The Smile of the Stranger (22 page)

“Think nothing of it—we use that corridor all the time, don
’
t we, Socket?”

But Socket, a fair-haired, stolid-looking young man had already descended the steps, holding the indignant Mistigris, who chattered and screamed with annoyance all the way back.

“I am glad my pupils do not make such a row,” Socket observed as they emerged into Madame Reynard
’
s vault.

“Are you a teacher, sir?” Juliana inquired.

“Why, yes; I tutor Lord Egremont
’
s sons,” the young man replied. “Shall you be all right now, miss? Then I will return to his lordship, for he does not like to stop in the middle of a game. Goodbye!” He carefully handed her the monkey and turned back into the dark passage, which he negotiated with as much ease and familiarity as if it had been lamplit all the way along.

Juliana climbed the ladder in a very thoughtful frame of mind, only just in time to reassure the frantic Prue, who was beginning to believe that some underground Troll-king had swallowed her and that she would never be seen again. “Wherever
was
you, miss, for so long?”

“I had to run a very long way after the monkey, Prue; and now I think we had best go back to the house, for very likely, after all that chasing, he will be wanting his dinner.”

“I wants mine, I knows that,” said Prue, and she ran on, calling to Berthe, who had come into the garden to pick a bunch of parsley, “The pussy went down the ole, and Miss had to fetch
‘
im.”

“Oh, what horror!” said Berthe cheerfully. “Come, little one, there is a great bowl of soup for you!”

Juliana followed more slowly. Lord Egremont, she was thinking, why, of course! Why had his name not occurred to me? For she had heard various tales, while in London, of this eccentric peer, who had won the Derby several times with his racehorses, who had been a notable member of the Macaroni Club, yet never drank or gambled, who had had the most ravishing mistresses, yet was reputedly very shy and disinclined for society, who had been engaged to Lady Maria Waldegrave, but broke it off and never married anybody else. Miss Ardingly said he had been Lady Melbourne
’
s lover and was the father of one of her children. He was a friend of Charles James Fox, he was averred to be highly cultured, lively-witted, well grounded in the classics, keenly interested in the arts, yet chose to retire to his estates in Sussex and was hardly seen in London above once every two or three years; when he did come he brought his own drinking water because he said London water tasted disgusting. Lord Lambourn
—
who had once been to stay at Petworth on some business connected with the Sussex Regiment—said the house was the most uncomfortable he had ever visited—damp sheets, no bell, and nothing but rustic impertinence from the servants. When he had asked for a glass of water and wine after supper, a footman told him the butler had gone to bed
...

Juliana
’
s thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Madame Reynard, who was sitting out-of-doors on a cushioned chaise longue, writing slowly in a large leather-bound volume
—
for the day had turned out a hot one.

“
Malepeste
!”
exclaimed that lady, in a kind of cheerful indignation, as she surveyed Juliana
’
s absent, dreamy demeanor.
“I
can see all too well what has happened to
you
!
Mistigris went into the wine tunnel, is it not so? He always will, if we forget to shut the trap. And you went after him, and of course you encountered Milord Egg, playing tennis, and now you have fallen head over ears in love with him, am I not correct? He had only to cast his eye on a
jeune file
and down they all go like bowling pins. Oh, it is too bad! Now we shall never have any peace!”

Juliana burst out laughing. “No, no, Tante
’
Lise,” she said, “it is not so bad as that, I promise! Milord Egg does have a great cha
rm
, I can see that, but, after all, he must be at least twenty-five years older than I.”

“What is that to the purpose?”

“No, madame, truly, you mistake. I have been looking all my life for somebody like Charles the First, and Milord Egg, though, I am sure, very delightful, does not resemble Charles the First in the slightest degree.”

X
I

Lord Egremont came to call, as he promised he would, later on that day; but Juliana did not take this as any particular compliment to herself, since Rosine had said that he visited Madame Reynard every afternoon. However, when he did come he was dressed very handsomely in a black coat of superfine cloth, skintight pantaloons, and exquisitely polished boots; his neckcloth was most correctly tied, and he brought a charming bunch of hothouse flowers “for the young lady from over the water.” The effect of all this formality, however, was somewhat marred by the fact that he came along the underground passage, and ascended the ladder just as Juliana, who was playing hide-and-seek with Prue, had concealed herself under the table in the summerhouse.

“This young lady has the most unusual habits,” Lord Egremont remarked to Madame Reynard, who was also in the summerhouse, reclining on her chaise longue. “First of all she arrives in my tennis court as if the Militia were after her; now I find her sitting under a table. It is most singular!”

“Do not be absurd, Georges!” replied Madame Reynard, giving him her hand to kiss without getting up. “She is playing
cache-cache,
that is all. It is entirely your own fault, for arriving unannounced in this way, that you find her under the table. You should have come round correctly, by the road.”

“That way is so much farther,” he complained, sitting down and fanning himself with his hat. “Besides, then I must be civil to ever so many people all the way through the town.” Juliana, who had wondered whether the passage had been constructed more as a convenience for smugglers, or for Lord Egremont
’
s private visits to his
chère
amie,
now cor
r
ectly concluded that it was almost equally employed in both capacities. Having stood up to curtsy and receive the flowers, she retired under the table again, just in time for little Prue to discover her with a loud cry of “Got you, then, miss!”

