CHAPTER XXIII
TWO PORTRAITS
Tom rubbed his hands in cruel anticipation. "They are coming to theHall at four o'clock," he said. "And I wouldn't be in their shoes fora mug and a crust. Coke will swinge them," he continued with zest. "Hemust swinge them, like it or not! It'll be go, bag and baggage, formost of them, and some, I'm told, have been on the land time out ofmind!"
He had seated himself on the broad balustrade of the terrace, with hisback to the park, and his eyes on the windows of the house. Sophia, ona stone bench not far from him, gazed thoughtfully over the park as ifshe found refreshment merely in contemplating the far stretch of fernand sward, that, set with huge oak trees, fell away into half-seendells of bracken and fox-gloves. Recreated by a long night's rest, heryouth set off, and her freshness heightened by the dainty Tuscan andchintz sacque she had put on that morning, she was not to be known forthe draggled miss who had arrived in so grievous a plight the daybefore. From time to time she recalled her gaze to fix it dreamily onher left hand; now reviewing the fingers, bent or straight, now layingthem palm downwards on the moss-stained coping. She was so employedwhen the meaning of her brother's last words came tardily home to herand roused her from her reverie.
"Do you mean," she cried, "that he will put them out of their farms?"
"I should rather think he would!" said Tom. "Wouldn't you? And servethem right, the brutes!"
"But what will they do?"
"Starve for all I care!" Tom answered callously; and he flipped apebble from the balustrade with his forefinger. He was not at his besta soft-hearted young gentleman. "And teach them to know better!" headded presently.
Sophia's face betrayed her trouble. "I don't think he would do that,"she said, slowly.
"Coke?" Tom answered. "He won't have much choice, my dear. For thesake of your _beaux yeux_ he will have to swinge them, and lustily. Tolet them off lightly would be to slight you; and 'twouldn't look verywell, and a fortnight married. No, no, my girl. And that reminds me.Where is he? And where has he been since yesterday?"
Sophia reddened. "He has some business," she said, "which took himaway at once."
"I don't think you know."
Sophia blushed more warmly, but added nothing; and fortunately Tomcaught sight of a certain petticoat disappearing down the steps at theend of the terrace. It is not impossible that he had been expectingit, for he rose on the instant, muttered an unintelligible word, andwent in pursuit.
Sophia sat awhile, pondering on what he had said. It was right thatthe offenders of yesterday should be punished; their conduct had beencruel, inhuman, barbarous. But that her home-coming should mean to anyman the loss of home, shocked her. Yet she thought it possible thather brother was right; that pride, if not love, the wish to do hisduty by her, if not the desire to commend himself to her, would moveSir Hervey to especial severity. What bridegroom indeed, what lovercould afford to neglect so obvious a flattery? And if in her case Cokecounted neither for lover nor bridegroom, what husband?
She rose. She must go at once and seek him, intercede with him,convince him that it would not please her. But two steps taken shepaused, her pride in arms. After she had changed her dress andrepaired her disorder the day before, she had waited, expecting thathe would come to her. But he had not done so, he had not come nearher; at length she had asked for him. Then she had learned withastonishment, with humiliation, that immediately after her arrival hehad left the house on business.
If he could slight her in that fashion, was there any danger that outof regard to her he would do injustice to others? She laughed at thethought--yet believed all the same that there was, for men wereinconsistent. But the position made intercession difficult, andinstead of calling a servant and asking if he had returned shewandered into the house. She remembered that the housekeeper hadbegged to know when her ladyship would see the drawing-rooms; and shesent for Mrs. Stokes.
That good lady found her young mistress waiting for her in the largerof the two rooms. It was scantily furnished after the fashion of theearly part of the century, with heavy chairs and a table, set at wideintervals on a parquet floor, with a couple of box-like settees, andas many buhl tables, the latter bought by Sir Hervey's mother on herwedding tour, and preserved as the apple of her eye. On either side ofthe open blue-tiled fire-place a roundheaded alcove exhibited shelvesof Oriental china, and on the walls were half a dozen copies ofTitians and Raphaels, large pictures at large intervals. All wasstately, proper, a little out of fashion, but decently so. Sophiaadmired, yawned, said a pleasant word to Mrs. Stokes and passed intothe smaller room.
