Kitabı oku: «By Birth a Lady», sayfa 8
Volume One – Chapter Eighteen.
Analysis of the Heart
Alone – alone once more in her bedroom, the scene of so many bitter tears, Ella stood with flushed cheeks, and eyes that seemed to burn, thinking of the words that had been uttered to her that day. She held the crushed rose in her hand – the flower Laura had with cruel hand snatched away and cast down, and upon which she had trampled with as little remorse as upon her feelings. But the agitated girl had once more secured the torn blossom, to stand gazing down upon its bruised petals.
What did he say? That he loved her – her whom he had seen so few times! He loved her: he, the heir to a baronetcy, loved her – a poor governess, the persecuted, despised dependent of this family – that his love for her was as pure as that white blossom! It could not be. And yet he had spoken so earnestly; his voice trembled, and those low soft utterances so tenderly, so feelingly whispered, so full of appeal and reverence, were evidently genuine. They were not the words of the thoughtless, the lovers of conquest, the distributors of vain compliments, empty nothings, to every woman who was the toy of the hour. And he was no weak boy, ready to be led away by a fresh face – no empty-headed coxcomb, but a man of sterling worth.
There was a plain, straightforward, manly simplicity in what he had said that went home to her heart; there was a nobility in his disappointment and anger which made her thrill with the awakening of new thoughts, new senses, that had before lain dormant in her breast; there was the sterling ring of the true gentleman in his every act and look and word, and – Ah, but – no – no – no! She was mad to harbour such thoughts, even for an instant; it was folly – all folly. How could she accept him, even if her heart leaned that way? It would be doing him a grievous wrong, blighting his prospects, tying him down to one unworthy of his regard. She could not – she did not love him. Love! What was it to love? She had loved those who were no more; but love him, a stranger! What was it to love?
Beat, beat! – beat, beat! – beat, beat! Heavy throbbings of her poor wounded heart answering the question she had asked, plainly, and in a way that would not be ignored, even though she pressed that flower-burdened hand tightly over the place, and laid the other upon her hot and tingling cheeks. But even if she knew it, could she own to it? No! impossible; not even to herself. That was a secret she could not ponder on, even for an instant.
And yet he had said that he loved her! What were his words? She must recall them once more: that his love for her was as truthful and as pure as that flower – that poor crushed rose.
As she thought on, flushed and trembling, she raised the flower nearer and nearer to her face, gazing at the bruised petals, crushed, torn, and disfigured. It was to her as the reading of a prophecy – that his pure love for her was to become torn and sullied, and that, for her sake, he was to suffer bitter anguish, till, like that flower, his love should wither away. But there would still be the recollection of the sweet words, even as there stayed in the crushed blossom its own sweet perfume, the incense-breathing fragrance, as she raised it more and more till the hot tears began to fell.
No, she did not love him – she could not love him: it was folly – all a dream from which she was awaking; for she knew the end – she knew her days at the Elms must be but few – that, like a discarded servant, she must go: whither she knew not, only that it must be far away – somewhere to dream no more, neither to be persecuted for what she could not help.
No; she did not love him, and he would soon forget her. It could be but a passing fancy. But she esteemed him – she must own to a deep feeling of esteem for one of so noble, frank, and generous a nature. Had he not always been kind and gentle and sympathising – displaying his liking for her with a gentlemanly respect that had won upon her more and more? Yes, she esteemed him too well, she was too grateful, to injure him ever so slightly; and her greatest act of kindness would be to hurry away.
The fragrance from the poor crushed flower still rose, breathing, as it were, such love and sweetness; recalling, too, the words with which it was given so vividly, that, betrayed beyond her strength to control the act, for one brief instant Ella’s lips were pressed softly, lovingly, upon the flower – petals kissing petals – the bright bee-stung and ruddy touching the pale and crushed; and then, firmly and slowly, though each act seemed to send a pang through her throbbing heart, Ella plucked the rose in pieces, telling herself that she was tearing forth the mad passion as she went on showering down the creamy leaflets, raining upon them her tears the while, till the bare stalk alone remained in her hands – her cruel hands; for had she not been tearing and rending her own poor breast as every petal was plucked from its hold? For what availed the deceit? The time had been short – they had met but seldom: but what of that? The secret would burst forth, would assert itself; and she knew that she loved him dearly – loved him so that she would give her life for his sake; and that to have been his slave – to have been but near him – to listen to his voice – to see his broad white forehead, his sun-tinged cheeks, and clustering brown hair; not to be called his, but only to be near him – would be life to her; while to go far – far – far away, where she might never see him more, would be, as it were, tottering even into her grave.
