Sex to the Last. A novel

Front matter

VOL. _ I-tol. BY PERCY FENDALL, AUTHOR OF " SPIDERS AND FLIES," ETC. " She hugged the offender and forgave the offence. Sex to the last." Dr -DEN. Dryden. IN THREE VOLUMES. A'OL. III. |Con . on : WARD AND DOAVNEY, 12, YOEK STEEET, COVENT GAKDEX. 1887. [All rights reserved.] Richard Clay and Sons, bread street hill, london, Buiigay, Suffolk. CONTENTS OF VOL. III. CHAP. PAGE I. The Next Day ... ... ... ... 1 il. " The Woman I love is Married" ... ... 22 ill. " You are a Coward and a Brute I" ... 51 iv. Therese offers her Services ... ... ... 72 v. The Prince explains his Note ... ... 99 vi. Amy has a Travelling Companion ... ... 126 vn. A Death-Bed 143 viii. A Drive with, the Prince ... ... ... 164 ix. / suppose some one will have to shoot Semionovitch 189 X. The Result of Flower's Interview ... ... 211 xi. At the Grand Hotel ... ... ... SEX TO THE EAST.

Chapter I. The Next Day

The morning after the Prince's fete Amy woke up with a splitting headacsie. She had not slept much during the feAV hours which had remained of the night, and the snatches of sleep she had obtained had been disturbed by horrible nightmares, in all of which Madame de St. Luc figured prominently. She loved her husband so dearly, and yet so jealously, that she could not bear to see him talking for any length of time to any woman, and she awoke with the remembrance VOL. III. B of his having spent his AA'hole evening with Madame de St. Luc. AVaking thoughts, if unpleasant, are the most dreadful of all, for they seem to embitter the whole day that is before you. Amy felt this. She felt like many others have done, who have a dreary recollection of the day before — that there is nothing worth living for, and that it would have been a mercy if she had died in the night.

She did not realize how little her husband cared for her rival, all she could think of was his cruelly cold indifference to her, and his sharp answers to her during their drive home. At present it all seemed black and hopeless, as if there were no extenuating circumstances, and as if her life were over and done with. Later on in the day, when other events had distracted her mind, she felt better, and gleams of hope that AVray had only a passing fancy for the Frenchwoman, and would come back to her, occurred to her ; but in the morning she was utterly miserable and undone. There is nothing so awful as jealousy. How lightly people speak of it, and laugh at its existence ! — and yet there is no disease so unnerA'ing and so heartlessly cruel. Amy was jealous, and she knew it. She did not attempt to call her feeling by any other name, and yet hers was not a vengeful jealousy which longs to inflict harm on the cause.

It was a terrible, heartrending jealous}-, born of disappointed love, and all the more annihilating because she could not imagine that love like hers could remain unreciprocated. Lady Seaford, in her earlier days, would have talked to her of philosophy, and have explained that one side had always to suffer and love more than the other ; but even had she said this, Amy would not have listened to her. She worshipped her husband with blind ador ation, she was miserable when he was away from her, and she expected to be loved in the same way. Even her child seemed no consolation to her on this day. Try as she Avould, she could not B forget that dreadful evening, and the sickening sight of Madame de St. Luc holding up that half-eaten strawberry with a wanton look of triumph. Prince Semionovitch's attentions to her never entered her brain ; she could only think of her husband, of his cruelty and indifference, and of the awful possibility that he loved this woman.

She tried to think of her mother's warning, that marriage could be made either a comedy or a tragedy ; but she felt that they were vain, empty words, incapable of affording her any comfort. " Of course it can be a comedy if you have no heart," she said to herself; "but if your heart aches, there is no cure, and the finest reasoning in the world can do you no good." AVhen once she was dressed she went straight to the nursery and attempted to forget her troubles in the pleasure of being Avith her boy. He was a nice little fellow, devoted, of course, to his mother, and he welcomed her with delight. Toys, play, nurse, were immediately forgotten as he heard her footsteps, and he rushed forward and jumped into her arms. Then she experienced a moment of joy, but it was very brief, for over it still hung the dark cloud of the previous evening.

Even his loving embraces could not make her forget her trouble. She pressed him tightly in her arms, and looked lovingly at him through her tears, and sought in his baby features for the likeness to his father which was so strongly marked. The child noticed that there was something the matter with her. She was not so full of fun or so pleased to see him as usual, and he puckered up his little eyebrows and said, — " Ala ill ? " " No, dear," said Amy ; " I am quite weU. I have come to have a game with you." Her heart might be breaking, but she must appear cheerful to him, and she smiled through her tears and told him to fetch his toys. Then he was happy. Children of that age are fortunately not gifted with much discernment, and readily believe what is told them. So he went and fetched a toy-train, and told his mother to call out the names of the stations and pretend to be guard.