There she stood, suddenly engrossed. On each side of the fireplacehung a full-length portrait. The one on the right hand, immediatelybefore her, represented a girl in the first bloom of youth, lovely asa rose-bud, graceful as a spray of jessamine, with eyes that charmedand chained the spectator by their pure maidenliness. A great painterin his happiest vein had caught the beauty and innocence of a chosenmodel; as she smiled from the canvas, the dull room--for the windowswere curtained--grew brighter and lighter. The visitor, as he entered,saw only that sweet face, and saw it ever more clearly; as theplay-goer sees only the limited space above the footlights, and seesthat grow larger the longer he looks.
It was with an effort and a sigh Sophia turned to the other picture;she looked at it and stood surprised, uncertain, faintly embarrassed.She turned to the housekeeper, "It is Sir Hervey, is it not?" shesaid.
"Yes, my lady," the woman answered. "At the age of twenty-one. But heis not much changed to my eyes," she added jealously.
"Of course, I did not know him then," Sophia murmured apologetically;and after a long thoughtful look she went back to the other picture."What a very, very lovely face!" she said. "I did not know that SirHervey had ever had a sister. She is dead, I suppose?"
"Yes, my lady, she is dead."
"It is his sister?" with a look at the other.
The housekeeper gave back the look uncomfortably. "No, my lady," shesaid at last.
"No!" Sophia exclaimed, raising her eyebrows. "Then who is it, pray?"
"Well, my lady, it--it should have been removed," Mrs. Stokesexplained, her embarrassment evident. "At one time it was to go to SirHervey's library, but 'twas thought it might be particular there. Andso nothing was done about it. Sir Hervey wouldn't let it go anywhereelse. But I was afraid that your ladyship might not be pleased."
Sophia stared coldly at her. "I don't understand," she said stiffly."You have not told me who it is."
"It's Lady Anne, my lady."
"What Lady Anne?"
"Lady Anne Thoresby. I thought," the housekeeper added in a falteringtone, "your ladyship would have heard of her."
Sophia looked at the lovely young face, looked at the otherportrait--of Sir Hervey in his gallant hunting-dress, gay, laughing,debonair--and she understood. "She was to have married Sir Hervey?"she said.
"Yes, my lady."
"And she died?"
"Yes, my lady, two days before their wedding-day," Mrs. Stokesanswered, her garrulity beginning to get the better of her fears. "SirHervey was never the same again--that is to say, in old days, mylady," she added hurriedly. "He grew that silent it was wonderful, andno gentleman more pleasant before. He went abroad, and 'tis said helost twenty thousand pounds in one night in Paris. And before that hehad played no more than a gentleman should."
Sophia's eyes were full of tears.
"How did she die?" she whispered.
"Of the smallpox, my lady. And that is why Sir Hervey is so particularabout it."
"How do you mean? Is he afraid of it?"
"Oh, no, my lady, far from it! He had it years ago himself. Butwherever it is, he's for giving help. That's why we kept it from himthat 'twas at Beamond's Farm, thinking that as your ladyship wascoming, he would not wish to be in the way of it. But he was wonderfulangry when he learned about it, and went off as soon as news came fromhis reverence; who would h
ave sent sooner, but he was took illyesterday. I can pretty well guess what Sir Hervey's gone about," sheadded sagaciously.
"What?" Sophia asked.
Mrs. Stokes hesitated, but decided to speak.
"Well, it happened once before, my lady," she said, "that they couldget no one to help bury; and Sir Hervey went and set the example. Youmay be sure there were plenty then, as had had it, and had no cause tofear, ready to come forward to do the work. And I've not much doubt,my lady, it's for that he's gone this time. He'd stay away a night atthe keeper's cottage, I expect," Mrs. Stokes continued, nodding herhead sagely, "just to see to his clothes being destroyed and the like.For there's no one more careful to carry no risks, I will say that forhis honour."