No; there was no one looking: it was close upon midnight, but she glanced guiltily round, as with burning cheeks she sank upon her knees, whispering to that wild beating heart that it could not be wrong. And then she began to slowly gather those petals, taking them up softly one by one, to treasure somewhere – to gaze upon, perhaps, sometimes in secret; for was it not his gift that she had cast down as if it had been naught? She might surely treasure them up to keep in remembrance of what might have been, had hers been a happier lot.
Then came once more the thoughts of the past evening, and more than ever she felt that she must go. She would see him no more, and he would soon forget it all. But would she forget? A sob was the answer – a wild hysterical sob – as she felt that she could not.
One by one, one by one, she gathered those leaflets up to kiss them once again; and that night, flush-cheeked and fevered, she slept with the fragments of the blossom pressed tightly to her aching breast, till calm came with the earliest dawn, and with the lightening sky dreams of hope and love and happiness to come, with brighter days and loving friends, and all joyous and blissful. She was walking where white rose petals showered down to carpet the earth; the air was sweet with their fragrance, and she was leaning upon his stout arm as he whispered to her of a love truthful and pure as the flowers around; and then she awoke to the bare chill of her own stiffly-papered, poorly-furnished room, as seen in the grey dawn of a pouring wet morning, with the wind howling dismally in the great old-fashioned chimney, the rain pattering loudly against the window-panes, and hanging in great trembling beads from the sash. It was a fit morning, on the whole, to raise the spirits of one who was dejected, spiritless, almost heart-broken; find it was no wonder that Ella Bedford’s head sank once more upon the pillow, which soon became wet with her bitter tears.
For how could she meet the different members of that family? She felt as if she was guilty; and yet what had she done? It was not of her seeking. She could have wept again and again in the despair and bitterness of her heart; but her eyes were dried now, and she began to ponder over the scenes of the past night.
She rose at last to go down to the schoolroom, for it was fast approaching eight, and as she descended, her mind was made up as to her future proceedings. She would go carefully on with her duties; but in the course of the morning, if not sent for sooner, she would herself seek Mrs Bray, and ask to be set at liberty, so that she might elsewhere seek a home – one that should afford her rest and peace.
Volume One – Chapter Nineteen.
The Making of a Compact
Breakfast over at the Elms, and no improvement in the weather. Maximilian Bray said that it was impossible to go out, “bai Jove!” so he was seated in a low bergère chair in the drawing-room. He had taken a book from a side table as if with the intention of reading; but it had fallen upon the floor, Max Bray not being at the best of times a reading man; and now he was busy at work plotting and planning with a devotion worthy of a better cause. His head was imparting some of its ambrosia to the light chintz chair-cover, for he had impatiently thrown the antimacassar under the table. Then he fidgeted about a little, altered the sit of his collar and wristbands, and at last, as if not satisfied with his position, he removed his chair farther into the bay, so that the light drapery of the flowing curtains concealed his noble form from the view of any one entering the room, when, apparently satisfied, he gazed thoughtfully through the panes at the soaked landscape.
Max Bray had not been long settled to his satisfaction when Laura entered, shutting the door with a force that whispered – nay, shouted – of a temper soured by some recent disappointment. She gave a sharp glance round the room, and then, seeing no one, threw herself into a chair, a sob at the same moment bursting from her breast.
“She shall go – that she shall!” exclaimed Laura suddenly, as she gave utterance to her thoughts. “Such deceit! – such quiet carneying ways! But there shall be no more of it: she shall go!”
Laura Bray ceased speaking; and, starting up, she began to pace the room, but only to stop short on seeing her brother gazing at her with a half-mocking, half-amused expression of countenance from behind the curtain.
