'So our conversation made you yawn, did it? Why, you and Hedwig had not a sensible word to say to each other. I heard nothing but jokes and laughter. Yet you had every cause to listen with attention. The state of the timber on your–'

'Oh, for Heaven's sake, spare me all that to-day,' broke in Edmund. 'If you really must talk on these subjects, I will bring you over the genius you admire so much. Oswald is capable of discussing timber all the evening. But where is he, I wonder? I have missed him for the last quarter of an hour or so. Everard, have you seen Herr von Ettersberg? Perhaps he is over in the ballroom.'

'No, Count, I have just come from there,' replied the old servant, who was passing with a tray.

'Well, I shall have to go and look him up myself. One can never reckon on Oswald on such occasions as this. He leaves the entire burden on me. Come, Hedwig, dancing will begin soon; we ought to go and see that all the necessary arrangements are made.'

So saying, the young Count placed Hedwig's hand within his arm, and led her away to the ballroom, which lay at the other extremity of the long and glittering suite of apartments.

The spacious ballroom was for the moment quite empty, as also was the adjoining conservatory, and this fact probably had beguiled Oswald into seeking a refuge there. The intention he had expressed of leaving Ettersberg at once had been combated on all sides, and especially by Edmund, who warmly insisted on his cousin remaining at the castle, and besieged him perpetually with entreaties and reproaches. The Countess even, and Baron Heideck, after due reflection, had decided that it might be a serious matter to provoke an open rupture with this rebellious nephew, and to launch him forth into the world in hostile mood. They therefore also opposed his departure. The family differences, which could not be healed, must at least be hidden from others. No further opposition should thwart the young man's plans.

It was agreed that his future should be left altogether in his own hands; so he had yielded to the pressure put upon him, and consented to stay on until the autumn, according to his original intention.

Oswald was standing before a group of camellias, apparently absorbed in the contemplation of their wealth of bloom. In reality he was insensible to it, as to all else around him. The expression of his countenance had little in common with the general rejoicing of the day, which placed the young Lord of Ettersberg in full possession of his own. An ominous frown contracted his brow, which had been smooth enough as he mixed in the ranks of the company. It was one of those moments when the mask of calm, imperturbable indifference was dropped. This mask the habit of years and the young man's self-control had enabled him to assume, but how foreign to his real nature was the indifference he feigned might be seen from his heaving breast and clenched teeth as he now stood alone, battling with himself. It had been impossible to him to remain amid the brilliant throng. He felt he must seek solitude, that he might draw breath freely, that he might not stifle beneath the crowd of thoughts which surged wildly through his mind. Was this really but the mean, bitter envy of an ingrate, who repaid benefits received with hate, and could not forgive the Fortune which favoured his cousin more highly than himself? Oswald's attitude implied more than this. There was in it something of the proud defiance with which a subdued and downtrodden right may at times assert itself, something of unspoken yet menacing protest against all the gay, splendid doings of the day.

'So here you are!' Edmund's voice broke in upon the stillness.

Oswald started and turned round, to behold the young Count standing in the doorway. Edmund went up to him now quickly, and continued, in a reproachful tone:

'You seem to look upon yourself quite in the light of a guest to-day! You turn your back on the company and devote yourself to a quiet inspection of these camellias, instead of helping me to do the honours of the house.'

A moment had sufficed to restore to Oswald his wonted calm, but there was a lurking bitterness in his tone as he replied:

'That, I imagine, is your business exclusively. Are you not the hero of the day?'

'No doubt, in a double capacity,' replied Edmund lightly. 'As a man coming into his property, and a man about to be married. In this last quality, I have to read you a lecture. You have omitted to ask Hedwig for a dance; yet you might have foreseen that she would be besieged by petitions on all sides. Luckily, I interfered in your behalf, and have secured for you the only waltz that was left at her disposal. I hope you will duly appreciate my self-abnegation.'

It hardly seemed to be appreciated, or at least not in the measure expected. Oswald's answer betrayed a marked coldness.

'You are very kind. To tell you the truth, it had been my intention not to dance this evening.'

'Now this is too bad!' exclaimed his cousin angrily. 'It would be shameful if you were to refuse now. Why should you? you used to dance formerly.'

'Because my aunt would not excuse me. The duty was always an onerous one. You know how little taste I have for dancing.'

Edmund shrugged his shoulders.

'No matter; this waltz you will have to undertake, whether you like it or not. I have expressly retained it for you.'

