“O! but I wanted her so—I wanted her,” exclaimed the bereaved mother, as she clasped the senseless form in her arms, “O! baby! baby! why did you go before you had seen your father?”
And then she slid, rather than sank, from the bedside, in a tumbled heap upon the floor.
“It is better so—it will help her through it,” said Doctor Phillips, as he directed the nurse to carry the dead child into Elinor Leyton’s room and placed Margaret on her own bed. “You will not object, Miss Leyton, I am sure, and you must not leave Mrs. Pullen to-night!”
“Of course I shall not,” replied Elinor, “I have been afraid for days past that this would happen, but poor Margaret would not take any hints.”
She spoke sympathetically, but there were no tears in her eyes and she did not caress, nor attempt to console her friend. She did all that was required of her but there was no spontaneous suggestion on her part with regard either to the mother or the dead child, and as Doctor Phillips noted her coolness, he did not wonder so much at Ralph’s being attracted by the fervour and warmth of Harriet Brandt.
As soon as poor Margaret had revived and had her cry out he administered a sleeping draught to her, and leaving her in charge of Elinor Leyton, he went downstairs again to consult Captain Pullen as to what would be the best thing for them to do.
Ralph was very much shocked to hear of the baby’s sudden death, and eager to do all in his power for his brother’s wife. There was no Protestant cemetery in Heyst, and Doctor Phillips proposed that they should at once order a little shell and convey the child’s body either to Ostende or England, as Margaret might desire, for burial. The sooner she left the place where she had lost her child, he said, the better, and his idea was that she would wish the body to be taken to Devonshire and buried in the quiet country churchyard where her husband’s father and mother were laid to sleep. He left Ralph to telegraph to his brother in India and to anyone the news might concern in England—also to settle all hotel claims and give notice to the Lamonts that they would leave on the morrow.
“But supposing Margaret should object,” suggested Ralph.
“She will not object!” replied the Doctor, “she might if we were not taking the child’s body with us, but as it is she will be grateful to be thought and acted for. She is a true woman, God bless her! I only wish He had not seen fit to bring this heavy trial on her head!”
Not a word was exchanged between the two men about Harriet Brandt. Ralph, remembering the hint the doctor had thrown out respecting her being the ultimate cause of the baby’s illness, did not like to bring up her name again—felt rather guilty with respect to it, indeed—and Doctor Phillips was only too glad to see the young man bestirring himself to be useful, and losing sight of his own worry in the trouble of his sister-in-law. Of course he could not have refused, or even demurred, at accompanying his party to England on so mournful an errand—and to do him justice he did not wish it to be otherwise. Brussels and its anticipated pleasures had been driven clean out of his head by the little tragedy that had occurred in Heyst, and his attitude towards Margaret when they met again was so quietly affectionate and brotherly that he was of infinite comfort to her. She quite acquiesced in Doctor Phillips’ decision that her child should be buried with her father’s family and the mournful group, with the little coffin in their midst, set out without delay for Devonshire.
- CHAPTER IX -
Harriet Brandt set off for Brussels in the best of spirits. Captain Pullen had pledged himself to follow her in a couple of days and had sketched, with a free hand, the pleasure they would mutually enjoy in each other’s company without the fear of Mrs. Pullen or Miss Leyton popping on them round the corner. Madame Gobelli also much flattered her vanity by speaking of Ralph as if he were her confessed lover and prospective fiancé so that, what with the new scenes she was passing through and her anticipated good fortune, Harriet was half delirious with delight and looked as “handsome as paint” in consequence.
