A Queen of Curds and Cream. A novel ... Second edition

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BY THE SAME AUTHOR ON THE WAY THROUGH AND OTHER TALES By DOROTHEA GERARD Crown Bvo., 6s. ' Miss Gerard's vivacious style and clever sketches of society at an Austrian spa are so delightful in themselves as to make her plot of secondary interest. . . The minor tales are admirable. . . The last ofthe batch, " Two Wedding Gowns," takes us to the steppes of the Russian Poland. It is a good example of the ease with which Miss Gerard combines sprightliness with pathos. We fancy that there are few women who will not shed a silent tear over the fate of poor Yella and her wedding-gowns ; and few men who will not feel ashamed of the reasestrwfry <&ey were wasted.' — Times. „ -. -,-^r Q<p CHEAP EDITION OF •Oj|/T H O D O X By DOROTHEA GERARD Cloth, 3s 6d. ' We have in this writer an able exponent of character ; the racial distinctions of the Polish Jews are exceedingly curious and interest ing, and they are very well illustrated in this story.

It is a romantic story, told with a touch of cheerful cynicism that is by no means un attractive.' — Daily Chronicle. E T E L K A'S VOW A NOVEL By DOROTHEA GERARD i Vol., Crown Svo. Shortly. Eden, Remington & Co., London and Sydney. % Bobtl b; DOROTHEA GERARD Author of ' Orthodox,' 'Lady Baby I etc., and Joint Author of ' Reata.' ' The Waters of Hercules! etc. IN THREE VOLUMES VOL. III. SECOND EDITION EDEN, REMINGTON & CO., PUBLISHERS LONDON AND SYDNEY 1892 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED nothing bhe does, or seems, But smacks of something greater than herself : Too noble for this place. good sooth, she is The Queen of Curds and Cream.' The Winters Tale.— Act IV. Scene CONTENTS

Chapter I The

W I D 0 w's CAP Once more Mr Rockingham was standing on the hearthrug of his bedroom at Collings wood, his feet well apart, his back to the fire, as with bent head and eyebrows con tracted he communed confidentially with his slippers. Almost a month had passed since the Dartland garden-party, and the damp September weather made a fire very grateful to the ex-Minister, whom long residence in foreign countries had rendered chilly. His face bore an expression which was triumphant and yet a trifle disturbed. To Mrs Byrd's deep regret, Mr Rocking- VOL III. A ham was leaving Collingswood next day. On the table there lay an open telegram in which he was informed that his appointment to the post towards which he had been working his way during the last year had just taken place. He must be in London next day, and within a week he would pro bably have sailed from England.

His first idea had been to start by the morning train, but a little reflection had decided him in favour of the night mail ; he would thus gain the afternoon for some purposes of his own. According to the programme he had made in spring, this would have been the moment to hurry up matters with Charlotte, but it was not of Charlotte that he was thinking as he stood on the hearthrug and reviewed the situation. ' There can be no doubt,' he remarked to his slippers, ' that there is ever so much more in this idea than there ever was in the other. Good Lord, what eyes she has got ! I saw nothing to come near them either in Greece or Spain.' And for a moment he fell into something that might almost have been called a reverie. Presently, with an impatient shake, he raised his head. ' Eyes, indeed !

If she had no more solid advantages than her eyes, poor Chatty might yet have been happy. Let's come to business, Mr Rockingham. But I must be cautious; too much ha^te might spoil every thing. All that can be done for the present will be to part on the amiable and unobtru sive terms of master and pupil, to shake hands over the tennis-net, figuratively speak ing. Then if she can only be brought to London in spring, brought to London heart whole, my way will be pretty clear. Among the host of strange faces mine will appear almost like that of an old friend. Yes, it must certainly be London, if only for the sake of being out of Charlotte's way. " What say you, Monsieur le diplomate, is not that neatly planned ? " ' and Mr Rock ingham dug his hands still deeper into his pockets, drew his shoulders up to his ears and smiled radiantly at his slippers.

