“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 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 shew ’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?”
“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, any way! 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.
“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 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 me if she chose!”
“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!”
&nbs
p; 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 any rate, 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 XIII -
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 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 any rate, 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 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 served, Miss Brandt, as soon as I can get 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 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 civilization. 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[118] in my chambers which I think the Baroness would like to see if she will honour 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 shew 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 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 shewn ’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? O! 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!”
The Blood of the Vampire Page 22
