COUNT ORSINI HAD made a very great impression upon Miss Ramblay. Considerably older and more polished than any of the young men whose admiration she was becoming accustomed to, his attentions had been the crowning glory of an otherwise triumphant introduction at Almack’s. The young lady returned to Grosvenor Square that night with a starry look in her eyes—which was not lost upon her cousin—and before the two retired, slipped into Maggie’s room.
“Wish me joy, my dear, good friend!” she exclaimed, with such innocent rapture that Maggie could not help smiling, “for I do really think I am in love!” There followed a minute description of her meeting with the Count, who, too impatient to wait for a formal introduction, had presented himself. He had not attempted to hide his admiration for her, and Fanny, whose nature was about as artless as it was possible to be, considered his Continental manner the very apex of elegance and sophistication. That so worldly a gentleman should have seen anything to admire in a dull creature like herself was almost beyond her belief. It was no mystery to Maggie, however. One glance at that downy-soft complexion, now lit up with amazement and pleasure, those radiant, candid eyes, and that slender child’s figure told her what any man must instantly see and love. But Fanny would not believe she deserved anything; no, no—surely she was the luckiest creature in the world!
Count Orsini had evidently understood his own good fortune in encountering so rare a gem as Miss Ramblay, for he had lost no time in idle flirtation, but arranged for a second meeting on the very next day. He and Fanny were to ride together in Regent’s Park. To satisfy form and custom—for Orsini was nothing if not meticulous in his attention to etiquette—they were to be accompanied by Maggie and Captain Morrison. This latter gentleman had himself made a most favorable impression upon Fanny and, with many little smiles of complicity, she hinted that if she was the luckiest girl in the world, then Maggie was only a little less so. The arrangement suited everyone very well, for Maggie was nearly as eager to make the Count’s acquaintance as she was to see his friend, and Fanny dearly wished for the approval of her cousin in her choice of suitors.
Maggie had not hoped to see Captain Morrison again so soon, for he had once more expressed his hesitancy to call at Grosvenor Square, even if Lord Ramblay himself was not in residence. They had left it between them, at the end of the cotillion, that they should contrive to meet as soon as possible. It was likely they should see each other very soon, for Captain Morrison was a great favorite with the hostesses of the ton, and Maggie, being Lady Ramblay’s guest and cousin, was naturally included in every invitation. That they should meet again as soon as possible, however, was by both of them agreed upon. They had separated that evening with so many meaningful looks and such a heartfelt pressing of hands that even without any words to confirm it, Maggie was certain of the officer’s feelings. Their conversation upon the subject of her cousin, moreover, had raised again all her former doubts, which were now more strong than they had ever been before. Indeed, their mutual suspicions and fears had formed a stronger bond between them than even that natural attraction which had been present from the start. As often happens, having such a common ground to work upon, gave all their conversations and looks direction, which two young people, so little acquainted, might have lacked otherwise.
Fanny Ramblay was afraid her mother might oppose their riding out together with two gentlemen, though Count Orsini had told her it was the most commonly done thing in the world. But the young lady knew how strict her parent could be, and she had ever been warned against receiving the attentions of gentlemen her mother and brother had not approved. She was so set upon going, however, and the idea of disappointing her suitor was so awful, that she actually veered out of her usual path of strict obedience so far as to neglect telling the Viscountess she intended going. She did not lie, indeed—but she was conscious of dishonesty nonetheless. Lady Ramblay’s habit of staying abed all morning made the going easy, and until they had come home again, her mother had no idea of what the girl had done.