“You here, Max!” she exclaimed, colouring hotly.
“Bai Jove, ya-a-as!” he drawled. “But, I say, isn’t it a bad plan to go about the house shouting so that every one can hear your bewailings, because a horsey cad of a fellow gives roses to one lady and thorns to another?”
“What do you mean, Max?” said Laura.
“What do I mean! Well, that’s cool, bai Jove! O, of course nothing about meetings by moonlight alone, and roses and vows, and that sort of spooneyism! But didn’t you come tearing and raving in here, saying that she should go, and that you wouldn’t stand it, and swore – ”
“O, Max?” cried Laura passionately.
“Bai Jove! why don’t you let a fellow finish?” drawled Max. “Swore, I said – swore like a cat just going to scratch; and I suppose that you would like to scratch, eh?”
“But, Max, did you really hear what I said?” cried Laura.
“Hear? Bai Jove! of course I did – every word. Couldn’t help it. Good job it was only me.”
“How could you be so unmanly as to listen!” cried Laura.
“Listen? Bai Jove, how you do talk! I didn’t listen; you came and raved it all at me. And so she shall go, shall she?”
“Yes!” exclaimed Laura, firing up, and speaking viciously, “that she shall – a deceitful creature! I see through all her plots and plans, and I’ll – ”
“Tear her eyes out, won’t you, my dear, eh? Now just look here, Laury: you think me slow, and all that sort of fun, and that I don’t see things; but I’m not blind. So the big boy has kicked off his allegiance, has he? and run mad after the little governess, has he? and the big sister is very angry and jealous!”
“Jealous, indeed!” cried Laura – “and of a creature like that!”
“All right; only don’t interrupt,” said Max mockingly. “Jealous, I said, and won’t put up with it, and quite right too! But, all the same, I’m not going to have her sent away.”
“And why not, pray?” cried Laura with flashing eyes.
“Because I don’t choose that she shall go,” said Max coolly.
Laura started, and then in silence brother and sister sat for a few moments gazing in each other’s eyes, a flood of thought sweeping the while across the brain of the latter as she recalled a score of little things till then unnoticed, or merely attributed to a natural desire to flirt; but, with the key supplied by Max Bray’s last words, Laura felt that she could read him with ease, and her brow contracted as she tried to make him shrink; but that did not lie in her power.
“Max!” she exclaimed at last, “I’m ashamed of you! It’s mean, and contemptible, and base, and grovelling! I’m disgusted! Why, you’ll be turning your eyes next to the servants’ hall!”
“Thank you, my dear!” drawled Max. “Very high-flown and grand! But I shall be content at present with the schoolroom. And now suppose I say I’m ashamed of you; and, bai Jove, I am! A girl of your style and pretensions, instead of winking at what you’ve seen, or coming to your brother for counsel, to go howling about the house – ”
“Max!” half shrieked Laura. “I don’t care – bai Jove, I don’t!” he exclaimed. “So you do go howling about the house like a forlorn shepherdess, bai Jove, so that every one can see what a fool you are making of yourself!”
“And pray what would my noble brother’s advice be?” cried Laura sarcastically.
Max Bray was another man for an instant, as, starting up in his chair, he caught his sister by the arm, drawing her towards him until she sank down in a sitting position upon the ottoman at his feet, when, with the drawling manner and affectation gone, he leaned over her, talking in a low earnest voice, and so impressively, that Laura’s mocking smile gave place to a look of intense interest. She drew nearer to him at length, as he still talked on eagerly; then she clasped her hands together, and rested them upon his knees.
“But no!” she exclaimed, suddenly starting as it were from something which seemed to enthral her, “I will not be a party to it, Max!”
“Very good, my dear,” he said cavalierly; “then you shall have the pleasure of watching progress, and seeing yourself thrust out, if you please. Bai Jove, though, Laury, I did think you were a girl of more spirit! Seems really, though, a good deal smitten, does Charley.”
Laura’s countenance changed, and her teeth were set together.
“I shall let him go on, then, for my part, if you choose it to be so.”
“I choose!” cried Laura, with the tears in her eyes. “O, Max, why do you torture me?”
