Page:Once a Week, Series 1, Volume II Dec 1859 to June 1860.pdf/501

 488 for the permission, and flew off at a galop, waving back Laxley, who was for joining her.

“Franks will be a little rusty about the mare,” the Countess heard Lady Jocelyn say; and Harry just then stooped his head to the carriage, and said, in his blunt fashion, “After all, it won’t show much.”

“We are not cattle!” exclaimed the frenzied Countess, louder than she intended. Alas! it was almost a democratic outcry they made her guilty of; but she was driven past patience. And as a further provocation, Evan would open his eyes. She laid her handkerchief over them with loving delicacy, remembering in a flash that her own face had been all the while exposed to Mr. George Uploft; and then the terrors of his presence at Beckley Court came upon her, and the fact that she had not for the last ten minutes been the serene Countess de Saldar; and she quite hated Andrew, for vulgarity in others evoked vulgarity in her, which was the reason why she ranked vulgarity as the chief of the deadly sins. Her countenance for Harry and all the others save poor Andrew was soon the placid heaven-confiding sister’s again; not before Lady Jocelyn had found cause to observe to Drummond:

“Your Countess don’t ruffle well.”

But a lady who is at war with two or three of the facts of Providence, and yet will have Providence for her ally, can hardly ruffle well.

Do not imagine that the Countess’s love for her brother was hollow. She was assured when she came up to the spot where he fell, that there was no danger; he had but dislocated his shoulder, and bruised his head a little. Hearing this, she rose out of her clamorous heart, and seized the opportunity for a small burst of melodrama. Unhappily, Lady Jocelyn, who gave the tone to the rest, was a Spartan in matters of this sort; and as she would have seen those dearest to her bear the luck of the field, she could see others. When the call for active help reached her, you beheld a different woman.

The demonstrativeness the Countess thirsted for was afforded her by Juley Bonner, and in a measure by her sister Caroline, who loved Evan passionately. The latter was in riding attire, about to mount to ride and meet them, accompanied by the Duke. Caroline had hastily tied up her hair; a rich golden brown lump of it hung round her cheek; her limpid eyes and anxiously-nerved brows impressed the Countess wonderfully as she ran down the steps and bent her fine well-filled bust forward to ask the first hurried question.

The Countess patted her shoulder. “Safe, dear,” she said aloud, as one who would not make much of it. And in a whisper, “You look superb.”

I must charge it to Caroline’s beauty under the ducal radiance, that a stream of sweet feelings entering into the Countess, made her forget to tell her sister that George Uploft was by. Caroline had not been abroad, and her skin was not olive-hued; she was a beauty, and a majestic figure, little altered since the day when the wooden marine marched her out of Lymport.

The Countess stepped from the carriage to go and cherish Juliana’s petulant distress; for that unhealthy little body was stamping with impatience to have the story told to her, to burst into fits of pathos; and while Seymour and Harry assisted Evan to descend, trying to laugh off the pain he endured, Caroline stood by, soothing him with words and tender looks.

Lady Jocelyn passed him, and took his hand, saying, “Not killed this time!”

“At your ladyship’s service to-morrow,” he replied, and his hand was kindly squeezed.

“My darling Evan, you will not ride again?” Caroline cried, kissing him on the steps; and the Duke watched the operation, and the Countess observed the Duke.

That Providence should select her sweetest moments to deal her wounds, was cruel; but the Countess just then distinctly heard Mr. George Uploft ask Miss Carrington: “Is that lady a Harrington?”

“You perceive a likeness?” was the answer.

Mr. George went “Whew!—tit—tit—tit!” with the profound expression of a very slow mind.

The scene was quickly over. There was barely an hour for the ladies to dress for dinner. Leaving Evan in the doctor’s hands, and telling Caroline to dress in her room, the Countess met Rose, and gratified her vindictiveness, while she furthered her projects, by saying:

“Not till my brother is quite convalescent will it be advisable that you should visit him. I am compelled to think of him entirely now. In his present state he is not fit to be played with.”

Rose, steadfastly eyeing her, seemed to swallow down something in her throat, and said:

“I will obey you, Countess. I hoped you would allow me to nurse him.”

“Quiet above all things, Rose Jocelyn!” returned the Countess, with the suavity of a governess, who must be civil in her sourness. “If you would not complete this morning’s achievement—stay away.”

The Countess declined to see that Rose’s lip quivered. She saw an unpleasantness in the bottom of her eyes; and now that her brother’s decease was not even remotely to be apprehended, she herself determined to punish the cold, unimpressionable coquette of a girl. Before returning to Caroline, she had five minutes conversation with Juliana, which fully determined her to continue the campaign at Beckley Court, commence decisive movements, and not to retreat, though fifty George Uplofts menaced her. Consequently, having dismissed Conning on a message to Harry Jocelyn to ask him for a list of the names of the new people they were to meet that day at dinner, she said to Caroline:

“My dear, I think it will be incumbent on us to depart very quickly.”

Much to the Countess’s chagrin and astonishment, Caroline replied:

“I shall hardly be sorry.”

“Not sorry! Why, what now, dear one? Is it true, then, that a flagellated female kisses the rod? Are you so eager for a repetition of Strike?”

Caroline, with some hesitation, related to her more than the Countess had ventured to petition for in her prayers.