Amy did as she was bid, but she was listless and uninterested, and could not bring her usual spirits to the game. Her thoughts kept wandering to her husband and the Prince's party, and when the little fellow said, " Puff, puff — stopped ; call out station," she remained silent. This was more than he could stand, and he came across the room and said impatiently, "Station, ma, station!" Amy tried to rouse herself, and said, " Yes, dear — Brighton." But Brighton had been the last stopping-place, so that would not do at all. " No, not Brighton," he said, shaking her arm — " us stopped at Brighton." " Of course, yes, Liverpool," she said, making a violent effort to retrieve her mistake. Brighton having been the last stopping-place, Liverpool was rather a long run for even a toy-train to make, but he did not mind that, and the game continued.

Still it was not so animated as on other days, and he soon had enough of it, and begged her to tell him a story. Poor Amy could not give much point to the woes of "Cinderella," or "The Story of the Three Bears," but he listened attentively, and occa sionally corrected her when she left out any important part. It distracted her for the time, but when she left him she felt as doAvncast as ever, and dreaded meeting her husband, even though she had a wild longing to be with him. Gordon never appeared at breakfast ; he declared he had no appetite for that meal, and he was never called till between ten and eleven o'clock, when he was taken a cup of tea, and made efforts to eat a small piece of toast. At luncheon, however, she knew she would see him, and she nerved herself to be bright, and to throw off her airs of martyrdom.

He had no idea of the night she had passed, or of her miserable waking thoughts. He greeted her cheerfully, and kissed her on the cheek affectionately, if not demonstratively. He had been riding in the Bois, and declared he was famished. AVhen Amy heard this, her first thought riding Avith her," and was, " He has been her spirits again fell. " Did you see any calm voice. one ? " she asked, in a " See any one . I saw every one," he answered. " It is most amusing there in the morning. The French ride so badly, it is so amusing to see them." "AVho was there, "said Amy. She knew he would probably answer " Aladame de St. Luc," and yet she inflicted the unnecessary pain on herself, after the manner of all jealous people. " I have told you every one was there he answered. " AVho did you ride with ?

" she asked, "I rode Avith two or three people. AVith Aladame de St. Luc chiefly ; she rides better than most Frenchwomen. Amy was silent ; she knew she would hear this, and yet she could not prevent herself asking the question, and wringing from him words which stabbed her very heart. " Was her husband there ? " she said. " No ; he has gone to some country races. AVhy do you ask ? " Amy longed to burst out crying, and say, " Because I am jealous of you. Because I love you ; and the knowledge that you spend your time alone with that woman is breaking my heart." After all, why should she not appeal to him ? Husband and wife ought to have no secrets from each other, and if she was miserable he ought to know it, and perhaps he would take pity on her, and say something to reassure her. But her nature revolted at asking for pity, or imploring for his mercy.

No ; she would say nothing as yet, and in time he might forget Madame de St. Luc, and think only of her. " Have you seen Freddie . " she said, to change the conversation. Frederick was the name of their child, who had also had the name of Josiah bestoAved upon him, out of compliment to Amy's adoptive father. " I have not had time," he said ; " I will go and see him after luncheon." After this they talked on general topics. AVray declined to go out driving with his Avife after luncheon. He said he had had enough of the Bois, and that he had no fancy to pay visits. So Amy went out alone, and called on her mother, whom she fortunately found at home. She had no intention of telling her of her Avoes, or of asking for her advice. She had sufficient good sense to know that a husband and wife are best left to themselves ; but still she longed to see her, and perhaps had a vague hope that Lady Seaford might abuse her rival, which would do her good.

Lady Seaford noticed at once that the events of the previous evening had left their mark. " You don't look well," she said ; " are you feeling tired ? " " Tired only of Paris," said Amy, swallowing down a great inclination to cry. "And you have only been here three Aveeks," said Lady Seaford ; " do you think it does not agree with you . " "I do not think it is that," said Amy ; "but the atmosphere feels so full of excite ment, and the people seem to live in such a constant whirl of pleasure ; I suppose it takes one a little time to get accustomed to it." " You Avill be glad to go home ? " " Oh, yes — so glad," said Amy, with a look of genuine pleasure. Lady Seaford knew then that she was not happy — that she had taken to heart Gordon's flirtation with Madame de St. Luc. "Well, you are perfectly free to go when you like," she said ; " you need not stay out the time for which you have taken your apartment."

