Peeress and Player. A novel

Front matter

PEERESS AND PLAYER. A NO VE L. BY FLORENCE MARRYAT, AUTHOR OF ' LOVE'S CONFLICT,' ' MY SISTER THE ACTRESS," etc., etc. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. II. LONDON : F. V. WHITE & CO., 31 SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C. 1883. \_All Rights reserved. \ F. V. WHITE & CO.'S SELECT NOVELS. Crown 8-v, cloth, y. 6d. each. The following Volumes of the Series are now ready, and can be obtained of all Booksellers in Town and Country, and at all Railway Bookstalls : — MY SISTER THE ACTRESS. By Florence Marryat, Author of ' The Root of all Evil,' etc., etc. THE DEAN'S WIFE. By Mrs Eiloart, Author of 'The Love that Lived,' etc., etc. TWO MEN AND A MAID. By Harriett Jay, Author of ' The Queen of Connaught,' etc., etc. A BROKEN BLOSSOM. By Florence Marryat, Author of ' Phyllida,' etc., etc. SWEETHEART AND WIFE. By Lady Constance Howard, Author of ' Mollie Darling,' etc., etc.

BARBARA'S WARNING. By Mrs Houstoun, Author of ' Recommended to Mercy,' etc., etc. PHYLLIDA. By Florence Marryat, Author of 'My Sister the Actress,' etc., etc. SOME OF OUR GIRLS. By Mrs Eiloart, Author of ' The Dean's Wife,' etc., etc. ALLERTON TOWERS. By Annie Thomas (Mrs Fender Cudlip), Author of ' Denis Donne,' etc., etc. THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL. By Florence Marryat, Author of ' Phyllida, ' etc., etc. A PROFESSIONAL BEAUTY. By Mrs Alexander Fraser, Author of ' Guardian and Lover," etc., etc. CONTENTS.

Chapter I. Gresham Shows His Teeth

flf^JjfjfE A N T I M E the two girls, j|vw| y having changed their fanciful J^^-H, dresses as quickly as they can, slip quietly out of the stage door and make their way towards the post-office. Now that the moment for meeting Captain Fairfax has actually come, Susie is al most shaking with fear at her temerity, and Louie has ceased boasting. Indeed, Miss Montressor is one of those persons VOL. II. A of whom it may truly be said, that her ' bark is worse than her bite,' for she is seldom so reckless in action as her speech would lead one to believe. As they reach the place of meeting, however, and descry a good-looking young man in plain clothes, and a carriage, waiting to receive them, Louie recovers her presence of mind, if not her effrontery. ' I suppose I needn't ask who you are ? ' she says, saucily, as she comes up with the stranger, ' as you are evidently waiting for us.

Captain Fairfax, is it not ? Well, here we are, you see — I and my friend, Miss Gresham — and the sooner we are off, the better, for if the other ladies were to catch us talking to you, there would be no end of a row.' The stranger doffs his hat at once. ' Allow me to hand you to the carriage, then,' he says, as he places the two girls on the front seat, and settles himself opposite to them. ' Eleven Bessborough Terrace ! ' they heard him say to the driver, as the carriage rolls away. ' And now, Miss Montressor,' commences Captain Fairfax, ' how can I sufficiently thank your friend and yourself for con descending to come to supper with me ? You must not expect great things, you know ; you will only get bachelor's fare in bachelor's diggings, but your goodness in gracing my poor rooms will glorify them for ever in my eyes.' Louie does not feel quite comfortable, for Captain Fairfax has taken her hand, as if it were the most natural thing in the world that he should do so ; and Susie, who has been unable to understand such formality of address between cousins who are so attached to each other, is still more surprised by the evident want of ease dis played in Miss Montressor's answer, — ' Oh ! it was very kind of you to ask us,' she says, nervously ; ' and — please, Captain Fairfax, don't do that ! — and we are very glad to come, because, of course, we enjoy an evening out sometimes.

