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Susan and Anna Warner - Wych Hazel

S >> Susan and Anna Warner >> Wych Hazel




'Put Molly Seaton in my place, Josephine,' she whispered, 'Mr.
May is going to excuse me.'

But they crowded round her and insisted upon 'just one more.'
She should not finish this figure if she disliked it,--they
would stop it short: anything to keep Miss Kennedy on the
floor! Would she dance 'Le Verre de Vin'?

'Never!'--with sudden energy.

'My gracious me!--how spiteful we are!' said Kitty Fisher. '_You_
wouldn't have to drink it. Well, then, "La Poursuite"?'

Miss Kennedy hated 'La Poursuite.'

'And--for Miss Kennedy--it is such breathless work,' said Mr.
Kingsland.

'And--for Mr. Kingsland--etcetera, etcetera--' said Kitty
mockingly. 'Stephen, when there is an opportunity for remarks,
I'll let you know. "La Poursuite" is just the thing. You see,
Hazel,' she whispered, 'the Viking can rush in and reclaim his
prize, and reconciliations take place in the final tour.'

'I shall not dance it, Kitty,' said Wych Hazel steadily,
though her cheeks glowed.

'No?' said Miss Fisher. 'Not to the tune of "The king shall
enjoy his own again"? Well--what of "Les Mains Mysterieuses"?'

'_I_ protest, now,' said Captain Lancaster. 'There cannot be
even a pretence of mystery about Miss Kennedy's hand. It is
the merest farce.'

'O, you'd like "Le Coussin," and a chance to go down on your
knees!' said Miss Fisher, slightly provoked.

'Pardon me!' said Captain Lancaster. 'When I go down on my
knees to Miss Kennedy, I shall want no cushion.'

'Good!' said Miss Burr.

'I vow,' said Kitty Fisher, 'you're a lover worth having. But
the pretty dear'll get spoiled among you. Come--what will she
choose? "Le Miroir!" Nothing to do but look at her own sweet
self. Run away, Duchess, and take your seat.'

'Rather stupid, I think,' said Wych Hazel, as she went
unwillingly forward,--but she was getting wild, standing there!
'I think I shall take the first one that comes, and save
trouble.'

She sat down in front of the long mirror, in which she could
see the whole room behind her: everybody in it, and every
motion of everybody. But she really saw but one person, and he
was motionless. Others, gazing in, had a marvellous pretty
picture of golden gauze and scarlet flowers, and a fair young
face from which the gaiety had suddenly died out. The breast
of her dress was covered with 'favours;' basket and ring, bell
and bouquet, a flag, a rosette, a pair of gloves,--Rollo could
not identify all the details of the harlequin crew; but it
looked as if Miss Kennedy had been chosen by everybody, every
time! She sat still enough now.

'Look up, child!' cried Miss Fisher. 'How do you expect to
know who's behind you, if you sit studying your pretty feet
upon the floor? You may flirt away an angel, and welcome some
gentleman in black who was not invited.'

There was a laugh at this sally; and as several gentlemen
sprang eagerly forward, Kitty began to hum--' "This is the
maiden all forlorn," '--but for once Hazel did not listen.

'Flirt somebody away!' she was thinking,--'I should like to see
myself doing it! I shall take the very first that comes.'

But alas for good intentions in a bad place! The room was
long, and some people were further off, and others close at
hand, and the very first that looked over her chair was Mr.
Morton! Hazel gave a toss of her handkerchief that half blew
him away. And the next--yes, the very next, was the man whom
she had been eluding all the evening. This time the hand moved
more languidly, and her eyes never looked up, and her cheeks
rivalled the scarlet flowers.

'She'll learn,--O, she'll learn!' cried Kitty Fisher. 'Never
saw it better done in my life. Such a discriminating touch!'

