The Beautiful Wretch, William Black [digital ebook reader .TXT] 📗

the country where you smoke them?" asked an old gentleman in spectacles. "Because, Monsieur," I answered him, with the usual cheek of the English, "I prefer to smoke cigars made of tobacco." But he was quite polite. After charging me eighteen francs, he bowed me out, and said "a rivederla;" to which I responded "Oh no, thank you;" and then I found you and your sisters all laughing at me, as if I had been before a police-magistrate to be admonished.'

'You don't forget all the disagreeable details, then?' said Nan, with a smile.

But the smile vanished from her face when he began to talk about Bellagio. He did so without any covert intention. It was always a joy to him to think or talk about the time that he and the three sisters spent together far away there in the south. And it was only about the Serenata and the procession of illuminated boats that he was thinking at this moment.

'I suppose they will sooner or later have all our ships and steamers lit with the electric light; and everything will be ghastly white and ghastly black. But do you remember how soft and beautiful the masses of yellow stars were when the boats came along the lake in the darkness? It was indeed a lovely night. And I think we had the best of it--sitting there in the garden. I know I for one didn't miss the music a bit. And then it was still more lovely when the moon rose; and you could see the water, and the mountains on the other side, and even the houses by the shore. I remember there was a bush somewhere near us that scented all the air----'

Madge had been regarding her sister closely.

'It must have been a magical night,' she said quickly, 'for Nan's face has got quite white just thinking of it.'

He started. A quick glance at the girl beside him showed him that she was indeed pale; her eyes cast down; her hand trembling. Instantly he said, in a confused hurry,--

'You see, Miss Anne, there was some delay about the concert. One steamer did really come back to Bellagio. We had our serenade all the same--that is to say, any who were awake. You see, they did not intend to swindle you----'

'Oh, no! oh, no!' said Nan; and then, conscious that Madge was still regarding her, she added with a desperate effort at composure,--

'We heard some pretty music on the water at Venice. Edith picked up some of the airs. She will play them to you after dinner.'

That same night, as usual, Madge came into Nan's room, just before going off.

'Nan,' she said, looking straight at her, 'what was it upset you about Frank's reminding you of Bellagio?'

'Bellagio?' repeated Nan, with an effort to appear unconscious, but with her eyes turned away.

'Yes; you know very well.'

'I know that I was thinking of something quite different from anything that Captain King was saying,' Nan said, at length. 'And--and it is of no consequence to you, Madge, believe me.'

Madge regarded her suspiciously for a second, and then said, with an air of triumph,

'At all events, he isn't going to Ireland.'

'Oh, indeed,' Nan answered, gently. 'Well I'm glad; I suppose you prefer his not going?'

'It nearly came to a quarrel, I know,' said Madge, frankly. 'I thought it just a bit too cool. At all events, he ought to pretend to care a little for me.'

'Oh, Madge, how can you say such things? Care for you--and he has asked you to be his wife? Could he care for you more than that?'

'He has never even thanked me for not going to the Kenyons' ball,' said Madge, who appeared to imagine that Nan was responsible for everything Captain King did or did not do.

'Surely he would take it for granted you would not go!' remonstrated the elder sister.

'But he takes everything for granted. And he scarcely ever thinks it worth while to speak to me. And I know it will be a regular bore when we go to Kingscourt, with the old people still there, and me not mistress at all; and what am I to do?'

She poured out this string of wild complaints rapidly and angrily.

'Good-night, Madge,' said Nan; 'I am rather tired to-night.'

'Good-night. But I can tell you if he hadn't given up Ireland, there would have been a row.'

It was altogether a strange condition of affairs; and next day it was apparently made worse. There had been a stiffish gale blowing all night from the south; and in the morning, though the sky was cloudless, there was a heavy sea running, so that from the windows they saw white masses of foam springing into the air--hurled back by the sea-wall at the end of Medina Terrace. When Captain King came along Mr. Tom at once proposed they should all of them take a stroll as far as the Terrace; for now the tide was full up and the foam was springing into the blue sky to a most unusual height. And, indeed, when they arrived they found a pretty big crowd collected; a good many of whom had obviously been caught unawares by the shifting and swirling masses of spray. It was a curious sight. First the great wave came rolling on with but little beyond an ominous hissing noise; then there was a heavy shock that made the earth tremble, and at the same moment a roar as of thunder; then into the clear sky rose a huge wall of gray, illuminated by the sunlight, and showing clearly and blackly the big stones and smaller shingle that had been caught and whirled up in the seething mass. Occasionally a plank of drift timber was similarly whirled up--some thirty or forty feet; disappearing altogether again as it fell crashing into the roar of the retreating wave. It was a spectacle, moreover, that changed every few seconds, as the heavy volumes of the sea hit the breakwater at different angles. The air was thick with the salt spray; and hot with the sunlight--even on this March morning.

