CHAPTER XXIII.
A BOLD STEP.
Mr. West announced that he was obliged to run down to Brighton on business and would not return until late that night, and he commanded his daughter to write and ask Lady Rachel to come and lunch, and spend the day. At lunch time Lady Rachel duly drove up, and rustled in, full of gossip, full of vitality, and dressed out in the last suggestion of the winter’s fashion. She had a great deal to tell about a grand dinner at a great house the previous evening, and retailed volubly and at length—the menu, the names of the guests—twenty-six—and the dresses of the ladies.
“I wore a new frock, rather a daring style, geranium-red, silk skirt and sleeves, and a white satin body, veiled in black net, and embroidered in steel sequins. But it really was sweet—one of Doucet’s. I dare not think of the price. However, it suited me—so my cavalier assured me.”
“You asked him?”
“I don’t think I did. He was a barrister. Barristers are looking up! Yes, another chicken cutlet, please,” holding out her plate—the Jeameses were banished. “And such a good-looking young man—a Mr. Wynne. My dear, you are giving me oyster sauce!” she screamed. “What are you thinking about? And, oh—where was I—what was I saying? Yes, about Wynne. He was so amusing, and said such witty things. I wish I could remember half—nay, any one of them—and pass them off as my own. It was more the way he said them, though. And Madeline, my love,” laying down her knife and fork, as if suddenly overwhelmed by the recollection, “he had the most irresistible dark eyes I ever looked into!”
“Ever looked into?” repeated Madeline. “You—you seem quite impressed,” breaking up her bread rather viciously.
She—no, well she did not like it! How dared any woman talk of her husband’s irresistible dark eyes? And Laurence, had he been flirting? Could he flirt? Lady Rachel was an irreclaimable coquette.
“He is coming to dine with us next Sunday week. I wish you could come too, and see my new lion. They say he is awfully clever. Writes such smart articles, and scarifies us poor women. The emancipated female is his particular horror.”
“Indeed! How very pleasant!”
“But men like him, which is always a good sign. They say he is going into Parliament some day.”
“If you are going to make a lion of every one who is said to be going into the House of Commons, you will be able to stock every menagerie in Europe,” retorted Madeline, dusting crumbs off her lap.
“Or that I shall discover a good many asses under lions’ skins, eh? I mentioned you, ma belle, and asked if he had ever heard of you, and he said yes. See what it is to be a social celebrity! And I told him that you were the prettiest girl and greatest heiress in London—and that he really ought to know you.”
“And—and what did he say?” turning a salt-cellar round and round.
“Oh, I’m not quite sure what he said beyond that he was a busy man, and—oh yes, that he detested the genus heiress.”
And then the vivacious matron led the conversation away to another topic, and Madeline led the way to her boudoir. Presently Lady Rachel announced that she had an engagement at four o’clock, and that she could not remain for tea—not even if Madeline went on her knees to her, a feat that Maddie had no desire to perform—and finally she rushed off in a sort of mild whirlwind of good-byes, kisses, and last messages—screamed from the hall and stairs.
Then Madeline sat alone over the fire, and reflected on what she had heard with keen discomfort, whilst she stupidly watched the red coals. Laurence had not answered her last two letters—he had not taken any notice of her call. Of course, he could not come to the house; but at least he might have written. He had no right to treat her as if she was a naughty child. He was entirely relieved of the burthen of her support; he could start well and unweighted in the race. She would pay for Harry too. Her father was impossible at present; he was dreadfully worried about money matters—he was ill. She was doing her best for Laurence and Harry. Surely, he knew that, and that she would rather be with them than here. But as she glanced at her magnificent surroundings, and at her silver tea equipage, just brought in by two powdered servants, with a request to know “if there were any orders for the carriage?” her heart misgave her.
Would not Laurence think that she preferred all this—that this wealth was her attraction, luxury her idol—an idol that had cast out him and poor little Harry?