'If Fräulein Rüstow has consented–'

'"Fräulein Rüstow"! Just the tone in which Hedwig said, "If Herr von Ettersberg desires it"! How often have I asked you both to give up this stiff form of address, and to behave towards each other as relations should? But it seems to me that every time you meet you grow more formal and freezing. This is getting quite unbearable.'

'I was not aware that I had been wanting in proper respect towards the lady of your choice.'

'Oh no, certainly not. You are, on the contrary, so exceedingly reverential to each other, that it chills the very blood in my veins to listen to you. I really do not understand you, Oswald. The reserve you affect towards Hedwig is so patent, so obvious, you positively cannot complain if she is occasionally a little … a little brusque in her manner towards you.'

Oswald accepted the rebuke with perfect equanimity. His hand toyed, absently as it were, with one of the flowering branches as he replied:'

'Say no more about it, Edmund–be very sure that this reserve of mine meets the lady's wishes exactly. As you have asked for a waltz in my name, I shall claim it, of course, but you must not force me to take any further part in the ball. It really was my intention not to dance tonight at all.'

'All right,' said Edmund, who was as easily appeased as ruffled, and whose anger never lasted long. 'If you are bent on depriving the ladies of a partner, I cannot compel you to favour them, and nothing shall induce me to put myself out of temper tonight. It really would be thankless of me on such a day as this, a day which fulfils my every wish. You see, Hedwig and I were right not to take a tragic view of the situation, though Rüstow's deed of heroism settled the matter more quickly than we had ventured to hope. The feud between the houses is at an end, and our romance winds up to the merry tune of wedding-bells. I knew it would be so!'

The fearless, happy confidence which marked the young Count's bearing, and was to-day more strikingly expressed than ever, formed a strong contrast to his cousin's almost gloomy gravity. Oswald's eyes rested with a dark and moody gaze on the other's bright face.

'You are Fortune's favoured child,' he said slowly. 'All the good things of this life fall to your share.'

'All?' repeated Edmund jestingly. 'No; you are in error there. My future father-in-law's genuine admiration, for instance, is given to you. He declares you are a heaven-born genius, extols your practical notions, and no doubt in his heart regrets that you are not destined to be his son-in-law in my stead.'

Harmless as was the jest, and lightly as the words were spoken, they produced a visible and painful effect. Oswald's brow contracted darkly, and he replied with much irritation:

'How often have I begged you to spare me this perpetual banter? Cannot you desist from it for once, if it be only for a moment?'

Count Edmund, who greatly enjoyed the spectacle of his cousin's wrath, broke into a fit of laughter.

'Make your mind easy,' he said. 'I should be the first to protest against an exchange, and I hardly think Hedwig would be disposed to agree to it. I have no intention of abdicating in your favour. But now come. It is high time for us to return to the guests.'

Oswald, who had no further pretext for lingering behind, obeyed the summons, and the two young men returned together to the reception-rooms. Here the heir's absence had already been remarked. The Countess's eyes were roving in impatient quest of her son, for she was waiting to give the signal for the dancing to begin, and a cloud lay on fair Hedwig's brow as the two gentlemen entered. The young lady thought it most unnecessary that Edmund should go off in search of his unsociable cousin, and could not excuse him for deserting her side for such an object. She did not like this particular new relation, with his icy hauteur and reserve, which never condescended to a word of flattery or admiration, and therefore gave herself little trouble to conceal from him the fact that the promise of a waltz had been almost wrested from her. Oswald was constrained to utter some words of thanks, but even in so doing he let it be seen that he was in reality little moved by the high distinction conferred on him. No special attention was vouchsafed his speech. Hedwig made a brief reply, cold as the address had been, diligently studying the design of her fan as she spoke, and then turned at once to her affianced husband. Poor Edmund saw that his efforts to establish a friendship between his cousin and future wife were worse than useless; they invariably produced an effect contrary to that desired. He had to confess to himself that this, his latest half-playful, half-serious attempt to bring the two together, had resulted in a complete fiasco.

The ball now began in earnest, and soon all the younger members of the company were taking part in its revels. Oswald von Ettersberg was the one exception. He remained true to his resolution, and abstained from dancing, to the great displeasure of the Countess. Since their last interview, however, that lady had refrained from any attempt to control her nephew, and she now allowed him to have his way in silence. Edmund and Hedwig, on the other hand, gave themselves up heart and soul to the pleasure of the hour. They both danced well, and were passionately fond of the exercise. It would have been difficult to find a handsomer couple than the young heir and his promised bride as they floated through the room, radiant with youth, happiness, and beauty, surrounded by the aureole of wealth and Fortune's fairest gifts. Not a cloud dimmed the broad, sunshiny horizon of their future.

