A Wandering Star

Chapter I

There is many a country gentleman who, even though his heart may be in the right place, as far as sport is concerned, still thinks a meet of hounds on his lawn an unmitigated nuisance. Not so Mr. Mossop ! Although no lawn within a radius of twenty miles resembled velvet so closely as his own — though no avenues were so care fully weeded, swept, gravelled, and pebbled at the edges — though it was popularly believed that there was a man told off to pick up every dead leaf as it fell from the winter bough, and though a spic-and-span neatness was his particular hobby — he always VOL. II. B received the intimation that the hounds would meet at The Towers with pride and pleasure. He did not mind the hoof-marks on his carefully-attended turf, or the cutting up of the gravel by endless carriage-wheels, or the presence of the rag-tag and bob-tail inside his usually hermetically-sealed park gates.

He did not grudge the great pre parations for a huge hunt breakfast that no one wanted to eat, or a still more elaborate luncheon that none of the real hunting people would be at hand to partake of. All this was to him as nothing as long as an account of the Meet of Lord Gornaway's hounds at The Towers was duly chronicled in the Field and the county papers, and the hospitality and magnificence of its owner duly enlarged on in them. He was a hunting man himself; that is to say, he wore immaculate buckskins from Bartley, and top-boots from Tautz, and a red coat that always looked as if it had been put on for the first time ; his horses never cost him less than three or four hundred guineas, and he would not have thought his neck safe on anything less expensive. He preserved foxes with jealous care, and was a larger subscriber to the Covert Fund than any other man in Blankshire.

If all this constitutes a sportsman then he was one, and as the rapture of the chase, or any kind of pleasure to be got out of galloping or jumping was utterly unknown to him, he should be commended rather than condemned for so much public spirit. He never jumped a fence when it could be avoided, never let his horse gallop except along the hard high road, and never knew a moment's happiness out hunting, except at the close of the day of the last — the very last — meet of the season, when he and his hunter were slowly jogging home. Even then the thought would come across his mind and rob him of all peace and comfort when he reflected that there might still be another bye day or two before he could congratulate himself that he had got through the season in safety, and that there would be no more risks to run for another six months at least.

The season is now drawing to its B close, and about ten days after he had walked home from church with Vega Fitzpatrick the hounds are advertised to meet at The Towers. Mr. Mossop has, some days before, sent over the following note to Colonel Darner by special messenger : — " My dear Damer, — " I suppose it is useless to ask you and Lady Julia to give me the pleasure of your company at my hunt breakfast at The Towers on the 22nd, for you never will come. No people would be more welcome, and I hope, at any rate, that, if in our direction about luncheon time, you will honour my poor board. I am now writing to beg the non-hunting members of your party to drive over to the meet, and to promise that after seeing all they can see they will make a point of coming back to The Towers for luncheon. I shall be much gratified if Lady Hermione and her daughters, and Miss Fitz patrick can be induced to do as much.

The Towers are but bachelors' quarters, but we will do our very best, and will pay them every attention. — Yours, "Albert Mossop." " There, Hermione," says the Colonel, handing her the note, which has arrived in the middle of dinner, " what do you say to that ? Do you feel disposed to honour Mossop's poor board, which I may as well tell you will be literally groaning with good things ? If so, I can send you all over in the waggonette. You had better go. It will be some fun for the girls." " I hate hunting on wheels," says Lady Hermione, tartly. She had in her day ridden to hounds as straight as Lady Julia herself, and even now she does not fancy being relegated to a waggonette as a chaperone to three girls ; " but," and here she remembers her forlorn hope in regard to Dottie, " Mr. Mossop would be disappointed, I suppose, if we refused him ; we may just as well go."

" Welcome to The Towers, Lady Her mione," says Mr. Mossop, from his own hospitable doorstep, as the Conholt waggonette drives up to it on the morning of the meet. His greeting of welcome is spoken to Lady Hermione, but his eyes are greedily devouring every line of Vega's fair face, to which the boisterous March wind has brought a lovely colour, and whose eyes are bright with youthful pleasure and excite ment as they look eagerly on a scene so new to them. She takes in neither Mr. Mossop nor his castle, for one is of as little interest to her as the other, but the anima tion and bustle around her fills her with delight. The hounds are grouped on the lawn, with the huntsman in their midst ; he is old, wizened, and wiry, but full of importance, which is natural in one who firmly believes that there is no prouder position on earth than that of huntsman to Lord Gornaway's hounds ; the whips, young, slim and alert — the long lashes of their stout hunting crops, ever ready to keep any stray hound within bounds, or to repress any riot in the pack — are close at hand ; while the gravelled court is as crowded as Hyde Park Corner in the height of the season.