But we mustn't stay late, indeed we must not. I promised our landlady to be home by one.' ' Bother the landlady ! ' cries Fairfax gaily. ' I have a lady friend who will put you up for the night, if that's all, — and — how fidgety you are, my fair friend — we sha'n't let you off quite so easily as that. Think how seldom the opportunity of entertaining such a bewitching little creature as yourself falls in our way, and have pity on us ! ' ' I hope you have some ladies to meet us,' says Louie demurely. ' Of course ! I have two very charming friends coming — at least, they promised to do so ; one is Miss Robins, from the Trocadero, — I daresay you know her.' ' No ; we know nobody in York,' replies Louie ; ' except yourself,' she adds, remembering her assertion to Susie of the day before. ' Your pretty friend is very silent,' observes Fairfax presently, alluding to Susie, who is sitting in her corner, with a rapidly beating heart, that seems to pro phesy a coming calamity. ' I hope she is quite well ? ' ' Susie ! — oh yes,' says Louie, ' she's well enough ; and she'll talk enough as soon as she knows you a little better.

But I daresay she is tired — aren't you, Susie ? — she has so much dancing in the last act.' 'A glass of champagne will soon brighten her up again,' replies Captain Fairfax con fidently ; ' and I am sure you will both like my friends. I've got one or two awfully jolly fellows to meet you.' As he speaks the carriage stops at the door of a house in a modestlooking terrace, and, jumping out, he helps the girls to alight, and shows them at once into a room on the ground floor, which has evidently been prepared for their recep tion. Wax candles burn on the toilet-table, powder, puff, pins, and scent-bottles are ready to hand, and a maid-servant is waiting to help them off with their things. ' Oh, Louie ! ' whispers Susie, as she runs a comb through her curly hair before the looking-glass, ' I do hope there will be some other girls here !

What shall we do if there are not ? ' ' Didn't you hear Fairfax say there were to be?' returned Miss Montressor, rather crossly. ' But if anything should happen to prevent their coming, you mustn't make a fool of yourself, Susie. We're here, and we must make the best of it. Besides, what harm do you suppose it will do us to take a little supper with gentlemen, even if there are no other women but ourselves? Do you think they'll eat us ? It's only what happens every day. I don't suppose a company plays in York without some of the members coming to lunch or supper with the officers. It's the commonest thing in the world. All you have to do is to hold your tongue about it.' ' I have promised to hold my tongue,' replies Susie sadly. As she stands there, ready to go up stairs, she looks too much of a child to be anywhere but in her bed, Her bright chesnut hair hangs about her face and neck in tangled curls ; her soft, gazelle like eyes bear that startled look which one sees only in the eyes of innocence, and her supple, slender figure is as unformed as is usual at her age.

She is robed in a high white dress of some clinging material, that proclaims distinctly what a child she is ; and her only ornament consists of a bunch of lilies in her bosom. She looks as fair and pure and sweet as a Madonna. No one could have guessed that she had just come off the boards of a burlesque theatre. Louie Montressor, on the contrary, appears just what she is. Her sparkling dark eyes and roguish, dimpled cheeks are set off by contact with a pink dress, made in the latest fashion, and ornamented by a profusion of jewellery — trophies taken in war from her various victims. Louie adds to her other accomplish ments that of being an expert dressmaker. She spends comparatively little on her wardrobe, because she employs the cheapest materials, and makes all her dresses her self. But she is always freshly and prettily attired, and in the latest fashion.

It is of her jewellery that Louie is so proud, and she seldom goes anywhere without carry ing a lot of it about with her. She re gards her bracelets and bangles, lockets, earrings, and brooches, as so many irre fragable proofs of her success in the art of fascination. She is apt to declare that she can gauge an artist's ability to please by the value of her trinkets, and to women of Louie Montressor's calibre, a gilt ornament even is more acceptable than none at all. As she shakes out her skirts, and settles her jingling accompaniments, she looks like a little jeweller's estab lishment on wheels, and Susie tells her she thinks she has never seen so much jewellery on one person before. Louie accepts the remark as a compliment, and regards her display of trophies com placently. ' Wait till you've been a few years on the boards, my dear, and you'll have quite as many of your own,' she replies, pa tronisingly ; 'that is to say, if you will only take a lesson from me, and learn to make use of your eyes a little more, and not get up into a corner as soon as you think you are unobserved.