Olga Brimont, on the contrary, although quietly happy in the prospect of keeping house for her brother, did not share in the transports of her Convent companion. Alfred Brimont observed, more than once, that she seemed to visibly shrink from Miss Brandt and took an early opportunity of asking her the reason why. But all her answer was conveyed in a shrug of the shoulders, and a request that he would not leave her at the Hotel de Saxe with the rest of the party, but take her home at once to the rooms over which she was to preside for him. In consequence, the two Brimonts said good-bye to the Gobellis and Harriet Brandt at the Brussels station and drove to their apartments in the rue de Vienne, after which the others saw no more of them. The Baroness declared they were “a good riddance of bad rubbish,” and that she had never liked that pasty-faced Mademoiselle Brimont and believed that she was jealous of the brilliancy and beauty of her dear ’Arriet. The Baroness had conceived one of her violent and generally short-lived fancies for the girl, and nothing, for the time being, was too good for her. She praised her looks and her talents in the most extravagant manner and told everyone at the Hotel that the Baron and she had known her from infancy—that she was their ward—and that they regarded her as the daughter of the house, with various other falsehoods that made Harriet open her dark eyes with amazement, whilst she felt that she could not afford to put a sudden end to her friendship with Madame Gobelli by denying them. Brussels is a very pretty town, full of modern and ancient interest, and there was plenty for them to see and hear during their first days there. But Harriet was resolved to defer visiting the best sights until Captain Pullen had joined them.
She went to the concerts at the Quinconce and Wauxhall, and visited the Zoological Gardens, but she would not go to the Musée nor the Académie des Beaux Arts, nor the Cathedral of Sainte Gudule, whilst Ralph remained in Heyst. Madame Gobelli laughed at her for her reticence—called her a sly cat—said she supposed they must make up their minds to see nothing of her when the handsome Captain came to Brussels—finally sending her off in company of Bobby to walk in the Parc, or visit the Wiertz Museum.[108] The Baroness was not equal to much walking at the best of times, and had been suffering from rheumatism lately, so that she and the Baron did most of their sight-seeing in a carriage and left the young people to amuse themselves. Bobby was very proud to be elected Miss Brandt’s cavalier, and get out of the way of his formidable Mamma who made his table d’hôte life a terror to him. He was a well-grown lad and not bad-looking. In his blue eyes and white teeth he took after his mother, but his hair and his complexion were fair. He was an anæmic young fellow and very delicate, being never without a husky cough which, however, the Baroness seemed to consider of no consequence. He hardly ever opened his mouth in the presence of his parents unless it were to remonstrate against the Baroness’s strictures on his appearance or his conduct, but Harriet Brandt found he could be communicative enough when he was alone with her. He gave her lengthy descriptions of the Red House and the treasures which it contained—of his Mamma’s barouche lined with satin—of the large garden which they had at Holloway, with its greenhouses and hothouses, and the numbers of people who came to visit them there.
“O! yes!” rejoined Harriet, “the Baroness has told me about them, Prince Adalbert and Prince Loris and others! She said they often came to the Red House! I should like to know them very much!”
The youth looked at her in a mysterious manner.
“Yes! they do come, very often, and plenty of other people with them; the Earl of Waterhouse and Lord Drinkwater, and Lady Mountacue, and more than I know the names of. But—but—did Mamma tell you why they come?”
“No! not exactly! To see her and the Baron, I suppose!”
“Well! yes! for that too perhaps,” stammered Bobby. “But there is another reason. Mamma is very wonderful you know! She can tell people things they never knew before. And she has a room where— but I had better not say any more. You might repeat it to her and then she would be so angry.” The two were on their way to the Wiertz Museum
at the time, and Harriet’s curiosity was excited.
“I will not, I promise you, Bobby,” she said, “what has the Baroness in that room?”
Bobby drew near enough to whisper, as he replied, “O! I don’t know, I daren’t say, but horrible things go on there! Mamma has threatened some times to make me go in with her, but I wouldn’t for all the world. Our servants will never stay with us long. One girl told me before she left that Mamma was a witch and could raise up the dead. Do you think it can be true—that it is possible?”
“I don’t know,” said Harriet, “and I don’t want to know! There are no dead that I want to see back again, unless indeed it were dear old Pete, our overseer. He was the best friend I ever had. One night our house was burned to the ground and lots of the things in it, and old Pete wrapped me up in a blanket and carried me to his cabin in the jungle and kept me safe until my friends were able to send me to the Convent. I shall never forget that. I should like to see old Pete again, but I don’t believe the Baroness could bring him back. It wants ‘Obeah’ to do that!”
“What is ‘Obeah,’ Miss Brandt?”
“Witchcraft, Bobby!”
“Is it wicked?”
