Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 14 (13 page)

 
          
           
Almost fiercely she had spoken, and with a warning gesture she hurried from the
room, leaving the young man feeling as if a sudden thunder-gust had swept
through the house. For several minutes he sat in the chair she left, thinking
deeply. Suddenly he rose, went to his sister, and said, in his usual tone of
indolent good nature, "Bella, didn't I hear Ned ask you to be kind to Miss
Muir?"

 
          
           
"Yes, and I try to be, but she is so odd lately."

 
          
           
"Odd! How do you mean?"

 
          
           
"Why, she is either as calm and cold as a statue, or restless and queer;
she cries at night, I know, and sighs sadly when she thinks I don't hear.
Something is the matter."

 
          
           
"She frets for Ned perhaps," began
Coventry
.

 
          
           
"Oh dear, no; it's a great relief to her that he is gone. I'm afraid that
she likes someone very much, and someone
don't
like
her. Can it be Mr. Sydney?"

 
          
           
"She called him a 'titled fool' once, but perhaps that didn't mean
anything. Did you ever ask her about him?" said
Coventry
, feeling rather ashamed of his curiosity,
yet unable to resist the temptation of questioning unsuspecting Bella.

 
          
           
"Yes, but she only looked at me in her tragical way, and said, so
pitifully, 'My little friend, I hope you will never have to pass through the
scenes I've passed through, but keep your peace unbroken all your life.' After
that I dared say no more. I'm very fond of her, I want to make her happy, but I
don't know how. Can you propose anything?"

 
          
           
"I was going to propose that you make her come among us more, now Ned is
gone. It must be dull for her, moping about alone. I'm sure it is for me. She
is an entertaining little person, and I enjoy her music very much. It's good
for Mamma to have gay evenings; so you bestir yourself, and see what you can do
for the general good of the family."

 
          
           
"That's all very charming, and I've proposed it more than once, but Lucia
spoils all my plans. She is afraid you'll follow Ned's example, and that is so
silly."

 
          
           
"Lucia is a—no, I won't say fool, because she has sense enough when she
chooses; but I wish you'd just settle things with Mamma, and then Lucia can do
nothing but submit," said Gerald angrily.

 
          
           
"I'll try, but she goes up to read to Uncle, you know, and since he has
had the gout, she stays later, so I see little of her in the evening. There she
goes now. I think she will captivate the old one as well as the young one, she
is so devoted."

 
          
           
Coventry
looked after her slender black figure, just
vanishing through the great gate, and an uncomfortable fancy took possession of
him, born of Bella's careless words. He sauntered away, and after eluding his
cousin, who seemed looking for him, he turned toward the Hall, saying to
himself, I will see what is going on up here. Such things have happened. Uncle
is the simplest soul alive, and if the girl is ambitious, she can do what she
will with him.

 
          
           
Here a servant came running after him and gave him a letter, which he thrust
into his pocket without examining it. When he reached the Hall, he went quietly
to his uncle's study. The door was ajar, and looking in, he saw a scene of
tranquil comfort, very pleasant to watch. Sir John leaned in his easy chair
with one foot on a cushion. He was dressed with his usual care and, in spite of
the gout, looked like a handsome, well-preserved old gentleman. He was smiling
as he listened, and his eyes rested complacently on Jean Muir, who sat near him
reading in her musical voice, while the sunshine glittered on her hair and the
soft rose of her cheek. She read well, yet
Coventry
thought her heart was not in her task, for
once when she paused, while Sir John spoke, her eyes had an absent expression,
and she leaned her head upon her hand, with an air of patient weariness.

 
          
           
Poor girl! I did her great injustice; she has no thought of captivating the old
man, but amuses him from simple kindness. She is tired. I'll put an end to her
task; and
Coventry
entered without knocking.

 
          
           
Sir John received him with an air of polite resignation, Miss Muir with a
perfectly expressionless face.

 
          
           
"Mother's
love
, and how are you today, sir?"

 
          
           
"Comfortable, but dull, so I want you to bring the girls
over this evening, to amuse the old gentleman.
Mrs. King has got out the
antique costumes and trumpery, as I promised Bella she should have them, and
tonight we are to have
a merrymaking
, as we used to do
when Ned was here."