You are awfully pretty, you know, Susie, but, upon my word, I don't think you'll ever make a hit in burlesque. I expect the emotional, melodramatic screechingand fainting line will be much more in your style, and I think the "boss" is beginning to see it too ! ' Susie laughs outright at the idea of ' screeching and fainting,' and the laugh is heard by four gentlemen assembled in the supper-room above. 'Where's Cock Robin? Hasn't she come yet ? ' exclaims Fairfax, as he runs up for a minute whilst the girls are dis robing. The three men who turn to greet his entrance are very different in appearance. One is a beardless boy of twenty, a cornet in the regiment, with a face as smooth as his mother's, and fresh from her kiss. His name is Paul Lindsay, and he is generally called ' Pauline ' by his facetious comrades.

The next is a much older man, older, indeed, than Captain Fairfax, though he bears the same rank, being a Captain Horseley (Jim Horseley, as he is more familiarly known in York, where his name is a byword for hard drinking and dissipation). The third guest is not more than thirty, though his dark hair is flecked here and there with white, as though he had passed through some heavy sickness or trouble. He has a singularly handsome face, with dark blue eyes, and regular features, but there is an indescribable air of langour apparent in everything he does or says, as though he were quite indifferent to what was passing around him. The other men's faces are lighted up with pleasant expectation as Fairfax enters, but the expression of this man's features does not alter, as he leans back on a sofa, carelessly playing with an ivory paper knife.

To the question regarding ' Cock Robin,' the answer is in the nega tive. ■ No ! she hasn't come ! Have you brought the other girls, Fairfax ? ' ' Yes ; they're downstairs. Confound Cock Robin ! She swore she'd be here by half-past ten.' ' What's the odds ? ' demands Pauline ; ' she's game not to miss the supper.' ' Yes ; I suppose so. Only I wanted her to be here to receive these girls. They're superior girls, you know, used to society, and that sort of thing, and they're rather shy.' ' Oh ! by George ! that's a good un ! ' exclaims ' Pauline.' ' Ah ! my boy ; you don't know women as I do. Miss Montressor has evidently been used to see things done properly. She particularly asked if ladies were to be present.' ' Innocent lamb!' murmurs the gentle man with the paper-knife. ' Who's the other, Fax ? ' demands Captain Horseley, with an unpleasant leer in his watery eyes. ' One of the prettiest creatures you ever saw in your life ; at least, so she looked to me from the slight glimpse I had of her in the passage.

She's a Miss Gresham — not much account on the stage, I fancy, but a stunning face ! I told the fair Louie to bring a friend with her, and she chose this one, and not a bad choice, by any manner of means. She'll just suit you, Jim. She looks as fresh as a daisy ! ' ' Another innocent, I suppose,' remarks the man on the sofa, and then he adds ; ' by the way, Fax, Captain Philip, you know. Don't forget ! ' ' All right, old fellow,' replies Fairfax ; ' but I must run down again, now, and see if the ladies are ready to come up.' In another minute, he has ushered the two girls into the supper-room. Louie, who has recovered herself by this time, and determined to go through with it, right or wrong, is full of self-confidence • but poor Susie, with a face alternately flushing red and white, shrinks from the gaze of the strangers' eyes, as if she were about to sink into the ground. 1 Miss Montressor — Miss Gresham,' says.

Captain Fairfax, to his companions, ' Allow me to introduce my friends to you, Captain Horseley, Captain Philip, and Mr Lindsay.' The cornet and the man on the sofa bow, but Horseley, with an odious famili arity, shakes both the girls by the hand, saying, — ' Well, my dears ! very glad to see you. Hope you mean to enjoy yourselves, and have a jolly evening ; and if you're half as clever as you're pretty, I should say you'd do so. By George, Fax ! here's a pair of eyes ! ' he continues, as he gazes boldly into those of Louie. ' Be quiet, Jim,' cries Fairfax ; ' you may think what you like, but you're not to say it, or Miss Montressor will be offended.' ' I'll eat my head if she'd ever be offended at any compliment I paid her on her beauty,' insists Horseley. ' If she didn't like it talked about, she wouldn't show it as she does — would you, Miss Montressor?

