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Mrs. De Jobbyns frowned. She would have liked her to add 'ma'am,' like
any other paid dependant; but Alison, of course, never thought of such a
thing.
'You may withdraw now, Miss Cheyne,' said the lady, with an
assumption of would-be dignity that sat rather absurdly on the whilome
dispenser of glasses of gin and bitters and pints of stout at the bar of the
'Black Swan.'
'Oh, Miss Cheyne, I wonder when the wedding is to be!' exclaimed little
Irene when Alison returned to the school-room.
'Why not? I heard cook call him so when she told the tablemaid, and
said we two girls would be bridesmaids.'
'He will soon be here—how do you think I look?' she asked for the third
or fourth time.
As Alison's delicate fingers were adjusting some parts of the lace, the
sharp eyes of Miss De Jobbyns observed—as they had often done before—
the ring, the engagement ring, which the former had received from her
lover, under the whispering beeches, one evening.
'It is valuable.'
'When it was given to me, teaching was not thought of,' said Alison, in a
low, sad voice.
'I have no end of lovely rings; but,' urged the girl, who was by nature
covetous, 'you might lend it to me, just for to-night, though you wouldn't
lend that funny ornament for the Le Robbynson's ball.'
'Because his eyes met mine as he said so; and I do hope I blushed—I am
sure I did.'
For some time her thoughts were terrible. She recalled the drag alleged
by the public prints to be Goring's—the entertainment, given even to
royalty, at 'his rooms in Piccadilly,' all evidences of wealth that must have
come to him since the time she was decoyed to the Continent, and in the
fact of that wealth—the absence of which was the cause of her father's
hostility to the last hour of his life—this girl's remarks now confirmed her!
That Bevil Goring could love or even admire such a girl—a man so
refined and delicate in taste and ideas—she never for a moment imagined;
but what did the whole situation and that girl's boastful allegations mean?
How came he to know such people, despite their great wealth, and permit
them to cultivate his acquaintance? Yet matters seemed to have progressed
so far that even the servants were canvassing the prospects of a wedding!
More than all, why, oh why had he never attempted to discover her, to
trace her out, in these her days of poverty and sore trial!
Stooping over the stair-bannister, she heard his voice once or twice as
the male guests filed off to the drawing-room after the ladies, and it thrilled
through her heart. A choking lump rose in her throat, but still not a tear
would come.
After a time she was roused by some one addressing her. It was a
servant, by nature saucy, under-bred, illiterate, and disposed to be
impertinent in general when she could be so with impunity.
'Yes; the missus says as you are to tittivate yourself a bit and come
down to the drawing-room.'
'Don't you know your place? You are honly a guv'ness, and guv'nesses
ain't ladies, whatever they may think.'
'Mock ones.'
'Yes,' was the cool response; 'ma thinks it part of your duty to make
yourself generally useful; and, I suppose, you can play whist?'
The girl was too underbred to be aware how heartless was the sang
froid, in which she suggested, or commanded, that Alison should make
herself useful.
'Must—why?'
'A hand is wanted at the whist table, and I want Bevil at the piano, all to
myself.'
'Bother your headache!' was the elegant response; 'try sal volatile,
Rimmel's vinegar, anything, but come.'
The vicar of Chilcote was, she knew, in town, and to him she would
appeal to procure her another home, where she would hear the name of
Bevil Goring no more!
CHAPTER XIX.
While Dalton, under Laura's care and nursing, had been fast recovering
health and strength, on leave of absence, at Chilcote Grange; and Jerry
Wilmot, though less tenderly cared for at Wilmothurst, surrounded as he
was then by every luxury and comfort still, was also fast learning to forget
all he had endured in Ashanti, and all the natural buoyancy of his spirits
was returning, Lady Julia was as full of unspeakable animosity at Mr.
Chevenix as the languid character of her aristocratic nature would permit
her to be.
A regular breach had replaced the cool indifference with which she had
viewed that personage. In the profundity of his plebeian insolence he had at
last taken full measures to obtain the interest on his mortgages, and more,
he had foreclosed them, and ruin now awaited the house of Wilmot!
And again and again, while tenderly carressing Flossie, or having her
long tresses brushed out by Mademoiselle Florine, she languidly bewailed
to Cousin Emily, or to Jerry, who lingered near her with the cigar in hand he
dared not light in her presence, that 'the artful pillager of the Wilmot estates
would drive her to a beggar's grave in a foreign land.'
Though Jerry thought life was too short 'for all this sort of thing,' and
was making up his mind to 'cut the whole thing' and go to India, he was still
on friendly terms with old Mr. Chevenix, but nevertheless was greatly
ruffled by stories that reached him of Lord Twiseldown's attention to Bella,
and was once, as he phrased it, 'awfully cut up,' when coming upon them
riding together without even a groom in attendance, and nearly overtook
them in a green lane—yea, would have done so, had he not timely drawn
the bridle of his own horse.
They had been laughing and talking amicably—certainly more like
friends, it would seem, than lovers, as gossip averred them to be; and with
aching heart, and eager and admiring eyes, poor Jerry Wilmot—poor in
more ways than one, for he was a ruined man now—observed the air and
bearing of the handsome girl, in her dark blue riding habit—a costume so
fitted for the display of every womanly grace—while from her slender waist
she moved with every movement of her horse, the very action of which
seemed to assert that he was proud of having such a rider.
Still more was Jerry 'cut up' and then perplexed when, soon after, he met
Mr. Chevenix, who, with a twinkle in his eye—whether of pride or mischief
the said Jerry failed to detect—informed him, somewhat unnecessarily as he
thought, that Lord Twiseldown had proposed to Bella.
'Yes.'
'Why?'
'Refused him!'
'Yes; odd, isn't it? Can't make Bella out at all,' replied Mr. Chevenix, as
he nodded, smiled, and trotted away on his cob.
'That girl again!' said Lady Julia, as he rode off. 'I did not think that he
had actually involved himself with her.'
'Nor has he, perhaps, auntie,' sighed Cousin Emily, though her heart
made her suspect otherwise.
'I believe Jerry to be, like many young men of the present day,' resumed
Lady Julia, still obtuse as to the new situation, 'one of those who think they
can—especially with a girl of her position in society—go to the utmost
confines of love-making—can look, say, and do what they please, and yet
do and say nothing that will quite compromise them, or involve their
honour; and girls such as the Chevenix quite understand the matter. But that
there should be more in it passes my comprehension, and yours too, darling
Flossie,' she added, taking the cur out of its mother-of-pearl basket and
kissing its nose tenderly.
She spoke, as usual, languidly and softly, for she was ever one of those
who deem that 'feeling, or any betrayal of it, is a sure sign of an ill-bred
person'—bad form, in short.
Meanwhile Jerry was tête-à-tête with Bella Chevenix in her pretty little
drawing-room overlooking the ivy-clad church and the village green.
Jerry was rather grave, for Bella had been piqued by his absence, and
received him, he thought, rather coldly, which led him to fear there 'was
some other fellow in the field;' but anon Bella began to rally him, for she
could not but remember that the letter he had written on the night before
Coomassie was entered, amounted quite to a declaration.
'I begin to sicken of the world and all its bitterness, Bella,' said he, a
little irrelevantly, on which she sang, softly,
'I wonder if you will be so merry when we meet again, years hence, if
ever,' said Jerry, almost angrily.
'Why?'
'Can you ask—when you know that I am a ruined and beggared man?'
He was looking doggedly out of the window, and did not see how her
sensitive lips quivered, and how her shapely bodice was heaving with the
painful pulsations of her warm and affectionate heart; for Bella—impulsive
Bella—felt that if she said only a little more she must break down
altogether; and the muscles of her slender throat ached with the efforts she
made to keep back her desire to weep.
'You know how, and why; the past is over—at an end, and for ever; but
do think of me kindly, Bella, when I am far away from you—for my own
kindred are few and cold—yea, seem to have little heart for me.'
'Jerry, dear Jerry,' said the girl, in a low voice, 'ere this, I thought you
would have asked me to marry—to—to marry you.'
'Why?'
'Lest you might misunderstand me.'
'Then, Jerry, will you marry me?' she said, while her sweet voice sank
into a pleading whisper; 'I have always loved you.'
'Oh, Bella darling,' said Jerry, after sundry incoherences had been
indulged in, 'though far, far away from you, I often dreamed of such an hour
as this—for I was always with you in the spirit.'
'I would rather have had you, as I have you now, you dear, provoking
old Jerry, in the flesh,' replied Bella, with one of her arch and waggish
smiles. 'It is much more satisfactory.'
So Wilmothurst would return to the old line again, in all its vast extent
of fertile acreage, and with the latter would come a bride second to none in
brilliance and beauty that had ever come there before, though not—like
haughty Lady Julia, the daughter of ever so many earls—but of a hale,
stout, and warm-hearted old fellow, who loved Jerry as his own son—
though, sooth to say, we fear he will never be able to abide his mother, who
eventually took up her abode, in sullen and stately grandeur, with Cousin
Emily, at the restored Dower House in Langley Park.
So Jerry did not go up to the Horse Guards after all, but quietly and
rapidly set about the arrangements for his marriage, which was very soon to
come about; and, meanwhile, as may be supposed, he spent every spare
hour—and he had a good many of them—with Bella.
'The joy of my life is a tête-à-tête with you, dearest Bella,' said Jerry, as
he lay on the grass at her feet one evening smoking his brier-root. 'My lady
mother's manner is so cold and stately that she quite thrusts all a poor
fellow's heart back upon himself. By Jove, you should have seen her mode
of welcoming me home after our shindy in Ashanti! I would have preferred
less etiquette and more love; some of the kissing and clinging some of our
poor fellows, like Tony Dalton, received on the day we landed at
Portsmouth.'
'Poor Jerry! you will never want for kisses now,' said Bella, laughingly.
'Has he heard aught yet of Miss Cheyne, poor girl?' asked Bella, who
naturally took a deep interest in all love affairs, especially just then.
'He says that he has not. Here is his epistle; but that he is bored to death
by a soap-boiler's widow and her daughter, an absurd couple, whom, for his
sins, he met at the house of Taype, his solicitor, and who have made a dead
set at him—waylay him in the park with their carriage, haunt the vicinity of
his club, and pester him with invitations.
'But everyone has not the wealth and handsome person of Captain
Goring.'
So there were two sides to the picture drawn by the fervid fancy or
vanity of Miss Victoria De Jobbyns; and Alison Cheyne, had she known all,
need not have wept so bitterly far into the hours of the night, as related.
CHAPTER XX.
HOMELESS.
With Alison events were fated to follow each other fast now.
Alison, we have said, could not throw herself in Goring's way; her pride
and delicacy, all love apart, revolted at the idea and she now actually
trembled lest the chance mention of her not very common name by any of
the De Jobbyns' family might lead to the discovery of her identity in her
present humble position.
And now a letter, on the envelope of which a coronet figured, was, after
being long inspected, and the cause of much surmise by Mrs. and Miss De
Jobbyns, handed to her by a servant. She opened it and read. It would seem
that, though Bevil Goring had failed to obtain from the vicar of Chilcote the
London address of Alison and a clue to her circumstances, the 'Right
Honourable Lord Cadbury' had succeeded in obtaining both, in virtue of his
rank, we presume; and the result was this letter, most subtily and cunningly
worded, and dated not from his club or from Cadbury Court, but from the
villa of his 'lady friend' at St. John's Wood, offering her a home there, and
containing what she conceived at first to be another offer of marriage; but,
on re-reading it, the real meaning of and nature of the document came
before her, in all its insulting form and truth, as it fell from her hand ere she
tore it into minute fragments with trembling fingers. She grew deadly pale,
but her lips became firm and set; her bosom heaved, and all the purity of
her nature, her pride of old position and race, l'esprit de famille which her
father had inculcated rose within her, she covered her face with her hands as
if to thrust back her tears, and exclaimed, in a low voice,
'Oh, papa, papa! It wanted but this insult to complete the humiliation of
my life!'
At last she rose from her bed and proceeded to dress herself with the
intention of visiting the vicar without delay to beseech him to find her
another home; but—on looking about her toilet-table, where she had
certainly left it over night—she missed her locket—the locket with the
likeness of Bevil in it!
She instituted a strict if hurried search over all her little room, but no
trace of it could be found.
The servant who had brought breakfast to her on a covered salver had
never approached the toilet-table she was certain; but Miss De Jobbyns had,
as she remembered, lingered before the mirror, and trifled with the little
etceteras that lay thereby.
Impossible! Yet Alison had barely completed attiring herself for the
street, with the intention of asking permission to go out for a little time,
when a maid appeared, sent by Mrs. De Jobbyns, to request her presence in
the drawing-room.
'Jealousy,' we are told, 'smacks of low life and the drama.' Be that as it
may, Alison was now fated to a sample thereof.
'Is this your property, Miss Cheyne?' asked Mrs. Slumpkin De Jobbyns,
frigidly, yet tremulous with passion.
'It is; and how came it in your possession, I demand?' exclaimed Alison.
'You demand?'
'Yes.'
'It matters very much indeed,' said Alison, her spirit rising to the
occasion; 'a theft has been committed, else my locket would have been
where I left it, on my toilet-table.'
'Do not attempt to bandy words with me,' said the lady of the mansion,
assuming a bullying tone. 'But how is it that the likeness of a friend of this
family—of a gentleman visitor—a stranger to a person in your position, of
course—is in your possession?'