Baron Heideck himself must that evening have given in his adhesion, have become reconciled to his nephew's choice, so charming did the young girl appear in her dress of pale pink silk adorned with airy white laces and roses strewn, as it seemed, with a random hand. Her luxuriant curly hair, restrained by no net, but held together simply by a flowering spray, waved over her shoulders in all its rich abundance. A happy light shone in the dark-blue eyes, and the beautiful face, slightly flushed by the rapid movement of the dance, beamed with youthful excitement and delight–perhaps a little also with gratified vanity, for it could not be doubtful that the young lady was conscious of her all-conquering charms and of the triumph she had that evening achieved.

To this triumph Edmund was by no means insensible. The evident admiration which his betrothed excited on all sides flattered him most agreeably. He was unremitting in his attentions to Hedwig, and perfectly captivating in his general efforts to please. Oswald was right. The Count was indeed the favoured child of Fortune–of Fortune, which, in addition to all that had been his from birth, now set him free to follow the dictates of his heart. Truly, all the good things of this life fell to his share.

Three or four dances had gone by, and now came the waltz which Edmund had solicited in his cousin's name. Oswald approached his fair partner, and offered his arm with his accustomed cold politeness.

'You have not danced at all this evening, Herr von Ettersberg,' said Hedwig, a little ironically. 'It seems that an exception is to be made in my honour alone. Is it really true, as I heard a lady asserting just now, that you positively detest dancing?'

'I may say, at least, that I am not fond of it,' he replied.

'Oh, then I am sincerely sorry that you should impose such a penance on yourself on my account. It was Edmund's wish, I imagine, that we should fulfil the demands of etiquette by going through this waltz together?'

The sarcasm failed in its effect, for Oswald remained perfectly cool. He evaded any direct reply to her rather captious remark, and answered ambiguously:

'I hardly knew whether I was to accept Edmund's promise as sufficient. I thought it advisable to assure myself personally of your consent, Fräulein.'

Hedwig bit her lip. Her supposition was confirmed. This most ungallant new relation made no attempt to disguise from her that the arrangement had been a master-stroke of Edmund's diplomacy, but coolly allowed her to divine the fact. It almost seemed as though the young Count might have to pay some penalty for this, for the young lady's lip curled with a defiance of which he had already had some slight experience. The promise she had given could not, however, be recalled without absolute offence, especially as the dance had already commenced.

'I await your bidding,' said Oswald, pointing to the couples flying past.

Hedwig made no reply, but placed her hand on his arm with an air of resignation, and next moment they, too, were whirling through the room.

That was a strange waltz, danced merely in satisfaction of 'etiquette.' Hedwig had purposed to make it as short and as formal as possible, and yet something like confusion overcame her when her partner placed his arm about her waist. Hitherto they had not even shaken hands, but had restricted themselves to the severest outward forms of politeness, and now suddenly they were so near, so near each other! Up to this time Oswald had hardly noticed the girl's loveliness by a glance. He had, almost purposely, abstained from looking at her, and she had resented this as a sort of affront. But now his eyes were riveted on her face, fascinated, as it seemed, by some spell he could not break, and those eyes spoke quite another language from the sternly-set lips. His breast heaved with a quick tempestuous movement, and the arm which encircled the girl's slender figure trembled perceptibly.

Hedwig felt this. She raised her eyes in surprised inquiry to his face, and there met again that enigmatic expression which had so startled her on a previous occasion when they had been left together alone on the hill-side. She had not understood then the sudden, ardent flash, the kindling gaze–often had she pondered over it, wondering what it could purport–oftener than she cared to confess to herself; now some notion of its meaning dawned upon her. No clear recognition of the truth as yet, only a dim vague foreshadowing, which gradually, very gradually, took form and substance. Vague as was the feeling, it harassed and agitated her. Though the danger it seemed to imply as yet menaced only from afar, it already exercised a magnetic influence, which slowly, irresistibly drew her on and on towards the fatal orbit.

Mechanically, half as in a dream, the girl followed the windings of the dance. The brightly lighted ballroom, the sparkling music, the gay couples revolving round her–this all grew misty and unreal to her dulled senses, receding, as it were, to an illimitable distance.