" I don't know whether Gordon would care to leave," said Amy. " He would do whatever you wish, I am sure," said her mother. But Amy shook her head, and said nothing. She longed to tell her how she was suffering from his gradual estrangement from her, and the preference he Avas showing for Madame de St. Luc, but she held back and said nothing. Lady Seaford also longed to speak to her on the subject, and give her some good advice, but they were both silent. At last Amy sighed such a deep weary sigh that her mother could bear it no longer, and she said, — " You are not happy, darling ; what is the matter ? " They were the very words Amy wanted to hear, and yet they upset her at once. " I am miserable," she said, trying to keep back the tears ; " can you imagine I can be anything else ? " " I know what you mean, dear.

You are annoyed with Aladame de St. Luc for flirting with your husband ; but women will always flirt with a good-looking man, and very often it means nothing." " It means that he does not care for me," said Amy through her sobs. " No. Don't say that ; he is as fond of you as ever ; but men are all alike, tsiey do tsiings out of bravado to pretend tsiat they are free and independent." " He does not care for me," repeated Amy. "Would he spend all his time Avith her if he did . AVhy is there no true love in the world ! " " There is true love," said Lady Seaford. " You must not exaggerate. She amuses him for the moment, but he does not really care for her ; I am sure he loves you." " He does not, and he never will agaia. He becomes colder to me every day." Then Lady Seaford could find nothing to say ■ — she knew it was true, and she knew what men were, and it made her unhappy to think that her daughter should take it so to heart.

What fools women were to wrap up their whole existence in one worthless man ! Some of her reckless ideas came back to her, as she looked upon Amy sitting there the picture of misery. Thank goodness, she had made them suffer more than they had ever done her, and she had ended by making a good marriage with a man whose indifference, if ever it came, would not affect her. As for Amy, she must get over it ; time would cure her, as it cured everything. It was only the very weak-minded who went mad when they were disappointed in love ; her daughter would not do that, she had too much strength of character. What could she say to her ? There were evidently no words capable of comforting her. All she could reiterate was that he had a passing fancy for Aladame de St. Luc which Avould speedily evap< rate.

But this did not satisfy Amy. She could not understand even a "passing fancy" for any one but herself. AVhatever her mother chose to call it, the fact remained that he did not care sufficiently for her to mind hurting her feelings, and making sier suffer during a w-siole evening. There was no comfort possible ; her w-hole life was wrecked. AVhat consolation could there be ? she asked her mother, and Lady Seaford could only suggest the universal healer — Time, which would make her see things in a different light. So Amy Avent away more disappointed than when she came. She had hoped that perhaps her mother Avould have laughed at her fears, and haA'e told her they were groundless ; but this she had not done. She had admitted that Amy had reason to be miserable, and had only offered her the unwelcome hope that she might outgrow her love.

She left the house in very low spirits. It was indeed a cruel world, and Gordon had been quite right when he told her at Trouville that it contained no real happiness. She rose wearily from her seat and wished her mother good-bye with a heavy heart. " You must try and get him to leave Paris," said Lady Seaford ; " he wdl soon forget her in London." " He would not leave," said Amy ; "I am sure it would be useless for me to propose it." " Try, at any rate," said her mother ; " say you are not well, and want change of air." Amy smiled and said no more. It was too heart-breaking to hear her mother talk of his caring for Aladame de St. Luc as of an accepted fact. Nothing could be more terrible than the idea. " Why did I ever meet him ? " she said to herself, when alone. " One day's doubt and jealousy counteracts months of happiness, and I can never be happy again."

In the evening she spoke to her husband about leaving, but he almost laughed at the idea. "You came here for change of air," he said ; "you can scarcely require it every week." "AVe were going to the south," she said, meekly, "and I don't think Paris agrees with me. I have such horrible headaches." " Perhaps you have been going out too much," he said ; " you must try going to bed early." " But I don't wish to deprive you of any pleasure, Gordon." "Oh, I can always amuse myself; I shall not be bored even if you do stay at home." Of course he would not be bored, Amy thought. He would see more of Aladame de St. Luc, and she certainly did not intend to stop at home to facilitate their wickedness. VOL. III. C And she was not really ill, not bodily, at least only mentally, and only he could cure her.