'Is there anybody else to escape?' thought poor Hazel, her
breath coming quick. And then she was so delighted to see
Captain Lancaster's pleasant face, that she shewed it in her
own; and the gentleman took an amount of encouragement
therefrom which by no means belonged to him. He waited upon
Miss Kennedy for the rest of that evening with a devotion
which everybody saw except herself. No such trifles as a man's
devotion got even a passing notice from her. For the girl was
feeling desperate. How many times that night had she been
betrayed into what she disliked and despised and had said she
never would do? If Rollo had not been there, perhaps she would
have felt only shame,--as it was, for the time it made her
reckless. 'Le miroir' gave place to other figures, and still
Miss Kennedy shewed no second wish to retire and join the
lookers-on. But every time the demands of the dance made _her_
choose a partner--when it was her woman's right to be chosen!--
every time she was passed rapidly from hand to hand without
even the poor power of choice, Wych Hazel avenged it on
herself by the sharpest silent comments; while to her
partners, she was proud, and reserved, and brilliant, and
generally 'touch-me-not;' until they too were desperate--with
admiration.

If Rollo was half wild in secret he had the power to keep it
to himself. His demeanour was composed, and _not_ abstracted;
his attentions to others, when occasion was, for he did not
seek it, as gracefully rendered as usual; he even talked;
though through it all it is safe to say he lost nothing of
what Wych Hazel was doing. Nobody would have guessed, not in
the secret, that he had any particular attention in that room,
or indeed anywhere! He did not approach Wych Hazel to oblige
her to notice him; he would not give her the additional
annoyance or himself the useless pain.

Yet, though severely tried that night, he was not unreasonably
discouraged. He partly read Wych Hazel; or he surmised what
was at the bottom of her wild gaiety; and he had great
tenderness for her. A tenderness that made him grave at heart
and somewhat grave outwardly; but he did not despair, and he
bided his time. He was not irritated that she had broken the
bonds of his words, amidst all his profound vexation. He had
heard enough of people's tongues, and also knew enough of her,
to understand pretty well how it was. He would not even look
another remonstrance that night; only, he resolved to stay out
the evening and at least see the girl safe in her carriage to
go home. He would not go with her either this time.

'Hazel,' whispered Miss Fisher, in one of the figure pauses,
'slip out quietly at the side door when the break-up begins,
and we'll have a lark. Stuart says he'll drive me home, if
I'll coax you to go along. You can stay with me to-night.
We'll go a little before everybody, you know,' she added
persuasively, for Hazel hesitated. 'And the Duke need never
know.'

Still Hazel was silent, balancing alternatives. Could she bear
a _tete-a-tete_ drive home with him? Could she escape it in any
other way?--She gave Kitty Fisher a little nod, and whirled off
in the hands of Mr. May.

But 'Duke' was nearer than they know, and specially observant
of Kitty Fisher's doings. He was not near enough to catch the
import of the question or proposal; but his quick hears heard
'side door'--and his eyes saw that Hazel's sign was of assent;
and his wits guessed at the meaning of both. A moment's
reflection made him certain of his conclusion.

Dane bit his lip at the first flash of this conclusion. He saw
before him again a task which he would have given a great deal
to be spared. Both from tenderness and from policy he was
exceeding unwilling to thwart Wych Hazel now, most of all in
this company, thereby subjecting her to renewed annoyance,
inevitable and galling. Yet he never hesitated; and his old
hunter's instinct abode with him, that no step which _must_ be
taken is on the whole a bad step. He left the room before the
dance was finished, and was in the lobby when the party he
waited for came down the broad staircase, ready for their
drive. He did not present himself, but when Wych Hazel had
followed Kitty Fisher out of the side door, before which
Stuart's equipage stood ready, she heard a very low voice at
her side, which low as it was she knew very well.

'Miss Hazel, your carriage is at the other door.'

But Kitty Fisher saw, if she did not hear.

'No room for you,' she said. 'Much as ever to get me in. Good
night, Sir Duke, and pleasant dreams. The pleasant realities
are all bespoke.'

'Miss Kennedy--' low at Wych Hazel's side.