It was by then too late to make any real opposition, and Fanny’s feelings had reason to be more fixed than ever. Count Orsini was even better in the daylight than he had been at the cotillion. Whatever little tremors of doubt she had had on lying in bed that night that his chivalry, his kindness, and his admiration were a product of her imagination, were laid to rest that next morning. Count Orsini was everything kind, everything wonderful. With what tenderness did he arrange her skirts about the girth so that they should not be caught up and trip her while she rode! With what intentness did he listen to her, and what wonder was in his eyes on finding so many common ideas in their thinking! It was true he was much older than she, and yet he seemed to delight in hearing her speak, though she was convinced that everything she said must make her seem foolish in comparison with the great ladies he had known. Count Orsini made her believe she was a woman, and the most lovely woman in all the world. How could she resist him?
After the first quarter of an hour, Miss Ramblay and her suitor rode ahead of the other two. Captain Morrison, with a smile, held back his horse to allow it, and Maggie instantly followed suit. She had seen enough of the Italian to relieve her doubts of the previous evening. In broad daylight, and at a closer range, she saw that he was astonishingly handsome, though small and wiry, and with the kind of quick black eyes that are sometimes described as darting. But his manner was everything it should be, and if his chivalry might, beside the brusqueness of an Englishman, have been considered as a trifle excessive, it was very pleasing nonetheless. Maggie liked him better than she had hoped she would, and liked him still more from seeing the glow in her cousin’s cheek.
Satisfied upon this point, which had worried her a little before, Maggie could now turn her attention completely to the Captain. They rode for a little without speaking seriously, only admiring together the fine day and the handsome equipages they saw about them. Captain Morrison knew all the history of the place, and regaled her for a while with tales of the Prince’s penury, which had held up the completion of the park, between battles in Parliament and battles with the King, for nearly ten years. He was acquainted with everyone they passed, and Maggie was not a little pleased to see how many of the horses and carriages stopped to allow their riders to speak to him. His manner was always light and amiable. Those who stopped went away with smiles upon their faces, and glanced with great interest at the lady beside him, whom Captain Morrison never failed to introduce as the daughter of the great Admiral Trevor. Maggie’s delight in his company seemed to grow stronger with every minute.
But at last the subject which had been uppermost in both their minds since their meeting at Almack’s was touched upon. Captain Morrison seemed to steer away from mentioning Lord Ramblay himself out of a regard for his companion. But some mention was made of the castle, and of the house party which had been ending when Maggie arrived. She had not had, on the previous evening, opportunity to tell him about it, and now she related the story of the hunt, and mentioned her great admiration for Miss Haversham.
“What!” cried Captain Morrison, “Blanche Haversham was there!” He seemed amazed, and Maggie wondered if he knew her well.
“Oh, everyone knows Miss Haversham,” was Morrison’s reply. But there was a look of annoyance on his face for a moment. “She is our national mystery. No one knows where she comes from, or who her family is, but there is a general agreement that she is descended from some one or other of the royal houses—the illegitimate daughter of one of the Dukes, perhaps. There has even been a rumor that she is the Regent’s daughter by Mrs. Fitzherbert. And what do you think of her?”
Maggie replied that she admired the lady immensely, recounting how she had behaved after Mr. Montcrieff’s accident. “At first I was amazed and a little chagrined at hearing her scold him so openly, before all his friends. But there is such a quality of heroism about her—she is like a young Diana, with her bow stretched tight against the enemy. I could not help admiring how she stood her ground, before all that simpering group of men and women! Besides, I think she was absolutely right—I cannot bear to see a poor animal put out, only from the stupidity of the rider.”
Captain Morrison laughed at this. “Ah—that is Blanche Haversham through and through! She has not a trace of cowardice in her. But this Montcrieff fellow, what do you think of him?”
Maggie hesitated. She was almost tempted to confide Miss Haversham’s secret to him, but a moment’s consideration made her stop, for in truth it was not her privilege to divulge such a confidence. Miss Haversham had a right to her mystery, even if it meant withholding something from Captain Morrison. She said at last, “Why, I think him perfectly sweet and amiable, if not quite what Miss Haversham deserves. Yet she seems absolutely devoted to him—it is a most perplexing couple!”
