“Let me congratulate you, George,” were the first words which Lionel addressed to his brother; “let me congratulate you upon your marriage with the prettiest of charming women.”
“Thank you, thank you,” said the Earl, taking Lionel’s hand; “rather unexpected, eh?—never thought I should marry, eh, Lionel?”
“No, I certainly did not,” said Lionel.
“The confirmed old bachelor, who could not be bored with a wife, eh?—the lazy old fellow, too selfish to marry, eh?” said his lordship, laughing aloud and rubbing his hands. “Did the wonderful news bring you home?”
“No; I heard for the first time of your marriage, at Brazencrook. When I left India I hardly knew why I left; but I think I shall be able to tell you all about it in due time.”
“Well, no matter; you know you are always welcome, Lionel—always; my home is yours, dear boy.”
“I know that, my dear George,” said Lionel, who again took his brother’s proffered hand, and shook it heartily.
“You will find your old room in the old place,” said the Earl. “No change there, except perhaps a little extra decoration. When you are ready, come to me in the library, and you shall have an introduction to your sister-in-law.”
“Delighted to renew the lady’s acquaintance in her new and distinguished position,” said Lionel, leaving his brother smiling and nodding at the foot of the principal staircase.
The old room was in the old place, at the end of the picture gallery, and Lionel found no change there for the worse. He found Morris there unpacking his portmanteaus; and he joked with the old fellow, and asked him when he would be married. Morris thought the jest rather grim, and said it was certainly time for him to think about it, now that his lordship had taken a wife.
“Her ladyship is pretty, Morris, is she not?” said Lionel, taking off his coat and throwing the window up.
“Very pretty, and as amiable as can be, too,” said Morris.
“That’s a good thing; what time do we lunch, Morris?”
“Two o’clock, sir,” said the servant.
“Ah, it is one now,” said Lionel, looking at his watch. “I shall have time to dress and have ten minutes’ walk to collect my faculties for an introduction to her ladyship, your mistress.”
“Yes, sir,” said Morris, depositing waistcoats and trousers, and hanging up coats and caps and swords in the ample wardrobe; “shall I ring for hot water, sir?”
“No, thank you, Morris; the news has made me hot. Never mind undoing that leather case.”
“All right, sir,” said Morris. “You are looking a good deal bronzed with the sun, but glad to see you so well. Anything else I can do, sir?”
“No, thank you, Morris,” said Lionel, taking no notice of the servitor’s remark about his brown face, but wondering how Arthur Phillips had taken his disappointment. “Somehow I never thought the poor fellow had the slightest chance of marrying Phœbe. Poor Arthur! Such a sentimental fellow, too, he was; it would almost break his heart I should think; I will hunt him up to-morrow. Fancy George, Earl Verner, my whimsical, apathetic, luxurious, moping brother, falling in love with that pretty face at Barton, and marrying it! Wonders will never cease! I suppose he must have seen her on one of his calls on Tallant about those humbugging shares. Some people believe in the exercise of a sort of electrical sympathy influencing friends at the longest distances. Did that worry me in India? A stroke of fate, I suspect, in the whole thing. Well, we shall see.”
Thus rambled on the current of Lionel’s thoughts as he washed and dressed and gave his toilette sundry extra touches in view of the new society which now graced the castle. What a terrible shock of disappointment and surprise awaited him! It seemed as though fortune were playing off some grim joke upon him.
As she passed through the principal drawing-room on her way to the library, the Countess saw her brother-in-law walking towards the lake. It was a fine manly figure, in a loose morning costume that set off the broad shoulders and the stalwart limbs to perfection. How she had loved that man! How she had listened for his footsteps and trembled at his voice! She dared not think of the past; she would not think of it, she would crush it out of memory. She clenched her fair white hand as she made the vow, clenched it in an agony of resolve until her fingers pained her; and she went in unto her husband crushing out that forbidden, that cruel memory!
“Well, my darling, have you seen the Indian?” said his lordship, when, the Countess entered the library. “I declare the fellow is as brown as a gipsy.”
“I saw him from the window going towards the lake. There he is,” she said, looking in that direction, “returning now.”
As she said so, Morris knocked at the door and entered with Lord Cornington’s card. He was walking in the picture gallery, and wished to see Lord Verner on particular business.
“I will come to him at once,” said his lordship. “Excuse me for ten minutes, my dear; Cornington has called about the Darfield property; I have put him off too long already; I will return as quickly as possible.”
In the hall Lord Verner met his brother, and the Countess could hear him say, “You will find my wife in the library, Lionel; your own introduction will be sufficient: amuse her with an account of your voyage until I return.”
The next moment Lionel entered the room. Amy pressed her hand upon her heart and summoned up all her courage and fortitude. He looked at her for a moment, and then with a sudden gleam of joy upon his face he rushed towards her. Amy stepped back a few paces and coldly extended her hand.
“Why, what is this, Amy?” said the Indian officer. “Surely some joke, some jest to increase my present happiness at sight of you.”
“I do not understand you,” said the Countess, in real astonishment; for she had dismissed from her mind the possibility of Lionel’s ignorance of Mr. Tallant’s death and the discovery of Mrs. Somerton’s fraud.
“You are here to surprise me, to punish me for my neglect by a gracious condescension; you have forgiven me, but I am to suffer for leaving you so strangely. I see it all, dear, dear Amy.”
“Sir, is this the language which you address to your brother’s wife,” said Amy, with a glow of indignation and alarm in her face.