“Then look here!” said Max.
And once more he leaned over towards her, assuming a quiet ease, but at the same time it was plain to see that he was greatly excited. He talked on and on impressively, with the effect of making Laura’s lips part and her eyes to glisten with a strange light. Then a pallor overspread her countenance, but only to be swept away by a look of exultation as Max still talked on.
“But it is impossible, Max!” cried Laura, at length.
“Perhaps you’ll leave me to judge about that, and think only of your own part!” he said coolly. “Is my advice – are my offers – worth accepting?”
“O yes, Max, yes!” cried Laura excitedly; “I’d do anything!”
“I don’t want you to do anything,” said Max, smiling with triumph; “only what I advise. Help me, and I will help you with all my heart. But I always knew that you would. You say that you don’t like my choice. Well and good; I might say that I don’t like yours. Perhaps my affair will come to nothing; but, anyhow, you are the gainer. I won’t say anything about hating, but let you have your selection. Now let me have mine. But if you have anything better to propose, I am ready to listen.”
“But I have no plans, Max. I only thought of her being sent away; I’m half broken-hearted and worn-out with disappointment!”
“Yes, just so. I expected as much, and I was waiting here to see you,” said Max. “I’m not blind, Laury, nor deaf either. I heard you two shouting across the hall. So you’ve been telling the old lady that some one shall go, have you?”
“Yes, I have!” exclaimed Laura, ignoring the past conversation; “and she shall go too! Mamma did promise me.”
“Ya-a-as, I know,” said Max, relapsing into his drawl; “but that was before she promised me. The second will counts before the first made. But, as I said before, and we understand now, she’s not going – so there’s an end of it.”
“O, of course!” cried Laura passionately. “Everything must be as mamma’s dear boy wishes! He shall have everything he likes, and do as he likes, and say what he likes, and every one else is to give way to him!”
“Bai Jove, now, don’t be an idiot!” exclaimed Max. “What’s the good – now that I’m working on your side, and we have got to understand one another – of running back like this? I’m obliged to speak plain, and to tell you that you are only a stupid child, Laury, and that you’ve taken a liking for another stupid child – and there’s a pair of you; but all the same, if you do as I tell you, all will come right!”
Laura tossed her head, and seemed somewhat mollified, perhaps from being reminded of her folly.
“There,” said Max, “that will do for this morning; so now do just as I tell you, and leave all the rest to me. But is it a bargain?”
Laura Bray was thoughtful for a few minutes. She was placed in a position which required consideration: the languid brother, whom she had hitherto almost despised, was asking her to forego one purpose for the sake of an equivalent; but it was the fact of his asking her to trust herself entirely to his guidance that troubled her; and for a while she shrank from yielding.
“Well,” he said again, “is it a bargain?”
Still Laura did not answer, but remained gazing fixedly at the speaker, who watched her as attentively, his flushed cheek and eager eyes displaying the interest he took in the affair. At last, though, she leaned forward, and taking one of his arms between her hands,
“I never trusted you yet, Max,” she said.
“Sisterly, very – but perfectly true,” he exclaimed, laughing.
“But I will, Max, this time. But if you play me false – ”
“Hush!” ejaculated Max, throwing himself back in his chair, and forcing his glass beneath his brow to stare at the new-comer; for at that moment the drawing-room door opened, and Ella Bedford stood upon the threshold.
Volume One – Chapter Twenty.
Ella’s Resolve
“I beg pardon,” said Ella, upon seeing who occupied the room. “I thought that Mrs Bray would be here.”
“No, not here now, Miss Bedford,” said Max, in his best style. “But take a chair; she won’t be long first. Don’t run away, Laury.”
“I must; I have a letter or two to write,” said Laura, trying hard to appear calm, and play into her brother’s hand. But so far the efforts of brother and sister were without effect; for, with a few words of thanks, Ella withdrew; and a minute after the tones of Mrs Bray’s voice were heard in loud expostulation, and coming nearer and nearer, till the door was flung open, and she entered, literally driving Ella before her.
“There, only think, Maximilian dear,” shrieked Mrs Bray; “here’s Miss Bedford been to say she must go!”