“Who is this?” inquired Lord Egremont, inspecting the child through his quizzing glass.
“
Another
niece of yours, my dear
’
Lise? Or a great-niece?”

“No, Georges, how can you be so foolish? She is a foundling, at present deserted by her parents,” explained Madame Reynard in a low voice, having instructed Prue to “run to Berthe and ask her to bring a glass of lemonade for the gentleman.”

“And do you propose to keep her?”

“Why, no,” said Madame Reynard calmly. “I was about to ask if you could find a niche for her in your establishment, my friend. It would be so much more amusing for her there.”

“Oh, by all means,” he replied with the utmost amiability. “Send her round whenever you like—Lizzie will stuff her with sugarplums, Mademoiselle Lord will weep over her orphaned state, Conrad Leidenberg will bake her a cake on her birthday, and Mrs. Garland will hem her pinafores for her. There can be no difficulty. I daresay she will get on excellently with little Henry—he is always saying that he needs an ally because Georgie bullies him.”

“
Bien,
then that is settled. I will bring her round tomorrow
—
not
through the subterranean way. I shall be glad to see my dear Liz. How is she?”

“She feels the heat—she finds herself troubled by nausea and backache; you know she is always so at such times
...
But tell me about this delightful young lady,” he said affably. “It is news to me, dear
’L
ise, that you possess a niece. You have been very silent about her all these years
!
”

“Why, she is not precisely a niece, but a kind of cousin,” explained Madame Reynard placidly. “You remember my cousin Raoul Duthe?

“Ah, I see. His daughter? Yes,” observed Milord Egg, bringing the quizzing glass into action once more. “Yes, now I examine her closely, I see she has quite a look of Raoul
...
And how
is
your father, my dear?” he inquired suavely of Juliana, who cast an anguished glance at Madame Reynard. That lady shrugged her shoulders in a particularly Gallic manner, and made a significant chopping gesture with the side of her hand.

“Alas, sir,” faltered Juliana, “he, like so many others—”

“No, guillotined, was he, poor fellow? Too bad, too bad. And that reminds me, God bless my soul,
’
Lise,
what
do you think is all the crack now among the
ton
, up in London? Throgmorton was telling me, and I was never so shocked in my life. All the ladies go to balls with a band of red velvet ribbon round their necks, to represent the victims of Madame Guillotine. I call that abominably vulgar—quite the outside of enough! By the by, did Throgmorton carry out your business for you all right and tight, my dear?”

“Yes, I thank you, Georges. It was just to note down the additions to my house on the title deeds, and to make an inquiry about the Glebe Path.”

“The new wing looks well,” he remarked, turning to inspect the almost completed addition. “I told you Jem Bowyer would do a good job
...
Ay, Throgmorton
’
s an excellent attorney; I find it is better to have him down from London once in a while than to entrust my business to local fellows. They mean well, but they know about as much law as my horse Fingal. Now, old Throgmorton is a close-mouthed, quiet old stick-in-the-mud, but he
’
s fully up to snuff; knows all the tricks of the trade; I shouldn
’
t wonder but what he has the family history of every member of both Houses of Parliament at his fingertips. I daresay there
’
s many a man who will breathe easier when old Throgmortons gone to his fathers and taken his secrets with him
...
Talking of secrets, I see that young Cox is back in town on furlough, which does not much delight me.”

“What, the son of your tenants over at Newgrove? But his father and mother have gone to Bath.”

“All the more reason why I hope that he leaves Petworth again soon. Alone, he is more prone to get up to mischief.”

“And what kind of mischief do you have in mind,
mon ami?
Every young man will flirt.”

“Of course; but the last girl that your Cox flirted with
—
that pretty Rosie Tanner, the bakers daughter—was found dead up in Bedham Woods last January, if you remember.”

“Georges! You do not think—?”

“I don
’
t like young Cox. At best he is a puppy. At worst
—
I don
’
t know what. I shall be glad when he returns to his ship. He has gone with the Free Traders, too, on several occasions, it
’
s said. To purchase a dallop of tea from them is one thing
—
to accompany them on their runs is something quite else, and unbecoming to a gentleman.”

This conversation was making Juliana uncomfortable; and besides, she felt that Lord Egremont and Madame Reynard must have many private matters to discuss. So she politely excused herself and returned to the house. Looking down from her bedroom window later, she saw the two of them pacing slowly along the grass walk, arm in arm, their heads bent together in conversation. How very strange! she thought. They seem like a married pair—indeed, far more attached to one another than my aunt and Lord
Lambourn
. And yet he is not married to her—not married at all! People, she concluded, are not in the least the way that I was led to expect. Now, Papa, and my aunt, and Grandfather were all persuaded that for a man and woman to love when they are not married is disgraceful and scandalous; even wicked; but I am sure that Madame Reynard is not wicked. I think, on the contrary, that she is probably very good. As for Milord Egg, I am not so sure about him. But no, I do not believe that he is wicked.