“What do you mean? What is this? Pray be candid with me and forgive me. Surely the jest has gone far enough; your looks alarm me,” said Lionel, in a passion of appeal.
“There is no jest in this business,” said Amy. “I fear you do not know all. Before Mr. Tallant died it was discovered that I, whom you knew as Amy Somerton, was his daughter, and that the lady you knew as Miss Tallant was, in truth, the bailiff’s daughter. I was Christopher Tallant’s heiress, and I am now your brother’s wife, the Countess of Verner.”
Lionel sunk into a chair and covered his face with his hands as Amy, in a clear, firm voice, spoke these words. And this was what he had come from India to learn. Was he in some hideous dream? He looked up only to be the more convinced that he was a victim to cruel fate.
“And now, Mr. Hammerton, if you ever loved Amy Somerton, respect her as your brother’s wife; and if you value his happiness or mine, guard as a sacred secret the memory of that love which you once professed for her. Now is the time to prove the sincerity of a passion which you once professed, and which was the joy of that poor girl, until neglect and indifference stepped between her and hope, and gave her hand to another. For my sake, for your own, for your brother’s, leave this house as soon as possible; whilst you do remain, blot out that memory of the past—crush it out as I have crushed it—and never let Earl Verner’s peace be disturbed even by a suspicion of anything more than a mere acquaintanceship between yourself and his wife. As you fulfil these my wishes, so shall I gauge your love.”
She left him as she said this, and when he raised his head he looked for her in vain. The twin brothers in the “Comedy” were not in a greater maze of bewilderment than was Lionel Hammerton. Though the light broke in upon his mind during that cold resolute explanation, it seemed like an ugly dream. He was like a man paralysed by a sudden blow of misfortune, against which he struggled ineffectually. To fall from the sunniest height of anticipated bliss into a Stygian gulf of misery like this, was enough to unnerve a stronger man than Lionel Hammerton. Pride, self-love, hope, fortune, happiness—all were struck down when most they should have flourished. It had flashed upon him, at first sight of Amy, that her friend, the Countess, had confessed all with regard to his (Lionel’s) love, and that his generous brother had concocted a delightful plot to surprise him. But for Amy’s fixed, cold look, he would have been at her feet imploring her forgiveness, and blessing her for coming there, that he might not lose a moment in asking her to be his wife. And now she had slipped from him for ever, and Fate mocked him with her as his sister-in-law! Was it true? Was there hope yet? He would go out and walk; there was virtue in fresh air. He took up his hat, and went forth into the old ruin; he clambered up the rotten stone steps, and stood upon the moss-grown battlements, where men-at-arms had defended the garrison hundreds of years before; he looked round upon the glorious scene, mellowed with a thousand tints of autumn; he watched the blue wreaths of smoke, mounting up in tall ethereal columns from the old hall chimneys; he saw those purple hills in the distance, beyond which he first met Amy Somerton. Then he remembered the enumeration of her wishes so recently expressed—wishes that were a command to him—a command by the observance of which she would gauge his love.
“She shall have no reason to complain,” he thought, as he came back again to the hall. “There may be some cruel plot of punishment for my neglect at the bottom of all this; it is a slight hope, a weak plank in the ocean of my disappointment, but I will cling to it for this day at least.”
“Why did you run away?” said his lordship, when Lionel returned. “Did the Countess frighten you? We are waiting for luncheon. Cornington dines with us; he has just taken her ladyship in—come along, come along!”
And the brothers, arm-in-arm, entered the luncheon-room, where Lord Cornington was just handing Lady Verner to her seat.
The Countess never looked better than she did this morning, and she led the conversation in her best manner; her racy, humorous repartee reminded the Earl of his first introduction to her at Barton Hall. Lord Cornington thought her one of the most brilliant women he had ever met. Lionel Hammerton watched her, and replied to her sallies now and then with undisguised astonishment. Lord Verner was delighted with his wife, proud of her wit, proud of her beauty, proud of himself that she was his wife.
None of them saw that weary, haggard look which Amy saw an hour afterwards in the glass, when she had retired to her room. She was a fine actress, and she knew it; but the effort now was a severe strain upon her nervous system. She had hoped until yesterday that she would not be called upon to act again for a long time to come. Gratitude and respect had been ripening into love for her husband; but she would never be herself so long as Lionel Hammerton remained. She was beset with fear and alarm; fear lest her husband should discover the love that had once existed between herself and his brother; fear arising from her own conscience, burthened with the knowledge of the revenge she had sought and obtained; alarm lest she should fall in the estimation of her husband. This was the greatest fear of all; the idea of losing one jot of that love and admiration which he had lavished upon her, was torture. Her own fidelity and truth were safe; she never for a moment doubted her strength to maintain her own self-respect as Earl Verner’s wife; but there was a wretched spell upon her, with Hammerton in the house, which made his presence a torment far greater than she could have dreamed of. All those first passionate feelings of triumph and revenge which had supported her during that time of Lord Verner’s courtship, had vanished long since, and now she only prayed for peace.
When the soft mellow gong, which announced dinner, resounded through the halls and corridors of Montem Castle, Lord Verner, who had been sitting with his wife in her own room, brought an excuse for her absence. She was not at all well this evening, he said, and so Lord Cornington and Lionel Hammerton and the Earl dined together, and Lord Cornington re-echoed Earl Verner’s hope that her ladyship might come down to tea. Meanwhile Lady Verner wrote to her dear friend Phœbe, begging of her to come and stay a few days with her at Montem, and telling her that Arthur Phillips should have an invitation to dinner as long as her stay lasted.