'One of the aforesaid pleasant realities,' said Kitty, with
her hand on Wych Hazel's shoulder. 'Come, Duchess!'

Hazel's words had been all ready, but at this speech they died
away. It seemed to her as if her cheeks must light up the
darkness!

'Your carriage is in waiting,' Rollo went on, in a calm low
tone, which ignored Kitty and everybody else.

Still no word.

'Now come!' said Miss Fisher--'don't you play tyrant yet
awhile. She's going home with me. Poor little Duchess!--
daresn't say her soul's her own! What's the matter--didn't she
ask you pretty?'

There was no answer to this. Rollo did not honour her with any
attention. Hazel freed her shoulder from Miss Fisher's hand,
and turned short about.

'There is no use contesting things,' she said, speaking with
an effort which made the words sound hard-edged and abrupt. 'I
shall drive home by myself to Chickaree. Good-night.' And
without a look right or left, she went up the steps and across
the hall into the carriage at the other door.

Rollo saw her in without a word, and turned away.

And Miss Kennedy,--as if her spite against something or
somebody was not yet appeased,--began deliberately, one by one,
to take the 'favours' off her dress and drop them through the
open carriage window upon the road. But, let me say, she was
not (like Quickear) laying a clue for herself, by which to
find her way back to the 'German.' Never again.


CHAPTER XXXVI.

THE RUNAWAY.


The fancy ball at Moscheloo was a brilliant affair. More
brilliant perhaps than in the crush and mixed confusion of
city society could have been achieved. It is a great thing to
have room for display. There were people enough, not too many;
and almost all of them knew their business. So there was good
dressing and capital acting. The evening would have been a
success, even without the charades on which Mme. Lasalle laid
so much stress.

Dominoes were worn for the greater amusement; and of course
curiosity was busy; but more than curiosity. In the
incongruous fashion common to such entertainments, a handsome
Turkish janissary drew up to a figure draped in dark serge and
with her whole person enveloped in a shapeless mantle of the
same, which was drawn over her head and face.

'I have been puzzling myself for the last quarter of an hour,'
said he, 'to find out--not who--but _what_ you are.'

'Been successful?' said the witch.

'I confess, no. Of course you will not tell me _who_ you are;
but I beg, who do you pretend to be?'

'O, pretend!' said the witch. 'I am "a woman that hath a
familiar spirit!" '

'Where did you pick up your attendant?'

'Came at my call. I suppose you have heard of Endor?'

'Have I? En--dor? Where _have_ I heard that name? It is no place
about here. 'Pon my honour, I forget.'

'In the East?' suggested the witch.

'Stupid!--I know; you are the very person I want to see. But
first I wish you would resolve an old puzzle of mine--Did you
bring up Samuel, honestly?--or was it all smoke?'

'Smoke proves fire.'

'Samuel would not have been in the fire.'

'He would if it was necessary,' said the witch. 'Whom do you
want brought up, Mr. Nightingale?'

'Ha!' said the janissary. 'How do you know that? But perhaps
you are "familiar" with everybody. Bring up Miss Kennedy?'

'Very well,' said the witch, beginning to walk slowly round
him. 'But as it is not certain that Saul saw Samuel, I suppose
it will not matter whether you see her?'

'It matters the whole of it! I want to see her of course.
There is nobody else, in fact, whom I want to see; nor anybody
else worth seeing after her. The rarest, brightest, most
distracting vision that has ever been seen west of your
place.'

'If there is nobody worth seeing after, you had better see
everybody else first,' said the witch, pausing in her round.

'You have a familiar spirit. Tell me what she thinks about me;
will you?'

The witch threw up a handful of sweet pungent dust into the
air, and made another slow round about the janissary.

'Neither black nor white,'--she said oracularly, 'neither
yellow nor blue; neither pea-green nor delicate mouse grey.'

'I?' said Stuart. 'Or what?'

'Either. Both.'

The janissary laughed somewhat uneasily. Just then a knight,
extremely well got up in the habiliments of the 13th century,
stepped near and accosted the witch in a confidential tone.

