A Mad Love - Charlotte Mary Brame (best memoirs of all time txt) 📗

Haleston said he knew for a fact she was the widow of an Austrian Jew, who had taken to the stage as the means of gaining her livelihood. Lord Bowden said she was the wife of an Austrian officer who was possessed of ample means. There were at least twenty different stories about her, and not one agreed with another.

"I wonder," said Lord Chandos, at last, "what is the real truth?"

"About what?" said a white-haired major, who sat next to him.

"About La Vanira," he replied; "every one here has a different story to tell."

"I can tell you as much truth as any one else about her," said the major, "I was with the manager last evening. La Vanira is English. I grant that she looks like a Spaniard--I never saw such dark eyes in my life; but she is English; accomplished, clever, good as gold, and has no one belonging to her in the wide world. That much the manager told me himself."

"But where does she come from?" he asked, impatiently. "Everybody comes from somewhere."

"The manager's idea is that she was brought up in the midland counties; he thinks so from a few words she said one day."

"Is she married or single?" asked Lord Chandos.

"Single," was the reply; "and in no hurry to be married. She has refused some of the best offers that could be made; and yet she wears a ring on the third finger of her left hand--perhaps it is not a wedding-ring."

"I should like to see her," said Lord Chandos.

The white-haired major laughed.

"So would half the men in London, but no one visits her--she allows no introductions. I know a dozen and more who have tried to see her in vain."

He was not much wiser after this conversation than before; but he was more determined to know. That same evening he made another excuse, and left his wife at Lady Blanchard's ball while he drove to the opera-house. The opera was almost over, but he saw the manager, to whom he briefly stated his errand.

"I believe," he said, "that in Madame Vanira I recognize an old friend. Will you introduce me to her?"

"I am sorry to say that I cannot," was the courteous reply. "I promised madame not to make any introductions to her."

"Will you take my card to her? If she is the lady I take her to be she will send word whether she wishes to see me or not."

The manager complied with his request. He soon returned.

"Madame Vanira wishes me to say that she has not the pleasure of your lordship's acquaintance, and that she is compelled to decline any introduction."

"Then it is not Leone," he said to himself, and a chill of disappointment came over him.

His heart had been beating quickly and warmly, yet he persuaded himself it was only that he was so pleased to know she was all right and safe from the frowns of the world. It was not Leone, but she was so much like Leone that he felt he must go to see her again.

"The opera to-night?" said Lady Marion, in her sweetest tones. "Why, my dear Lance, you were there three nights since."

"Yes, I know, but I thought it pleased you, Marion. We will ask my mother to go with us. It is the 'Crown Diamonds,' a very favorite opera of hers."

"Will Madame Vanira sing?" asked Lady Chandos, and her husband quietly answered:

"Yes."

He was anxious for Lady Lanswell to go, to see if she would recognize Leone, or if any likeness would strike her. As his chief wish seemed to be to give pleasure to his mother, and he expressed no desire to see the beautiful singer again, Lady Chandos was very amiable. She sent a kind little note to the countess, saying what pleasure it would give them if she would go to the opera with them, and Lady Lanswell was only too pleased. The earl had grown tired of such things and never cared to go out in the evening.

How anxiously Lord Chandos watched his mother's face. He saw delight, surprise and wonder, but no recognition--except once, and then the magnificent arms of the actress were raised in denunciation. Then something of bewilderment came over Lady Lanswell's face, and she turned to her son.

"Lance," she said, "Madame Vanira reminds me of some one, and I cannot think who it is."

"Have you seen her before, mother, do you think?" he asked.

"No, I think not; but she reminds me of some one, I cannot think whom. Her gestures are more familiar to me than her face."

Evidently the thought of Leone never entered her mind; and Lord Chandos was more puzzled than ever. The countess was charmed.

"What fire, what genius, what power! That is really acting," she said. "In all my life I have seen nothing better. There is truth in her tenderness, reality in her sorrow. I shall often come to see Vanira, Lance."

So she did, and was often puzzled over the resemblance of some one she knew; but she never once dreamed of Leone, while, by dint of earnest watching and study, Lord Chandos became more and more convinced that it was she.

He was determined to find out. He was foolish enough to think that if he could once be sure of it, his heart and mind would be at rest, but until then there was no rest for him.

