The Daltons; Or, Three Roads In Life. Volume I

CHAPTER XXXVII. PROPOSALS

KATE found Lady Hester, the Prince, and Mr. Jekyl awaiting her as she entered the drawing-room, all looking even more bored and out of sorts than people usually do who have been kept waiting for their dinner.

“Everybody has sworn to be as tiresome and disagreeable as possible to-day,” said Lady Hester. “George said he’d dine here, and is not coming; Lord Norwood promised, and now writes me word that an unavoidable delay detains him; and here comes Miss Dalton, the mirror of punctuality when all else are late, a full half-hour after the time. There, dear, no excuses nor explanations about all you have been doing, the thousand calls you ‘ve made, and shops you ‘ve ransacked. I ‘m certain you ‘ve had a miserable day of it.”

Kate blushed deeply, and dreaded to meet Jekyl’ s eye; but when she did, that little glassy orb was as blandly meaningless as any that ever rattled in the head of a Dutch doll. Even as he gave his arm to lead her in to dine, nothing in his manner or look betrayed anything like a secret understanding between them. A bystander might have deemed him a new acquaintance.

“Petits diners” have, generally, the prerogative of agreeability; they are the chosen reunions of a few intimates, who would not dilute their pleasantry even by a single bore. They are also the bright occasions for those little culinary triumphs which never can be attempted in a wider sphere. Epigrams, whether of lamb or language, require a select and special jury to try them; but just in the same proportion as the success of such small parties is greater, so is their utter failure, when by any mischance there happens a breakdown in the good spirits or good humor of the company.

We have said enough to show that the ladies, at least, might be excused for not displaying those thousand attractions of conversation which all centre on the one great quality, ease of mind. The Prince was more than usual out of sorts, a number of irritating circumstances having occurred to him during the morning. A great sovereign, on whom he had lavished the most profuse attentions, had written him a letter of thanks, through his private secretary, enclosing a snuff-box, instead of sending him an autograph, and the first class of the national order. His glover, in Paris, had forgotten to make his right hand larger than the left, and a huge packet that had just arrived was consequently useless. His chef had eked out a salmi of ortolans by a thrush; and it was exactly that unlucky morsel the Cardinal had helped himself to at breakfast, and immediately sent his plate away in disappointment. Rubion, too, his ninth secretary, had flatly refused to marry a little danseuse that had just come out in the ballet, a piece of insolence and rebellion on his part not to be tolerated; and when we add to these griefs an uncomfortable neckcloth, and the tidings of an insurrection in a Russian province where he owned immense property in mines, his state of irritability may be leniently considered.

Jekyl, if truth were told, had as many troubles of his own to confront as any of the rest. If the ocean he sailed in was not a great Atlantic, his bark was still but a cockleshell; his course in life required consummate skill and cleverness, and yet never could be safe even with that. Notwithstanding all this, he alone was easy, natural, and agreeable, not as many an inferior artist would have been agreeable, by any over-effort to compensate for the lack of co-operation in others, and thus make their silence and constraint but more palpable, his pleasantry was tinged with the tone of the company, and all his little smartnesses were rather insinuated than spoken. Quite satisfied if the Prince listened, or Lady Hester smiled, more than rewarded when they once both laughed at one of his sallies, he rattled on about the Court and the town talk, the little scandals of daily history, and the petty defections of those dear friends they nightly invited to their houses. While thus, as it were, devoting himself to the amusement of the others, his real occupation was an intense study of their thoughts, what was uppermost in their minds, and in what train their speculations were following. He had long suspected the Prince of being attracted by Kate Dalton; now he was certain of it. Accustomed almost from childhood to be flattered on every hand, and to receive the blandest smiles of beauty everywhere, Midchekoff’s native distrust armed him strongly against such seductions; and had Kate followed the path of others, and exerted herself to please him, her failure would have been certain. It was her actual indifference her perfect carelessness on the subject was the charm to his eyes, and he felt it quite a new and agreeable sensation not to be made love to.

Too proud of her own Dalton blood to feel any elevation by the marked notice of the great Russian, she merely accorded him so much of her favor as his personal agreeability seemed to warrant; perhaps no designed flattery could have been so successful. Another feeling, also, enhanced his admiration of her. It was a part of that barbaric instinct which seemed to sway all his actions, to desire the possession of whatever was unique in life. Those forms or fancies of which nature stamps but one, and breaks the die, these were a passion with him. To possess a bluer turquoise than any king or kaiser, to own an arab of some color never seen before, to have a picture by some artist who never painted but one; but whether it were a gem, a vase, a weapon, a diamond, or a dog, its value had but one test, that it had none its exact equal. Now, Kate Dalton realized these conditions more than any one he had ever met. Her very beauty was peculiar; combining, with much of feminine softness and delicacy, a degree of determination and vigor of character that to Midchekoff smacked of queenly domination. There was a species of fierte about her that distinguished her among other women. All that he had seen done by an illustrious title and a diamond tiara, she seemed capable of effecting in the simplest costume and without an effort. All these were wonderful attractions to his eyes; and if he did not fall in love, it was simply because he did not know how. He, however, did what to him served as substitute for the passion; he coveted an object which should form one of the greatest rarities of his collection, and the possession of which would give him another title to that envy, the most delicious tribute the world could render him.

There were some drawbacks to his admiration; her birth was not sufficiently illustrious. His own origin was too recent to make an alliance of this kind desirable, and he wished that she had been a princess; even de la main, gauche of some royal house. Jekyl had done his best, by sundry allusions to Irish greatness, and the blood of various monarchs of Munster and Conuaught, in times past; but the Prince was incredulous as to Hibernian greatness; probably the remembrance of an Irish diamond once offered him for sale had tinged his mind with this sense of disparagement as to all Irish magnificence. Still Kate rose above every detracting influence, and he thought of the pride in which he should parade her through Europe as his own.

Had she been a barb or a bracelet, an antique cup or a Sevres jar, he never would have hesitated about the acquisition. Marriage, however, was a more solemn engagement; and he did not quite fancy any purchase that cost more than mere money. Nothing but the possibility of losing her altogether could have overcome this cautious scruple; and Jekyl had artfully insinuated such a conjuncture. “George Onslow’s attentions were,” he said, “quite palpable; and although up to this Miss Dalton did not seem to give encouragement, who could tell what time and daily intercourse might effect? There was Norwood, too, with the rank of peeress in his gift; there was no saying how an ambitious girl might be tainted by that bait.” In fact, the Prince had no time to lose; and, although nothing less accorded with his tastes than what imposed haste, he was obliged to bestir himself on this occasion.

If we have dwelt thus long upon the secret thoughts of the company, it is because their conversation was too broken and unconnected for recording. They talked little, and that little was discursive. An occasional allusion to some social topic, a chance mention of their approaching departure from Florence, some reference to Como and its scenery, formed the whole; and then, in spite of Jekyl, whose functions of “fly-wheel” could not keep the machine a-moving, long pauses would intervene, and each lapse into a silence apparently more congenial than conversation. All this while Jekyl seemed to be reading the complex scheme of doubt, irresolution, and determination that filled Midchekoff’s mind. The stealthy glances of the Russian’s eyes towards Kate, the almost painful anxiety of his manner, to see if she noticed him while speaking, his watchful observance of her in her every accent and gesture, told Jekyl the struggle that was then passing within him. He had seen each of these symptoms before, though in a less degree, when the coveted object was a horse or a picture; and he well knew how nothing but the dread of a competition for the prize would rouse him from this state of doubt and uncertainty.

The evening dragged slowly over, and it was now late, when Lord Norwood made his appearance. With a brief apology for not coming to dinner, he drew Jekyl to one side, and, slipping an arm within his, led him into an adjoining room.

“I say, Jekyl,” whispered he, as they retired out of earshot of the others, “here’s a pretty mess Onslow’s got in. There has been a fracas in the street about Miss Dalton. How she came there at such a time, and alone, is another matter; and George has struck Guilmard, knocked him down, by Jove! and no mistake; and they’re to meet tomorrow morning. Of course, there was nothing else for it; a blow has but one reparation, George will have to stand the fire of the first shot in Europe.”

Jekyl hated a duel. Had he been a member of the Peace Congress, he could not have detested the arbitrament of arms more heartily. ‘It involved partisanship, it severed intimacies, it barred general intercourse, and often closed up for a whole season the pleasantest houses of a town. The announcement of a strict blockade never struck a mercantile community with more terror. To Norwood the prospect was directly the opposite. Not only an adept in all the etiquette and ceremonial of such meetings, he liked to see his name circulated in these affairs as a kind of guarantee of his readiness to seek a similar reparation for injury. He had trusted for many a year on his dexterity at twelve paces, and he never missed an opportunity of sustaining the prestige of a “dead shot.”

It was, then, with an ardor of amateurship that he narrated the various little preliminary steps which had already been taken. Merkheim, the Austrian secretary, had called on him, on the part of Guilmard; and as, in a case so clear, there was little to arrange, the only difficulty lay in the choice of weapons.

“The Frenchman claims the sword,” said Norwood; “and it is always awkward to decline that proposition for a soldier. But I suppose George has about as much chance with one weapon as the other.”

“You think he ‘ll kill him, my Lord?”

“I think so. If the offence had been less flagrant or less public, possibly not. But a blow! to be struck down in the open street! I don’t see how he can do less.”

“What a break-up it will cause here!” said Jekyl, with a nod of his head in the direction of the drawing-room.

“It will send them all back to England, I suppose.”

“I suppose it will,” added Jekyl, mournfully.

“What a bore! It’s particularly unpleasant for me, for I hold some half-dozen of George’s acceptances, not due yet; and, of course, the governor will never think of acquitting them.”