“I don’t know. I know nothing about it! But let us talk of something else. I don’t believe your Mamma can do anything more than other people, and she only says it to frighten you. But you mustn’t tell her I said so. Is this the Wiertz Museum? I thought it would be a much grander place!”
“I heard father say that it is the house Wiertz lived in, and he left it with all his pictures to the Belgian Government on condition they kept it just as it was.”
They entered the gallery and Harriet Brandt, although not a great lover of painting in general, stood enwrapt before most of the pictures. She passed over the “Bouton de Rose” and the sacred paintings with a cursory glance but the representation of Napoleon in Hell being fed with the blood and bones of his victims—of the mother in a time of famine devouring her child—and of the Suicide between his good and evil angels, appeared to absorb all her senses. Her eyes fixed themselves upon the canvasses, she stood before them entranced, enraptured, and when Bobby touched her arm as a hint to come and look at something else she drew a long breath as though she had been suddenly aroused from sleep. Again and again she returned to the same spot, the pictures holding her with a strange fascination which she could not shake off, and when she returned to the Hotel she declared that first thing she should do on the following morning would be to go back to the Wiertz Museum and gaze once more upon those inimitable figures.
“But such ’orrid, subjects my dear,” said the Baroness, “Bobby says they were all blood and bones!”
“But I like them—I like them!” replied Harriet, moving her tongue slowly over her lips, “they interest me! They are so life-like!”
“Well! to-morrow will be Thursday, you know, so I expect you will have somebody’s else’s wishes to consult! You will ’ave a letter by the early post, you may depend upon it, to say that the Captain will be with us by dinner-time!”
Harriet Brandt flushed a deep rose. It was when the colour came into her usually pale cheeks, and her eyes awaked from their slumbers and sparkled that she looked beautiful. On the present occasion as she glanced up to see Bobby Bates regarding her with steadfast surprise and curiosity, she blushed still more.
“You’ll be ’aving a fine time of it, together, you two, I expect,” continued the Baroness facetiously, “and Bobby, ’ere, will ’ave to content ’imself with me and his Papa! But we’ll all go to the theatre together to-morrow night. I’ve taken five seats for the Alcazar, which the Captain said was the house he liked best in Brussels.”
“How good you are to me!” exclaimed Harriet, as she wound her slight arms about the uncouth form of the Baroness.
“Good! Nonsense! Why! Gustave and I look upon you as our daughter, and you’re welcome to share everything that is ours. You can come and live altogether at the Red ’Ouse, if you like! But I don’t expect we shall keep you long, though I must say I should be vexed to see you throw yourself away upon an army Captain before you have seen the world a bit!”
“O! don’t talk of such a thing, pray don’t!” said the girl, hiding her face in the Baroness’s ample bosom, “you know there is nothing as yet—only a pleasant friendship.”
“He! he! he!” chuckled Madame Gobelli, “so that’s what you call a pleasant friendship, eh? I wonder what Captain Pullen calls it! I expect we shall ’ear in a few days. But what ’e thinks is of no consequence, so long as you don’t commit yourself till you’ve looked about you a little. I do want you to meet Prince Adalbert! ’Is ’air’s like flax—such a nice contrast to yours. And you speaking French so well! You would get on first-rate together!”
Bobby did not appear to like this conversation at all.
“I call Prince Adalbert hideous,” he interposed. “Why! his face is as red as a tomato, and he drinks too much. I’ve heard Papa say so! I am sure Miss Brandt wouldn’t like him.”
“’Old your tongue,” exclaimed the Baroness angrily. “’Ow dare you interrupt when I’m speaking to Miss Brandt? A child like you! What next, I wonder! Just mind your own business, Bobby, or I’ll send you out of the room. Go away now, do, and amuse yourself! We don’t want any boys ’ere!”
“Miss Brandt is going into the Parc with me,” said Bobby sturdily.
“Ah! well, if she is going to be so good, I ’ope you won’t worry ’er, that’s all! But if you would prefer to come out in the carriage with the Baron and me, my dear, we’ll take a drive to the Bois de Cambres.”[109]
“All right, if Bobby can come too,” acquiesced Harriet.