I've been three times to the theatre this week, and, by Jove! my dear, I believe you've the neatest foot and ankle I ever saw upon the stage. Come here and sit down on the sofa, and tell me how it is you manage to be so deucedly fascinating.' Louie smiles in a conscious manner, and bites her lip, and puts on that peculiar air which women invariably assume when they are being openly praised. But she accepts the seat on the sofa nevertheless, and is soon engaged in an animated conversation with her admirer ; whilst Susie continues to stand and look terribly alarmed. ' I'm afraid you're not comfortable, Miss Gresham. Won't you sit down ? ' says Fairfax, placing a chair for her. ' Thank you ! Yes, I will ; but I'm not tired,' replies Susie, in broken, disjointed sentences. The sound of her voice attracts the gentleman who erstwhile occupied the sofa, but has now removed, paper-knife and all, to a chair on the opposite side of the room.

He looks earnestly at the fair face with its white brow and startled eyes and crimsoned cheeks, for a while, and then turns away, with almost a frown of displeasure. The servants now enter, with the last preparations for supper, which is laid on a table in the centre of the room. The champagne-pail is placed under the side board, the Burgundy is uncorked, and the feast is ready for consumption. Susie looks at the table with more interest than anything else. She has never seen so elegant a supper before. She greatly admires the contrast of the scarlet lobsters with the bed of pale green lettuce leaves on which they lie, the cold salmon hidden in mayonnaise sauce and strewn with coral, the deep crimson and orange jellies, the dainty cakes, the sparkling sherry and deep-hued port in their cut decanters.

And then the flowers that deck the table. She thinks they are the loveliest roses and geraniums she has ever seen. Her wonderful brown eyes light up with admiration of the ornamented table, but she shrinks within herself directly one of her companions address her. ' Are we to wait for Cock Robin ? ' de mands Captain Fairfax presently. ' Certainly not ! Why wasn't she here to her time, confound her ? ' is Captain Horseley's reply. ' Confound yourself, you mean ! ' cries the voice of the lady he has mentioned so politely, as the door swings open to admit her redundant form. ' / heard you, Jim, so you needn't pretend it wasn't you, and I'll pay you out for it, too, before the evening's over ; see if I don't' ' I don't doubt your powers of retalia tion,' grumbles Horseley. Miss Emily Robins (or Cock Robin, as she is usually called) is a lady better known on the music-hail stage than in VOL. II.

B the drawing-rooms of the aristocracy, and Susie Gresham experiences a repulsion for her that she has not yet felt for any of her male companions. ' Whom have we here ? ' continues Cock Robin loudly, as she glances at the two girls. ' Oh ! this is Louie Montressor, I know. I've seen her face too often in York to mistake it ; but I don't recognise the little one. What's your name, chick — eh ? ' ' Susie Gresham,' is the reply, given in a very low voice. ' Bless me ! are you Joe Gresham's daughter ? I heard he had one in the company. Well, you're beginning to see life early, my dear, and I'd advise you not to tell papa you've been here to-night, or you'll catch it over the head and ears ! ' ' Now, Cock Robin, don't take away our characters. You'll make Miss Gresham think we're a terrible set of ruffians, if you talk in that way ! ' exclaims Captain Fairfax. ' Well, she couldn't think worse of you than you are, Fax, and she could never think so bad of Jim as he is.

That's my opinion,' retorts Miss Robins. ' And now, if we're to have supper, let's have it, for I'm as hungry as a hunter ! ' ' You always are, Robin,' says young Lindsay, as he gives her his chair. ' And so would you be, Downey, if you'd six curtains nightly. Singing and dancing takes it out of me, my boy, I can tell you that.' The company now draw round the table. Louie, seated between Captain Fairfax and Mr Lindsay, begins to drink champagne and talk in her own free style ; and Cock Robin plies her knife, fork, and tongue with equal vigour. But Susie, disgusted by and frightened at what is going on around her, sits (as the gentle men think) stupidly silent, playing nerv ously with the chicken and ham which has been piled upon her plate. The silent man is on one side of her, as languid with his food as he is with everything else ; and to her horror Cap tain Horseley takes the chair upon the other.