“I conclude it is inevitable the meeting, I mean?” said Jekyl.

“To be sure it is. Onslow took care of that! By the way, Jekyl, how came she there at such an hour, and alone, too?”

“She had been shopping, I fancy, and missed the carriage. There was some blunder, I have heard, about the coachman drawing up at the wrong door.”

“No go, Master Jekyl. Don’t try it on with me, old fellow. You know all about it, if you like to tell.”

“I assure you, my Lord, you give me a credit I don’t deserve.”

“You know the whole story from beginning to end, Jekyl. I ‘d back you against the field, my boy.”

The other shook his head with an air of supreme innocence.

“Then George knows it?” added Norwood, half asserting, half asking the question.

“He may, my Lord, for aught I can tell.”

“If so, he’s treating me unfairly,” said Norwood, rising and pacing the room. “As his friend in this affair, there should be no reserve or concealment with me. You can surely say that much, Jekyl, eh? What a close fellow you are!”

“It is so easy not to blab when one has nothing to tell,” said Jekyl, smiling.

“Come, there is something you can tell me. Where does that small corridor behind George’s apartment lead to? There is a door at the end of it, and, I fancy, a stair beyond it.”

“That, if I mistake not, leads up to Lady Hester. No, I remember now; it leads to Miss Dalton’s room.”

“Just so; I could have sworn it.”

“Why so, my Lord?” asked Jekyl, whose curiosity was now excited to the utmost.

“That ‘s my secret, Master Jekyl.”

“But the door is always locked and bolted from within,” said Jekyl, “and there is no keyhole on the outside.”

“I’ll not stand pumping, Jekyl. If you had been frank with me, perhaps I should have been as open with you.”

For an instant Jekyl hesitated what course to follow. It might be that Norwood really knew something of great importance. It might be that his discovery was valueless. And yet, if it concerned Kate in any way, the information would be all-important, his great game being to make her a princess, and yet preserve such an ascendancy over her as would render her his own slave.

“She’s a strange girl, that Dalton,” said Norwood. “I wish she had about forty thousand pounds.”

“She may have more than that yet, my Lord,” said Jekyl, dryly.

“How do you mean, Jekyl? Is there any truth in that story about the Irish property? Has she really a claim on the estate? Tell me all you know, old fellow, and I ‘ll be on the square with you throughout.”

Jekyl, who in his remark had darkly alluded to the prospect of Kate’s marriage with Midchekoff, now saw that Norwood had totally misconceived his meaning, and like a shrewd tactician, determined to profit by the blunder.

“Come, Jekyl, be frank and aboveboard. What are her prospects?”

“Better than I have told you, my Lord,” replied he, coolly. “If I cannot – for I am not at liberty to explain why – I am quite ready to pledge my word of honor to the truth of what I say, or, what your Lordship will think more of, to back my opinion by a bet.”

“By Jove! that is news!” said the Viscount, leaning his head on the chimney to reflect. “You are such a slippery dog, Master Jekyl, you have so many turnings and windings in you, one is never quite sure with you; but supposing now, for argument’s sake, that one thought of making this fair damsel a peeress, is there no hitch in the affair no screw loose that one ought to look to?”

“In her birth, my Lord?”

“No; d – n her birth! I mean about the tin.”

“I believe, my Lord, that I can save you all speculation on the subject when I say that pursuit would be hopeless there. The Midchekoff has gained the start, and must win in a canter.”

“That Tartar fellow! nonsense, man; I know better than that. He ‘ll never marry anything under royalty; the fellow’s mother was a serf, and he must wash that spot out of his blood whenever he can.”

“You are mistaken, my Lord. He only waits to be certain of being accepted, to offer himself.”

“Refuse him!” said Norwood, laughing, “there’s not that girl in Europe would refuse him. If every decoration he wore on his breast were a stripe of the knout upon his back, his wealth would cover all.”

“The Prince would give half his fortune to be assured of all you say, my Lord,” said Jekyl, gravely.

“By Jove! one might make a good thing of it, even that way,” said Norwood, half aloud. “I say, Jekyl,” added he, louder, “how much are you to have? nay, nay, man, there ‘s no impertinence in the question, we are both too much men of the world for that. It ‘s quite clear that this is your scheme. Now, what ‘s the damage?”

“My Lord, you are as flattering to my abilities as unjust to my character.”

“We ‘ll suppose all that said,” broke in Norwood, impatiently; “and now we come back to the original question, whether I cannot afford to be as liberal as the Russian. Only be explicit, and let us understand each other.”

“My Lord, I will not insult myself by believing I comprehend you;” said Jekyl, calmly.

And before Norwood could detain him he left the room.

“Jekyl, come back, man! just hear me out you’ve mistaken me! Confound the cur,” muttered the Viscount, “with his hypocritical affectation as if I did not know his metier as well as I know my bootmaker’s.”