It seemed to Hedwig that a great gap separated her from these surroundings, that she was alone with the man who held her in his arms, alone beneath the spell of those eyes, from which she strove to escape, but which held her ever inexorably fast. Suddenly, in the midst of all these surging emotions, indefinite and most unintelligible, a clear, strong ray of light streamed in upon her, a prescience, as it were, of some hitherto unknown, but infinite, amazing bliss.

The dance came to an end. It had hardly lasted ten minutes, and yet had been too long for either of them. Once again their eyes met–resting for a second or more, then Oswald bowed and stepped back.

'I thank you, Fräulein,' he murmured.

Hedwig replied not a syllable. She merely inclined her head in acknowledgment. No time could she have found, indeed, to answer, for Edmund was already at her side, triumphing in the thought that he had successfully carried out his plan, and much disposed to venture some bantering remarks in consequence. But for once his mirth-loving humour had to be restrained; for at the conclusion of the dance the couples dispersed, and many ladies and gentlemen drew near their host. The Count and his betrothed were quickly surrounded; their attention was claimed on all sides, and a lively chatter soon set in about them.

Edmund was in brilliant vein, and soon became the soul and centre of the group. Hedwig smiled too, and made reply when appealed to, but her replies were faint, her smiles strangely forced. The radiant gaiety she had shown throughout the evening had suddenly faded away, died out. But a little while ago she had entered with the heartiest spirit into all the animation and the pleasure, luxuriating in it as in her true element; had moved through the bright and merry throng, brightest, merriest of all; but now it had all grown strange and indifferent to her. The light jests and flattering speeches that buzzed about her ears seemed to her quite meaningless and inane. A veil had fallen upon her soul, as it were, obscuring all the brightness and splendour of the scene. It was only by a great effort that she forced herself to play her part in it.

Oswald had taken advantage of the approach of strangers to beat a retreat unnoticed, and to leave the ballroom. Count Edmund would have been wiser not so pertinaciously to have insisted on having his own way. He little guessed, indeed, that his cousin had refrained from dancing simply and solely to avoid the duty which 'etiquette' marked out for him, and which he could hope to escape in no other manner. And now, after all, it had been forced upon him! Oswald could not but feel that he had in some measure betrayed himself, and it availed little that anger and self-reproach burned hot and fierce within him. That which he had denied to his own thoughts, which nothing would induce him to admit even to himself, had through that unhappy waltz become clear to him as the noonday. He knew now how matters stood with him.

The solitude the young man so longed for was not yet to be accorded him; for in one of the adjacent rooms he came upon Councillor Rüstow, who was resting there, seeking to recruit, after his unusual and amazing efforts at urbanity. He had surpassed himself this evening, and had been almost knightly in his behaviour towards the Countess; but the duty had become irksome to him after awhile, and he now joyfully seized the opportunity which offered of having a little sensible conversation. In an instant he had buttonholed Oswald, who was of necessity compelled to stand and surrender.

'You were right, I am sorry to say,' remarked Rüstow, in the course of their talk. 'In consequence of what you said to me, I have been looking into the state of affairs here on the Ettersberg estates. Things are, indeed, in a deplorable condition. I don't see one person employed on the place who is worth his salt. The bailiff is totally inefficient, and my lady, the Countess, has trusted to him entirely for years. Well, I suppose one could not expect her to exercise much supervision, but I shall take my son-in-law to task, I can tell you. There has been no doing anything with him at present–his head is so full of his marriage and all sorts of nonsense–but there must be an end to this at last. He has to-day become the actual and sole master here. With the possession comes the responsibility, and it is for him now to see that all is set in order.'

'Edmund will not move a finger in the matter,' said Oswald. 'He will promise anything you like, and will seriously intend to do as he promises, but nothing will come of it. You may rely on what I say.'

Rüstow started at this strong assertion, which was made with much decision of manner.

'You mean that Edmund is not equal to the task before him?' he asked anxiously.

'No; his nature is excellent, most amiable, but he lacks energy, and energy is here imperatively needed. You will have to take steps yourself, Councillor, if you wish to save the property.'

'And how is it you have not done so before this? You must have seen on your return how matters were going.'

'I have no right to interfere with other people's concerns.'

'Other people's concerns? Have not you been treated in all respects as the son of the house whose name you bear?'

Oswald was silent. He could not explain to this gentleman the terms on which he stood towards his aunt, or how little she would have brooked any interference on his part; so after a moment he replied evasively: