Amethyst: The Story of a Beauty

“There are some fascinating little tables in the conservatory by the house, with fruit of the most picturesque description,” said Mrs Leigh. “If I don’t make the most of my opportunities on these occasions, I always feel that I defraud myself, and pay my hosts a bad compliment. Besides, I enjoy a talk with you, Sylvester, so if I am not keeping you from the young ladies – ”

“We can discuss the young ladies,” said Sylvester, “and admire them from a distance.”

He and Mrs Leigh were very good friends, and liked each other’s company; but to-day he perceived that she, as well as himself, was abstracted and preoccupied – out of spirits, in fact; and he set it down to the approaching loss of her son from her family circle. He could not, however, make cheering remarks on the subject, just now; so with words that hardly touched the surface of the thoughts of either, he conducted her into the spacious conservatory which made of Loseby a show-place. It was very large and lofty, with nooks and bowers, formed of rare shrubs and creepers, and cunningly-contrived vistas, through which, framed in clematis or taxonia, part of the lawn, and long green walks leading away into the park and woods, were visible.

Sylvester found his companion a seat, and supplied her with a peach; but he had a curious feeling of something impending, of thunder about to burst. As he watched the groups passing before him, and remarked casually on them to Mrs Leigh, he knew that he was really dreading the reappearance of the pair whom he had once before interrupted; and, as he said to himself that it was not likely that such another risk would be run, Mrs Leigh suddenly exclaimed —

“There is Amethyst alone! What can she be doing?”

Sylvester started, as Amethyst, with a hurried step, and glancing nervously about her, came into the conservatory at the further end, and after pausing as if in search of some one, passed out of sight behind a trellis covered with heliotrope and scarlet geraniums.

“She has gone into the house,” said Mrs Leigh; “let us join her.”

She rose and followed Amethyst’s footsteps round the geranium-covered trellis, behind which an open window led into a small ante-room, also adorned with flowers, and, at first sight, empty. In a moment, the white figure came again into view followed by Major Fowler. He took her by the hand, drew her close up to him, bending his face over hers, and kissed her under her hat. She clung to him for a second, then pulled herself away, and covered her face with her hands. Both moved out of sight in separate directions, and the whole thing was over in half a minute. Mrs Leigh had stopped, with a clutch at Sylvester’s arm. Now she walked hurriedly forward into the ante-room, and Sylvester, with an instinct of checking a scene then and there, dashed past her, with a loud and incoherent remark on the creepers. The ante-room was empty. Only strangers were in the drawing-room beyond. Mrs Leigh sank down into a chair, speechless and overpowered. Sylvester was pale, he neither liked to leave her, nor to speak to her, and he suffered so much that he almost forgot her.

“Sylvester,” she said at length, faintly, “I have been miserable – miserable! But such as this I never thought of.”

“No,” said Sylvester, stupidly, “no – of course not.”

“I have been warned,” said Mrs Leigh. “I have hated the connection. I would be thankful to break off the match. But a child of eighteen! – What can I do for the best?”

“Don’t say a word – don’t tell Lucian now. Speak to Miss Haredale yourself alone, first. She is, as you say, a child. Major Fowler’s position in the family, his engagement, – an unsuitable joke – ”

“Sylvester,” said Mrs Leigh, “That was a parting with a meaning, and you know it. But of course nothing can be done to-day, and here I will save her. I will not make a scandal, but that girl shall never be my Lucian’s wife.”

There was relief as well as dismay in Mrs Leigh’s voice, and she stood up, and walked out again through the conservatory on to the terrace in front of the house. Lucian came hurrying across the lawn, looking perplexed and angry.

“What has become of Amethyst?” he said. “I missed her all in a moment. Has she been with you? Lady Haredale and the little girls are on the lawn.”

“Amethyst has not been with me, Lucian,” said Mrs Leigh in a tone which Sylvester thought must at once have arrested Lucian’s attention; but he only looked about restlessly, till round the corner of the house came Amethyst herself, walking beside Miss Verrequers, with Major Fowler in attendance. There was an anxious look in her eyes as she approached, but she was quite self-possessed, and did not look guilty.

“I have been looking for you everywhere. Where did you vanish to?” said Lucian, in a tone of boyish vexation, that sounded utterly trivial in the anxious ears of the others.

“Well, I thought that you would look for me, if you wanted me,” said Amethyst; “and, you see, here I am.”

It was a not unnatural girlish retort; but it wanted to Sylvester’s ear the crystal candour of Amethyst’s ordinary utterances.

“I have been having the pleasure of making Miss Haredale’s acquaintance,” said Miss Verrequers, pleasantly.

“We are going to find my mother,” said Amethyst, “because Miss Verrequers wishes to settle a day to come over to Cleverley. Will you come, Lucian?”

He walked on by her side, a little rebuked, and, as it were, kept down by her manner. But, as they all followed in a stream, Sylvester saw her turn her head aside for a moment, and a look swept over her face, of utter misery and shame, a look gone even while he noted it.

The rest of the day was for him like a miserable dream. He thought of every kind of excuse, of the free and easy manners of great houses and fashionable folk, of childish freedom, and girlish coquetry, but every theory degraded Amethyst’s stately maidenhood, and none fitted the despair in her eyes. He could hardly bear his part with his father and aunt, as they went home, in the discussion of the party, and Mr Riddell noticed his silence and preoccupation, over their evening pipe.

“Not such good company as usual to-night, my dear boy,” he said.

“No, dad, I dare say not Father,” he added, as he turned to go up-stairs, “if ever you pray for your stray lambs, do so to-night. There’s trouble ahead, though you might not think it.”

“Ah?” said Mr Riddell, with a long inquiring intonation. “But, Syl, I know my lambs by name, and I forget none of them; no more when their feet are in the green pastures, than when they are wandering on the mountain.”

“Thank you!” said Sylvester, with unconscious fervour.

Mr Riddell looked at him as he hurried up-stairs, and, in his prayers that night for those in trouble and distress of mind, he did not forget his well-beloved son.

Chapter Twelve

As it was

The letter, which Amethyst had posted with so much distress of mind, had been answered by a little note from Major Fowler, offering to take charge of the amethysts, if they could be privately handed over to him at Loseby. He would make the opportunity, he said, if Miss Haredale would watch for indications of the right moment.

Amethyst approved of selling the amethysts, and, hateful as was the secrecy with regard to Lucian, she braced herself up to the effort, with a sense of martyrdom. Lady Haredale contrived to work on her feelings, and bewilder her mind, and would have influenced her still further, if she had understood better the views that would influence an innocent and high-minded girl. Lady Haredale, with all her experience, and all her fine ladyhood, had the delight of a school-girl in sentimental mysteries. As she believed all her relations with “Tony” to be quite innocent, not to say praiseworthy, she confided much of them to Amethyst, finding even her daughter a better confidant than no one. Otherwise, no doubt, the affair could have been managed in a simpler fashion.

Amethyst listened, and half believed that her mother had been Tony’s good angel, but that stupid conventionalities obliged all this caution. She was so much puzzled by Una, that her mother’s light treatment of the matter seemed to her possibly the best and wisest. It was easier to fall back on the idea that Una talked exaggerated nonsense, than to recognise that Lady Haredale did so.

She managed, when at Loseby, to follow Major Fowler’s lead with a skill and self-possession that surprised herself; and which made him smile, and think to himself that none of Lady Haredale’s daughters found a little plotting unnatural.

But, when she found herself alone with him in the turfed walk, she froze up into shy dignity.

“My mother desired me to say that you had shown her so much kindness, that she ventures to trouble you once more,” she said; so translating Lady Haredale’s message – “Tell dear old Tony that he is always my resource, and I know he’ll never fail me.”

Major Fowler looked at her curiously. He did not quite see why she was put forward for what Lady Haredale must have known would be a painful interview, unless her mother thought that her fresh beauty would make him waver in his purpose, and soften what he meant to say. He did not know how far she comprehended the errand on which she had been sent. But the easiest course was to take it for granted that she understood it all as well as Una would have done, and had been chosen as a messenger because her secrecy could be better depended upon.

“You see, my dear young lady,” said Major Fowler, twirling his moustaches, as he walked close beside her, “bachelor pleasures must come to an end. I am no end grateful to Lady Haredale for all she did for a poor lonely fellow, giving one the run of the house, and treating one like a – cousin. Any little service I could render, was quite part of the plan, as you may say. But now– it wouldn’t be possible.”

“My mother understood that you consented to – to manage about the jewels,” said Amethyst, abruptly.

“Your precious namesakes? Oh yes, I’ll manage that little piece of business. But I am afraid the other request in her letter is – well – a slight anachronism – if you understand?”

His tone jarred intensely on Amethyst, she could not tell whether it was purposely offensive or only jesting. But she felt that he meant to make her understand – something.

“I did not know that my mother had asked you to do anything else,” she said.

“No? – That she asked me once more to act as her banker? Under present circumstances I must regret to be unable to do so. Of course it’s been an honour and a pleasure; but you will, I am sure, convince her ladyship, that I must resign the situation, its pleasures and emoluments, and – its responsibilities.”

“But, if the amethysts are sold – perhaps she might be able to pay you the money back?” said Amethyst, with childish directness.

He looked at her scared face, he heard the distress in her tone, and answered with a different accent.

“Oh no, my dear Miss Haredale, no. – That is a closed score.”

“If I could pay the money, I would not close it,” suddenly exclaimed the girl, clenching her hands in their delicate gloves. “You – you bought the right to insult us – and – you have done harm for which no money can pay! My mother does believe in you,” she went on – “she thinks you are very good, and that you are fond of us and a real friend. She trusted you with my little sisters, and you made jokes with them, that you knew were not right; and now you break it all off, because you think Miss Verrequers will blame you, if she hears. If you love her, you would like to tell her the truth. My mother is not selfish, she was glad to hear you had good fortune, though she knew that she would miss you, though she is very sorry to part with you. You should not look like that, and speak in that voice, when you speak of her to me.”

“No, Miss Haredale, I should not,” said Major Fowler. “Nor should you have been sent on this errand. Unselfish! Good heavens! Give me the packet, and I will make all further communications direct to Lady Haredale. I assure you – ” and he looked full at the girl, and pulled his moustaches hard, while he continued – “The situation is a little unusual, but I have the very greatest respect for Lady Haredale, and all her family. It’s all perfectly square, I assure you. Don’t distress yourself.”

He bent closely over her as he took the packet from her hand, and before she could answer, they both became aware of the presence of Sylvester Riddell, and Amethyst, confused and ashamed, feeling herself to blame for losing her temper and her dignity, hardly knowing whether he was very kind or very hateful, had to pull herself together and play her part. So well she did it, that Major Fowler muttered to himself as he turned away, “That’s a good girl – but she’d soon be a bad one, if she was left to her mother.” Amethyst herself was surprised to find that there was a kind of excitement in managing well, and, even when she was alone with Lucian, her feeling was rather that of pushing aside the hateful burden, than of wishing to confide it to him. She wanted to think of him, not of her life apart from him. Mutual confidence is a plant of slower growth than mutual love. Besides, though she could not have put it definitely to herself, she had an instinctive dread of his stern clear judgment, and would not have had him guess at Una’s folly for the world.

The real reason, therefore, why she was unwilling to be absorbed by her lover, was her desire to keep Una out of dangerous interviews; she was uneasy if both she and Major Fowler were out of sight. It was in search of her that she came into the conservatory, and almost immediately finding Miss Verrequers, and seeing Major Fowler come forward to join her, she never imagined that Una was far cleverer than herself at such a game, and had managed a moment’s fatal meeting and parting, so immediately after Amethyst had passed through the conservatory, that the two spectators, whose minds were full of the preconceived idea that Amethyst was there, and who were not accustomed to attribute so womanly an appearance to Una, never dreamed of the mistake they were making.

Conflicting feelings wound Amethyst up to a kind of defiance, and when she came home, she repeated to her mother almost word for word what “Tony” had said to her.

“Ah,” said Lady Haredale, “poor fellow! He was angry because I did not speak to him myself! But I think it’s right to be so prudent! And besides, if my lord heard about the debts just now, he would be so angry. He doesn’t mind getting into debt himself; but he does so dislike my borrowing money, even from an intimate friend.”

Amethyst could have said “I am glad to hear it.” She was more miserable than she knew, as she lay awake in the summer morning, thinking, not of her approaching wedding, but of the miserable complications in which she had been so suddenly involved.

Maidenly instinct, all the upright impulses of a good and truthful girl, revolted against the situation. Still, it was “mother,” and perhaps things might in this one instance be different from what they seemed.

She meant to behave as usual in the morning, but the radiant happiness that had of late been usual with her, could not be assumed at will.

She went out into the garden after breakfast to gather roses, and as she walked along the path under the cypress hedge, stopping here and there to pick and to admire, a step in the wood made her start and look up. It was not Lucian, but his mother.

She crossed the stile with the slow, but secure movements of a country lady, no longer slim and active, but to whom stiles have never ceased to be familiar, and approached Amethyst, who ran to meet her with a pretty look of welcome.

Mrs Leigh was a good woman. Deeply as she resented what she believed to be her son’s betrayal, to save the reputation, and, if possible, touch the conscience of this eighteen-year-old girl, to give her every chance of explaining herself, was her firm intention. She had come herself and alone to face a most painful interview, before saying one word to Lucian on the subject.

“Oh, Mrs Leigh,” said Amethyst, “you have just come in time to have some roses!”

“I think you must know why I have come, Amethyst,” said Mrs Leigh, who was too sincere a person, and in too nervous a mood, to fence.

There was guilt in a moment on Amethyst’s face, and guilt, though not her own, in her heart; for her thoughts flew to her mother’s secret, innocent as she felt herself to be.

“No,” she said, “but I am glad to see you.”

She tried to keep her secret, and when Amethyst was in any way playing a part, she played it with her mother’s soft tones and languid grace.