“I think him the most absurd little fool in the world!” declared Morrison, with such strength of feeling that Maggie looked at him, surprised. But he continued in explanation, “Our national mystery has a right to a better match than that. Why, she could have any man in the whole kingdom if she liked! The Duke of Suffolk is wildly in love with her, and Lord Ernsgate, who is my idea of a really famous Corinthian (and with a vast fortune besides), has made it plain he would cut off his right arm for her! But I hope this little dressing down she gave Montcrieff in the field squelched his passion.”
“Nothing like it,” smiled Maggie. “On the contrary, when they had made up their quarrel, they were like a pair of lovebirds. And I have heard—” Maggie did not mention the letter she had had, for fear of suggesting that she knew more about Miss Haversham than she implied— “that they are now gone to Scotland, to get the Earl’s blessing.”
“What! I cannot credit it! The little fool!” Captain Morrison looked quite angry, but seeing his companion glance at him in amazement, smiled and said, “Don’t think me idiotic, Miss Trevor. It is only that I am one of Miss Haversham’s greatest admirers. And those of us who think highly of her all disapprove this association with young Montcrieff. Why, it is like casting a diamond into the Thames! What will become of our glorious, proud Diana when she is nothing but Mrs. Montcrieff? Even when he comes into the title, he will not have half the fortune required to keep any kind of establishment in Town, besides his drafty old Abbey. Blanche Haversham will fade out of sight and mind. She will become as dull and respectable as dishwater. One must preserve one’s national resources, you know—and certainly Miss Haversham is one of ours!”
“But perhaps,” interjected Maggie gently, “she will be happy. There is that to think of—and I do not imagine national mysteries, for all their style and prominence, derive much contentment from their lives.”
Captain Morrison grunted. It was clear they had at last hit upon a subject they did not agree upon, but Maggie, thinking of how much else they had in common, allowed him this one difference from herself. She liked his wit and levity too much to want to dampen it.
Lady Ramblay was in a fury when the two young ladies returned. The sight of the Viscountess stomping up and down the morning room, with her lace cap a little askew upon her head and her impressive bosom heaving, was enough to frighten anyone. She commenced the moment they came in.
“And where have you been all the morning!” she cried, glaring from one to the other.
Fanny stammered and went red, for she had not imagined her mother could have known anything about their ride until she was told. She had planned to make the admission herself, and now that her feelings were so firmly fixed she had resolved upon doing so as soon as possible.
Maggie, seeing her young cousin’s agitation, stepped into the breach. “We have been riding in Regent’s Park, your ladyship,” said she with a rather stubborn look, for she could not abide the Viscountess’s presumption in addressing her as if she were no more than a child of three. “I did not see how you could object, since we were accompanied by two gentlemen of very high repute.”
Lady Ramblay snorted. “Riding in the park! Riding in the park, and with two gentlemen of high repute, besides! Miss, you may go to your room till I call for you,” she commanded Fanny.
The young girl, who had turned perfectly ashen, made a feeble objection, but was summarily silenced by a wave of the Viscountess’s bejeweled hand. With an agonizing glance back at her cousin, she obeyed, creeping from the room like a scolded puppy.
The Viscountess now stood, her feet planted firmly apart, glaring at the remaining young lady, who glared back in kind. Maggie had borne Lady Ramblay’s incivility to herself without a word; she had been criticized, mocked at, abused, in a manner which few women could have borne, and yet she had made no objection. But when she saw Fanny Ramblay—sweet, timid, gentle Fanny—scolded for nothing more than riding in the park, she could not bear it any longer. All the wrath and resentment which had been building up in her for nearly a month now came to a head, and it was with a look of unrestrained contempt that she now listened to her hostess’s enraged accusations.