'Everybody here, I suppose, is known to you. Pray who is that
very handsome, very _decolletee_, lady from the court of Charles
the Second? Upon my word! she does it well.'

'That is Miss Fisher.'

'Well, if women knew!'--said the knight slowly. It was evident
he thought himself speaking to safe ears, probably not
handsome enough to be displayed. 'If they knew!' he repeated.
'Does she not do it well?'

'Does she?' said the witch. 'I was not in England just then.'

'Don't you wish you had been! It's a very fair show,'--
continued the knight as he looked. 'We ought to be much
obliged to the lady. Really, she leaves--nothing--to be desired!
If you please, merely as a subject of curiosity, from what
part of the world and time does yonder figure come? the broad-
brimmed hat?'

The figure was a very fine one, by the way. His dress was a
quaintly-cut suit of dark blue cloth, the edges bound with
crimson, and fastened with silver buttons. White fine thread
stockings were tied at the knee with crimson riband, and
silver buckles were in his shoes.

'You must know,' said the witch, 'that there are several parts
of the world from which I have been banished.'

'In an aesthetic point of view, I should say the edict was
justified,' returned the knight, surveying the bale of brown
serge before him. He passed on, and the man in the blue cloth
presently took his place.

'They tell me you are a witch,' said he, speaking in rather a
low tone; 'and as you see, I am a countryman. Will you have
the goodness to explain to me--I suppose you understand it--what
all the these people are?'

'They are people who for the present find their happiness in
being other people,' said the witch, with a grave voice, in
which however a laugh was somewhat imperfectly muffled. 'Like
yourself, sir.'

'Like me? Quite the contrary. I was never more myself, I
assure you. For that very reason I find myself not at home.
Excuse my curiosity. Why, if you please, do they seek their
happiness out of themselves, as it were, in this way?'

'Well,' said the witch confidentially, 'to tell you the truth,
I don't know. You see I am in your predicament, and was never
more myself.'

'But I thought you had a familiar spirit? I have read so much
as that.'

'At your service'--said the witch.

'Then be so good as to enlighten me. I see a moving
kaleidoscope view of figures--it's very pretty--but why are they
all here?'

'Some because they were invited,' said the witch critically.
'And doubtless some because others were. And a good many for
fun--and a few for mischief.'

'Is it the custom in this country to make mischief one of the
pleasures of society?'

'Yes!' said the witch with some emphasis. 'And to tell you the
truth again, that is just one of the points in which society
might be improved.'

'But how do fun and mischief go along together?'

'Well, that depends,' said the witch. 'The wrong sort of
mischief spoils the right sort of fun.'

'And does that often happen, among such well-dressed people as
these?'

'O, where if her Grace?'--cried a gay voice in the distance.
'I've sworn to find her.'

The witch was silent a moment, then answered slowly, 'It
happens--quite often.'

'Can people find nothing pleasanter to do with their time,'
said the countryman, 'than to spend it in mischief? or in fun
which the mischief spoils? These things you tell me sound very
strange in my ears.'

'The right sort of mischief _is_ fun,--and the right sort of fun
is -not- mischief,' she said impatiently. 'And what people find
in the wrong sorts, I don't know!'

'By the way,' said the countryman, 'how come _you_ to be here?
How did you escape, when Saul killed all the rest of the
witches?'

'It is queer, isn't it?' she said. 'Wouldn't you have supposed
I should be the first one to fall?'

'And in this country, are you using your experience to make or
to mend mischief?'

'Make all I can! Are there any Sauls on hand, do you think?'

'Pray, what sort of man would you characterize by that name?'

'Well,' said she of Endor with again the hidden laugh in her
voice, 'some men have a hidden weakness for witches which
conflicts with their duty,--and some men don't!'

'I hope I am not a Saul, then,' said the countryman laughing,
though softly; 'but in any case you are safe to take my arm
for a walk round the rooms. I should like to see all that is
to be seen; and perhaps you could help me to understand.'

