Kate Vernon: A Tale. Vol. 1 (of 3) by Mrs. Alexander (trending books to read .TXT) 📗

From this time she came over constantly after my host's early dinner, and read aloud, while Mrs. Winter pursued her occupation of knitting; and I lay on my sofa all eye and ear. Winter and the Colonel often joined our party, but the former was too fond of raising questions in opposition to the opinions of whatever author we were perusing.

Miss Vernon generally chose the books she was to read, and I could not help thinking she had some design in her selection; they were generally thoughtful, high toned works, not[Pg 216] coming under the denomination of religious literature; but yet setting forth in a strong, though unobtrusive manner, the necessity of faith; the healing power of resignation.

I hinted one day that I could see she intended to convert me; she disclaimed such an intention very eagerly, concluding, "why should I pretend to do so; I am sure you are as good as I am! I consulted Mr. Gilpin about the books, and took what he advised, and I like them too, for I feel they do me good; but I will bring you a novel to-morrow." She did so, and chose Zanoni, excluding Winter from the lecture. I did thoroughly enjoy it.

Miss Vernon seemed to identify herself with its noble thoughts, its wild imaginings, its grand philosophy, and high-souled spirit of self-sacrifice! Her musical voice varying with every sentiment it expressed, and often laying down the book to discuss its character with an interest and affection that invested them with life-like reality: I had glanced over the work before, and put it[Pg 217] down with an acknowledgment, certainly, of the author's great genius, but with an idea that it was beyond the scope of my imagination to enjoy. Kate's readings and remarks on it revealed me to myself, and showed me I had aspirations and capabilities for better things: yet it was merely the outpouring of her own heart, and she would have raised her darkly fringed eyelids in astonishment had any one told her she was making a silent revolution in mine.

Poor Mrs. Winter used to listen to our animated debates on Viola and Glyndon, &c., in perfect amazement, and when appealed to by Kate for an opinion, replied with a smile, "Indeed, my dear, I don't know; it's a very curious book, and quite impossible to believe any man could see and know everything the way that Mr. Zanoni did."

Longfellow's poems, then attracting notice for the first time in England, were great favourites with Miss Vernon, and here she and Winter perfectly agreed, for a wonder. These were hours[Pg 218] of intense happiness: the exterior world all forgotten, I lived in a fairy-like dream, with just sufficient of earth around me to prove it real; my strength was now rapidly returning, and I began to feel this delicious breathing space from life's ruder joys and ruder cares had lasted long enough. Once or twice I had caught Winter watching Kate and myself as we sat apart rather from the others—she pouring forth her opinions on some favourite author with all her accustomed enthusiasm—I wrapped in contemplation of her, and thinking but little of the subject which engrossed her thoughts.

Winter, I repeat, would sometimes glance uneasily at us as we sat thus, but I always observed serenity return to his countenance, as his eye rested on Miss Vernon.

It soon grew into a habit, that the Vernons and Gilpin should come in every evening; Kate and the Organist taking it by turns to cut into the rubber or talk with me, as I showed a decided disinclination for the society of Miss[Pg 219] Araminta Cox, who usually made up the whist table; we had a good deal of music too, my favourite songs were all duly remembered, and all my whims so kindly attended to, I almost regretted that soon no excuse would remain for prolonging my sojourn amongst them. The first day I ventured to walk out, Burton came over from Carrington with a packet of letters, arrived during my illness; there were some pleasant reminders from my solicitors that Messrs. Levi and Co.'s bill would soon be due, and that they kindly offered to renew on exorbitant terms. One or two missives of the same nature; an epistle from Egerton, congratulating me on my escape from the infernal regions, which he seemed clearly of opinion would have been my destination, had not Nature or the Doctor been too strong for Grim Death, and concluding with an exhortation to read the 25th chapter of St. Matthew. "He is worse than ever," was my reflection, as I finished the perusal, "what a Herculean labour I have before me, in the[Pg 220] attempt to soften the heart of such a thoroughgoing Evangelical. They always manage to convince themselves that it is for the good of their souls that their pockets should be hermetically sealed against the wants of their brothers. But I must get out of Messrs. Levi's clutches at any cost."

Lastly, a long rambling but affectionate letter from my sister, telling me more of English gossip, than I could imagine the dolce far niente of Neapolitan life had left her energy enough to collect.

"I feel rather distressed, dear Fred," she said, after giving me an amusing sketch of the society about her, "at the profoundly moral tone of your letter, and fear you must be in debt, (not far out there) for you never were very serious about any love affair; tell me what is the matter? You know we are rich, and Harry always liked you. I have been so bored about some absurd speech of Egerton's at Exeter Hall; they tell me, (for I never read such things) he said, 'the[Pg 221] ministry had delivered the nation, bound hand and foot to Beelzebub, where they sent an Ambassador to Antichrist (meaning the Pope);' do find out if this is true, for the people here have discovered he is my brother, and the women always cross themselves when I enter a room, which is so absurd, and disagreeable: the men only laugh. I am much better, and we think of returning to England next spring. I wish you would get leave of absence and run over to us, for the winter. It is too dreadful to think of your being condemned to remain at that horrible place; would it not be better to live altogether at A——, if you must be near your Regiment. Talking of you the other night to Count Alphonso Di Montibello, he said there was a famous painter, a great ally of his, who used to study here, now living at A——; do you know any thing of him?