 
          
           
"Very well, sir, I'll bring them. We've all been out of sorts since the
lad left, and a little jollity will do us good. Are you going back, Miss
Muir?" asked
Coventry
.

 
          
           
"No, I shall keep her to give me my tea and get things ready. Don't read
anymore, my dear, but go and amuse yourself with the pictures, or whatever you
like," said Sir John; and like a dutiful daughter she obeyed, as if glad
to get away.

 
          
           
"That's a very charming girl, Gerald," began Sir John as she left the
room. "I'm much interested in her, both on
her own
account and on her mother's."

 
          
           
"Her mother's!
What do you know of her
mother?" asked
Coventry
, much surprised.

 
          
           
"Her mother was Lady Grace Howard, who ran away with a poor Scotch
minister twenty years ago. The family cast her off, and she lived and died so
obscurely that very little is known of her except that she left an orphan girl
at some small French pension. This is the girl, and a fine girl, too. I'm
surprised that you did not know this."

 
          
           
"So am I, but it is like her not to tell. She is a strange, proud
creature. Lady Howard's daughter! Upon my word, that is a discovery," and
Coventry felt his interest in his sister's governess much increased by this
fact; for, like all wellborn Englishmen, he valued rank and gentle blood even
more than he cared to own.

 
          
           
"She has had a hard life of it, this poor little girl, but she has a brave
spirit, and will make her way anywhere," said Sir John admiringly.

 
          
           
"Did Ned know this?" asked Gerald suddenly.

 
          
           
"No, she only told me yesterday. I was looking in the
Peerage
and chanced to speak of the Howards. She forgot herself and
called Lady Grace her mother. Then I got the whole story, for the lonely little
thing was glad to make a confidant of someone."

 
          
           
"That accounts for her rejection of Sydney and Ned: she knows she is their
equal and will not snatch at the rank which is hers by right. No, she's not
mercenary or ambitious."

 
          
           
"What do you say?" asked Sir John, for
Coventry
had spoken more to himself than to his
uncle.

 
          
           
"I wonder if Lady Sydney was aware of this?" was all Gerald's answer.

 
          
           
"No, Jean said she did not wish to be pitied, and so told nothing to the
mother. I think the son knew, but that was a delicate point, and I asked no
questions."

 
          
           
"I shall write to him as soon as I discover his address. We have been so
intimate I can venture to make a few inquiries about Miss Muir, and prove the
truth of her story."

 
          
           
"Do you mean to say that you doubt it?" demanded Sir John angrily.

 
          
           
"I beg your pardon, Uncle, but I must confess I have an instinctive
distrust of that young person. It is unjust, I dare say, yet I cannot banish
it."

 
          
           
"Don't annoy me by expressing it, if you please. I have some penetration
and experience, and I respect and pity Miss Muir heartily. This dislike of
yours may be the cause of her late melancholy, hey, Gerald?" And Sir John
looked suspiciously at his nephew.

 
          
           
Anxious to avert the rising storm,
Coventry
said hastily as he turned away, "I've
neither time nor inclination to discuss the matter now, sir, but will be
careful not to offend again. I'll take your message to Bella, so good-bye for
an hour, Uncle."

 
          
           
And
Coventry
went his way through the park, thinking
within himself,
The
dear old gentleman is getting
fascinated, like poor Ned. How the deuce does the girl
do
it? Lady Howard's daughter, yet never told us; I don't understand that.

 
          
           
At home he found a party of young friends, who hailed with delight the prospect
of a revel at the Hall.
An hour later, the blithe company
trooped into the great saloon, where preparations had already been made for a
dramatic evening.

 
          
           
Good Sir John was in his element, for he was never
so
happy as when his house was full of young people. Several persons were chosen,
and in a few moments the curtains were withdrawn from the first of these
impromptu tableaux. A swarthy, darkly bearded man lay asleep on a tiger skin,
in the shadow of a tent. Oriental arms and drapery surrounded him; an antique
silver lamp burned dimly on a table where fruit lay heaped in costly dishes,
and wine shone redly in half-emptied goblets. Bending over the sleeper was a
woman robed with barbaric splendor. One hand turned back the embroidered sleeve
from the arm which held a scimitar; one slender foot in a scarlet sandal was
visible under the white tunic; her purple mantle swept down from snowy
shoulders; fillets of gold bound her hair, and jewels shone on neck and arms.
She was looking over her shoulder toward the entrance of the tent, with a
steady yet stealthy look, so effective that for a moment the spectators held
their breath, as if they also heard a passing footstep.