Sophia stared.
"But do you mean," she cried, her heart beating strangely, "that SirHervey would do the work with his own hands?"
"Well, it's what he did once, I know, my lady," the housekeeperanswered apologetically. "It was not very becoming, to be sure, but hewas not the less thought of about here, I assure your ladyship. Yousee, my lady, 'tis in the depth of the country, and the land is hisown, and it's not as if it was in London. Where I know things are verydifferent," Mrs. Stokes continued with pride, "for I have been theremyself with the family. But about here I'm sure he was not the lessconsidered, begging your ladyship's pardon."
"I can believe it," Sophia said, in a voice suspiciously quiet andeven. And then, "Thank you, Mrs. Stokes, you can leave me now," shecontinued. "I shall sit here a little."
But when Mrs. Stokes, feeling herself a trifle snubbed, had withdrawnand closed the door of the outer room upon her, Sophia's eyes grewmoist with tears, and the nosegay that filled the open bodice of hersacque rose and fell strangely. In that age philanthropy was not afashion. Pope indeed had painted the Man of Ross, and there was aCharitable Corporation, lately in difficulties, and there was aSociety of the Sons of the Clergy, and there were other societies of alike kind; and in the country infirmaries were beginning to be foundedon the patterns of Winchester and Shrewsbury, and to subscribe to suchobjects after dining well and drinking deeply, was already, under theWalpoles and the Pelhams, a part of a fine gentleman's life. But for aman of condition to play the Borromeo--to stoop to give practical helpand run risks among the vulgar, was still enough to earn for him acharacter as eccentric as that of the famous nobleman who had seenmore kings and more postilions than any of his contemporaries.
In the eyes of the world, but not in Sophia's, or why this dimness ofvision, as she gazed at Sir Hervey's picture? Why the unrest of thebodice that threatened to find vent in sobs? Why the sudden rush ofself-reproach? More sharply than any kindness shown to her in the longconsistent course of his dealings with her, more keenly than hisforethought for her brother, this stabbed her. This was the man shehad flouted, the man whose generous, whose unselfish offer she hadaccepted to save her reputation; but whose love she had deemed afloor-clout, not worthy the picking up! Was it wonderful that cynical,taciturn, almost dull as the world thought him, he was not the lessconsidered here?
At twenty-one he had been handsome, with wit and laughter and the gayinsouciance of youth written on his face. Time, the lapse of thirteenyears, had robbed his features of their bloom, his lips of their easycurve, his eyes of their sparkle. But something, surely, time hadgiven in return. Something, Sophia could not say what. She could notremember; she could only recall a smile, kindly, long-suffering, alittle quizzical, with which he had sometimes met her eyes. That shecould recall; and as she did so, before his portrait in the stillnessof this long-abandoned room, with the dead air of old pot-pourris inher nostrils, she grew frightened. What was it she had thrown away?And how would it fare with her if she could not recover it?
Twisting one hand in the other, she turned to the second portrait, andlooked, and looked. At length she glanced round with a guilty air,perceived a tall, narrow mirror that stood framed between the windows,and went towards it. Furtively assuring herself that she was notwatched from the terrace, she viewed herself in it.
She saw a pale grave face, barely redeemed from plainness by eloquenteyes and a wealth of hair; a face that looked sombrely into hers, andgrew graver and more sombre as she looked. "He is more like his oldself than I am like her," she thought. "Why did he choose me! Why didhe not choose Lady Betty? She is such another now as Lady Anne wasthen!"
She was still peering at herself when she heard his voice in the hall,and started guiltily. She would not for the world he caught her inthat room, and she darted to the door, dragged it open, and washalf-way across the long drawing-room when he entered. She felt thather face was on fire, but he did not seem to notice it.
"A thousand pardons that I was not with you before," he criedpleasantly. "I'd business, and--no I must not touch you, my dear. Ihave been nearer than was pleasant to one of your friends with thesmallpox."