"Now, dear Fred, good bye, write soon again to me; ever your affectionate sister,

"Mary F. Wentworth."

[Pg 222]

"P.S.—Harry desires his remembrances; I had almost forgotten Lady Desmond; of course I know her, every one does; she is a most charming person, and creates a perfect furore here; such taste, and certainly the most ladylike Irishwoman I ever met; she has refused a perfect army of Counts and Marquises. Cela va sans dire; but if report speaks true, that nice creature Sir Charles Seyton shared the same fate. They say Adolphus Somerset, one of our attachés, got sick leave, after offering his little diplomatic self for her acceptance, and receiving one fixed look from her dark eyes! I have a theory of my own that Lady Desmond, calm, proud, and cold as she seems, has a tendresse for a certain blas� peer, at present among our most prominent notorieties; he piques himself on his cynicism, and is rather in the Satanic style; very ridiculous I think! They tell me dreadful stories of him. Lady Desmond talks of travelling with us as far as Florence next spring; if you have any engouement for her, get rid of it, I would advise[Pg 223] you, for she had some trouble to recall your memory to hers, and seemed quite astonished when I told her you had made any enquiries about her. Adieu once more."

How thoroughly characteristic her letter is of the life she leads, kindly and polished, but trifling and self-absorbed! I must ask Winter about this Count Alphonso di——, what is it?

"And is your business so urgent that you cannot put it off till you are stronger?" said the old Colonel to me about a week after the receipt of the above, when I announced my intention of starting for Allerton, my brother's place in Hampshire.

"It is indeed," I replied, so gloomily, that my kind old friend asked, "Nothing disagreeable I hope?"

"Nothing very pleasant," said I, forcing a laugh; "I will tell you all when I come back; do not look so gravely at me, Miss Vernon."

"Did I? I was not aware of it; but are you not very rash to travel so soon?"

"No, I would get a fever if I remained."

[Pg 224]

Allerton Court has been in our family since the days of the Tudors. How the careless scapegrace Egertons kept it so long I cannot imagine; chiefly, I believe, by the sacrifice of larger and more valuable estates elsewhere. Its present possessor, my half brother, was a very different person from his predecessors. My father succeeded to an impoverished title at an early age, and soon after attaining his majority, married a[Pg 225] wealthy city heiress, who, finding herself uneasy and misplaced in fashionable life, imagined she was disgusted with the world and its frivolities, and gave herself up for the remainder of her "sojourn here below" to quacks, spiritual, and medical. Poor woman! I believe she sincerely wished to do right, and with this view brought up her son under an amount of religious pressure that reduced him to the adamantine condition I have before hinted at. No doubt the various patent pills and powders she was in the habit of administering to him, had their share in producing the curious dormant state of his physical and mental powers. Altogether, Egerton was a problem I never dreamt of solving, and now that he had suddenly acquired interest in my eyes, I blushed at the thought of asking his brotherly assistance to settle my affairs into marriageable shape, almost as deeply as at the idea of begging from a stranger.

My father remained unmarried for nearly two years after the death of his first wife, and their[Pg 226] son must have been nineteen when the bright eyes and graceful manners of Lady Mary De Burgh captivated the disconsolate widower, still young and handsome enough to please the fancy and interest the heart of a girl, only some few months older than his heir. I have but slight recollection of my mother. I was the youngest, and she did not survive my birth more than three years; both my sister and myself were extremely like her, and adored by my father, who never could, even in his childhood, caress so rigidly orthodox a young gentleman as his eldest son. Egerton was a thing apart, and belonged to his country and the peerage; but we were the darlings of his heart; spoiled children, reared in luxury and indulgence. How well I remember the bitter and passionate grief with which I received the intelligence of his death, and the choking sobs that interrupted my reproaches to Egerton, for not sending for me in time to let me hear his voice once more, feeling that every unconscious game of cricket in which I had[Pg 227] joined while he lay struggling between life and death was an unnatural piece of levity, unpardonable!

All this passed over soon, and my life was happy enough, but Mary used often to look sad, and was very glad to marry Wentworth, though he was a good deal older than herself. The large fortune my father's first wife brought him was, of course, settled on her children, so Mary and I had but the slender portions usually allotted to the younger Egertons, but mine was doubled by her husband's refusal to accept hers.

This is more than I meant to have stated about myself, but it was necessary to show my position.

A cold raw damp November day, with occasional dashes of heavy rain, the leafless trees bending before the sudden gusts of wind that accompanied them; and every object ten yards off shrouded in a dark fog that seemed to blend heaven and earth in one equable gloom. I shivered as I drew up the windows of the cab into which I had thrown myself at the railway[Pg 228] station, near Allerton, observing how strongly the conveyance appeared to partake of the general humidity. The avenue seemed