Miss Laury did go. Mrs Irving had testified incredulity respecting her story, and now she reciprocated that incredulity. Both ladies were lost in their own mystification.
Five o’clock now struck. It was nearly dark. A servant with a taper was lighting up the chandeliers in the large dining room, where a table spread for dinner received the kindling lamplight upon a starry from a splendid sideboard, all arranged in readiness to receive the great, the expected guest.
Tolerably punctual in keeping an appointment when he means to keep it at all, Zamorna entered the house as the fairy-like voice of a musical clock in the passage struck out its symphony to the pendulum. The opening of the front door, a bitter rush of the night-wind, and then the sudden close and the step advancing forwards were the signals of his arrival.
Miss Laury was in the dining room looking round and giving the last touch to all things. She just met her master as she entered. His cold lip pressed to her forehead and his colder hand clasping hers brought the sensation which it was her custom of weeks and months to wait for, and to consider, when attained, as the ample recompense for all delay, all toil, all suffering.
‘I am frozen, Mina’, said he. ‘I came on horseback for the last four miles, and the night is like Canada’.
Chafing his icy hand to animation between her own own warm, supple palms, she answered by the speechless but expressive look of joy, satisfaction, idolatry, which filled and overflowed her eyes.
‘What can I do for you, my lord?’ were her first words as he stood by the fire rubbing his hands cheerily over the blaze. He laughed.
‘Put your arms round my neck, Mina, and kiss my cheek as warm and blooming as your own.’
If Mina Laury had been Mina Wellesley she would have done so, and it gave her a pang to resist the impulse that urged her to take him at his word, but she put it by and only diffidently drew near the armchair into which he had now thrown himself and began to smooth and separate the curls which matted on his temples. She noticed as the first smile of salutation subsided a gloom succeded on her master’s brow, which, however he spoke or laughed, afterwards, remained a settled characteristic of his countenance.
‘What visitors are in the house?’ he asked; ‘I saw the groom rubbing down four black horses before the stables as I came in. They are not of the Hawkscliffe stud, I think?’
‘No, my lord. A carriage was overturned at the lawn gates about an hour since, and, as the lady who was in it was taken out insensible, I ordered her to be brought up here and her servants accomodated for the night’.
‘And do you know who the lady is?’ continued his Grace, ‘The horses are good – first rate’.
‘She says her name is Mrs Irving, and that she is the wife of a Presbyterian minister in the north, but –‘
‘You hardly believe her?’ interrupted the Duke.
‘No’, returned Miss Laury, ‘I must say I took her for a lady of rank. She has something highly aristocratic about her manners and aspect, and she appeared to know a good deal about Angria’.
‘What is she like?’ asked Zamorna. ‘Young or old, handsome or ugly?’
‘She is young, slender, not so tall as I am, and, I should say, rather elegant than handsome, very pale, cold in her demeanour. She has a small mouth and chin, and a fair neck.’
‘Humph! A trifle like Lady Stuatville’, replied his Majesty. ‘I should not wonder if it is the Countess, but I’ll know. Perhaps you did not say to whom the house belonged, Mina?’
‘I said’, replied Mina, smiling, ‘that the owner of the house was a great Angrian proprietor, a lineal descendant of the Western Pakenhams, and that I was his housekeeper’.
‘Very good! She would not believe you. You look like an Angrian country gentleman’s Dolly! Give me your hand, my girl. You are not as old as I am.’
‘Yes, my lord Duke, I was born on the same day, an hour after your Grace’.
‘So I have heard, but it must be a mistake. You don’t look twenty, and I am twenty-five. My beautiful Western – what eyes! Look at me, Mina, straight, and don’t blush’.
Mina tried to look but she could not do it without blushing. She coloured to the temples.
‘Pshaw’ said his Grace, pushing her away. ‘Pretending to be modest! My acquaintance of ten years cannot meet my eyes unshrinkingly. Have you lost that ring I once gave you, Mina?’
‘Whar ring, my lord? You have given me many’
‘That which I said had the essence of your whole heart and mind engraven in the stone as a motto’.