“So, Miss Trevor!” she commenced. “You have taken it upon yourself to decide what I might or might not object to! Presumptuous chit! I offer you the hospitality of my house, and much more, the opportunity to move in the best circles of the ton—against all my better judgment, I might add—and how do you thank me? By presuming to know what is proper conduct for my daughter! By encouraging her to disobey me, by enticing her into the most scandalous kind of conduct! Two gentlemen of high repute! I should like to know what you consider prepares you to make such a judgment! Perhaps it is considered very fitting behavior for sailors’ daughters to ride about the country with strange men, but I assure you that for the daughter and sister of a Viscount, it is most certainly not! What have you to say for yourself?”
Maggie had a great deal to say for herself, and a great deal to say against Lady Ramblay. So stifled was she by rage that she could not speak at once. She let the older woman wait for a moment or two, growing more scarlet with every second.
“I shall tell you what I think, Lady Ramblay,” she said at last, as calmly as she could. “I think that I have never witnessed more incivility in my life than I have had to bear from you. You have made it the purpose of your life to torment me. I do not know what has made me deserve such treatment, but I am certain of one thing—I shall not bear it any longer. I only came to visit you to please my father, but even to please him, I shall not stay another moment! You may think it a great honor to be introduced about to all the ton, but I assure you, I have never met such a group of preening, worthless people in all my life! I should much prefer the company of an uncouth boatswain to all your aristocratic friends! At least I have met one gentleman in all of London whom I consider worthy of my respect—and he is not a viscount, nor a peer of any kind, but a mere ship’s captain, like my father. They are both sailors, ma’am—whom you no doubt consider too lowly to bother about. But they are both gentlemen, and I am a lady! I do not go riding about the countryside with strange men—nor would I ever encourage Fanny to do likewise. We were accompanied today by this same officer, whom I know my father would approve, and his great friend, Count Orsini. I believe he is in love with your daughter, and she with him. I had hoped to see her emerge at last from the awful timidity she has been driven into by your overprotection of her, but I am afraid I shall not. In truth, I pity her from my heart, for the destiny you and Lord Ramblay have no doubt arranged for her. But indeed I cannot stay in this house another day!”
“Insolent girl!”
Lady Ramblay was so overcome that she could do no more than tremble and repeat this same phrase over and over. Her mouth was working all the time, but with no other sound issuing out of it, and her eyes were nearly popping out of her head.
“Insolent girl!”
“You may call me what you like, your ladyship!” cried Maggie. “I do not care what you think of me. Indeed, how could I? What care I for the opinion of people who think nothing of others? Why should I desire the approval of those who care not whom they harm, so long as they are comfortable, and have five kinds of hothouse fruit at every meal? Why should I make myself miserable because you do not like me? It killed one other young woman, I know—if there was not a fouler act committed—but I shall not let it cause me a day of torment!”
A kind of groan, or gurgle, escaped the Viscountess’s lips on hearing this speech, and she fell back into a chair, which luckily, was just behind her.
“Heaven preserve us!” she moaned, fanning herself with her hand. “What have we come to when one of our own family dares speak in such a way? Insolent, insolent girl! To think I actually approved your entrance into this house! Indeed, I ought to have followed my own inkling and never have listened to Percival! I told him—indeed, I did tell him, we should regret the day we ever saw your face! I knew when your father did not reply to Percy’s first letter that you were all a pack of stubborn, insolent upstarts!”
Lady Ramblay seemed to have exhausted herself with this speech, and she lay back, fanning herself with a limp-wristed movement, for several moments. Maggie watched her with contempt, hardly hearing her words, and sensible only of the vast incivility of the Viscountess, and her injustice, not only to herself, but to her own daughter. When she saw that Lady Ramblay’s energy was all spent, she collected herself enough to retort:
“It is clear from what you have said, your ladyship, that you would be as glad of my departure as I would. I would be grateful if you would lend me your chaise to Dartmoor—from there I shall take stages to Sussex, so as not to be forced into any further humiliation at your hands. Good day, Lady Ramblay—and good-bye!”