The distress and aversion which Susie feels at contact with him are so plainly depicted on her countenance, that Captain Philip cannot help observing it. For the first time that evening he comes out of his shell, and addresses her, more with a view of setting the child at her ease, than of gratifying himself, — ' What part do you play in the burlesque ? ' he asks her, in a subdued voice. ' Oh, nothing much ; only the Princess,' replies Susie bashfully. ' I have not been long on the stage, you know — I could not play a big part.' ' You are Mr Gresham's daughter, are you not ? ' 'Yes. But you won't tell him, will you?' ' That you have been here ? ' Susie nods her head, and Captain Philip fixes his dark blue eyes upon her. ' Why did you come, my child ? ' ' Because — because she asked me, and I didn't know — indeed, I was told there would be other ladies here.' ' Ladies like Miss Robins,' says the stranger, with a contemptuous air. ' I would not have come,' says Susie, faltering, ' if I had thought that — that my father would be displeased.' ' And you think now that he would ? ' Susie nods again.

She does not know what it is that makes her so communica tive with this stranger, but somehow he looks at, and speaks to her differently from the others. ' Will you promise me not to do it again ? ' continues Captain Philip quaintly; ' that is, not to accept any invitations without your father's consent. You are too young, — I hope you will always be too young — for such scenes. They are not meant for you ; you must not come again. ' I will not — indeed, I will not,' whispers Susie in reply. But this whispered colloquy, in which he has no part, does not suit the ideas of Captain Horseley, who pays for half the supper, and considers he has the first claim in consequence on the attention of his guests. ' Now, Philip,' he cries, coarsely, ' no more poaching on my preserves. I haven't said a word to the fair Susie since she entered the room this evening ; and it's my turn now.

By Jove ! considering that you pose as a saint, you seem to have a very worldly way of trying to get into the good graces of your next-door neighbour.' Captain Philip draws back, with a look of annoyance. ' I am not aware,' he answers, rather stiffly, ' that my worst enemy can accuse me of " posing " for a saint. To feel indifference is not to condemn.' ' Ah ! well, my dear boy, / don't feel indifference, you see ; so I'll thank you to clear out for a bit. I haven't heard this fair creature's voice above a whisper yet, and I've made a vow that I'll know what it's like. Now, Miss Susie, you can sing like a lark on the stage, why can't you give us a song here ? ' ' Oh, no, indeed ! I only sing in the chorus,' cries Susie, with alarm. ' I couldn't sing a song — indeed I couldn't.' ' Oh, but you must !

I insist upon it. No song, no supper. Come now, tune up. I am sure you must have a pretty voice, because you have such a pretty face. They always go together.' ' Please ask somebody else,' says Susie, crimsoning with distress. ' Perhaps Miss Miss — Cock Robin will sing for me.' ' Cock Robin be d — d ! ' exclaims Hor seley ; ' we've had more than enough of her already. Her voice is like an old tin kettle.' ' That's a lie ! ' cries the elegant Cock Robin from the opposite side of the table ; ' and I wouldn't sing for you, Jim, not if you paid me for it.' ' Well, you'll wait a long time before I do,' replies Captain Horseley ; and then he returns to his attack on poor Susie, — ' Now, my dear, I mean to take no refusal. You shall sing us a song before you go home to-night.' ' But I can't — I don't know how,' re iterates the girl, half crying. ' I should think Miss Gresham had already given you sufficient proof that she does not wish to comply with your request,' remarks Captain Philip dryly.

But Horseley is more than half intoxi cated, and in no condition to take a hint. He advances his face close to Susie's, and his hot, tainted breath pours in a volume over her pure features, as he stutters out, — ' By George ! then, if you won't sing me a song, you shall give me a kiss. I suppose you know how to do that now? — eh?' Gresham shows His Teetli. 25 He throws his arm about her waist as he speaks, and draws her to him. Susie flushes crimson, screams, and tries to get away from his degrading clasp, but her slight arms have no power to free them selves from the man's heavy hand. Captain Horseley presses closer against her, and she believes her doom is fixed, when Captain Philip, rising suddenly to his feet, throws out his lean, muscular hand, and strikes Horseley straight across the face.