It was not a more incongruous pair than were to be seen in
many parts of the assembly. The beauty of Charles the Second's
court was flirting with Rob Roy; a lady in the wonderful ruff
of Elizabeth's time talked with a Roman toga; a Franciscan
monk with bare feet gesticulated in front of a Swiss maiden;
as the Witch of Endor sauntered through the rooms on the arm
of nobody knew exactly what countryman.

'Your prejudices must be very often shocked here,' said the
countryman with a smothered tone of laughter again. 'Or, I beg
pardon!--has a witch any prejudices, seeing she can have no
gravity?'

'What does prejudice mean in your country?'

'Much the same, I am afraid, that it does elsewhere. What are
we coming to?'

Passing slowly through the rooms, they had arrived at the
great saloon, at one end of which large folding doors opened
into another and smaller apartment. This smaller room was hung
with green baize; candelabra shed gentle light upon it from
within the doors, so placed as not to be seen from the
principal room; and over the folding doors was hung a hick red
curtain; rolled up now.

'What is all this?'

'O, if you wait a while,' said the witch, 'you will see
further transformations--that is all.'

'And what is _this_ for?' said the countryman, pointing to the
rolled-up rend curtain.

'To hide the transformed, till they are ready to be seen.'

'But it does not hide anything,' said the countryman obtusely.
'How do they get it down?'

He went examining about the door-posts, with undoubted
curiosity, till he found the mechanism attached to the curtain
and touched the spring. Down fell the red folds in an instant.
The man drew it up again, and let it fall again, and again
drew it up.

'Very good,' he said approvingly. 'Very good. We have no such
clever curtains in my country. That will do very well.'

As he spoke, a bell sounded through the house. Immediately the
witch escaped by a side door. Two or three others followed
her; and then the rest of the company began to pour in and
fill the saloon before the red curtain.

'Well, I never _was_ so stupid in all my life!' said the court
beauty. 'I might have _known_ no other girl would come as a roll
of serge!'

'And I might have known, that if I failed to recognize Miss
Kennedy's hand, it could be only because it was out of sight,'
said Mr. Kingsland, who by special favour wore only his own
face and dress.

'You'll get a mitten from her hand--and a slap in it, if you
don't look out,' said the lady.

'Better a mitten from that hand than a glove from any other,'
replied Mr. Kingsland with resignation.

'Easier for you to get,' the beauty retorted. 'But did you
hear of the fun we had the other night?--the best joke! We all
put Seaton up to it, and he carried it off well. Dick
wouldn't. Before the dancing began, he went up to Miss Kennedy
and asked her with his gravest face whether she felt
guardian's orders to be binding? And she coloured all up, like
a child as she is, and inquired who wanted to know? So Seaton
bowed down to the ground almost, and said he--

' "I had the honour of asking Mr. Rollo this afternoon,
concerning the drive we spoke of; and he gave me an emphatic
no. And now I am come to you to reverse the decision."

'Well, you should have seen her face!--and "_What_ did he say,
Major Seaton?" she asked. "As near as I can remember," said
Seaton with another bow, "he said, Sir I cannot possibly allow
Miss Kennedy to take any such drive as you propose!" '

'Well?--' said Mr. Kingsland,--'I have heavy wagers out on Miss
Kennedy's dignity.'

'I don't know what you call dignity,' said the beauty,--'I
didn't know at first but she would knock him down for his
information,--she did, with her eyes. And then my lady Duchess
drew herself up as grand as could be, and answered just as if
she didn't care a snap,--"Did Mr. Rollo say that, Major Seaton?
Then I certainly shall not go." '

Mr. Kingsland clapped his hands softly. 'Safe yet,' he said.
'But where did Kitty pick up that name for her?' he added,
turning to his next neighbour. 'You are in the way of such
titles.'