 
          
           
"Who is it?" whispered Lucia, for the face was new to her.

 
          
           
"Jean Muir," answered
Coventry
, with an absorbed look.

 
          
           
"Impossible! She is small and fair," began Lucia, but a hasty
"Hush, let me look!" from her cousin silenced her.

 
          
           
Impossible as it seemed, he was right nevertheless; for Jean Muir it was. She
had darkened her skin, painted her eyebrows, disposed some wild black locks
over her fair hair, and thrown such an intensity of expression into her eyes
that they darkened and dilated till they were as fierce as any southern eyes
that ever flashed. Hatred, the deepest and bitterest, was written on her
sternly beautiful face, courage glowed in her glance, power spoke in the
nervous grip of the slender hand that held the weapon, and the indomitable will
of the woman was expressed—even the firm pressure of the little foot half
hidden in the tiger skin.

 
          
           
"Oh, isn't she splendid?" cried Bella under her breath.

 
          
           
"She looks as if she'd use her sword well when the time comes," said
someone admiringly.

 
          
           
"Good night to Holofernes; his fate is certain," added another.

 
          
           
"He is the image of
Sydney
, with that beard on."

 
          
           
"Doesn't she look as if she really hated him?"

 
          
           
"Perhaps she does."

 
          
           
Coventry
uttered the last exclamation, for the two
which preceded it suggested an explanation of the marvelous change in Jean. It
was not all art: the intense detestation mingled with a savage joy that the
object of her hatred was in her power was too perfect to be feigned; and having
the key to a part of her story,
Coventry
felt as if he caught a glimpse of the
truth. It was but a glimpse, however, for the curtain dropped before he had
half analyzed the significance of that strange face.

 
          
           
"Horrible! I'm glad it's over," said Lucia coldly.

 
          
           
"Magnificent! Encore! Encore!" cried Gerald enthusiastically.

 
          
           
But the scene was over, and no applause could recall the actress. Two or three
graceful or gay pictures followed, but Jean was in none, and each lacked the
charm which real talent lends to the simplest part.

 
          
           
"
Coventry
, you are wanted," called a voice. And
to everyone's surprise,
Coventry
went, though heretofore he had always refused to exert himself when
handsome actors were in demand.

 
          
           
"What part am I to spoil?" he asked, as he entered the green room,
where several excited young gentlemen were costuming and attitudinizing.

 
          
           
"A fugitive cavalier.
Put yourself into this
suit, and lose no time asking questions. Miss Muir will tell you what to do.
She is in the tableau, so no one will mind you," said the manager pro tem,
throwing a rich old suit toward
Coventry
and resuming the painting of a moustache on
his own boyish face.

 
          
           
A gallant cavalier was the result of Gerald's hasty toilet, and when he
appeared before the ladies a general glance of admiration was bestowed upon
him.

 
          
           
"Come along and be placed; Jean is ready on the stage." And Bella ran
before him, exclaiming to her governess, "Here he is, quite splendid.
Wasn't he good to do it?"

 
          
           
Miss Muir, in the charmingly prim and puritanical dress of a Roundhead damsel,
was arranging some shrubs, but turned suddenly and dropped the green branch she
held, as her eye met the glittering figure advancing toward her.

 
          
           
"You!" she said with a troubled look, adding low to Bella, "Why
did you ask
him?
I begged you
not."

 
          
           
"He is the only handsome man
here,
and the best
actor if he likes. He won't play usually, so make the most of him." And
Bella was off to finish powdering her hair for "The Marriage à la
Mode."

 
          
           
"I was sent for and I came. Do you prefer some other person?" asked
Coventry
, at a loss to understand the half-anxious,
half-eager expression of the face under the little cap.

 
          
           
It changed to one of mingled annoyance and resignation as she said, "It is
too late. Please kneel here, half behind the shrubs; put down your hat,
and—allow me—you are too elegant for a fugitive."

 
          
           
As he knelt before her, she disheveled his hair, pulled his lace collar awry,
threw away his gloves and sword, and half untied the cloak that hung about his
shoulders.