'And how do you dare to wear it?' added Miss De Jobbyns, in a shrill
voice of passion, as her mother tossed the locket to the feet of Alison, who
regained it, and deliberately placed it in the bosom of her dress.
'You are unfit to teach my darlings—if you have not corrupted their
angel minds already—and I request you to quit Pembridge Square at once.
The housekeeper will give you what is due in lieu of a month's notice.'
Alison had not been unprepared for this dictum. She had heard it
without a shock, and, though certainly dismayed by the sudden turn her
affairs had taken, at once prepared for and took her departure.
She kissed and bade adieu to her two little pupils, Irene and Iseulte,
whose names had no doubt been suggested by the London Journal—a
periodical much affected by Mrs. Slumpkin De Jobbyns in her youth, and
then drove away.
The daughter of the house, enraged and bewildered, knew not precisely
what to think of the affair, but she had a gloomy fear that so far as Bevil
Goring was concerned her hopes were vanishing into thin air, or on the eve
of being shattered like the crystal in the basket of Alnaschar, of whom no
doubt she never heard.
As the cab quitted the square, Alison shrank back on perceiving Sir
Jasper Dehorsey (or 'Captain Smith,' as she supposed him to be) ambling
his horse slowly along, and watching—as she had before known him to do
—the windows of the house she had just quitted for ever; and this incident,
with the memory of Cadbury's cruel and cowardly letter, filled her heart
with horror, bitterness, and dismay. She felt so well-nigh penniless and
helpless, too.
The summer sunshine was in all its brightness and glory, but Alison felt
as if a mist surrounded her, and as if the surging of great waters was in her
ears, and she feared that she might faint.
'And what are you doing here now that poor Sir Ranald is dead?'
'What square?'
'My God!' exclaimed Goring, growing red and pale alternately; 'my
darling reduced to this, and all unknown to me! When came this about?'
'A week or two after the master gaed to his lang hame, sir. Puir Sir
Ranald!' said Archie, with a break in his voice; 'after a' he had possest and
tint, a kist and a sheet was a' he needed in the lang rin.'
'And you have been watching over her, you say?' asked Goring, again
taking the old man's hand in his own.
'I had a wee pickle siller saved, and I thought—I thought—but never
mind; a' the men in the Mearns can do nae mair than they may.'
He slipped a card with his address into Archie's hand, and hurried to the
house, where the startling ring he gave the bell brought an indignant
housemaid to the door speedily as a genii of the Lamp.
'Mrs. and Miss De Jobbyns,' she answered, 'was not at home, having
just driven off to the park.'
'The governess?'
He was rather curtly informed that she had been dismissed from her
'sitivation,' and with her trunk had left the house a short time ago.
Alas! more evils than ever the fatal Black Hound of Essilmont forebode
might be in store for his Alison now.
CHAPTER XXI.
CONCLUSION.
So she was out in the world once more, with apparently no earthly tie to
bind her to it.
'Could I but see Bevil's face once more and then die!' was her thought,
as, blinded with the hot tears that flowed under her veil, she was driven
through the sunny and crowded streets of pleasant Bayswater.
We have said that the vicar of Chilcote was now in town; he had
brought his family with him, and was residing in private apartments not far
from Pembridge Square, and overlooking Kensington Gardens. Thus
Alison's first thoughts—indeed her only resource—was to throw herself
upon him as she had before intended; but now she was terrified that, if he
naturally made inquiries of Mrs. De Jobbyns, in the spirit of sourness or
malevolence she might give a very distorted account of the late episode;
and, indeed, the worthy old man was greatly disturbed when she told him
her simple tale, as the same ideas occurred to himself, and he saw all the
peril of giving the name of that irate matron as a reference to anyone else;
and thus for two entire days he remained in sore perplexity what to do.
On the third he began again to question Alison, whom he kept with his
family.
'Yes.'
'Were you engaged to him with your father's consent?' asked he,
suspiciously, while he regarded her keenly, but not unkindly, under his
shaggy, white eyebrows.
'He was not rich enough then to suit papa's views, having little more
than his pay.'
'Goring—Goring,' said he, pulling his nether lip thoughtfully; 'I have
heard the name. He called on me more than once to ask your London
address, as also did Lord Cadbury of Cadbury Court; but suspecting his
object, I declined to give it.'
'Oh, why?'
'Good heavens, you may have parted me and Bevil for ever!' she
exclaimed, in a voice of intense pathos and sorrow.
'Not so, my darling—I am here!' said Bevil Goring, who had entered
unannounced by the boarding-house servant, and in a moment his arms
were round her and her head upon his breast.
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