Lieutenant Barnabas, a novel

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Contents

THE SECOND VOLUME.

CHAPTI& PAGI

I.— The Nigbt of the Ball . . . . 1

Chapter I. The Night Op The Ball

ADY BETTY was dressed and waiting in her mamma's bed-room, while that lady vainlyendeavoured to get her foot into a shoe several sizes smaller than her foot.

" I know I told him to make them small, but I didn't tell him to make them too small," said Mrs. St. Cyr, pettishly ;

VOL. n.

THE NIGHT OF THE BALL.

" I can't go without shoes, that's certain, and I have no others. I have got my toes in, that's one comfort, though the pain is most excruciating. A knock at the door ? Come in. No, wait ! Who's there?"

" I," answered Tom, from the outside. " Gerard waits, and the carriage is at the door."

" Tell him I shall not keep him a moment. I have only to get on my shoes, and one is nearly half on already. I shan't be ten minutes. My darling, I can never get them on." To the heated maid, " Pull, you stupid thing, pull !"

Presently, Lady Betty unable to assist, and her stock of advice exhausted, left the room to descend to the drawing-room.

Tom was sitting on the stairs.

"Are you ready?" he asked, slipping one hand behind him.

THE NIGHT OF THE BALL.

" Quite. You have the first view : what do you think of me ?"

" You are beautiful !" he answered in a murmur. " But the light is insufficient here ; will you come down to the dining-room."

" Why not the drawing-room ?"

" Gerard is there." She looked at him, laughed low, and laying her hand on his arm, said :

" We must go past the door silently, or he will be jealous, too."

They stole past the drawing-room door. Lady Betty with her red nether lips under her pearly teeth, and an expression of innocent wickedness in her lively eyes.

" Now J what do you think of me?" she asked again, as they came into the hght of the dining-room, and closed the door.

" You, or your dress ?" asked Tom.

21—2

THE NIGHT OF THE BALL.

" Both — individually and separately." " There are no words rich enough to express what I think of your beauty ; but your costume seems to me imperfect. Something should crown the perfect brow."

"Ahl'' said Lady Betty, with a sigh. "I thought of a tiara — but mamma pleaded poverty. I did think of the light with which Aurora's head is represented."

" So did I," said Tom, bringing his hand from behind him, and putting a large case in Lady Betty's hands.

She opened it, looked at it in breathless surprise and delight for a minute, then lifted her eyes to Tom's face, and the next moment— laid the box on the table and burst into tears.

"What 18 the matter, dear girl?" asked Tom, in terror.

She did not reply. A girl does not make fine speeches when her heart is full, and sobs rise choking in her throat.

" Dear Betty — what moves you so ?'* he asked, again.

" Your heart," sob " is too — too good," sob, " dear Tom, and I — I am a" — sob " selfish girl — I know I am" sob — " and I think only of my own happiness, and forget my dear" — sob "dear — dearest friend."

She came close to him, suffering him to put his arm around her and wipe the tears from her eyes with his handkerchief, as he said soothingly :

" Come, Betty dear, smile. I bought the toy to please you, not to make you cry.

** I wish with all my heart you were going with me, Tom," she said, still looking grave.

He looked down upon her sweet face, then bent and pressed a kiss upon her

THE NIGHT OP THE BALL.

waving hair. It was the passionate kiss of a lover, but it imparted no more emotion to her than a mother's caress. Another moment's regretful silence, and then her eyes wandered to the table where she had deposited the gift, and she smiled again. It was yet April with her.

He released her, and she took the diadem — set it on her head, and looking at herself in the glass, gave a deep sigh of satisfaction.

" 'Tis charming," she said. " I must go and show it to mamma at once."

" Can't you wait here till she comes down ?"

" It is getting so late, Tom — and mamma must be hurried. Poor soul, she has to put on a pair of shoes, and the two are only large enough for one foot. Ah ! there is her voice — she has done it !"

THE NIGHT OF THE BALL.

"Mr. Talbot," called Mrs. St. Cyr. "Will you be good enough to bid the coachman lay down the carpet and open the door of the chariot ?"

And while Lady Betty ran up to the drawing-room to display herself before Mrs. St. Cyr and Gerard, Tom did his duty, and saw that the necessary arrangements were made ; afterwards he had the happiness of taking Lady Betty down, and placing her in the carriage, Mrs. St. Cyr following slowly, supported by Gerard and the maid.

It required the combined efforts of Tom and Gerard to hoist Mrs. St. Cyr into her seat, for her shoes seemed to have deprived her limbs as well as her feet of power.

Tom closed the door, gave a last glance at Lady Betty's radiant face — and then signalled to the coachman, and saw the heavy chariot roll away.

" Shall I leave the door open for you, Sir?" asked the maid, when she had waited a reasonable time after the departure of the carriage, for Tom to make some movement.

Aroused from the lethargy into which he had sunk when the chariot disappeared from his sight, Tom shook his head without turning, and slowly walked away. He had nowhere to go, nothing to do, the customary resources of entertainment were unpalatable to him, and so he wandered about purposelessly, until it suddenly struck him -that it would be agreeable to walk in Stanhope Street, and look at the house where Lady Betty was enjoying herself.

Thoroughfare was stopped in the approaches to Mrs. Walker's house. Carriages blocked the streets, and the masks made their way on foot escorted by liveried servants with flambeaux. In

THE NIGHT OF THE BALL.

front of the house a company of musicians in costume received the visitors, a detachment of the Royal Guards kept back the mob. Tom threw himself into the crowd, and partly by the exertions of those around him, partly by his own, got a place in the front rank, nearly facing the house.

There was very little to see. The masks entering the house were the attraction for most people; but Tom fixed his eyes on the windows of the ball-room, and saw nothing else in trying to define the outline of one beloved figure in the moving throng shadowed upon the rose silk blinds. He had no doubt that Lady Betty was the centre of admiration, and a feeling of pride stirred his heart, as he thought, erroneously enough perhaps, that all the commotion about him was but a tribute to her beauty.

Suddenly the Body Guards began to back their horses, the hum of voices rose to a roar, and the royal carriage drove up to the door. The Prince of Wales in a grey silk domino with a deep lace edged cape, and Mrs. FitzHerbert, in a pale lilac silk domino alighted, and entered the house. Tom then ceased to exult in the beauty of Lady Betty.

The mob thinned quickly after the departure of the royal carriage. In half-an-hour visitors ceased to arrive, in an hour the idlers had gone to their homes. Probably no one would leave the ball for three hours at the least. Yet Tom still paced the pavement, his head down and his hands behind him. Time was nothing to him.

The gaiety in the ball-room was in its zenith. Passing the house strains of music reached his ears. The sound

THE NIGHT OF THE BALL, ii

displeased him; he could not look up at the rose-pink blinds ; he feared shadows now, and his mind was again tormented with turbulent jealousy. He turned up Stanhope Street to escape the sounds of music. At the upper end all was still, the coachmen slept inside their carriages, and there was not a sound, except when a horse pawed the ground or champed its bit. Suddenly the silence was rudely broken by hurrying footsteps, and voices raised high.

" Mrs. St. Cyr's chariot I Mrs. St. Cyr's chariot I" was the cry.

Tom stopped in amazement, and turned to see who called.

A man in a white satin costume, without his hat, ran past him, looking at the carriages and calling as he went, "Mrs. St. Cyr's carriage!" It was Gerard Crewe.

la THE NIGHT OF THE BALL.

Tom recognised him, and running after him, caught hold of his arm.

" What is the matter ? whefe is Lady- Betty ?" he cried.

" She is quite safe," answered Gerard, -without stopping, and still glancing from carriage to carriage, while three or four men still woke the echoes with their cry for Mrs. St. Cyr's chariot.

" Then why have you left her ? answer me, Gerard. You promised to protect her. Have you left her with her mother ?"

" Her mother," answered Gerard, " is dead !"

CHAPTER n.

A SECOND OPFEE.

ES. ST. CYE had taken a seat in a corner of the ball-room, which commanded a good view, and had not moved from it. She was pale, and complained of "the palpitations," but Lady Betty, who knew nothing of Doctor Blandly's warning, had treated these signs and words lightly, and attributed them to nothing more serious than to the torture of wearing tight shoes.

Mrs. St. Oyr's excitement was followed by a strange drowsiness. A dowager who sat next to her observed that she dropped her fan without noticing it, and her head sank forward slightly as if she were dozing. At that moment she thought it right to awake her, as Lady Betty was approaching with the Prince.

" Rise, madam, rise," she said ; " the Prince of Wales and your daughter are before you."

Mrs. St. Cyr opened her eyes, to see, perhaps, the consummation of her dream, rose with a faint cry, and then fell forward, dead, at the very feet of her daughter and the Prince. The subsequent inquiry proved that her heart was diseased, and its action had been so weak, that the excitement of the scene was amply suflRcient to produce death.

It was the most severe shock Lady Betty had ever had. For some days her faculties seemed numbed and paralysed by the terrible catastrophe ; she received the condolence of visiting friends with slight emotion, almost with apathy, as if she could not yet realise that the event was actual and real; then her spirit awoke from its lethargy, to suffer all that a womanly heart can endure in its first experience of loss. For a week she was disconsolate, refusing to see anyone except her maid and Tom.