'Kitty won't tell,' the lady answered, an elaborate Queen
Elizabeth. 'Not at present. She found out nobody understood,
but Miss Kennedy does, so now she holds it over Miss Kennedy's
head that she _will_ tell. That is the way she got her before
the glass the other night.'

'The tenderness these gentle creatures have for each other!'
said Mr. Kingsland.

Meantime a bustling crowd had been pouring in and filling the
saloon, and there began to be a cry for silence. The curtain
was down; by whom dropped no one knew; but now it was raised
again by the proper attendants, and the sight of the cool
green little stage brought people to their good behaviour. The
silence of expectancy spread through the assembly.

Behind the scenes there was a trifle of delay.

'My dear child,' Mme. Lasalle whispered to the _ci-devant_ witch
of Endor, 'Mr. Lasalle is in no condition to act with you as
he promised. Ill; really ill, you know. We must take some one
else. Standing about with bare feet don't agree with his
constitution. It won't matter.'

'It matters very much!' said Wych Hazel. 'O, well--just leave
that charade out. There are enough more.'

'Indeed there are not!' exclaimed her hostess. 'We cannot
spare this. Indeed I doubt if any other will be worth
presenting after it. My dear, it makes no difference! and you
are ready, and Stuart is ready, and the people are waiting.
You must not fail me at the pinch, Hazel. Go on and do your
prettiest, for my sake.'

'Not with Mr. Nightingale. I will have little Jemmy Seaton,
then. He is tall enough.'

'He couldn't do it. Nonsense, my dear! you don't mean that
there is anything _serious_ in it? It is only a play, and a
short one too; and Stuart will be, privately, a great
improvement on Mr. Lasalle, who wouldn't have done it with
spirit enough; as why should he? Come, go on! Stuart is not
worse to play with than another, is he? Come! there's Mr.
Brandevin waiting for you. He's capital!'

There was no time to debate the matter; no time to make
further changes; everybody was waiting; Miss Kennedy had to
yield.

The first act was on this fashion. An old man in the blouse of
a Normandy peasant sat smoking his pipe. Enter to him his
daughter, a lovely peasant girl; Wych Hazel to wit. The father
spoke in French; the daughter mingled French and English in
her talk very prettily. There was some dumb show of serving
him; and then the old man got up to go out, charging his
daughter in the severest manner to admit no company in his
absence. Scarcely is he gone, when enter on the other side a
smart young man in the same peasant dress. Words here were not
audible. In dumb show the young man made protestations of
devotion, begged for his mistress's hand and kissed it with
great fervour; and appeared to be carrying on a lively suit to
the damsel. Now nothing could have been prettier than the
picture and the pantomime. Stuart kept his face away from the
audience; Wych Hazel was revealed, and in the coy, blushing
maidenly dignity and confusion which suited the character and
occasion, was a tableau worth looking at. Well looked at, and
in deep silence of the company; till suddenly the growling old
French father is heard coming back again. The peasant starts
to his feet, the girl sits down in terror.

'What shall I do?' he cries, and she echoes,--'What shall he
do? What shall he do?'

Then came confused answers from the spectators:--'Bolt, old
fellow!'--'Escape!'--'Fly!'--'Run!'--and the last word being taken
up and re-echoed, 'Run! run!'--he _did_ run; ran out and then ran
in and across the stage again; finally out of sight; and drop
the curtain. The burst of applause was tremendous.

'You'll have to go on, you know, if that keeps up,' said
Stuart behind the scenes; 'and I don't wonder. Here, Mr.
Brandevin, go in and stop them!'

The next scene was also very well done. The old French
gentleman was alone, and had it all to perform by himself. He
began with calling his daughter, in various discordant keys,
and with such a variety of impatient and exasperated
intonation, that the whole room was full of laughter. His
daughter not appearing nor answering, he next instituted a
make-believe search for her, feigning to go into the kitchen,
the buttery, her bedroom. Not finding her, and making a great
deal of amusement for the spectators by the way, he at last
comes back and asks in a deploring tone, 'Where is she?'

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