"Do let us leave Paris," she said, later on. " I really don't see why we should," he said ; " you have nothing the matter with you, and I particularly Avish to remain till after the Grand Prix." " The Grand Prix ! " said Amy, in dismay ; "why, that is not till June." " Yes, it is in about five weeks," he ac quiesced ; "surely a month in Paris is not unbearable." It will be to me," she sighed " Then you can leave before, if you like," he said rather crossly ; " you can go home with Freddie if you wish to." The last words were not spoken so crossly ; they conveyed a more cheerful tone as if of relief at the idea. How cruel they sounded, thought Amy, and how bitter it was to know that the man she worshipped would be only too pleased if she left ! His anger and his impatience she could have borne, but the indifference AA-hich betrayed a dead love was worse than an) .hing.

It produced a cold, dull feeling, as if she had received her death-blow, and yet her heart kept beating with wild spasmodic beats — a mild tribute to the fact that her pride was also wounded. Later on, they were going to a ball at the house of some rich Jews, where they would see all the people of the night before, and where Amy would have to smde and appear happy whilst she was feeling ready and willing to die. She left him to go and dress, and Gordon was thankful that the tete-a-tete had come to an end. It was very perverse of her to wish to leave Paris, and very silly. They could not always be bdling and cooing in the country, and Paris was charming just now — so much going on, and the people one met so amusing. c a He did not really care for " Claquette," but he was fascinated by her flattery, and the pains she took to entertain him, and in this she was a pleasing contrast to his wife.

Amy was certainly becoming a wet blanket, and he sighed as he lit a cigar and thought that men made a great sacrifice when they surrendered their liberty. It was a man's way of looking at things. Of course he loved Amy and his child. That sort of thing was very nice ; but if the slightest transgression or difference in the eternal love making was to produce a tear-stained face and imploring appeals to return to England, why then it became a nuisance, and only made a man more desperate than he would have been. If Amy was jealous, she must learn that in society people did not indulge those feelings. He was not jealous of Semi onovitch, and yet " Claquette " had suggested many little things which might have made him so. Thus he reasoned, and quieted his conscience, and he did not think that there is no real love without jealousy, and that its absence with him meant that he had ceased to love Amy as she loved him.

Chapter II

"THE WOMAN I LOVE IS MARRIED." AVhen Amy arrived at the ball, the first person she saw was Madame de St. Luc. She knew that she would be there, and yet she could not help starting when first she caught sight of her. The Frenchwoman was dressed, with her usual eccentricity, in clouds of tulle, and she had a flight of swalloAvs on one side of her dress, and more of these birds about her body. One of her intimate friends said when she saw her — " Swallows mean je reviendrai, do they not ? She need not have told us that. She is not likely to leave any one, when once she has got him ; dear Claquette is very clinging." As soon as Amy had found a seat, Aladame de St. Luc came and sat down beside her, and said, — " Last night I had a long talk with your husband. To-night I want to have a long talk with you."

This AA-as exactly what Amy did not want, but she could not tell her so, and tried to show some pleasure. " Let us begin by abusing every one" said the Countess; "it is so much more amusing than praise, is it not ? " " I am afraid I do not agree with you," said Amy, " it is so easy to find fault, and so difficult to praise." " That is exactly why I like it," said the Frenchwoman ; " we can at any rate abuse our hosts. Don't you hate Jews . " " I don't think we ought to hate the people who are doing their best to entertain us," replied Amy. " That is the very reason why one should. It is so humiliating to think that, simply because they haA'e robbed more than others of their race, that one comes to their parties and has to be civil to them." " You are not obliged to come." "Of course I am not.

I am not obliged to go to dog-shows, and things that bore me to death ; but one has to follow the mouions de Panurge all the same." " It is a lovely house," said Amy, looking round admiringly. "Oh yes. They know how to spend their money ; but, I dare say, even these people have relations selling old clothes in the Rue de Provence ! " Amy laughed. She was not ill-natured, but she could not help being entertained by Madame de St. Luc's vehemence against the people whose bread she was breaking. " You are very uncharitable," she said. " Very," said the Countess ; " I hate myself for coming here, and I vent my dl -humour by abusing everything and everybody. It is my only consolation." " Do you never praise any one . " " Very rarely. But I will praise your husband, if you like. I think he is perfectly charming."