“Lor! whatever do you want that boy to come with us for? ’E’ll only take up all the room with ’is long legs.”
“But we mustn’t leave him alone,” said the girl, kindly. “I shouldn’t enjoy my drive if we were to do so!”
The lad gave her a grateful glance through eyes that were already moist with the prospect of disappointment.
“Very well then,” said Madame Gobelli, “if you will ’ave your own way, ’e may come, but you must take all the trouble of ’im, ’Arriet, mind that!”
Bobby was only too happy to accompany the party, even in these humiliating circumstances, and they all set out together for the Bois de Cambres. The next day was looked forward to by Harriet Brandt as one of certain happiness, but the morning post arrived without bringing the anticipated notice from Ralph Pullen that he should join them as arranged in the afternoon. The piteous eyes that she lifted to the Baroness’s face as she discovered the defalcation were enough to excite the compassion of anyone.
“It’s all right!” said her friend, across the breakfast table. “’E said ’e would come, so there’s no need of writing. Besides, it was much safer not! ’E couldn’t stir, I daresay, without one of those two cats, Mrs. Pullen or Miss Leyton, at ’is elbow, so ’e thought they might find out what ’e was after, and prevent ’is starting. Say they wanted to leave ’Eyst or something, just to keep ’im at their side! You mark my words, I’ve means of finding out things that you know nothing of, and I’ve just seen it written over your ’ead that ’e’ll be ’ere by dinner time, so you can go out for your morning’s jaunt in perfect comfort!”
Harriet brightened up at this prophecy, and Bobby had never had a merrier time with her than he had that morning.
But the prophecy was not fulfilled. Ralph Pullen was by that time in England with his bereaved sister-in-law, and the night arrived without the people in Brussels hearing anything of him. He had not even written a line to account for his failure to keep his engagement with them. The fact is that Captain Pullen, although as a rule most punctilious in all matters of courtesy, felt so ashamed of himself and the folly into which he had been led that he felt that silence would be the best explanation that he had decided to break off the acquaintanceship. He had no real feeling for Harriet Brandt or anybody (except himself)—with him “out of sight
, was out of mind”— and the sad occurrence which had forced him to return to England seemed an excellent opportunity to rid himself of an undesirable entanglement. But Harriet became frantic at the nonfulfilment of his promise. Her strong feelings could not brook delay. She wanted to rush back to Heyst to demand the reason of his defalcation—and in default of that, to write or wire to him at once and ascertain what he intended to do. But the Baroness prevented her doing either. “Look ’ere, ’Arriet!” she said to the girl, who was working herself up into a fever, “it’s no use going on like this! ’E’ll come or ’e won’t come! Most likely you’ll see ’im to-morrow or next day, and if not it’ll be because ’is sister won’t let ’im leave ’er, and the poor young man doesn’t know what excuse to make! Couldn’t you see ’ow that Doctor Phillips was set against the Captain joining us? ’E went most likely and told Mrs. Pullen, and she ’as dissuaded her brother from coming to Brussels. It’s ’ard for a man to go against ’is own relations, you know!”
“But he should have written,” pleaded Harriet. “It makes me look a fool!”
“Not a bit of it! Captain Pullen thinks you no fool. ’E’s more likely to be thinking ’imself one. And, after all, you know we shall be going back to ’Eyst in a couple more days, and then you can ’ave ’im all to yourself in the evenings and scold ’im to your ’eart’s content!”
But the girl was not made of the stuff that is amenable to reason. She pouted and raved and denounced Ralph Pullen like a fury, declaring she would not speak to him when they met again,—yet lay awake at night all the same, wondering what had detained him from her side, and longing with the fierceness of a tigress for blood, to feel his lips against her own and to hear him say that he adored her. Bobby Bates stood by during this tempestuous time, very sorrowful and rather perplexed. He was not admitted to the confidence of his mother and her young friend, so that he did not quite understand why Harriet Brandt should have so suddenly changed from gay to grave just because Captain Pullen was unable to keep his promise to join them at Brussels. He had so enjoyed her company thitherto and she had seemed to enjoy his, but now she bore the gloomiest face possible and it was no pleasure to go out with her at all.
The Blood of the Vampire Page 16