Everything that runs on wheels is here represented, from the four-in-hand drawn up on one side, that has brought a strong detachment of the Dancing Hussars from the Barracks at Grimthorpe, down to the basket-cart drawn by a stout white pony, in which the Vicar's daughters, two bouncing young women with red cheeks, mean to see as much of the fun as possible. There are large barouches, full of important-looking ladies, half buried in furs and velvet, and there are small broughams con taining smart young men in red coats, and pretty women in habits, who evidently mean to be comfortable as long as they can ; there are high dog-carts, from which descend gingerly men, who wear long coats and white linen aprons ; and there are Grim thorpe flies, which have brought from the station those who have been obliged to come by rail.

Hunters are being led up and down by smart grooms ; ladies are being " put up " ; some of the horses are a trifle too fresh, and are kicking and plunging about in an uncomfortable sort of way, and the March sun shines on, and brightens up, a scene that can be seen in England, and in England alone. No wonder that Vega Fitzpatrick does not take stock of The Towers or its owner. The former is a castle indeed, but a brand new one. The mellowing hand of Time has not subdued the bright red of the walls, or the white of the stonework that surrounds windows and doors, and, as it were, trims the whole. It has planted no moss in crevice or cranny, has softened down no hard edges, hung no garlands of ivy on the bare walls. Everything is bright and shining, and new and glaring ; the plate-glass windows glow in the sun, and the flag, from the topmost tower, which waves proudly in the breeze whenever the lord and master is at home, seems newer, and to boast braver colours than ever did bunting before.

There is no denying that it is a well-built and handsome house, and its architect may be congratulated, inasmuch as he has made a servile copy in bright colours of a mediæval castle ; but it does not look like the home of a race, nor is it possible that romance or sentiment can, for many a long year to come, cling round its walls. Lord Gornaway's arrival, in a mail phaeton, means business, and very soon the mob of horsemen and horsewomen, the long string of carriages, and a certain number of camp followers, in the shape of men and boys, who mean to see as much of the fun as possible on foot, stretch in a thick, unbroken line down the well-kept avenue in the direction of the first draw. " You must promise faithfully to come back to luncheon, Lady Hermione," says Mr. Mossop, anxiously. " I shall be very much disappointed if you fail me.

If there's no thing much doing, and we're at all near, I shall be sure to be back to do the honours myself. It's a bargain, is it not ?" Lady Hermione, who had never intended to do anything else, makes a favour of it. " Oh ! yes, we shall try and get back, but pray don't let us be in your way. We had much better leave it an open question, and see where we find ourselves." " No, no, Lady Hermione, that won't do at all ; " and Mr. Mossop is weak enough to entreat her abjectly. " You'll be sick of driving after the hounds in an hour or two, and then you must most certainly come back." For all answer she waves her hand, and puts up her eyeglass to get a comprehensive view of what is going on. But she is better than her word, for after an hour or two of fast but fruitless driving in the vain hope of seeing something of the hunt that has swept far away from the people on the hard high road, they return to The Towers, to find its master once more at the doorstep, just getting off an animal who looks as fresh and with as little marks of hard work about him as his rider.

" I lost a shoe," says Mr. Mossop, to ex cuse himself (it would be curious to count the number of shoes Mr. Mossop's horses are credited with losing in the course of the hunting season !) and I thought I might as well come home at once. I couldn't find my second horseman anywhere, and it wasn't worth while laming my horse by trying to find him. They were doing nothing either. The hounds won't run a yard to-day, and I shan't lose anything if I don't pick them up for an hour or so. Now, Lady Hermione, you must be cold and half-starved ... let me help you ; " but Mr. Mossop is not as good as his word, for it falls to an important looking butler, assisted by two tall powdered footmen, to take the long fur cloak off Lady Hermione's handsome shoulders, and the rough plaids that wrap her daughters' insigni ficant forms, while Mr. Mossop — his fat pudgy fingers trembling with excitement — actually has the joy of fumbling for the pin that fastens a poor little Shetland shawl under Vega's white chin."