In the hour of grief Tom had a manly incapability of saying anything, which made him a more acceptable companion to the sufferer than any wordy comforter. Beyond bringing her presents of flowers and fruit he offered no consolation, he was too wretched himself, but she knew that he sympathised with her to his soul's extent, his face was constantly long, his complexion bad, and more than once when she burst into tears he kept her i6 A SECOND OFFER,

company; for be it remembered men at that time were either softer of heart or less ashamed of tears than now.

After Mrs. St. Cyr's funeral Lady Betty's grief diminished, she assuaged her tears, and began to look about her. One fine afternoon she consented to walk in the park with Tom. It surprised her to find all the trees in young leaf, and delighted her also. They walked in the alleys removed from the promenade, and to Lady Betty's mind there was nothing more beautiful than the look of the tender green foliage, the bright soft light, and the occasional glimpse of gaiety in the distant promenade. The retirement harmonized with the lingering sadness in her heart, while the occasional snatches of colour and life upon the promenade suggested hope and pleasure.

" Let us sit here," she said, when they came to a seat.

They sat in the soft umbrage, and Ladj Betty, looking around her, said :

" Ah ! if poor dear mamma was beside us!"

Tom responded only with a sigh, sighing not because of Mrs. St. Cyr's absence — he had an idea that Mrs. St. Cyr would not have chosen that pleasant retreat to rest in — but in sympathy with Lady Betty. Her face was pale and sad, she looked sweeter than ever in her mourning dress.

Neither spoke for some time ; a sparrow struggling to carry away a long straw to its nesting-place presently attracted their attention. Lady Betty became interested in the efforts of the sturdy little creature, and her face grew animated.

" Pretty dear I" she murmured. "Would you not like to go in the country?" asked Tom; "to hunt in the woods for primroses and anemonies ? 'Tis not too late."

" Oh, there's nothing I like better than hunting in the woods for wild flowers ! Daffodils — don't you like daffodils, with their great, bold yellow blooms and tender green leaves? Oh, yes, I should like to go in the country !" She clasped her hands with delight, then with a return of gravity. " But how can I go now, Tom, alone ?"

" You are not alone," said Tom, gently resting his arm on his knee, and looking into her face.

She looked at him gravely, dropped her eyes, and twined her fingers in silence.

"Be my wife, dear, and let us go away where nature is sweetest," continued Tom. " By the time the wild roses are in bloom your cheeks will be pink again, and your heart light.'*

She lifted her eyes and looked straight before her, her mind gradually wandering from the subject of Tom's remarks. The thick trunk of a tree stopped her view; moving a little from Tom and inclining her head to the side, she just caught a glimpse of the promenade — of carriages moving rapidly, of ladies gaily dressed, and dawdling dandies. Then a lady on horseback passed, and she craned her neck a little farther to see if she sat well, if her figure was good, and her habit becoming. Perhaps it was that glimpse that decided her fate.

" Be it yes or nay, give me an answer," pleaded Tom.

"No, Tom — I cannot marry yet," she

answered, looking him full in his earnest

face. " When I am sad I feel as if I

would like to be a sober wife, and

think of no one but you, and settle down to the steady routine of a domestic life. But I don't want you to have a sad, dull wife, and I don't want to marry for a mean motive— a selfish end. I must give my husband love for love, or we shall be mated but not matched. Give me time, Tom. I do believe I shall marry you one day, for I can imagine no one so loving and true as you."

" Will you not give me your pledge that you will marry me and no one else."

" No — that would never do," she smiled. " I can do nothing under restraint. It is the fault of my nature. If I had been in Eve's place, I shoidd have made myself ill with eating apples, without waiting for any serpent to advise me. Wait patiently a little while. Fruit is best gathered when npe.

" But you cannot live alone in that house."

Lady Betty thought of the lonely house, and shuddered slightly.

" Everyone admits that," pursued Tom. " It will expose you to observation if I visit you more frequently than custom allows to ordinary friendship."

'* That is not your idea, Tom. Who told you so?"

" Gerard." Tom hesitated a moment or two, then continued. " He has argued the matter clearly, and convinced me against my own opinion." He paused, then with an evident struggle recommenced. " I'll tell you all. The fact is, while you have refused to see your friends they have been thinking a great deal about you, and failing to see you themselves, have sent a message through me."

" How mysterious you are — why did you not deliver your message before ?"

" You will see presently. Mrs. Walker " — Tom groaned — " Mrs. Walker desires you to live with her while she remains in London."

" How kind," said Lady Betty, her eyes sparkling.