"You have run--no risk, I hope?" she asked faintly.
"Not a whit!" he answered, striking his boot with his whip and lookinground the room as if he seldom entered it. "I've had it, you know.I've also had the whole story of your adventures from Betty, whom Imet as I was going to my room."
She was agitated; he was at his ease. "I am sorry that we managed soclumsily," she murmured.
"So bravely, I think," he answered lightly; and then, looking round,"This is your part of the house, you know, Sophia. You must make whatchanges you please here."
"Thank you," she said. "You are very good."
"These rooms have been little used since my mother's death," hecontinued, again surveying them. "So I have no doubt they wantrefurnishing. You must talk it over with Lady Betty. And that remindsme, I saw your brother slipping away a few minutes ago, and he hadsomething--the air of following her." And Sir Hervey laughed and satdown on one of the stiff-backed chairs. "For my part, I think he oughtto be told," he continued, tapping the toe of his boot with his whip.
Sophia smiled faintly. "You think he is taken with her?"
"Who would not be?" Sir Hervey answered bluntly. "Maid or mistress,he'll be head over ears in love with her before twenty-four hours areout!"
Sophia sat down. "It's her fancy that he should not know," she saidlanguidly. "Of course, if you wish it I will tell him."
"No, no, child, have it your own way," he answered with good humour."I suppose she is prepared to pay for her frolic."
"Well--I think she likes him."
"And 'twould do very well on both sides--in a year or two!"
"I suppose so."
Sir Hervey rose. "Then let be," he said. And he wandered across theroom, taking up things and setting them down again as if he did notthink it quite polite to leave her, yet had nothing more to say.Sophia watched him with growing soreness. Was it fancy, or was it thefact that she had never seen him so cold, so indifferent, so littleconcerned for her, so well satisfied with himself as now? A change, sosubtle she could not define it, had come over him. Or was it that achange had come over her?
She wondered, and at length plunged desperately into speech. "Is ittrue," she asked, "that the people who treated us so ill yesterday arecoming to see you to-day?"
"Those of them who are householders are coming," he answered soberly."At four o'clock. But I do not wish you to see them."
"You will not be--too severe with them?"
"I shall not be more severe, I hope, than the occasion requires," heanswered.
But his tone was hard, and she felt that what she had heard was true."Will you grant me a favour?" she blurted out, her voice trembling alittle.
"I would like to grant you many," he answered, smiling at her.
"It's only that you will not send them away," she said.
"Send them away?"
"I mean, send them off their farms," she explained hurriedly. "I wastold--Tom told me that you were going to do so; and that some had heldthe land for generations, and would be heartbroken as well as ruined."
He did not answer at once, and his silence confirmed her in her fears."I
don't say that they have not deserved to be punished," she urged."But--but I should not like my coming here to be remembered by this.And it seems out of proportion to the crime, since they did me noharm."
"Whatever they intended?"
"Yes."
He looked at her gravely. "What led you to think," he said, "that Ihad it in my mind to punish them in that way?"
"Well, Tom told me," she explained in growing confusion, "that youmight do it to--that you might think it would please me. He said thatany one in your place--I mean----"
"Any one newly married?"
Sophia's face flamed. "I suppose so," she murmured"--would do it."
"To please his bride? And you agreed with him, Sophia? You thought itwas probable?"
"I thought it was possible," she said.
He walked across the room, came back, and stood before her. He lookeddown at her. "My dear," he said soberly--but she winced under thealtered tone of his voice--"you will learn to know me better in alittle while. Let me tell you at once that the purpose you havementioned never entered my head, and that I am, I hope, incapable ofit. There are people who might entertain it, and might carry it out toplease a mistress or gratify a whim. There are, I know. But I am notone of that kind. I am too old to misuse power to please a woman, eventhe woman I have chosen. Nor," he continued, stopping her as she triedto speak, "is that all. In the management of an estate we do not actso hurriedly as you appear to think, my dear. Old tenants, like oldwine, are the best, and, where it is possible, we keep them. I havesent, it is true, for those who were guilty yesterday, and I shall seethat they are made to smart for it. But not to the extent of loss ofhome and livelihood."