As for Mr. Cox, she tried not to think about him at all.

Like Lord Egremont, she hoped that he would soon leave the town again.

She began trying to frame a letter to her grandfather. “Dear Grandfather: The Excellent young man mentioned in my last letter to you turned out, on closer acquaintance, to be a Snake in the Grass, and a complete Charlatan and Deceiver. Having discovered this sad fact only after our Elopement was under way, I have now escaped from him and taken refuge with a most Estimable lady, the erstwhile Mistress of the Earl of Egremont; he, too, is a very Pleasant and Polished Person, and, I understand, an excellent landlord
...
”

Discouraged, she abandoned the attempt She was obliged to admit to herself that she would probably never be received by her grandfather again. It had been just possible that, if Captain Davenport had turned out as respectable as he seemed, Sir Horace might in the end have been brought to countenance the match, but in the present circumstances he could only consider Juliana utterly disgraced; compromised by her elopement, by its equivocal ending, and by her present company. There would be little use in attempting to state her case. Sighing, she abandoned the effort of composition (in any case, there was no paper in her room) and, as she now observed from her window that Lord Egremont had quitted his hostess after bestowing on her an affectionate kiss and a polite bow, she went downstairs to ask in what way she might make herself useful.

She found Madame Reynard equipping herself with a large basket containing many small bottles and packets, and what looked like a large pot of raspberry jam. Then she wrapped herself in a cape. “I go to visit the poor,” she explained.

“Are there so many poor?” Juliana was surprised. Petworth had seemed a particularly trim, prosperous little town.

“In effect, no; but there are always some unfortunate through illness or accident And the English notions of doctoring are barbaric! An infection of the eye they rub with a black cat
’
s tail—still attached to the cat! And to cure a case of ague, the wretched sufferer is filled up with Geneva and then thrust into a horse pond, imagine it! When you have been here long enough to be accepted as my niece, you may accompany me on my rounds.”

“I shall be very happy to help you, ma
’
am, and to learn your methods of medicine,” Juliana said, smiling as she remembered her agitating experiences with Herr Welcker and the inhabitants of St.-Servan. The smile changed to a sigh.

“But in the meantime, Tante
’
Lise, what can I do to assist you?” she asked.

“Do you write a clear hand, child?”

“Why, yes, ma
’
am. I have a
lw
ays—” Juliana checked herself. “I have always been used to copy out my father
’
s manuscripts,” she had been going to say. She changed it to “I have always been accounted to write a legible script,” and Madame Reynard said, “Excellent In that case, I shall be infinitely obliged if you wall undertake the task of making a fair copy of my memoirs.”

And she handed Juliana the large leather-bound volume in which, earlier, she had been writing.

Settled at an elegant escritoire, Juliana could not avoid some amusement Here she was, in such different surroundings, required to carry out the very same task that she had so often performed for her father. The substance of w
⁷
hat she had to copy was, how
e
ver, she very soon discovered, of a very different nature. Madame Reynard, the illegitimate daughter of a duke, had moved in aristocratic circles in Paris of the 1770s, and wrote of the people she had known with tolerance, intelligence, a discerning eye, and a devastating wit
.
Petworth must indeed seem quiet to her after Paris, Juliana thought, scratching away with her quill. She found herself becoming more and more fascinated by the scene revealed, and presently could not resist turning ahead, to see whether the reminiscences continued on to cover Madame
’
s London life with Lord Egremont. They did; and Juliana was much tempted to read on in hopes of discovering some mention of her own parents; but Madame
’
s writing was very spiky and hard to decipher; Juliana decided that she had better proceed in a regular manner, and not allow herself the indulgence of reading the later pages until she came to them, or the work would proceed too slowly.

She had transcribed some twenty pages by the time Madame Reynard returned. That lady put off her cloak and hat, and sank with a sigh of exhaustion onto her chaise longue, calling to Berthe to bring wine and biscuits.

“
Pouf!
Those obstinate English peasants! If they were dying in the desert, and you offered them a glass of the best wine in France, they would scowl in your face and say,
‘
Dunno as I want it, missis,
‘
taint noways what I bin used to
.
” Her imitation of the rich Sussex accent had the skill of long familiarity and exasperation. “It is no wonder that you will never have a revolution in this country! If one came suggesting they should rise and take away his wealth from Milord Egg, they would say,
‘
Nay, dunna mek such a fanteague, old Lordy baint so bad. Things be best left the way they be
!’
and that would be the end of the matter
...
Thank you, Berthe! Pour a glass also for Mademoiselle Jeanne
...
Have you managed to interpret much of my scribble, child?”

“I
’
m getting on famously, Tante
’
Lise, and I find it beyond anything interesting!”

Madame Reynard chuckled and said, “I fear you will discover some matters that are not usually disclosed to an English
jeune fille,
but in my opinion the sooner some facts are known, the better; I do not approve of keeping young girls in total ignorance of the world. There was a sad case not long ago of a German princess who became pregnant by her footman simply because she was too ignorant to realize that what he was doing to her would lead to such a condition. Imagine it!”