And with these words, Maggie turned on her heel and sailed out the door. Without any clear understanding of what she was doing, but in that sort of white rage that sometimes can replace clear thinking, she ran up to her apartment and, ringing for her maid, commenced throwing her gowns upon the bed. It was only after she had completely emptied one closet and had started upon another that she commenced to shake uncontrollably. The gall! The absolute, unmitigated rudeness of that woman! To be accused of corrupting Fanny, whom she loved as much as a sister! To be called a chit, as if she were no better than a slovenly wretch from Newgate! To hear her father called such vile names, and herself denounced as even worse! She had thought it bad enough when Lord Ramblay had called her down, but at least he had had a motive! But this—surely this was more than any reasonable body could bear! Lord, how she wished her father had been here to defend her! Lady Ramblay should not have dared speak to him in such a fashion! And if she had, how sorry she would have been soon afterward!
And with these kinds of thoughts, which in truth were less like thoughts than a tangle of outraged pride, dignity, and confused phrases, Maggie oversaw the packing of her several trunks and band boxes. Evidently too terrified by her mistress’s mood to make any comment, Maggie’s maid did as she was told, even leaving off the wrapping up the finest gowns in silver paper, and tossing everything into boxes and valises helter-skelter. At last she did inquire timidly if her mistress did not wish to wait to collect those new gowns which were being made for her in Bond Street?
Maggie stared at her for a moment as if she did not understand.
“The gowns you ordered made, miss—from the French woman in Bond Street? Do not you think you had better collect them?”
“Pshaw!” cried Maggie. “Where we are going, my girl, I shan’t need anything finer than what I have. I wonder what was ever in my head to think I could live such a life, away from all I know and love? Indeed, Marie, you had better remind me, if I ever take on such airs again, what has taken place in this house!”
Marie had no idea what had taken place between Lady Ramblay and her mistress, but there was a great buzzing belowstairs, and she knew there had been a quarrel between them. This was a cause for some disagreement among the staff, and not a little entertainment. Though the butler declared himself all on the side of Lady Ramblay, and the housekeeper would not take part in the debate, most of the servants agreed that Miss Trevor must have had right on her side. Lady Ramblay was an impossible mistress. She was forever giving orders and then contradicting them, so that no one ever knew what she really wanted. She was demanding and disagreeable, and in general, had it not been for their devotion to her son and daughter, there was hardly one among them who would have remained in her employ. Marie had heard some of this from whispered conversations, and she knew the chaise had been ordered for her mistress.
Very soon a knock came on the door, and a maid informed her that the conveyance was ready. Maggie had only to write a quick note to Captain Morrison, explaining why she was going away and hoping to receive him in the near future at Sussex. Entrusting the note to the care of a footman, she slipped down the hall to Fanny’s room to say her adieux. These were naturally very difficult, and Fanny could not bring herself to understand why her cousin was going away. But at last she began to comprehend and, with a miserable expression, wished her mama had not been so uncivil to her friend.
“I wish, indeed, that you could know each other better!” she exclaimed, flinging her arms about her cousin, “for then you would surely see that she is not half so bad as she seems. It is only that since Papa died, she has not had much to occupy her, and she grows cross very easily.”
Maggie was touched by this display of filial loyalty, but she could only think that Fanny had much too generous an opinion of her mother. If this little speech had not in any way changed Maggie’s opinion of the Viscountess, it had served to increase her affection for her daughter. With many fond words, they parted at last, and just as Maggie turned to go out the door, the younger girl cried eagerly,
“At least, I know we shall see each other before long, for when we are both married, you know—” with a shy little glance— “we shall visit each other as often as we please!”
Maggie smiled in reply. But she had not the heart to say anything; the idea of Lady Ramblay and her son ever approving a match based solely upon love was inconceivable.
Within five minutes Maggie’s trunks had been loaded onto the chaise and she and her maid were disposed inside. Her exit had been much eased by finding that the Viscountess had retired to her own apartment. With only one last glance at the mansion she had occupied for barely more than a fortnight, she gave the order to drive on.