" And Gerard has pointed out that it will be the best thing in the world for you, if — if you won't marry me. You know now why I delayed giving her message."

" You are a selfish, cruel — dear. Be cheerful, Tom. Don't you see that the prospect makes me happy. Why are you crushing that herb under your heel, and looking as though you wished that spot of ground comprised all London."

" Because I hate London," said he with emphasis, grinding a hole and burying the unoffending herb with his heel.

"That is to say you hate Mrs. Walker.''

" There is no love lost between us. We have spoken to each other only once, and parted with a mutual desire to see each other no more.''

** If she was rude to you, Tom, she was rude to me, and I will speak to her no more."

" No. I think it was the other way. I was rude to her. I believe 'tis nothing but mutual antipathy. Do not let my ill-temper prejudice you against her — it is my belief that her intentions towards you are of the kindest — and — and I believe you will be happy if you accept the invitation."

" Tell me why the proposal is unpleasant then to you ?"

M A SECOND OFFER.

" Consider what I lose ! I may see you by chance now and then in the Park — at the theatre — in a picturegallery — you may pass me in her carriage, or on horse; but virtually you are lost to me — for a season at least. Yet that may be no more than the beginning of a still wider and more complete separation."

" Oh, Tom, how can you say so — sitting here by my side, knowing me as you do. Am I heartless and false utterly. Did I say that I loved you better *than anyone in the world that my words should be forgotten or mistrusted? if so I wish the admission unsaid."

" Forgive me for saying anything which could make you imagine me so ungrateful. What I meant is this : I cannot visit you at Mrs. Walker's."

" And why not ? Listen, Tom— if I may not see my friends as freely as I wish — if you are not to be as welcome as myself, I will not accept this invitation."

Lady Betty meant what she said. Nevertheless at the end of six weeks she had been a resident in Mrs. Walker's house for a month, and had seen Tom three times and no more.

Chapter III. An Evil Genius

EAR TOM,

" Have you forgotten me so soon ? I have not seen you for three weeks ; it is not my fault. Come and beg my forgiveness. To-morrow afternoon I shall be quite alone, and, I think, gently disposed.

" Very afEectionatoly yours,

" Lady Betty."

To this point Tom read with a flow of happiness to his heart, which was sadly in need of such a tender influence. He put the letter to his lips, for her hand had touched and hallowed it. Then he read the foot note :

" Postscriptum — Don't come to-day."

Tom folded the letter in sombre meditation.

" Why are you not to go to-day ?" asked his evil genius.

And the evil genius having obtained great power over Tom in the past unhappy fourteen or fifteen days, he lent ear, and against all the better promptings of his mind, he determined that he would call upon Lady Betty this very afternoon. If Lady Betty was out no harm could be done ; if, on the other hand. Lady Betty had visitors to whom she gave the preference, harm might be done, " and so much the better," hinted the evil genius.

He allowed no time for his blood to cool; in hot haste he made his way to Stanhope Street. As he approached the house at the comer, the Prince of Wales*s carriage passed him, empty. He stopped and looked after it, trembling in every limb with the fever of jealousy. Poor fooll if the Prince had been seated peaceably in the carriage he would have felt no less emotion.

The footman, in reply to his question, answered that Miss St. Cyr was in the house, and conducted him into the library, where he found himself alone. The reflection flashed upon him that perhaps after all he had deceived himself. It was not impossible that Mrs. Walker was unwell and wished to be alone. He sat down wondering how he should excuse himself when Lady Betty came to him if this were the case. He listened to an approaching footstep with agitation.

The door opened, and there entered — Gerard Crewe.

" Ah, Tom," he said, closing the door.

The catch seemed diflBcult to fasten. He stood still with his hand on the lock.

" You have come at an unfortunate moment. Sit down," he said, crossing the room.

"One word. Is Lady Betty up-stairs ?"

*^Yes; she is in the reception-room," answered Gerard, standing between Tom and the door.

" Then I will go up to her."

Tom tried to pass, but Gerard, quickly shifting his position, faced him still, and said:

" Sit down, my dear Tom ; be reasonable. It is impossible for you to go up-stairs at present."

30 AS EVIL GENIUS,

" And why ?" asked Tom, in a harsh voice.

" The Prince is there.'*

" I knew it — I knew it/* muttered Tom, his face growing livid, and his teeth clenched tightly together. "I knew it the moment you entered the room. We shall see if it is impossible to go into the reception-room."

He pushed brusquely past Gerard, and attempted to open the door. It was locked and the key taken.

" Who has locked this door ?" he cried, fiercely.

" I have. The key is in my pocket. You shall have it the moment you are calm."