What could he do--how could he know? Then the idea came, to follow her carriage home. By dint of perseverance he found, at last, that Madame Vanira had a very pretty house in Hampstead called the Cedars, and he determined to call and see her there. If he had really been mistaken, and it were not Leone, he could but apologize; if it were----

Ah, well, if it were, he would ask her forgiveness, and she would give it to him, on account of the love she bore him years ago.


CHAPTER XXXIX.


NEITHER WIFE NOR WIDOW.

It was with some trepidation that Lord Chandos presented himself at the gates of the Cedars, yet surely she who had loved him so well would never refuse him admission into her house? that is, if it were Leone. As he walked through the pretty garden and saw all the pretty flowers blooming, he said to himself, that it was like her. She had always so dearly loved the spring flowers, the flame of the yellow crocus, the faint, sweet odor of the violets, the pure heads of the white snow-drops. He had heard her say so often that she loved these modest, sweet flowers that come in the spring more than the dainty ones that bloom in summer-time.

It was like her, this garden, and yet, he could not tell why. Great clusters of lilac-trees were budding, the laburnums were thinking of flowering; but there was no song of running brook, and no ripple of fountains, no sound of falling water; the birds were busy wooing and they had so much to sing about.

There was a profusion of flowers, all the windows seemed full of them; there was a picturesque look about the place that reminded him of Leone. On the lawn stood two large cedars, from which the place derived its name. He went to the hall door. What if she should meet him suddenly and turn from him in indignant anger? What if it should not be Leone, but a stranger?

A pretty housemaid, Parisian, he knew from the type, answered the door, from whom he inquired, in his most polite fashion, if Madame Vanira was at home.

There is no denying the fact that all women are more or less susceptible to the charms of a handsome face, and Lord Chandos was handsome--exceedingly. The girl looked up into the dark face and the dark eyes that always looked admiringly when a woman was near.

"Madame Vanira sees no one," she replied.

Something passed rapidly from his hand to hers.

"You look kind," he said, "be my friend. I think that, years ago, I knew Madame Vanira. If she be the lady whom I believe her to be, she will be pleased to see me, and no possible blame can be attached to you. Tell me where she is that I may find her."

"Madame is in the morning-room," said the girl, with some hesitation, "but I shall lose my place if I admit you."

"I promise you no," said Lord Chandos; "on the contrary, your lady will be pleased that you are able to discriminate between those whom she would like to see, and those whom she would not."

"At least, let me announce you," pleaded the pretty housemaid, in broken English.

"No, it would serve no purpose; that is, of course, you can go before me and open the door--I will follow you immediately. You need only say, 'A gentleman to see you, madame.' Will you do this?"

"Yes," said the girl, reluctantly.

As he followed her through the passage, it did occur to him that if it were not Leone, he should be in a terrible dilemma. It occurred to him also, that if it were Leone, what right had he there, with that fair, sweet wife of his at home--what right had he there?

He followed the pretty maid through the hall and through a suit of rooms, furnished with quiet elegance. They came to the door of a room before which the maid stopped, and Lord Chandos saw that her face had grown pale.

She opened it.

"A gentleman to see you, madame," she said, hastily.

And then the maid disappeared, and he entered the room.

Leone was standing with her face to the window when he entered, and he had one moment in which to look round the room--one moment in which to control the rapid beating of his heart; then she turned suddenly, and once more they were face to face.

Ah, to see the heaven of delight and rapture that came over hers--the light that came into her eyes; it was as though her face was suddenly transfigured; all the past in that one moment of rapture was forgotten, all the treachery, the perfidy, the falsity.

She uttered one word, "Lance," but it was a cry of unutterable delight. "Lance," she repeated, and then, with all the light of heaven still shining in her face, she hid her face on his breast. She did not remember, she only knew that it was the face of her lost lover, the same strong, tender arms were clasped round her, the same warm kisses were on her face, the same passionate, loving heart was beating near her own. Ah, Heaven, how sweet that one moment was. To die while it lasted, never to leave the shelter of those dear arms again. She had waited for him for years, and he had come at last.

There were a few minutes of silent, rapturous greeting, and then, suddenly, she remembered, and sprung from him with a low cry.

"How dare you?" she cried, "I had forgotten. How dare you?"

Then the sight of the beloved face, the dear eyes, the well-remembered figure, took all the hot anger from her.

"Oh, Lance, Lance, I ought not to speak to you or look at you, and yet I cannot help it. God help me, I cannot help it."

He was down on his knees by her