This was said with boundless effrontery, and staggered Amy. " He is so un-English," she continued ; " I suppose that is why I like him." That Avas not very civil, considering she was speaking to an Englishwoman, and Airs. AVray had sufficient spirit to say, — "Then I am afraid I must disagree with you again, for I married him because he was English." " Of course I only mean in a social sense," said Madame de St. Luc, carelessly, " Englissi men ssiine in the hunting-field, and in all sports, but I do not think they are amusing in society, — do you . " " I scarcely know," said Amy ; " I have met so few foreigners." " How do you like Prince Semionovitch . " said Madame de St. Luc suddenly. And Amy was sufficiently off her guard to answer quickly, "Not at all." " Ah ! then you have dislikes, too .

" "I don't know if I exactly dislike him, but I do not think he possesses many qualities." " The qualities of good looks ! " " Yes, he is certainly good-looking," said Amy, absently. " Do you see that woman who looks as if she had wound herself up in a bath-towel . She is a poetess, and she was madly in love Avith him. He indulged her for a month or two, until he got tired of loA'e-letters Avritten in halting metre, and of her requiring ten verses to give him a simple rendezvous ; so then he threw her over, and she has become more crack-brained than ever." " I pity her," said Amy, sincerely, " if she really cared for him." " Of course she did. But this is not a poetical age, is it ? Men dislike very high sentiment — don't you think so . " "I dare say." "He has great success in Paris," continued "THE AVOMAN I LOVE IS MARRIED." 27 Aladame de St. Luc ; " but all foreigners haA'e here.

AVe are fearful gobemouches where strangers are concerned. I suppose it is a morbid curiosity to know if they are different to ourselves." Amy did not like her conversation, and longed for her to go, or for some one to come and ask her to dance. No one came, how ever, till Gordon espied them, and then he asked Aladame de St. Luc if she would dance with him. " I dance ! " she said, with a look of horror ; " I scarcely ever dance, and I am certainly not going to be trampled to death by these Israelites. I shall wait till there are fewer people. But I wdl take a turn round their synagogue, if Aladame AVray does not mind being left alone." " I don't in the least mind," said Amy, partly relieved, and yet with a sense of choking as she saw the Countess go off on Gordon's arm. His place was soon taken by Prince Semionovitch, who was delighted to find her alone, and Avho came up and made gracious inquiries about the state of her health.

Amy answered him civilly, though in rather a constrained voice. She knew that his friendship boded no good, and she wished to be distantly polite to him without actually offending him. A little later he asked her to dance, and for the moment Amy kneAv not what to say. She loved dancing, and yet she did not wish to dance with him, and she felt it Avould be too open an affront to refuse his offer and then be seen dancing Avith other men " I am not sure if I care to dance just yet," she said, hesitatingly ; "I am afraid the rooms are rather too crowded." But the Prince pleaded for just one turn, so Amy stood up, rather reluctantly, and they began to valse. The Prince held her very tightly — almost suffocatingly, Amy thought, and he guided her most beautifully. He was a good dancer, and she could not "THE WOMAN I LOA'E IS MARRIED." 29 help enjoying it for the moment.

The band was playing one of AValteufel's most entranc ing valses, and in the excitement of his firm embrace and the heat of the room Amy forgot her troubles, forgot that Gordon was probably enjoying himself with Aladame de St. Luc, and closed her eyes in what seemed an ecstatic dream. AVhen they came to a pause she steadied herself, and with an effort, said abruptly, — " I will not dance any more — it is too hot." " Do not say that," he almost Avhispered in her ear ; " you dance so beautifully." " I enjoyed it very much," she said, still out of breath ; " but it is really too hot." " Later on then you must promise me another valse," he said. " If I stay," she answered ; " but I am going away early." And then he led her through the crowded rooms, and in the inevitable conservatory she saw her husband leaning over her rival in one of his most affectionate attitudes.

She was flushed with the excitement of the dance, but the blood seemed all at once to leave her face, and leave her deathly pale. Gordon looked up and caught her eyes fixed upon him. " You are not well . " said the Prince ; "come into the garden. You want fresh air." But Amy declared that she was quite well — only a little giddy — and that she would rather remain indoors. The Prince looked triumphantly at her. The pleasure he felt at seeing her suffer was intense. Her heart might break, but if it furthered his designs so much the better, and she must, sooner or later, learn that fidelity was an unknown quantity in society. They sat down — but not in the conservatory. Amy Avould not torture herself to that extent, and then she gave herself up to be thoroughly miserable. The Prince was very kind in suggesting every kind of refreshment which would "THE AVOMAN I LOVE IS MARRIED." 31 remoA'e her giddiness; but he knew, as well as she did, that it sprang from the heart, and not the head, and that no amount of champagne cup or iced orgeat Avould do her any good.