" What authority have you to put conditions upon my liberty ?"

" The authority of a friend."

**I refuse to consider you my friend. Give me the key."

"Not until you are reasonable, and know what you are doing."

" You viUian ! give me the key !" Tom cried in a fury, seizing Gerard by the arm.

Gerard was far the slighter man. In a struggle he would have had no chance against Tom; but he did not budge an inch. He looked in Tom's face with unflinching calmness, and said :

" Take your hand from my arm, Tom. What do you expect to gain by this violence ? I will fling the key through the window rather than suffer you to disgrace yourself and insult Lady Betty. I am her friend no less than you; at this moment I am a better friend than you."

" You, a "

Tom checked himself. Mad as he was with passion he was ashamed of the taunt at his tongue's end.

3a AN EVIL GENIUS.

"A gamester by my own confession," said Gerard, completing Tom's sentence. " Well ?"

Tom dropped his hand from Gerard's arm abashed. Gerard took advantage of the momentary calm and continued :

"A gamester may yet have the feelings of a man — pity for another, blind and reckless with jealousy, and for a helpless, sensitive girl. Listen to me, Tom."

There was the sound of a door opening in the room above, and of voices, which, falling on Tom's ear, re-aroused the devil in his breast.

" I will not listen to you," he cried. "It is by listening to your sophistry that I have been cheated into error — that I suffered Lady Betty to come into this — this den "

" What on earth do you mean ?"

**I say that this house is vile, and you know it. Who is this Mrs. Walker — this fashionable beauty? A second Mrs. FitzHerbert. And between you you would make a third of Lady Betty. You play the part of jackal to a marvel, guarding the royal beast with the hope of getting what is left when his appetite is glutted. Send me your friends to-morrow, you shall not live if there is justice in Heaven !"

Tom threw himself in a chair, as if exhausted by the paroxysm of his rage. The street door had closed. Gerard made no answer to Tom except by a formal bow. He walked across and across the room, with his eyes on the floor.

There was a knock at the door, and Lady Betty, in a lively tone, cried, " May I come in, gentlemen?"

Gerard glanced at Tom, who sat sul-

YOL. II. 23 lenly in his chair and heard the voice without moving a muscle, and then took the key from his pocket and opened the door.

Lady Betty entered with a bright smile on her face, caught sight of Tom, checked herself in the very act of making a courtesy, and becoming instantly serious, said to Gerard :

" Mrs. Walker is alone ; will you be good enough to join her?"

After a moment's hesitation, Gerard bowed and left the room. Tom still sat.

*'Do you know that I am in the room?" Lady Betty asked.

Tom rose to his feet, and said coldly :

*' You did not expect to see me, it seems."

" No ; I wrote asking you not to come this afternoon. Evidently you did not receive my letter."

^* On the contrary ; it was that request which brought me here."

" In that case you owe me an explanation."

"It is very simple. I suspected your reason for wishing me away."

" You are so amazingly candid that I should not be surprised by your adding that the main object of your visit is to insult me."

" There are insults, less pardonable than the plain speaking of an honest man, which you appear to accept with willingness."

" If you think I feel any sort of pleasure in submitting to yours, you are in error."

" I am in no humour to bandy words,

Lady Betty, the subject is too serious

to treat with drawing-room levity. You

know the insults to which I refer."

" In the matter of insults you must necessarily have the advantage of me. At present I have experience of only one kind of insolence, but doubtless, with Mr. Talbot to enlighten me, I shall soon know every possible variety."

*^ I would that you knew no worse than I can offer — the rudeness of a rough and angry man." Tom spoke with a soft inflexion of the voice, and his eyes rested for a moment on Lady Betty with a tenderness which did more to shake her than his fiercest words. *^ The insult which should make your virgin blood rise in choler to your face, and stir your soul with indignation, is that which men, wanting in principle and honour, put upon you when they claim equality with you.'*

" I do not understand you," said Lady Betty, with grave perplexity in her voice and features.

"My meaning is this — the men who visit this house, to whom you give your hand in friendship, whose conversation you listen to are roues — rakes — men loose in thought and principle, who wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of your innocence, seeking by insidious means to shake the foundation of your self-respect and delicacy.**

" Tom, I should laugh if anyone but you talked such extravagant nonsense ; but I feel more inclined to cry when you suffer your reason to be so warped by prejudice and jealousy. Is it possible that a society can be formed entirely of perfect men and women. Is each individual to be examined and to carry a diploma of merit for presentation on his introduction to a new acquaintance. And do not you think that if an examination of that kind could be made, the society founded upon it would be very hypocritical, very narrow, and excessively stupid ?"