‘Fidelity?’ asked Miss Laury, and she held out her hand with a graven emerald on the forefinger.
‘Right’ was the reply; ‘It is your motto still?’ And with one of his hungry jealous glances, he seemed trying to read conscience. Miss Laury at once saw the late transactions were not a secret confined between herself and Lord Hartford. She saw His Grace was unhinged and strongly inclined to be savage. She stood and watched him with a sad fearful gaze.
‘Well’, she said, turning away after a long pause, ‘if your Grace is angry with me I’ve very little to care about in this world.’
The entrance of the servants with the dinner prevented Zamorna’s answer. As he took his place at the head of the table, he said to the man who stood behind him: ‘Give Mr Pakenham’s compliments to Mrs Irving and say that he will be happy to see her at his table if she will honour him so far as to be present there’.
The footman vanished. He returned in five minutes.
‘Mrs Irving is too much tired to avail herself of Mr Pakenham’s kind invitation at present, but she will be happy to join him at tea’.
‘Very well’, said Zamorna, then looking round, ‘where is Miss Laury?’
Mina was in the act of gliding from the room, but she stopped mechanically at his call.
‘Am i to dine alone?’ he asked.
‘Does your Grace wish me to attend you?’
He answered by rising and leading her to her seat. He then resumed his own and dinner commenced. It was not till after the cloth was withdrawn and the servants had retired that the Duke, whilst he sipped his single glass of champagne, recommenced the conversation he had before so unpleasantly entered upon.
‘Come here, my girl’, he said, drawing a chair close to his side.
Mina never delayed, never hesitated, through bashfulness or any other feeling, to comply with his orders.
‘Now’, he continued, leaning his head towards her and placing his hand on her shoulder, ‘are you happy, Mina? Do you want anything?’
‘Nothing, my lord’.
She spoke truly; all that was capable of yielding her happiness on this side of Eternity was at that moment within her reach. The room was full of calm. The lamps burnt as if they were listening. The fire sent up no flickering flame, but diffused a broad, still, glowing light over all the spacious saloon. Zamorna touched her. His form and features filled her eye, his voice her ear, his presence her whole heart. She was soothed to perfect happiness.
‘My Fidelity!’ pursued that musical voice. ‘If thou hast any favour to ask, now is the time. I’m all concession, as sweet as honey, as yielding as a lady’s glove. Come, Esther, what is thy petition? And thy request, even to the half of my kingdom, it shall be granted!’
‘Nothing’, again murmured Miss Laury. ‘oh, my lord, nothing. What can I want?’
‘Nothing’, he repeated. ‘What? No reward for ten years of faith and love and devotion; no reward for the companionship in six months’ exile; no recompense to the little hand that has so often smoothed my pillow in sickness, to the sweet lips that have many a time in cool and dewy health been pressed to a brow of fever, none to the dark Milesian eyes that once grew dim with watching through endless nights by my couch of delirium? Need I speak of the sweetness and fortitude that cheered sufferings known only to thee and me, Mina? Of the devotion that gave me bread when you wert dying with hunger – and scarcely more than a year since? For all this, and much more, must there be no reward?’<
br />
‘I have had it’, said Miss Laury. ‘I have it now’.
‘But’, continued the Duke, ‘what if I have devised something worthy of your acceptance? Look up now and listen to me’.
She did look up, but she speedily looked down again, Her master’s eye was insupportable. It burnt absolutely with infernal fire. ‘What is he going to say?’ murmured Miss Laury to herself. She trembled.
‘I say, love’, pursued the individual, drawing her a little closer to him, ‘I will give you as a reward a husband, don’t start now! – and that husband shall be a nobleman, and that nobleman is called Lord Hartford! Now, madam, stand up and let me look at you!’
He opened his arms, and Miss Laury sprang erect like a loosened bow.
‘Your Grace is anticipated’, she said. ‘That offer has been made me before. Lord Hartford did it himself three days ago’.
‘And what did you say, madam?’ Speak the truth now; subterfuge won’t avail you’.
