Bluebell Part 54

He turned away, leaving Bluebell in bewilderment.

Kate, recovered by a night's rest, would consent to no more seclusion; the blow was not much of a disfigurement now, and she was making an immense fuss over Harry, which suited him well enough to encourage, as he rather repented the imprudently frequent dances with Geraldine, and felt embarra.s.sed in her society this morning.

The cousins were sitting on an ottoman, in half-teazing, half-affectionate discourse, when Bluebell, feeling like a conspirator of the deepest dye, entered demurely with her pupils. Kate watched Harry narrowly, who did not appear to have observed their entrance.

"You seem to have forgotten Miss Leigh," she remarked. "Did you not travel together from Quebec?"

Dutton, somewhat staggered by her correct information, shot a swift inquiring glance at his cousin.

"To be sure--so it is Miss Leigh. I thought last night I knew the face--"

"Why don't you go and speak to her?"

"I am shy--perhaps she won't remember me."

"Miss Leigh, Mr. Dutton thinks you have forgotten him."

Bluebell bowed stiffly, very much on her guard; for she saw that Lord Bromley was an attentive observer, and his strange behaviour in the morning had given rise to an uncomfortable suspicion that he might (though how, she could not imagine) be cognizant of the tryst in the West Wood. Harry moved to a seat near, and began an indifferent conversation with her, that the whole room might have heard.

"Can it be all--kid," thought Kate, "or was there really nothing between them?"

At that instant Sir Robert lounged up, and threw himself in a familiar manner on the other side of Bluebell.

Dutton's face darkened. He had taken an antipathy to this man, who commenced a sort of condescending flirtation with his wife. He called her "Gertrude," too, and poured out compliments on her acting, describing his despair at being unable to find her among the dancers afterwards.

Harry was boiling, Kate exultant. "I knew I was right," she thought.

Bluebell was summoned to the piano. Sir Robert followed. It was a semi-grand, and he leant on the other end, opposite to her.

"Where is the music? Oh! you play without. So much the better. One sees the eyes flas.h.i.+ng."

It was not the only pair, for Dutton's were fixed upon Sir Robert with a ferocious expression, apparent even to his obtuseness, and somewhat surprised, he returned it with a slight stare and elevation of the eyebrows. That night, in the smoking-room, the antagonism between the two was more p.r.o.nounced than ever. Sir Robert explained it by a conjecture that "Dutton was sweet on the little governess, and d--d jealous." He was not particularly popular among the other men: but all agreed that Dutton "had been very rough on Lowther, and was not half such a cheery, pleasant fellow as he used to be."

What would not Kate have given for an incident that befell Lady Geraldine one day! She had been much puzzled by Harry's manner since his return: for, though his appreciation of her was more heartily manifested than before, she was conscious of a difference,--or rather, perhaps, a.n.a.lyzed it more truly now. Her adorers had not been so numerous as to disturb the impression of the first man who had ever appeared to care about her; but she could scarcely deceive herself longer--there was evidently now nothing warmer than liking left.

Poor girl! she was easily discouraged, and felt no resentment; she did not even think it necessary to conjure up a rival to account for the discontinuation of his attentions, till a slight incident revealed one to her. She was sitting alone in the morning-room, and, being somewhat of a china fancier, turned a cup on a bracket upside down, to examine the mark at the bottom. In doing so, a bit of paper fluttered out, and as she picked it up, the words, "West Wood, four o'clock," met her startled gaze. She was convinced that the writing was Harry's, but whom could the a.s.signation be intended for? Soon after Bluebell came into the room as it seemed to her with no very apparent purpose Lady Geraldine, not without design, seated herself at a small writing-table, with her back to the bracket, and almost immediately heard a slight clatter. Miss Leigh had vanished, and so had the paper from the teacup.

"I wish I dare go to the West Wood," thought Geraldine, for she was not all perfect, and the indignation in her heart inspired a deep desire to expose the underhand behaviour of the designing governess. That evening Harry had been talking to her longer than usual. Bluebell was singing at the piano, and finally began the Persian song of "The May Rose to the Nightingale." Geraldine listened, attracted by the sentiment. One verse was unfortunately suggestive--

Moonlight, moonlight, think'st thou he'd leave me For one so pale--for one so pale But moonlight, moonlight, if he deceive me, Tell not the tale--tell not the tale

Then Geraldine's pallid complexion was flushed with resentment, for she imagined the words levelled at herself. Next day--unable to resist again examining the cup--she found another fold of paper, but this time in a female handwriting. Harry, of course, would come for it and she determined to remain till he did so. The room was then tolerably full.

Some time after Dutton dropped in with another man, and, all unconscious of _surveillance_, lingered till only he and Lady Geraldine remained in the room.

"Mr. Dutton," she said, in her somewhat reedy voice, "I understand a little about china, but cannot make out the date of that little yellow cup, the mark at the bottom is so defaced."

It was said meaningly, and Harry understood that he was discovered. To throw himself upon her generosity seemed an obvious necessity. With a conscious yet penetrating glance, closing the half open door, he exclaimed, impulsively, "Dear Lady Geraldine, may I tell you something about myself?"