She made a sudden decision. She would go and see Laurence. Yes, that very evening partake of his frugal dinner—a chop, no doubt—and coax him into a better frame of mind, and a better humour with herself. She would wear her usual evening toilette, and give him an agreeable surprise. The idea pleased her. She swallowed down her tea, ran quickly up to her room, and rang for Josephine.
“Josephine,” she said, as that very smart person appeared, “I am going out to dine with a friend—an old friend that I knew when I was at school. I want to look my very best, though it will not be a party, only one or two. What shall I wear?” beginning to pull off her velvet morning-gown.
“Well, miss, for two or three—a quiet dinner, but smart no doubt—your primrose satin with the chiffon body, just lighted with a few brilliants. I’ll do your hair in the new knot, and run the diamond arrow through it.”
This simple toilet occupied a considerable time. What with dressing Madeline’s hair, lacing her gown, arranging her ornaments, it was nearly seven before the great business was completed; but it was finished at last, to Josephine’s entire satisfaction.
“Well, mademoiselle, I never saw you look better—no, nor as well!”
Madeline could not refrain from a smile as she glanced at her reflection in the mirror; but her present sweet complacency was but momentary. There was a bitter drop in the cup. Was it for this, asked Madeline—this costly dress, those diamonds, and such-like delights—that she sacrificed her home?
“No!” she retorted angrily, aloud, and much to Josephine’s astonishment. “No, it is not.”
Yet even so she was but half convinced. She was presently enveloped in a long crimson velvet mantle reaching to the ground, and trimmed with furs that were as much an outward and visible sign of Mr. West’s wealth as his house and carriage—Russian sables. Then she tied a scarf over her head, took up her fan and gloves, and, in spite of Josephine’s almost impassioned appeals to take a footman and go in the brougham, set out in a hansom alone. She herself gave the reply through the trap, in answer to the “Where to, miss?”
And the attendant footman could not catch the address.
There was a flavour of wild adventure about the whole expedition that made her heart beat unusually fast. The idea of taking Laurence by storm in his musty chambers, of cajoling him into a more amenable frame of mind, of dining with him tête-à-tête, of trying the effect of her much-augmented charms upon her own husband—for she had now fully learnt to know the value of youth, beauty, and dress—all carried her away out of her usual somewhat languorous frame of mind.
She felt a little nervous as she stepped out of the hansom in the vicinity of the gloomy old Temple, and proceeded to Laurence’s chambers, as before, on foot.
Fortunately the pavement was dry, and her dainty shoes were none the worse.
She came to the door, and rang a pretty loud peal this time, smiling to herself as she thought of Laurence sitting over his solitary meal, probably by the light of an equally solitary candle.
The door was opened by a curious jerk, and by some invisible agency, and she beheld before her, half way up the stairs, the bearded beldame, carrying a heavy tray, who, unable to turn her head, shouted out querulously—“If that’s the washing, come in. I hope to gracious you’ve done his shirts a bit better nor last week. They were a sight; and his collars! deary, deary me!”
And thus ejaculating, she rounded the staircase, and was lost to view; but still she shouted, though her voice did not come like a falling star.
“You can go in by the other door, and lay them in his bedroom, and leave the basket.”
Madeline was half suffocated with suppressed laughter as she tripped quickly up after this authoritative old person, and as she went she removed her head gear, and when she came to the top landing, she rapidly divested herself of her long cloak.
The old woman was already in the outer office, which was lit, and had deposited her load upon a table when, hearing a rustle and a footfall, she turned and beheld Madeline—in other words, a tall, lovely young lady, wearing a yellow evening dress, with diamond buttons, diamonds in her hair, and carrying a huge painted fan in her exquisitely gloved hands. No pen could convey any idea of her amazement, no brush seize the expression of her countenance, as she staggered back against the nearest desk, with limp arms, protruding eyes, and open mouth, which presently uttered, in a loud and startled key, the one word “Laws!”