No Quarter!

To show her superiority, Clarisse Lalande had prepared a surprise for the assembly at Montserrat House – a dance of the Antilles, in which she could have no competitor, nor need fear any if she had. It was also of Spanish origin, much practised in the West India islands; where, then as now, dancing was a thing of every night, and often of the day – even the negroes giving half their off-labour hours to it, jigging with a grace unknown to the peasantry of European lands. Their white “massas” were, many of them, perfect maîtres-de-danse, and their young mistresses very Odalisques. Monsieur Lalande had prided himself on this accomplishment, and, as a matter of course, his daughter did the same – hence the resolve to make display of her proficiency.

The music had been prearranged; the time too – after supper, when the excitement which comes of the wine cup would make it more attractive in the eyes of the spectators; though Clarisse Lalande was thinking of only one of them, and how it would affect him.

It was new to most of the people present, but not all. The familiars of Montserrat House had witnessed it before, and were aware of its peculiarities. A pas-seul it was, danced only by a lady, though a gentleman had something to do with it at the termination. The lady commences in slow movement and gentle step, accompanied by pantomimic gestures; as she passes on every now and then stooping down, or reaching upward, to take hold of some object that has caught her eye. It is, in fact, a representation, in dumb show, of an Indian girl straying along a forest path in the act of gathering flowers. Nor does she pause while plucking them, only poising an instant on one limb, and, with a whirl, or pirouette, continuing onward. The step admits of many changes and every variety of attitude; according to whether the blossoms tempting her be on the right or left, down upon the earth, or overhead among the branches of the trees. All which affords fine opportunity for displaying the graces of figure and movement, with skill or cleverness in the pantomimic representation. After this has gone on for a time, the flower gatherer is seen to start, her features changing expression. Some sound in the forest has caught her ear. She pauses, bends low, and listens. At first interrogatively; then with apprehension, ending in alarm. Flight follows, the lines of if hither and thither in irregular zigzags, as if the affrighted girl, in her confusion, knows not which way to go. The movement is now violent, the gesticulation excited. At length the retreat takes a steadier course, around the outer edge of the arena, not by forward steps, but the whirling gyrations of a waltz. This being kept up for a turn or two, fatigue is counterfeited, with continued fear of the pursuing enemy, and by looks and gestures appeal is made to the spectators for help. These know, however, that only one is privileged to offer it – he whom she will designate by tossing to him a riband, kerchief, glove, or some such token. His rôle, then, is simply to step forth and place himself in the attitude of a rescuer, when the fugitive flings herself into his arms, looking all gratitude.

When Clarisse Lalande took the floor, or, to speak more correctly, the turf, – for it was outside in the place already described, – there were few knowing the character of the novel dance but could give a guess as to who would be summoned to the rescue. Too soon to be thinking of that yet, however; all thoughts being engrossed by the Creole herself, all eyes fixed upon her, as she appeared in the open space, around which the spectators were now standing two deep. The whole company was there; the other dancing places, inside and out, for the time deserted.

It was seen that she had changed her dress – this done during the interlude of supper – and was now in the costume of a Carib queen, short skirt and low boddice. Robes rather gauzy and transparent; at which some present were not slow to speak disapprovingly. But these were in the minority; the wonderful beauty of the girl, with a knowledge that her ways and bringing up had not been as theirs, made the majority large and something more than lenient. And when she became engaged in the innocent occupation of flower-gathering, like a brilliant butterfly flitting from one to another, satire was silent; even the most Puritanical seeming to forget all about the thinness and scantiness of her attire.

Then came the start, the listening attitude, the affectation of alarm, followed by the confused flight; in grand voltes in side-bounds, as an antelope surprised by a panther. At length the circling retreat, round and round the ring of spectators, at first in a rapid whirl, till feigning exhaustion, her movements gradually became slower and feebler, as though she would drop to the earth.

Every eye was now on the alert; they knew the finale was near, and the recipient of the favour would soon be declared. It often means nothing beyond mere compliment; and as oft for delicate reasons, the favoured one is not the one wished for. But no such influences were likely to affect the present case, and the dénouement was looked for with a rare intensity of interest.

The girl had drawn off one of her jewelled gloves – in those days they were so adorned – and held it with arm astretch, ready to be flung. Still, she went undulating on, at each turn of her face toward the spectators seeming to search among them. Many a one had wishes, and more than one a hope of seeing that glove tossed to him. For Clarisse Lalande had a large following of lovers. All save one to suffer disappointment, with more or less chagrin. And yet giving no gratification to him at whose feet it eventually fell, as the wise ones knew it would – Eustace Trevor.

With less show of alacrity than resignation he took it up; this an exigency of the performance. After which, with open arms, he received the exhausted danseuse, her breasts heaving and panting as though they would burst the silken corset that so slightly confined them.

Cold-blooded man he, many might have thought him. But had other breasts been thus near his own, another heart beating so close to his, he would have shown warmth enough.

Chapter Thirty Four

Guardian Angels

“The swift Rhone cleaves his way between
Heights which appear as lovers who have parted
In hate, whose mining depths so intervene
That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted;
Though in their souls, which thus each other thwarted,
Love was the very root of the fond rage
Which blighted their life’s bloom, and then departed —
Itself expired, leaving them an age
Of years, all winters – war within themselves to wage.”