In accordance with this newly revised programme he drove over to Morton early on the following afternoon, having left orders for his portmanteau to be packed. The Old Hall had to be visited first ; he could not well avoid taking leave of Charlotte, and, in fact, it was only under cover of the Old Hall that the New Hall could be ventured on at all. Charlotte was at home, occupied in read ing a Society paper. She folded it up hastily and pushed it aside as he entered. In the column of fashionable gossip she had just been annoyed by the discovery of a paragraph which confided to the world at large that there were very good grounds for believing that the widow of a certain unfor tunate baronet who had perished last year in a most tragical manner would shortly unite her lot with that of ' one of our most able diplomats.' Mr Rockingham's return to the neighbour hood, coupled with his calls at Morton in spring, had evidently appeared conclusive to the gossip-collectors of the Spy.

Six months ago the paragraph would have thrilled Char lotte with delight, just now it seemed only to accentuate her defeat. And yet, by the way she changed colour when told of the object of his visit, Basil could see that even now hope was not quite dead within her. The perception of this fact moved him to curtail to a minimum the length of his call, for cruelty did not lie in his nature. When he rose to go she rose as well, and stood for a moment undecided before she put out her hand. ' You are going to the New Hall now ? ' she asked, quickly and suspiciously. ' Yes. Have you any message ? ' ' I have no message, but I — -I was thinking of going over this afternoon,' stammered Charlotte, ' and perhaps you wouldn't mind my driving over with you, as I haven't given orders yet about the carriage ? ' Mr Rockingham, with all his diplomacy, could do nothing but bow acquies cence.

To Charlotte this was a respite. At least she would be able to assure herself with her own eyes of the exact sort of parting that took place between Basil and Ulrica. Certainly it would be infinitely more con venient to meet Ulrica in London, reflected Mr Rockingham as he followed Lady Nevyll down the staircase ; it also would be kinder to Charlotte, for whom he really and truly felt very sorry. ' She has no luck, poor thing,' he said to himself quite compas sionately. By an odd coincidence Ulrica's attention also had been on this same day arrested by the same paragraph which had so much annoyed Charlotte ; for, amongst other accomplishments, she had already acquired that of filling up her too ample leisure with the perusal of society papers. Even to her inexperience the ' widow of the unfortunate baronet ' was immediately recognisable as Charlotte, but it had not yet occurred to her to identify the ' able diplomat ' with her new acquaintance who had been so oblio-ino about the tennis, but to whom she had only spoken four times in all.

To Ulrica the paragraph had brought an increase of indignation against Gilbert's widow. What ! Her cousin had not been dead a year, and already the name of his successor was in the mouths of the gossips. Not content with not having loved him, she was going to flaunt this fact in the face of the world. It was with an even less friendly mien than usual that she rose from her place on hearing Lady Nevyll announced. ' So my tennis-lessons are at an end for the present,' was the remark she made when Mr Rockingham had announced his impend ing departure. Though Charlotte watched carefully for any sign of emotion, she grew none the wiser from the expression on Ulrica's face. Ulrica, in point of fact, was not thinking of Mr Rockingham at all, but of that unknown ' able diplomat,' who as yet was but an abstraction to her. ' They will be superseded, I presume, by dancing lessons,' Mr Rockingham hastened to say. ' Dancing ?

What for ? Somebody told me that the last ball in this neighbourhood took place exactly five years ago.' Mr Rockingham gently shrugged his shoulders. ' No doubt ; but who is talking of this neighbourhood ? I take for granted that London will be our next meeting ground.' ' Oh, but Countess Eldringen is not thinking of going to London,' quickly interpolated Charlotte. ' She is not used to seeing so many people.' Already she had pierced the motive of Basil's remark, and had guessed at the programme sketched out on the hearthrug last night. ' There is no reason why I should not get used to seeing people,' Ulrica impatiently retorted, merely for the pleasure of contra dicting Charlotte. ' Ah, that sounds a little better,' agreed Mr Rockingham approvingly. ' If only I had my six weeks' leave in my pocket I should feel emboldened to petition for the first waltz at the first ball at which we meet.' ' A London season is terribly fatiguing,' persisted Charlotte with feverish eagerness. ' It would take a good deal to fatigue me,' laughed Ulrica, somewhat surprised at the evident anxiety in Charlotte's tone.