“Quite out of the question,” said Max. “Bai Jove, what can you be thinking of, Miss Bedford? Why, poor Nelly would break her heart.”
Ella started slightly, for Max Bray had touched a tender chord, and she remained silent, with the tears standing in her eyes, as the form of Nelly forced itself upon her imagination.
“It would be so inconvenient,” shrieked Mrs Bray; “and you suit us so very well. I was only yesterday saying to your master – I mean, to Mr Bray – that the way in which those children have improved is perfectly wonderful.”
“Perhaps Miss Bedford will reconsider her sudden determination,” said Laura, in a voice which trembled with the struggle she had with self to obey the intelligent look darted at her by her brother.
“I have quietly thought it over,” said Ella, looking with wondering eyes at the last speaker, as she felt unable to comprehend this sudden change, “and it is really absolutely necessary that I should leave.”
“I’m sure you never will with my consent,” shrieked Mrs Bray. “I think you a very nice young person indeed, Miss Bedford; and even Mr Maximilian made the remark this very morning, how pleased he was with the way in which you manage the children. And really, Miss Bedford, if it is a matter of two pounds more in your wages, I’m sure Mr Bray won’t object to raising you. It’s so troublesome to have to change, you see. But now that you are aware how much we are disposed to keep you, I think you will alter your mind.”
“Indeed, madam – ” cried Ella.
“There, there, there – pray don’t be hasty!” shrieked Mrs Bray. “That’s what I always say to the servants: ‘Don’t do anything without plenty of consideration.’ You are young yet, Miss Bedford, and have not yet learned how much easier it is to lose than to gain a situation. Now take my advice, and go and think it over. No, I won’t hear another word now; only remember this: I wish you to stay, and so does Mr Maximilian, who takes great interest in the studies of his sisters, as well as in their welfare, as you must have found out before now.”
“Bai Jove, yes!” murmured Max, unabashed by the sharp glance sent flashing at him by his sister.
“I’m afraid,” said Laura with an effort, “that it is all due to my hasty words, spoken in anger last night. I’m sure I beg your pardon, Miss Bedford: I’m afraid I was in error – labouring under a mistake – been deceived – ” She hesitated here as for an instant she encountered Ella’s candid, wondering look; but feeling reassured by the thought that Ella did not know how she had played the spy, Laura plucked up courage, and joined with Mrs Bray in requesting that Ella would quietly reconsider the matter, playing the hypocrite admirably, and little thinking how those soft eyes read the deceit.
“I quite agree with mamma, that you had better calmly think the matter over,” said Laura after a pause.
“Bai Jove, yes!” said Max, rising and going to the door. “There, I’ll leave you all to talk it over.” And, with a parting glance at Ella, he left the room; but no sooner was the door closed than Ella started again, for Max was heard loudly calling, “Nelly! Nelly!” Then there was the noise of a scuffle, a smart slap, and two or three “I won’t’s!” and “I sha’n’t’s!” in the midst of which Max returned, dragging in Nelly, very hot and wild-looking; for her conscience told her that she was to be taken to task for listening amongst the shrubs the night before.
“There!” said Max, “I’ve got another voter, bai Jove, Miss Bedford! Here, Nelly, Miss Bedford says she wants to go away from the Elms; it won’t do – ”
“What!” cried Nelly, her eyes flashing as she darted to Ella’s side.
“You should say, ‘I beg your pardon,’ or ‘I did not catch your words,’ my dear,” shrieked Mrs Bray – “not ‘what!’”
“Miss Bedford wants to go!” cried Nelly, not heeding Mamma Bray’s words. “Then you and Laury have done it between you, and it is cruel and wicked, and – and – shameful, and – and beastly – that it is!” cried Nelly, bursting out into a passion of weeping. “But if she is sent away, I’ll run away too, and never come back any more.”
“But, bai Jove! we want her to stop,” cried Max, “don’t you see?”
“Then she will stop,” cried Nelly; “won’t you, Miss Bedford?”
“There, I’m off; I see you womenkind will settle it amongst you,” said Max; and, satisfied that what had threatened to be a check to his plans had been most likely averted, he left the room and sought the solace of a cigar.