‘What did I say, Zamorna? I don’t know; it little signifies; you have rewarded me, my lord Duke! But I cannt bear this - I feel sick’.
With a deep, short sob, she turned white and fell close by the Duke, her head against his foot.
This was the first time in her life that Mina Laury had fainted, but strong health availed nothing against the deadly struggle which convulsed every feeling of her nature when she heard her master’s announcement. She believed him to be perfectly sincere. She thought he was tired of her and she could not stand it.
I suppose Zamorna’s first feeling when she fell was horror, and his next, I am tolerably certain, was intense gratification. People say I am not in earnest when I abuse him, or else I would here insert half a page of deserved vituperation, deserved and heartfelt. As it is I will merely relate his conduct without note or comment.
He took a wax taper from the table and held it over Miss Laury. Here could be no dissimulation. She was white as marble and still as stone. In truth, then, she did intensely love him with a devotion that left no room in her thoughts for one shadow of an alien image. Do not think, reader, that Zamorna meant to be so generous as to bestow Miss Laury on Lord Hartford. No; trust him! He was but testing in his usual way the attachment which a thousand proofs daily given ought long ago to have convinced him was undying.
While he yet gazed she began to recover. Her eyelids stirred, and then slowly dawned from beneath, the large dark orbs that scarcely met his before they filled to overflowing with sorrow. Not a gleam of anger! Not a whisper of reproach! Her lips and eyes spoke together no other language than the simple words,
‘I cannot leave you!’
She rose feebly and with effort. The Duke streched out his hand to assist her. He held to her lips the scarcely tasted wineglass.
‘Mina’, he said. ‘are you collected enough to hear me?’
‘Yes, my lord’.
‘Then listen. I would much sooner give half – aye, the whole of my estate to Lord Hartfield, than yourself! What I said just now was only to try you’.
Miss Laury raised her eyes, sighed like one awaking from some hideous dream, but she could not speak.
‘Would I’, continued the Duke, ‘would I resign the possession of my first love to any hands but my own? I would far rather see her in her coffin; and I would lay you there as still, as white, and much more lifeless than you were stretched just now at my feet before I would, for threat, for entreaty, for purchase, give to another a glance of your eye or a smile from your lip. I know you adore me now, Mina, for you could not feign that agitation, and therefore I will tell you what proof I gave yesterday of my regard for you: Hartford mentioned your name in my presence, and I revenged the profanation by a shot which sent him to his bed little better than a corpse’.
Miss Laury shuddered, but so dark and profound are the mysteries of human nature ever allying vice with virtue, that I fear this bloody proof of her master’s love brought to her heart more rapture than horror. She said not a word, for now Zamorna’s arms were again folded around her, and again he was soothing her to tranquillity by endearments and caresses that far away removed all thought of the world, all past pangs of shame, all cold doubts , all weariness, all heart-sickness resulting from hope long deferred. He had told her that she was his first love, and now she felt tempted to believe that she was likewise his only love. Strong-minded beyond her sex, active, energetic, and accomplished in all other points of view, here she was as weak as a child. She lost her identity; her life was swallowed up in that of another.
There came a knock at the door. Zamorna rose and opened it. His valet stood without.
‘Might I speak with your Grace in the ante-room?’ asked Monsieur Rosier in somewhat of a hurried tone. The Duke followed him out.
‘What do you want with me, sir? Anything the matter?’
‘Ahem!’ began Eugene, whose countenance expressed much more embarassment than is the usual characteristic of his dark, sharp physiognomy. ‘Ahem! My lord Duke, rather a curious spot of work, a complete conjuror’s trick if your Grace will allow me to say so’.
‘What do you mean, sir?’
‘Sacré! I hardly know. I must confess I felt a trifle stupefied when I saw it.’
‘Saw what? Speak plainly, Rosier!’
‘How your Grace is to act I can’t imagine’, replied the valet, ‘though indeed I have seen your Majesty double wonderfully well when the case appeared to me extremely embarassing, but this I really thought extra – I could not have dreamt!’
‘Speak to the point, Rosier, or – ’ Zamorna lifted his hand.