Charlotte turned to Mr Rockingham. ' But is it dignified for an ambassador to waltz ? ' she asked with an effort at playful ness which, owing to the unsteadiness of her voice, was a lamentable failure. ' Under so great a temptation even an ambassador must succumb,' responded Mr Rockingham, with a slightly pompous bow in Ulrica's direction. The colour left Charlotte's face. A feeling of utter helplessness came over her ; try as she would she could not stem the current of events. ' Oh, Basil ! ' she murmured under the pressure of her excitement. She was not aware that she had said it, but Ulrica, who sat close by, heard the words and looked up just in time to see the reproachful gaze which Charlotte turned on her faithless lover. There was no possibility of misinter preting that look. Suddenly an idea struck Ulrica; — Mr Rockingham was an ambassador and ambassadors are diplomats — even Ulrica knew that.

She took another look at Charlotte's face and she began to under stand. This then was the man of whom the widow had been thinking as she decked herself with the lace cap and the lilac ribbons. Involuntarily her teeth closed more tightly, and about her beautiful mouth there appeared hard, cruel lines. ' I suppose it will end by my going to London,' she remarked after a moment, de liberately ; ' there seems to be no escape for me, at least everybody tells me so, so you can make a note of that waltz, if you don't mind playing the dancing-master as well as the tennis-master.' Five minutes after she had said it she had forgotten her own words ; but into Charlotte's mind the careless phrase had sunk straight and deep, like a weight of lead. ' It was only to be expected, it cannot be otherwise,' she sobbed to herself that even ing in the room. ' He is twenty years and more older than she is, of course, but then his looks are so perfectly preserved.' There existed no doubt whatever in Charlotte's mind that Basil had already made an impression on the heiress; she found it unavoidable that it should be so, considering how irresistible Basil was, but it only made her own position more hopeless.

It was only a few days later that Char lotte came very near to making a discovery which would have shown her in one instant how false her surmise was. Ulrica had been informed that Lady Nevyll was confined to her room with a headache, and partly because she had nothing else to do, partly also moved by some impulse of pity she had walked over to the Old Hall. Charlotte was lying motionless on a sofa in her bedroom. She was scarcely to be recognised as the same woman who had astonished Mr Rockingham so much on the occasion of the meeting on the church-steps ; that brief period of glory was over ; she had collapsed again into her former self. Even her dress be trayed the reaction ; already the sloven liness of indifference was beginning to creep into the very twTist of the bows on her cashmere dressing-gown. ' I wonder you can breathe in this room,' said Ulrica in a not particularly sympathetic tone, ' why, it's almost like being inside an Eau de Cologne bottle.

Positively you must let me open at least one window-pane.' Without waiting for Charlotte's murmur of resigned acquiescence she went to the window and opened it. Passing by the toilet-table she stood still, her attention arrested by an object which lay there. ' You have quite given up wearing this, have you not ? ' she asked in a hard, dry voice, holding up something white as she spoke. ' Wearing what ? My cap, oh yes, long ago. I was sorting out some useless things this morning when my head got so bad, that is why there is such a litter on the table there. ' Ulrica's fingers .trembled a little as she held the discarded widow's cap in her hands. Very often, during the earliest days of her stay in England, she had looked at that cap with envious eyes, as it crowned Charlotte's pale, golden hair.

Often, very often, had she felt the wild desire to tear it from her rival's head, as one queen might seek to un crown another queen, and to call out to her in disdain : ' Mine is the right to wear it, for it is / who am his rightful widow and not you.' 'I wonder how it would suit me?' she said aloud, with a little catch in her voice, which might possibly have been meant for a laugh. ' It suits nobody,' said Charlotte, queru lously. Ulrica did not answer ; with the widow's cap on her head she was bending forward and drinking in her own image in the glass. Oh, for the right to wear it in the eyes of the world ! For a full minute she gazed, then reluctantly put up her hand to remove it, but just then her eye fell on an open trinket-case which stood on the table amongst a heap of black crapes and laces.