"I am sorry," she muttered.
"There is no need, child," he answered. "And while we are on this,I may as well deal with another matter. I found your note and thejewel case on my table, and as you wish, so it shall be. I mightprefer--indeed, I should prefer," he continued prosaically, "to see mywife properly equipped when she goes into the world. But that's asmall matter. Lady Coke will always be Lady Coke, and if you will feelmore free and more happy without them----"
"I shall," she muttered hurriedly, "if you please."
"So be it. They shall be returned to my goldsmith's as soon as a safeconveyance can be found. I wish, my dear," he added good-naturedly, "Icould rid you of all troubles as easily."
"I am much obliged to you," she muttered, and could have shrunk intothe floor with shame. For on a sudden she saw herself a horridcreature, imposing all, taking nothing, casting all the burden and allthe stress, and all the inconvenience of their strange relations onhim. In town and on the road she had fancied that there was somethingfine, something of the nature of abnegation and dignity in the returnof the jewels, and in her determination that she would not go deckedin them. But the simplicity with which he had accepted her whim andwaived his own wishes, tore away the veil of self-deception, andshowed Sophia the childishness of her conduct. She would not wear hisjewels; but his name and his title, his freedom and his home she hadnot scrupled to take from him with scarce a word of gratitude, withscarce one thought for him!
The very distress she was feeling gave her, she knew, a sullen air,and must set her in a worse light than ever. Yet she was tongue-tied.He yielded freely, handsomely, generously; and that bare, that cold "Iam much obliged to you" was all she could force her tongue to utter.She was beginning to feel that she was growing afraid of him; and thenhe spoke.
"There is one other matter," he said, "I wish to name. It touches Mrs.Stokes. She has been here a number of years, and I dare say like thisroom, smacks a little of good Queen Anne. If you think it necessary todischarge her----"
Sophia started.
"I?" she said.
"WHY, BETTY," SOPHIA CRIED IN ASTONISHMENT, "WHAT ISIT?"]
"To be sure. I should at the worse pension her. But she has served usfaithfully, I believe--beginning, I think," Sir Hervey continued witha slight touch of constraint, "by whipping me when I needed it; andshe would be distressed, I fear, if she had to go. If you couldcontrive to do with her for a while, therefore, I should be muchobliged to you."
Sophia had risen and moved a little way from him.
"Did you think I should discharge her?" she said, without turning herhead.
"Well," he answered, "I did not know, my dear. Young housekeepers----"
"Why did you think I should discharge her?" she cried, interruptinghim sharply; and then, "Pray forgive me," she continued hurriedly, yetstiffly, "I--you hurt me a little in what you said of--the tenants. Ionly ask you to believe that I am as incapable of dismissing an oldservant for a trifle as you are of behaving unjustly to your tenants!"
He did not appear to notice her emotion.
"Thank you," he said. "Then we understand one another. Of course, Idon't wish you to feel this an obligation. Mrs. Stokes is growingold----"
"It is no obligation," she said coldly. And then, "I think it will bemore pleasant on the terrace," she continued; and she moved towardsthe door.
He held it open that she might pass through; and he followed her intothe hall. He little dreamt that, as she walked before him, she waswondering, almost with terror, whether he would go out with her orleave her; whether this was all she was to see of him, day by day. Thedoubt was not solved; for they were interrupted. As they entered theshady hall by one door Lady Betty darted into it from the terrace, herface scarlet, her hat crushed, her eyes sparkling with rage. They wereso near her she could not escape them; nor could she hide herdisorder. "Why, Betty," Sophia cried in astonishment, "what is it?What in the world is the matter?"
"Don't ask me," Betty cried, almost weeping. "You ought to be ashamedof yourself. You--your brother has insulted me! He has held me andkissed me against my will! And he laughed at me! He laughed at me! Oh,I could kill him!"