The rest of the company (who were all ready to laugh at the impending tussle between the tipsy officer and the little Gresham) are struck dumb by the serious turn the affair has taken. Susie, relieved from her first terror, bursts into tears ; and Horseley, livid with rage, turns round upon his assailant. ' Do you intend to insult me, Luton ? he asks. ' I intend anything you like ; but I would have killed you sooner than you should have outraged the feelings of a young lady who has confided herself to our protection.' ' I will have that kiss yet, though ! ' ex claims Horseley, as he makes another dash at Susie. But in a moment he is lying on the carpet, a confused and giddy mass of bruises and drunkenness. ' Fairfax ! ' cries Captain Philip, ' are you a man ? Do you intend to stand by, and see this sort of thing done in your own house ?

I little thought when you asked me here this evening that I was to meet blackguards instead of gentle men.' ' Have a care what you say, Philip,' replies Fairfax, ' or you and I will quarrel next. If the girl is so averse to being kissed, she oughtn't to have come here.' ' La ! what a fuss about nothing,' says Miss Robin. 'What's the harm of a kiss, when all's said and done ? The girl must be a fool ! ' ' I wish I'd never brought her with me,' remarks Louie, in a low voice. ' I was afraid she was too simple for anything.' ' She won't be too simple to " blab," my dear ! — take my word for that,' says Cock Robin. ' She'll get you into a jolly scrape for this — see if she don't.' ' I'll kill her if she does,' retorts Louie with clenched teeth. Meanwhile Susie continues to sob in her corner, crying, ' Oh, do let me go home ! ' and Horseley is sitting upon the carpet, looking about him in a sottish and bewildered way, as if he did not at all understand how he had come there.

They are in this predicament when an altercation is distinctly heard going on in the hall beneath, and Louie Montressor has only time to exclaim, in a voice of terror, ' It's the governor ! ' when the door of the supper-room is thrown violently open, and Joseph Gresham stands upon the threshold. Miss Montressor shrinks behind her companions ; but to Susie the sight of her father conveys but one idea — that of protection — and with an exclama tion of relief she rushes into his arms. reiterating the cry, — ' Oh, father ! do take me home ! ' Joseph Gresham closes his hand over that of his daughter, and standing with her, glares on the assembled officers. ' Which of you scoundrels is it that brought this girl here ? ' he demands. ' Give me your names ! Do you hear ? If you refuse, I'll fight the whole lot of you, one after the other, until you do.' And with his determined face, mus cular figure, and clenched fist, he looks quite capable of doing what he says. ' Look here,' says Fairfax insolently, ' I suppose your name's Gresham, and you fancy you have some sort of control over these young ladies, but we're not going to have any of that sort of Ianguage, you know, and so the sooner you clear out the better.' ' I shall stav here as long as I think sit, whoever you may be,' returns the manager; ' and I tell you to your face that you're a d — d scoundrel to inveigle a girl like this into company that you know is not fit for her, and for purposes that you'd be ashamed to confess.

Look at that drunken brute there,' continues Gresham, pointing to Horseley, who is vainly trying to under stand what is going on, 'and tell me if he is in a fit state to be trusted in the society of young girls. And look at the condition in which I find my daughter,' he adds, twisting round Susie's tear-stained face to the gaslight. ' Does that look as if you had treated her as officers and gentlemen should have done ? ' 'Here's tall talk!' cries Miss Robin. But she had better have remained in the background. ' And that woman ! ' exclaims Gresham fiercely, ' that woman is a fit person, isn't she, to ask any decent girl to sit down to supper with — ' ' Come, now,' interposes Fairfax, ' how ever offended you may be, Mr Gresham, I will not allow you to abuse any of my guests. Your daughter and her friend t_> o accepted my invitation to supper, without making any conditions.