In the upper tray, embedded in blue velvet, lay a small oval miniature in ivory, set in a narrow gold rim. Ulrica remained standing motionless, her eyes fixed on the exquisitely executed painting. It was the portrait of a child, of a boy not more than fifteen years of age, but Ulrica had seen those eyes in the face of a man — she could not be mistaken. Was this also one of the ' useless things ' about to be discarded ? ' Who is it ? ' she asked in a breathless whisper. ' This miniature, who is it ? ' ' Oh, that ? It is a portrait of my husband. He gave it me when we were engaged to be married.' ' It is very like him,' Ulrica said quickly, the tears starting suddenly to her eyes. Amongst all the pictures she had seen of him none had so vividly brought back to her memory Gilbert's glance and Gilbert's smile as this boyish likeness executed by a master-hand. 'Did you know him?' asked Charlotte in languid surprise.

Ulrica had repented of her words almost before they were spoken. Hitherto she had succeeded in concealing the fact of her ac quaintance with Gilbert. ' I met him once in Austria,' she said quietly, though her heart was beating with unbearable haste. ' It was when he had come abroad to shoot chamois, I think.' ' Really ? I don't think you ever men tioned the fact before.' Charlotte spoke with out any interest. She had never taken any interest in her husband's acquaintances, and there was nothing astonishing whatever in his having come across Ulrica in Austria. ' He was very fond of chamois-shooting, was he not ? ' said Ulrica, by way of saying something. ' I believe so ; at anyrate it was as good an excuse as any other for getting away from England.' It was during these minutes that Ulrica's secret trembled in the balance.

Though by a supreme effort of self control she had succeeded in steadying her voice, she was not able to control her rising colour, nor could the whole 'strength of her stubborn pride crush down the tears that had started A QUEEN OE CURDS AND CREAM to her eyes. If Charlotte, instead of holding her hand over her aching eyelids, had but chanced to glance up as she made the remark she could not have failed — being a woman — to read Ulrica's face as if it had been an open book. By the trembling of her lips, by the two bright drops that were stealing over her burning cheeks, even by the nervous gesture with which she put up her hand to pull off the widow's cap, Ulrica would have stood confessed under Charlotte's glance One casual lifting of the eyes : it wanted but that to chase from the elder woman's mind the false belief which had taken possession of it and to put her on the track of a discovery which would, without doubt, have lightened the greater half of her anxieties.

On such a slender thread as this does the crisis of a life sometimes hang. As winter first approached and then advanced Ulrica and Charlotte saw less and less of each other, for Charlotte shut herself up once more in the Old Hall and Ulrica seldom spent more than a week at a time at Morton. So heavily did solitude begin to THE WIDOWS CAR 17 weigh that she accepted every neighbourly invitation which reached her. To her in experience even the dullest and most pomp ous dinner-party was full of unexplored wonders. By this time it was a settled point that she was going to London in spring. It had been nothing but a spirit of contradiction that had first moved her to consider the question, but by degrees she had got in terested in the idea and now looked forward to the dawn of the season with a sort of uneasy impatience.

Mrs Byrd was more impatient still, for by judiciously playing her cards she had succeeded in securing for herself the comfortable berth of Ulrica's chaperone. The idea of being ' chaperoned ' by this little stumpy woman, or indeed by anyone in the world, struck Ulrica as being in grimly humorous contrast to her former experiences, but a guide of some sort would doubtless be useful in the unknown world she was about to enter. There was one other person besides Charlotte who disapproved of the London plan, vol. in. b and that one was Mr Bolt, the old farmer engineer who superintended the works on the 'marsh.' With Ulrica's departure he would lose the one sympathetic listener he had ever had, for neither Sir Gilbert nor Sir Gilbert's father, under whom he had held a contract, had ever shown much interest in the works.