Geraldine flushed hotly. This was somewhat more than she had bargained for. With the slightest _soupcon_ of stateliness, dreading what was to follow, she managed to say, that "Whatever he liked to tell her should go no further."

"It will all be known soon enough," cried he. "But I fancy Lady Geraldine, you have some suspicion I know I can trust you, and you have been always so kind and sympathetic to me, it is a much greater comfort telling you than Kate."

Geraldine bowed her head. She was determined not to betray herself, and even felt some little curiosity, though how abundantly that faculty was to be gratified ere she left the room, she certainly had not foreseen.

One result was, it had an immediately bracing effect, for, with all her humility, Geraldine had the pride of self respect, and the confession completely disabused her of the idea that Harry had ever aspired to being suitor of hers. It was a pang, no doubt. Even his confidence might have a double meaning. Had she any of the fury of a woman scorned, what an amount of mischief would be in her power. But Harry's instinct was right, and he never regretted his reliance on Geraldine's honour and pride.

Dutton and his wife continued to meet daily in secret. They had agreed to confess to Lord Bromley directly the visitors should have left, but I think were still young enough to enjoy the stratagems necessary for those stolen interviews. How many narrow escapes they were to laugh at afterwards and, in society, when they appeared on such conventional terms as respectful youth and prudent governess, how many _doubles entendres_ Harry hazarded, to see Bluebell struggling with alarmed risibility.

But the rash pair were outwitted at last, and run to earth by Kate in the moss arbour. How much of their conversation had been overheard, or how long she had stood there before springing out, of course could be only conjecture. A violent start had been irrepressible, and, as they both were speechless from the shock, Kate remained mistress of the situation, and evidently not disposed to be merciful. A few sarcastic expressions to her cousin, some cutting remarks on Bluebell's deceitful and designing conduct, and she was gone--apparently for the purpose of exposing the intrigue she imagined herself to have discovered. Dutton sprang after her, and Bluebell, in much vexation and alarm, returned to the house.

Not much breathing time was to be obtained in the nursery, whither she had hurried. The door was half open, and, entering unperceived, she beheld a sight that gave her almost as genuine a start as Kate's inopportune appearance. Yet it was only Lord Bromley sitting by the table, looking pale and shaken, and gazing intently on--could she believe her eyes?--the miniature of Theodore Leigh. The case was broken.

Bluebell had been gumming it, and had left it on the table to dry. But why should he be studying it with such absorbing interest?

Lord Bromley raised his eyes, and fixed them sternly on the beautiful girl. "Come here _Theodora_."--and she started. "Whose portrait is this?"

"My father's."

"Exactly. And, such being the case, your presence in this house requires some little explanation."

Unable to see the connexion between the miniature and this attack; Bluebell remained silent and confounded; but, as he continued to gaze severely at her, she roused herself to reply.

"I came here because Mrs. Barrington brought me, and I went to her by the purest accident. Did you _know_ my father, my Lord?"

"Simplicity may be rather overdone! Do you think, child, I have not seen through your evident desire to ingratiate yourself?--and scheming yourself into this house will, I a.s.sure you, not further your designs!"

Bluebell could not deny the former charge, though guiltless of the latter insinuation. But who could have betrayed their marriage, and why did he only blame her?

"I do not know who may have prompted you, but if he thought duplicity and cunning a recommendation in a grand-child--"

"Grandchild!" echoed Bluebell. "What can you mean, Lord Bromley! Sir Timothy Leigh was _my_ grandfather!"

"Which, as you probably very well know, I have not been called for fifteen years!"

Still the intense perplexity of her face was staggering his impression that this adventurous daughter of his disinherited son was trying by a _coup de main_ to cancel the edict of banishment, and to obtain favour and fortune at his hands.

"_You_ my grandfather!" she reiterated, mechanically, her eyes, wonder wide, staring at the old man with child-like directness, that produced a more convincing effect on his mind than any words. After all, it was quite possible she might not have heard of his succession to a remote peerage, and this amazement was certainly not a.s.sumed. Moreover, the expression of her face was conjuring from a dim past a host of memories.

He became strangely moved, and could scarcely bear the gaze which recalled so forcibly Theodore in his youth.

Which made the first movement neither knew. "My dearest little girl!" he murmured, and folded her in his arms.

Bluebell was weak and silent from surprise mingled with extreme happiness, and Lord Bromley had gone back in thought to former years, and dare not trust himself to speak; so they were both too absorbed to notice the entrance of Harry Dutton, who remained rooted to the spot (like a stuck pig, as he afterwards elegantly described it), and a smothered exclamation burst from his lips.

Lord Bromley hurriedly withdrew himself from Bluebell, not particularly gratified at being surprized in so romantic a _pose_ at his time of life.

"What the d----l are you doing here, sir?" he angrily demanded.

Harry, considering he had quite as good a right to ask that question, turned inquiringly and gloomily to Bluebell, who, feeling if she attempted to open her lips she must either go off into a hysterical fit of laughter or burst into tears, said nothing; and the uncle and nephew continued to glare at each other.

She signed to Dutton to speak; but he was too mystified and sulky; so Bluebell, in desperation, plunged _in medias res_.