He finds it at last, but her soft breath on his elderly cheek, and the joy of touching — though only as a servant might — -her slim body, seems to make him lose his head, and he positively trembles before her. " Come on, Vega, how slow you are ! " says Lady Hermione, disagreeably, and they walk up the hall together. If the outside of The Towers is the model of everything that is right, fitting, and proper in the eyes of the architect who designed and built that pinch beck castle, its interior might correctly be described as the upholsterer's joy. The for tunate man, to whom carte blanche had been given " to do the thing properly," had been trammelled by no fancies or " fads " on the part of its owner, for Mr. Mossop was a perfect cipher from the decorators' point of view. The master of The Towers had no taste at all — good, bad, or indifferent — be lieved blindly all he was told, was far too timid to hazard an opinion, and when he paid without a murmur the longest bill that even Messrs. Dado, Frieze and Co. had ever managed to run up, their admiration of his behaviour was unbounded.

" We don't want no interference on the part of them as knows nothing about our business," were the words of one of the head men who had spent nearly a year at The Towers, while the great work of fur nishing had been going on. " What can gentlemen and ladies show us, as has been at the work all our lives ? When gentlemen comes a-shovin' in their oars, Lard ! there's the devil to pay ! They either knows nothing at all of what they are talking about, or they have the rummiest notions got out o' a book — notions that won't wash, and that no workman that ever I saw could make head or tail of. And as for the ladies, they don't know what they want themselves ; they never can make up their minds for two minutes together. What we puts up for them one day, we tears down the next, and they're always in such a doose of a hurry too.

It's ' This must be done in a month, Mr. Grieves/ or, ' I must be into the droring-room when we comes down from town ' — talk — talk — nag — nag — keeping us back, and wasting all our time, and when they've any hand in paying the bills, then you finds out what they are ! There's nothing like a woman for meanness ! No ! indeed ! give me a plain gentleman like Mr. Mossop, who knows nothing, and knows that he knows nothing. Which of 'em gets their work done best in the end, I should like to know ? " There is this much to be said in favour of Mr. Grieves' opinions, that though everything in the house is a copy of something else, many of these copies are nearly as good as the originals, and the most captious critic would fail to discover any anachronisms that had crept into the different styles.

The entrance hall is Early English, and Early English down to the most minute details ; never was there a room more thoroughly Renaissance than is the lofty, gloomy dining-room ; while the " Versells Gallery," as Mr. Grieves was in the habit of calling the huge double drawing rooms, is Louis XVI., in its severest form. Watteau-like ladies in hoops and sacques, with courtly gentlemen in velvet coats, silk stockings, and high-heeled, diamond-buckled shoes, to kiss their hands, or to be their partners in gavotte, or stately minuet, would seem far more at home among all this gilded and formal splendour than Mr. Mossop and his friends! The ceiling, one mass of gold save where rosy cherubs sprawl on cloudless skies — the walls, half panel, half brocade — the draperies of gorgeous satin — the huge sofas with woodwork which, though severe in style, is all gilding together, the "Trianong suite " (to quote Mr. Grieves once more ! ) which could hardly be told from the models of elegance by the master-hand of Riasener, once the property of those " Whose grandsires all earth's greatest were In grandeur, when the grand were great ; " all this magnificence is worthy of a different abode than The Towers, and a different owner than Mr. Mossop.

What would have been grand elsewhere, becomes formal here. What would be gorgeous in a palace, is vulgar in the brand-new house of the rich brewer. Large fires are burning in the " Versells Gallery," but otherwise there is no sign that it is ever inhabited ; and indeed it never is, for Mr. Mossop has a snuggery of his own, and no mortal man could be expected to make himself comfortable on a Louis Seize sofa covered with the palest pink satin, on which twine exquisite garlands of flowers that look as if they were painted. No book — not even the Peerage — lies on the Trianon tables — no newspapers or magazines make a pleasant litter anywhere. There are mag nificent flower-vases, but no flowers are in them, and the " occasional " tables are bare, as if they still stood in the show-rooms of Messrs. Dado and Frieze.

Lady Hermione sweeps up the splendid room and takes possession of a great gilded arm-chair near the fireplace. " This is a magnificent room certainly, Mr. Mossop," she says, looking round, her prac tised eye taking stock of everything great or small. " I am glad you like it, Lady Hermione," Mr. Mossop answers, looking about him in a deprecating manner; "and I must say I think Dado and Frieze have done the thing in first-rate style. I did not limit them in any way, and they have cer tainly made a very good job of it. They sent me in a swingeing bill for it all ; but, after all, I have got my money's worth, for it couldn't be handsomer in its own line. Plenty of gilding and glass — just the thing I like ! I believe they call it Louis the something or other, but I get confused among all these Louises.