Once started upon his solitary theme he could talk by the hour. By dint of studying this one spot of earth during forty years, under every aspect, at every hour and in all weathers, he had come to discover beauties about it, which to another eye would have been invisible. His whole heart was wrapped up in this 'marsh,' it clung round every spray of samphire and every tuft of sea-pink that bloomed on the wide surface, and it lay buried in every pool of salt-water that glistened between the clumps of bent grass. ' But if you're going to London, Miss, you won't be here for the closing of the bank,' was the remark he made, with a face of almost comical consternation, when one day late in March Ulrica had announced her im- THE WIDOW'S CAP 19 pending departure. ' I had counted for cer tain on your being here.' ' Yes, to be sure.

I had forgotten about the bank,' said Ulrica, ' when do you think you will close it ? ' ' Last neap-tide in June, as near as I can say. It will take us quite the week to be ready for the spring-tide, and unless it finds all the fourteen openings shut up we're done for. This one here will be one of our hardest tussles,' and the engineer, who was standing beside Ulrica on one of the sections of the bank, indicated the gap which extended to within a few paces of the spot. ' The narrower the gap the deeper the gutter, that's the general rule.' What Mr Bolt designated by the un poetical name of ' gutter ' was in reality the flood hollow or natural channel worn out by the rush of the waves between the two sections of bank. At this moment the tide was in retreat and the expanse of sands which stretched seawards was bare and glistening, but in the deep scoop ofthe flood hollow which ran to more than a hundred yards outside the line of the bank the water stood to a depth of eight or ten feet.

It was a miniature green lake on which Ulrica looked down, and as on the edge of a lake a couple of big clumsy fishing boats reposed, ready to float again with the turn ofthe tide. ' The job will cost me seven sleepless nights,' said Mr Bolt with a sigh. ' And to think, Miss, that you won't see the last spadeful put on, after all ! ' ' Well,' laughed Ulrica, as she turned to descend the bank, ' the last spadeful is not put on yet. There is no saying whether I may not be tired of London by June. In any case be sure you let me know when the date is finally fixed.' ' I shall do that without fail,' said Mr Bolt, his weather-beaten old face lighting up at the hope held out, even though it was but a faint one.

Chapter II The Edge Of The Whirlpool

Everybody knows that London is a very ugly place. It would be absurd to deny that of all the capitals of Europe it is the grimiest, sootiest, smokiest conglomeration of bricks and mortar on which the sun shines, or far more often does not shine. All the more praiseworthy therefore is the achievement by which London annually succeeds in becoming almost beautiful during three whole months. Other towns rely upon their climate or their situation, upon their architecture or the magnificence of their streets, and disdain all minor attempts at beautification, but London, knowing well that it has none of these things to boast of, strains every nerve to welcome its guests with a smiling face. Possibly this is the secret of that dazzling if short-lived brilliancy which once a year manages to put even Paris and Vienna in the shade.

Granted that London,, even on a bright winter's day, is considerably drearier than Vienna on a dull one ; but when those ugly brick fronts bloom out suddenly with crocuses and hyacinths, when the wonderful Eno-lish grass flashes into emerald in the parks, when the horsemen and women begin to gather in the Row, and visions of dainty loveliness are to be caught by the passers-by through the panes of every carriage window, when everybody is in their best clothes and their best spirits (as people always are who are determined to enjoy themselves), every horse groomed, every hat brushed, and every bit of brass or plate burnished to the pitch of perfection ; in one word when every available pound, shilling or penny, scraped together during the rest of the year, has been dragged to London by its owner for the sole purpose of being spent, then who would exchange our capital for any other in the world ?