Then it became time for Mr. Tom and Captain Frank to go and witness a challenge game of rackets that had been much talked of; and the girls walked back with them as far as Brunswick Terrace, Madge being with Frank King.

'Why is it one never sees Mr. Jacomb now?' he asked of his companion.

'I saw him only the other day,' she said evasively.

'But he does not come to the house, does he?'

'N--no,' said Madge.

'Has he left Brighton?'

'Oh no,' answered Madge, and she drew his attention to a brig that was making up Channel under very scant sail indeed.

'I daresay he has a good deal of work to do,' said Frank King absently. 'When are they going to be married?'

Madge saw that the revelation could be put off no longer.

'Oh, but they are not going to be married. Nan isn't going to be married at all.'

He stared at her, as if he had scarcely heard her aright; and then he said slowly--

'Nan isn't going to be married? Why have you never told me before?'

'Oh, it is a private family matter,' said Madge, petulantly. 'It is not to be talked about. Besides, how could I know it would interest you?'

He remained perfectly silent and thoughtful. They walked along. Madge began to think she had been too ungracious.

'I suppose she tried to bring herself to it for a time,' she said, more gently. 'She has wonderful ideas, Nan has; and I suppose she thought she could do a deal of good as a clergyman's wife. For my part, I don't see what she could do more than she does at present. It's just what she's fit for. Poor people don't resent her going into their houses as they would if it was you or I. She manages it somehow. That's how she gets to know all about out-of-the-way sort of things; she's practical; and people think it strange that a young lady like her should know the ways and habits of common people; and that's why she interests them when she talks. There's nothing wonderful in it. Anybody can find out what the profit is on selling oranges, if you like to go and talk to a hideous old wretch who is smelling of gin. But I don't say anything against Nan. It's her way. It's what she was intended for by Providence, I do believe. But she was sold that time she wanted to get up a little committee to send a constant supply of books and magazines to the lighthouses--circulating you know. She wrote to Sir George about it; and found the Admiralty did that already.'

There was a strange, hopeless, tired look on this man's face. He did not seem to hear her. He appeared to know nothing of what was going on around him.

When they reached the door of the house, he said,--

'Good-bye!'

'Good-bye?' she repeated, inquiringly. 'I thought we were all going to see the Exhibition of Paintings this afternoon.'

'I think I must go up to London for a few days,' he said, with some hesitation. 'There--is some business----'

She said no more; but turned and went indoors without a word. He bade good-bye to Edith and to Nan--not looking into Nan's face at all. Then he left with the brother, and Mr. Tom was silent, for his friend King seemed much disturbed about something, and he did not wish to worry him.

As for Madge, she chose to work herself into a pretty passion, though she said nothing. That she should have been boasting of her triumph in inducing, or forcing, him to give up that visit to Ireland only to find him going off to London without warning or explanation, was altogether insufferable. She was gloomy and morose all the afternoon; would not go to see the pictures; refused to come in and speak to certain callers; and at dinner made a little show of sarcasm that did not hurt anybody very much.

The evening brought her a letter. Thus it ran:--

'Dear Madge--I thought you looked angry when you went indoors this morning. Don't quarrel about such a trifle as my going to London. I shall be back in two or three days; and hope to bring with me the big photograph of Kingscourt, if they have got any copies printed yet.

'Your FRANK.'

'From whom is your letter, Madge?' Lady Beresford said, incidentally.

'From Frank, mamma,' said the young lady, as she quietly and determinedly walked across the room and--thrust it into the fire!

That same night Miss Madge also wrote a note; but the odd thing was that the writing of both note and address was in a disguised hand. And when, some little time thereafter, the others were in the billiard-room, it was Madge herself who slipped out from the house and went and dropped that missive into the nearest pillar letter-box.


CHAPTER XXII.


A CATASTROPHE.