I never can remember which is which. I only know that one style is all curls and twirls, and the other has straight lines and everything at right-angles, like what we have got here. ; You pays your money and you takes your choice.' Do you see those tables and things bound in brass ? They are copied from a suite of fur niture that was sold out of a duke's palace for no less than The people who gave that price for them must have had very little to do with their money. I didn't pay a tenth — no, nor a twentieth part of that sum for these things, and if you saw them side by side with the originals you couldn't tell which was which. Come and take a look at the conservatory now." And he leads his guests once more down the room to the large glass-doors that open on a wealth of flowers, shadowed by slender palms and luxuriant treeferns, and which have for background a hedge of camellias in full bloom and orange-trees covered with green fruit.

Vega is delighted with the flowers and with the sweet smell of hyacinth and lily-of-the-valley and fragrant narcissus. She buries her pretty nose in each of them by VOL. 11. c turn, and flits like a bird on the wing from flower to flower. " This is meant for a boudoir," says Mr. Mossop, as he opens another door that also gives on the con servatory, and takes her into an unfurnished room of pretty proportions, on whose walls are fluted the palest blue satin, and the uprights of whose mantelpiece are beautiful cupids in white Carrara marble. " What do you think of it, Miss Fitzpatrick ? It is begun well, isn't it ? There was no good in going on with it. We poor bachelors don't want boudoirs, and I thought it the best plan to let the furnishing stand over till The Towers had a mistress. Ladies have their own fancies about all that.

How do you think it should be done up ? " There is a certain amount of meaning in his words, but neither voice nor eye are good interpreters for him, and from neither the one nor the other does Vega learn what he would fain convey to her mind. " Oh, I don't know anything about furnishing," she answers lightly. " You must ask some one wiser than me. You know I am not accustomed to splendour. I only know that everything is very, very pretty here." " I am very glad to hear you say so," says Mr. Mossop, a gratified smile stealing over his heavy countenance as he speaks. " There has certainly been no expense spared, and it ought to be good, at any rate. This is the only room in the house that has been left unfurnished, and I hope it won't long re main so." There is still more meaning in his voice now, but Vega is deaf to it.

She feels utterly indifferent, both as regards the future owner of the room and its furniture. " Happy the lady as sits in that boudore," were Mr. Grieves' words of blessing as he took his leave of The Towers after his year's sojourn, and there is one thing certain — that no one up to the present moment has so nearly attained that proud position as this young girl, who, in somewhat shabby black, now looks around her with such an in different eye. We are starving, Mr. Mossop," breaks c in Lady Hermione, abruptly. " Is there no chance of luncheon ? We mustn't keep the horses out all day." " Oh ! I beg your pardon ! — I beg ten thousand pardons," says Mr. Mossop, much upset at the idea of having failed in his duties as host. " Let me show you the way, Lady Hermione. I know it must be quite ready by this time."

The long table in the Renaissance dining room is positively laden with dainties. Pre parations have been made on a large scale on the off-chance of Lord Gornaway and the rest of the field being near The Towers about luncheon time. Mr. Mossop, to do him justice, is most hospitably-minded, and on an occasion like the present he only errs by an excess. On the table, and on half a dozen sideboards and smaller tables, there is enough food for a regiment, and turkeys, rounds of beef, and great pies are flanked by lobsters, cray-fish, pdtC ' de foie gras, caviare, and everything that could stimulate a far more jaded appetite than is usually possessed by a fox-hunting squire. Mr. Mossop presses them to eat and drink, yea, to drink champagne abundantly, and is positively hurt at their modera tion !

Lady Hermione, however, partakes of many dainties, reserving to herself, at the same time, the right of finding fault with everything as soon as she gets home. Vega's pretty face is nearly hid behind a huge boar's head, which seems brighter and shinier than was ever such a head before, and whose white tusks bite the largest lemon that ever hung on bough ! Pussie munches on in silence, and Dottie makes such play with some marrons glacis that Mr. Mos sop insists on sending to the housekeeper for a large box of the dainty for her to take home with her ! " There is evidently no one else coming," says Mr. Mossop in a tone of the deepest disappointment, as his eyes turn for about the twentieth time in the direction of the huge bow window. "It is always the way. When one is ready for them, not a soul comes, and if there was nothing prepared, the whole field would be on us.