Ulrica had been more than a fortnight in town without being able to recover from her bewilderment. Why, Vienna was nothing to this : beside Hyde Park the Prater was a desert, and compared to the din of Regent Street an idyllic peace might be said to reign on the Ring Strasse. After the deep repose of Glockenau, followed by the scarcely less deep solitude of Morton, the plunge into this seething centre of life was all the more amazing. On the day after her arrival she had surprised Mrs Byrd by springing up and going to the window every time that wheels were heard rolling down the street, under the vague impression that every carriage meant a visitor. She very soon gave it up, having come to the conclusion that in order to control the movements of every vehicle that passed the door she would require to spend the entire day at the window.

This fortnight had been devoted chiefly to shopping, consultations with dressmakers and a certain amount of dining out. London was at its very best, not yet full but filling rapidly ; it was the moment when leaves have not yet had time to get grimy, and hopes have not yet had time to get dashed. Ulrica had been to the theatre, she had driven in the Park, and she had made what appeared to her a countless number of new acquaintances, though Mrs Byrd declared that as yet she knew ' simply nobody.' And in a certain sense Mrs Byrd was right. Though Ulrica had gone through several dozen introductions, she still, from a fashionable point of view, knew nobody, and more emphatically still, she was not known. A good many glasses had been directed towards the box in which she sat, and a good many heads had been turned in the Row to gaze after this new beauty, and already the report of her looks and of her wealth was beginning to spread from circle to circle, but as yet London at large had not discovered her, for London is too vast and too opaque to be pierced in one instant by the radiance of any single star however bright. ' You have seen nothing yet,' said Mrs Byrd to the wondering Ulrica, ' and you have not been seen ; it requires a big ball to make a start.' ' You don't mean to say that you are giddy already,' remarked her neighbour at dinner one evening towards the end of her first fort night in London. ' This is only the edge of the whirlpool, wait till you are whisked into the middle.' It was a more than elderly Marquis who made this remark.

Ulrica had met him for the first time that evening, and before dinner was half over had decided that Lord Canning ton was by far the most amusing of all the acquaintances she had made since she had come to town. With his dried-up features, bushy eyebrows surmounting a pair of rest lessly moving eyes, pointed grey moustache and grimly saturnine smile, he was not at all unlike an exceedingly gentlemanlike, some what dignified, elderly devil ; and his conversation rather deepened this impression than detracted from it. ' Your first season, I am told,' was the remark with which he opened conversation in a dry abrupt voice. ' Humph, I've heard of you already.' ' From whom ? ' asked Ulrica in some surprise. ' From whom ? From whom ? ' repeated Lord Cannington with a touch of testiness. ' How do I know from whom ?

Those sort of things lie in the air, one inhales them along with the soot and the scent of the roast truffles. You don't suppose, do you, that an heiress of your — what shall I call it? — calibre — appears in London every season ? And with your looks into the bargain. I'm old enough to be your grandfather, so there's no harm in plain English. You mayn't know it, but you're a phenomenon. Where have you been to as yet ? ' ' Mrs Byrd says I've been nowhere,' answered Ulrica, who was beginning to feel entertained, ' but I am going to my first ball to-morrow.' ' Humph, white gown, snowdrops and all the rest of it, I suppose ; I know the style of thing — one of the troop of dove-like debut antes ; can't say bo to a goose — in public, that's to say ; as to what they say to the geese in private, of course I have no means of judging, but I fancy it's a good deal more than bo.' ' You are either very rude or a very stern moralist ;[ I can't quite make out which,' said Ulrica, laughing.

Her new acquaintance looked at her for a moment out of the corners of his eyes. ' My fair young friend,' he presently observed, ' I believe that I started in life en dowed with, or more correctly speaking, hampered by a fair portion of what some people are pleased to call moral sense, and not entirely free from what other people like to call feelings, but I've lived for sixty five years, — in London, mostly, — and both those appendages are worn pretty thread bare by this time, thank Heaven.' ' Why thank Heaven ? ' asked Ulrica rather startled. ' Do you want to have a good time of it ? ' retorted her companion. 'Do you want to enjoy your life in general and this season in particular ? ' ' Of course I do, but — ' Then take my advice and start with your eyes open. Don't put on the white dress with the snowdrops, for nobody will believe in it, and don't believe in the other snowdrops you see.