 
          
           
"That is better; your paleness is excellent—nay, don't spoil it. We are to
represent the picture which hangs in the Hall. I need tell you no more. Now,
Roundheads, place
yourselves
, and then ring up the
curtain."

 
          
           
With a smile, Coventry obeyed her; for the picture was of two lovers, the young
cavalier kneeling, with his arm around the waist of the girl, who tries to hide
him with her little mantle, and presses his head to her bosom in an ecstasy of
fear, as she glances back at the approaching pursuers. Jean
hesitated
an instant and shrank a little as his hand touched her; she blushed deeply, and
her eyes fell before his. Then, as the bell rang, she threw herself into her
part with sudden spirit. One arm half covered him with her cloak, the other
pillowed his head on the muslin kerchief folded over her bosom, and she looked
backward with such terror in her eyes that more than one chivalrous young
spectator longed to hurry to the rescue. It lasted but a moment; yet in that
moment
Coventry
experienced another new sensation. Many
women had smiled on him, but he had remained heart-whole, cool, and careless,
quite unconscious of the power which a woman possesses and knows how to use,
for the weal or woe of man. Now, as he knelt there with a soft arm about him, a
slender waist yielding to his touch, and a maiden heart throbbing against his
cheek, for the first time in his life he felt the indescribable spell of
womanhood, and looked the ardent lover to perfection. Just as his face assumed
this new and most becoming aspect, the curtain dropped, and clamorous encores
recalled him to the fact that Miss Muir was trying to escape from his hold,
which had grown painful in its unconscious pressure. He sprang up, half
bewildered, and looking as he had never looked before.

 
          
           
"Again!
Again!" called Sir John. And the
young men who played the Roundheads, eager to share in the applause begged for
a repetition in new attitudes.

 
          
           
"A rustle has betrayed you, we have fired and shot the brave girl, and she
lies dying, you know. That will be effective; try it, Miss Muir," said
one. And with a long breath, Jean complied.

 
          
           
The curtain went up, showing the lover still on his knees, unmindful of the
captors who clutched him by the shoulder, for at his feet the girl lay dying.
Her head was on his breast, now, her eyes looked full into his, no longer wild
with fear, but eloquent with the love which even death could not conquer. The
power of those tender eyes thrilled
Coventry
with a strange delight, and set his heart
beating as rapidly as hers had done. She felt his hands tremble, saw the color
flash into his cheek, knew that she had touched him at last, and when she rose
it was with a sense of triumph which she found it hard to conceal. Others
thought it fine acting; Coventry tried to believe so; but Lucia set her teeth,
and, as the curtain fell on that second picture, she left her place to hurry
behind the scenes, bent on putting an end to such dangerous play. Several
actors were complimenting the mimic lovers. Jean took it merrily, but
Coventry
, in spite of himself, betrayed that he was
excited by something deeper than mere gratified vanity.

 
          
           
As Lucia appeared, his manner changed to its usual indifference; but he could
not quench the unwonted fire of his eyes, or keep all trace of emotion out of
his face, and she saw this with a sharp pang.

 
          
           
"I have come to offer my help. You must be tired, Miss Muir. Can I relieve
you?" said Lucia hastily.

 
          
           
"Yes, thank you. I shall be very glad to leave the rest to you, and enjoy
them from the front."

 
          
           
So with a sweet smile Jean tripped away, and to Lucia's dismay 
Coventry
followed.  

 
          
           
"I want you, Gerald; please stay," she cried.

 
          
           
"I've done my part—no more tragedy for me tonight." And he was gone
before she could entreat or command.

 
          
           
There was no help for it; she must stay and do her duty, or expose her jealousy
to the quick eyes about her. For a time she bore it; but the sight of her
cousin leaning over the chair she had left and chatting with the governess, who
now filled it, grew unbearable, and she dispatched a little girl with a message
to Miss Muir.

 
          
           
"Please, Miss Beaufort wants you for Queen Bess, as you are the only lady
with red hair. Will you come?" whispered the child, quite unconscious of
any hidden sting in her words.

 
          
           
"Yes, dear, willingly though I'm not stately enough for Her Majesty, nor
handsome enough," said Jean, rising with an untroubled face, though she
resented the feminine insult.