Do have one more foie gras sandwich, Lady Hermione. My chef makes them very nicely ; and, Miss Fitzpatrick, you are eating nothing, abso lutely nothing! Let me give you one of these surprise things, half ice, half hot chocolate ; they are rather good, for those who like sweets, and my chef is quite famous for them." " As if one had never tasted food that was cooked by a Frenchman before," thinks Lady Hermione, contemptuously, to herself; "but the swagger of a nonveau riche is simply appalling.'' " Now, Lady Hermione, if it is agreeable to you," says her host, " I vote we have our coffee in the hall, and then the young ladies shall have some music. I am sure they would like to hear my new Orchestrion. It has just come down from town, and though I say it as shouldn't, it ought to be a good one, for it cost me no less than six hundred golden sovereigns.

It has any number of tunes, and when I want a change, all I have got to do is to send up £^o and get a new barrel." He leads the way to the hall, where the huge Orchestrion stands on one side of the tasteless heavy wooden erection that flanks the fireplace, and which Messrs. Dado and Frieze have told Mr. Mossop is the finest copy of an Early English inglenook that has ever been carved and pieced to gether. A procession of servants enter the hall, bearing Turkish coffee, as well as that which usually suffices for ordinary mortals, followed by two or three different kinds of liqueurs, and liqueur glasses in embossed silver cases ; the rear is brought up by the tallest of the powdered footmen, who staggers under the weight of a huge cylinder for the Orchestrion. " This is my last little extravagance," says Mr. Mossop, proudly.

" I hope you will approve, Miss Fitzpatrick. For my part, I think there is no music like it. Now you shall hear how well some of the tunes that one knows sound on it," and in a few minutes the Orchestrion has it all its own way, for the noise made by that instrument, half barrel organ, half German band, unmodulated by distance, drowns the human voice entirely. The time it keeps is good — the phrasing perfection, but the noise made can hardly be dignified by the name of music ! It is mechanical, unfeeling, and unsympathetic. Its owner, however, is deaf to these sins of omission ; he is also in a mood to be pleased by anything to-day, and is thoroughly con tented with himself and his surroundings. He is glad that the Conholt party is there to be entertained by him. He is happy inasmuch as he has got off with half a day's hunting, and that the presence of his guests gives him a decent excuse for not risking his neck again that day ; he has lunched well, and as he now sits drinking coffee opposite a blazing fire, gently soothed by the only music that he is capable of appre ciating, and gazing his fill at the pretty girl who rests her sunshiny head in the corner of his inglenook, he feels as if he had nothing left to wish for.

The " Mikado " barrel is at last ex hausted, the insatiable Orchestrion is once more fed, and now, " La fille de Madame Angot " is rattled through loudly and noisily. " We really can't stay here all day," says Lady Hermione, unpleasantly. "We have paid you a regular visitation as it is." No doubt her visitation would have been longer, and the glorified barrel organ would have grated less on her nerves, had her host's beady eyes been fixed on the opposite corner of the inglenook, where Dottie, sulky and ill-tempered, has ensconced herself ! In her heart of hearts she does not believe that her youngest child has it in her to attract Mr. Mossop, or any one else for that matter. No one has a poorer opinion of her daughter's fascinations than has Lady Hermione ; nevertheless she cannot see a possible prey escape without a pang.

She despises her low-born host, she sneers at everything in and about The Towers, but she grudges them both to Vega Fitzpatrick, who is an interloper in her eyes. "You must come over soon again and spend a long day at The Towers, whenever the hunting is fairly over," says the hospitable. Mr. Mossop, as he waves them off from his own hall-door. His words are addressed to Lady Hermione, but his eyes are fixed on Vega's slim figure as she steps lightly into the waggonette. " You will honour my poor abode again too, I hope, Miss Fitzpatrick. You have seen nothing of the place, or the gardens, or the houses — and the home farm too ! I should like you to see my model farm ! You must come and be martyrized " — this he adds in a tone of clumsy playfulness. Vega laughs back at him, as it is her way to smile in every face who looks kindly on her.

She means nothing by it, but she does not know that he means anything by his words either ! " Oh, yes, Mr. Mossop ; I will come back whenever you ask me. I should like so much to see everything. I have had a delightful afternoon, and thank you so very much." " What do you mean by that ? " asks Lady Hermione sharply, as they bowl down the approach — smooth as a billiard-table. " I must say your manners are most extra ordinary, Miss Fitzpatrick. You take Mr. Mossop's attentions entirely to yourself, and talk as if you were perfectly independent. When do you mean to honour The Towers with your company ? We shall have Pussie and Dottie paying visits to young men next ! I suppose these are Dieppe ways ! " Vega blushes rosy red. " I didn't mean to say or do anything wrong, Lady Hermione ; but Mr. Mossop was so kind, and when he asked me to come over, I didn't know what else to say."