‘Mort de ma vie’ exclaimed Eugene, ‘I will tell your Grace all I know. I was walking carelessly through the passage about ten minutes since when I heard a step on the stairs, a light step as if of a very small foot. I turned, and there was a lady coming down. My lord, she was a lady!’
‘Well, sir, did you know her?’
‘I think if my eyes were not bewitched I did. I stood in the shade screened by a pillar and she passed very near without observing me. I saw her distinctly, and may I be d — d this very moment if it was not – ’
‘Who, sir?’
‘The Duchess!’
There was a pause which was closed by a clear and remarkable prolonged whistle from the Duke. He put both his hands into his pockets and took a leisurely turn through the rom.
‘You are sure, Eugene?’ he asked. ‘I know you dare not tell me a lie in such a matter because you have a laudable and natural regard to your proper carcass! Aye, it’s true enough, I’ll be sworn. Mrs Irving, the wife of a minister of the North! A satirical hit at my royal self! By G — d ! pale fair neck, little mouth and chin! Very good! I wish that same little mouth and chin were about a hundred miles off. What can have brought her? Anxiety about her invaluable husband – could not bear any longer without him – obliged to set off to see what he was doing. It’s as well that turnspit Rosier told me, however. If she had entered the room unexpectedly above five minutes since – God! I should have had no resource but to tie her hand and foot. It would have killed her! What the d — l shall I do?Must not be angry; she can’t do with that sort of thing just now. Talk softly, reprove her gently, swear black and white to my having no connection with MR Pakenham’s housekeeper’.
Ceasing his soliloquy, the duke turned again to his valet.
‘What room did Her aGrace go into?’
‘The drawing room, my lord, she is in there now’.
‘Well, say nothing about it, Rosier – on pain of sudden death! Do you hear me, sir?’
Rosier laid his hand on his heart, and Zamorna left the room to commence the operations.
Softly unclosing the drawing room door, he perceived a lady by the hearth. Her back was towards him, but there could be no mistake. The whole turn of form, the style of dress, the curled auburn head: all were attributes but of one person – of his own unique, haughty, jealous little Duchess. He closed the door as noiselessly as he had opened it and stole forwards. Her attentio
n was absorbed in something, a book she had picked up. As he stood unobserved behind her he could see that her eye rested on the fly-leaf, where was written in his own hand:
Holy St. Cyprian! Thy waters stray
With still and solemn tone:
And fast my bright hours pass away
And somewhat throws a shadow grey,
Even as twilight closes day,
Upon thy waters lone.
Farewell! If I might come again,
Young as I was and free,
And feel once more in every vein
The fire of that first passion reign
Which sorrow could not quench or pain,
I’d soon return to thee;
But while thy billows seek the main
That never more may be!
This was dated ‘Mornington, 1829’.
The Duchess felt a hand press her shoulder and she looked up. The force of attraction had its usual results and sh clung to what she saw.
‘Adrian! Adrian!’ was all her lips could utter.
‘Mary! Mary!’ replied the Duke, allowing her to hang about him: ‘Pretty doings! What brought you here? Are you running away, eloping in my absence?’
‘Adrian, why did you leave me? You said you would come back in a week, and it’s eight days since. I could not bear any longer. I have never slept nor rested since you left me. Do come home!’
‘So you actually have set off in search of a husband!’’said Zamorna, laughing heartily, ‘‘nd been overturned and obliged to take shelter in Pakenham’’ shooting-box!’
‘Why are you here, Adrian?’ inquired the Duchess who was far too much in earnest to join in his laugh. ‘Who is Pakenham?And who is that person who calls herself his housekeeper? And why do you let anybody live so near Hawskliffe without ever telling me?’
‘I forgot to tell you’ said his Grace. ‘I’ve other things to think about when those bright hazel eyes are looking up at me! As to Pakenham, to tell you the truth he’s a sort of left-hand cousin of your own, being natural son to the old Admiral, my uncle, in the South, and his housekeeper is his sister. Voilà tout. Kiss me now’.
Delphi Complete Works of the Brontes Page 215