Was it to be thus with Eustace Trevor and Vaga Powell?

Verily, it seemed so on that night; and never more than at that moment, when he, with her cousin – Indian queen in counterfeit – strolled off arm in arm along the lamplit walks. A sight to tear her heart. And it tore it; might have altogether rent and ruined it had the mutual misunderstanding continued. Ay, “blighted the life’s bloom” of both, “leaving them an age of years, all winters.”

But kind fate decreed it otherwise; before another night shadowed Avon’s banks, whatever of confidence had hitherto been between them was reestablished, and true love triumphed over jealousy.

Partly by accident was the happy result brought about; though it might have come without that. For on the side of each was a watchful monitor, who understood the situation better than either of themselves.

The guardian angels were Sir Richard Walwyn and Sabrina Powell; his friendship, and her sisterly solicitude standing the younger lovers in stead.

“Why has your sister not danced with Captain Trevor – I mean my Captain Trevor?” queried the soldier knight of his betrothed. “I haven’t seen him near her all the night. Has there come a coolness between them, think you?”

“Something of the sort, I fear.”

“But from what cause? Have you any idea?”

“Oh! the cause is clear enough! though she hasn’t made me her confidante.”

“The Creole cousin?”

“Just so.”

“But Vaga has nothing to fear from her; nor need being jealous, in the least.”

“Why do you say so, Richard?”

“Because Trevor don’t care a straw for Mademoiselle Lalande.”

“Then what means the way he’s been carrying on with her?”

“Rather, say, the way she’s carrying on with him. It don’t – signify, however. Let her practise all her arts; she’ll have her pains for nothing. I know he’s madly in love with your sister; has been ever since first setting eyes upon her at Hollymead. That much he has confided to me.”

“He may have changed. Clarisse is very beautiful – very attractive?”

“True, she is. But not the style to attract him. Nor is he of the fickle sort. At Whitehall he bore the reputation of having a heart of adamant; with no end of sighing damsels doing their endeavour to soften it. Indeed, scandal spoke of its very obduracy being the cause of his dismissal from Court; a certain Royal lady having assailed it unsuccessfully, and for that reason turned against him. Such a man once in love, as I know he is with your sister, is not likely to veer about so suddenly.”

“But, you remember with what suddenness he changed sides, politically?”

“Ah! that’s different, and to his credit. It was not of his own choosing that he was on the wrong one. And, soon as finding it so, he espoused the right one. All the more likely his standing firm, and proving true in an affair of the heart. But are you sure the fault is not on Vaga’s side? I’ve observed her a good deal in the company of the other Trevor, and several times dancing with him. What does that mean?”

“I cannot tell. He may be forcing his company upon her; and she, offended at Eustace’s behaviour, accepts it.”

“Likely then they are playing at spite – that is, my captain and your sister. It’s a dangerous game, and we must do something to stop it.”

They thus exchanging confidences were engaged lovers of long standing, who, but for the war coming on, would now have been man and wife. Hence their interest in the two who were in danger of going astray was of a protecting character. Sabrina, especially anxious about the upshot on the score of her sister’s happiness, rejoined with alacrity, —

“We must. Are you sure Eustace loves Vaga?”

“Sure as that I love you, dearest. I had evidence of it, not many hours ago, and from his own lips. On the way hither – we came together you may know – he spoke of a heaviness at his heart, and that he had never started to go to a ball with less anticipation of pleasure. On my asking for explanation, he said it was on account of your sister. It was weeks since he had seen her; and something seemed to whisper she would not be the same to him as she had been. Trying to laugh away his fancies, and pressing him for a more tangible reason, he merely added ‘Reginald.’ I know he has always had a suspicion, if not jealousy, about his cousin’s relations with Vaga, before he himself came to know her. When he returned the other day, and he learnt that Reginald was in Bristol – had been for some time – he took it for granted he would also be often here in this house. That, of course, considering the Cavalier inclinings of your aunt and cousin. No doubt the thought, or fancy, of Master Rej being restored to Vaga’s favour is what affects him now.”

“It’s but a fancy, then. Master Rej couldn’t be restored to favour he never had. As for Vag – ”

She broke off abruptly at the sound of voices and footsteps. Two persons in conversation were coming along the gravelled walk. The place was a pavilion, trellised all round, the trellis supporting a thick growth of climbers that formed a curtain to it. There was a lamp suspended inside, but its light had gone out, either through neglect or because the day would soon be dawning. The dialogue given above took place within the pavilion; that to follow occurring just outside by the entrance.

It was between two of the four, about whom they inside had been conversing – Clarisse and Eustace. She was still upon his arm, as he had conducted her off the dancing ground; she now rather conducting him towards that quiet spot, whither she had no idea of any one having preceded them.

“It seems so strange, Captain Trevor, you fighting for the Parliament?”

“Why strange, Mademoiselle?”

“Because of your father, and all your family, being on the King’s side; your brave cousin too. Besides, you’re so different from these plebeian Puritans and Roundheads; unlike them in every way.”

“Not every way, I hope, and would be sorry to think I was. Rather would I resemble them in their ways of truth and right – their aspirations for liberty, and the self-sacrificing courage they have shown to achieve it.”

“But the Cavaliers show courage too; as much, and more than they.”