“Amethyst,” said Mrs Leigh, “there is no use in concealment. You shall tell me your own story; but I must ask you to explain your – interview with Major Fowler. Tell me the truth, my dear, I have come first to ask yourself. It is no hearsay, I saw your parting with him.”

“I dare say you did – what then?” said Amethyst. “So did Mr Riddell. There is nothing – what should there be to explain?”

“Yes, Amethyst, I know Mr Riddell saw you. But oh, my dear, what if my poor Lucian had seen you then?”

“What then?” said Amethyst. She was angry; but she was still more frightened and conscious of her secret. She fancied that Mrs Leigh had seen her give Major Fowler the packet.

“What then? Oh, Amethyst, tell the truth at least.”

“You had better ask my mother. There she is!” said Amethyst.

Her manner was haughty, but it was as a sort of refuge from fear. She was still so young, and so accustomed to give an account of her conduct, that it did not occur to her to resent the inquiries. How she could elude them was her first thought!

“My dear Mrs Leigh,” said Lady Haredale, all smiles and pleasant greeting, “you are an early visitor. This lovely weather makes an early bird even of a Londoner like me. And here is a telegram from my lord, to say he is coming home unexpectedly to-day. I don’t think I’ve a dinner fit for him! Lucian is not particular just at present, our scrambling meals suit him.”

“Lady Haredale,” said Mrs Leigh, unable to be otherwise than formal, “I have come on most painful business. I had hoped to hear the truth from Amethyst, but perhaps, as she suggests, it is right for me to speak to you.”

She had been sitting in one of the deep recesses of the hedge, and now resumed her seat, as Lady Haredale placed herself beside her, while Amethyst stood, erect and silent, fronting them both.

Lady Haredale looked at her keenly, even while she spoke in a sympathetic voice to Mrs Leigh.

“There is something the matter?”

“I must speak plainly,” said Mrs Leigh. “Amethyst’s behaviour altogether puzzled me yesterday. I saw her hold a secret interview with your newly-engaged friend, Major Fowler. I saw them part with – a kiss given and taken.”

Lady Haredale gave a little start.

“Oh,” she said, “oh, my dear Mrs Leigh, that was not quite right of him. He should remember Amethyst’s position now. But they are all little girls to him, mere babies still. But it was indiscreet.”

“Mother!” cried Amethyst, with passion such as Mrs Leigh’s words had failed to rouse, “he never kissed me! He does not think me a little girl! It is a mistake. You did not see right,” she added, turning to Mrs Leigh and speaking with childish directness. “He did stand very near me, but, indeed, he did not kiss me!”

“I was in the conservatory, Amethyst,” said Mrs Leigh, coldly.

“But I never was in the conservatory with Major Fowler,” said Amethyst. “It was not there – ”

She paused, and Mrs Leigh replied —

“Where did you go when you went through the conservatory by yourself – why were you there alone?”

“I – I was looking for my sisters,” said Amethyst, with some hesitation; but Lady Haredale rose from her seat, and struck in, with an indescribable air of having the best of the situation —

“I cannot have my daughter questioned in this way, Mrs Leigh. My girls are perfectly trustworthy. It is quite impossible that anything can have passed between Amethyst and Major Fowler of the slightest consequence. He was otherwise engaged. I hope Lucian is not jealous of a few casual words. If she met him, it was quite accidentally. Was he ever away from Miss Verrequers, Amethyst, for a moment?”

Amethyst looked at her mother, with horror in her eyes.

“He did not kiss me,” she said, but in a tone that sounded forced and doubtful.

“I have gained nothing,” said Mrs Leigh, turning back towards the stile. “I came here for the best, it has been all in vain.”

“I too think,” said Lady Haredale, drawing Amethyst towards her, “that enough has been said for the present. But of course, Mrs Leigh, the subject cannot drop here.”

“No,” said Mrs Leigh, “that will be impossible.” She turned away without further parting, and slowly walked down the path, and crossed the stile. Now she had to tell Lucian.

Chapter Thirteen

Is it True?

As Mrs Leigh moved out of hearing, Lady Haredale turned quickly to her daughter.

“Well, did he kiss you?” she said, eagerly.

Amethyst stared at her for a moment.

“No,” she said, with neither outcry nor protest. It was worse to know her mother, than to be suspected herself. Her soul was hurt by the knowledge.

“Well, so much the better. Now you must tell me exactly what did happen – what makes that woman think so?”

“I told you, mother, I met him in that turfed walk, and he said what I told you. I gave him the packet. Mr Riddell did see us, but I don’t think Mrs Leigh did. That was all.”

“But what did she mean about the conservatory?”

“I did go through the conservatory, and through the ante-room into the drawing-room, and no one was there but Major Fowler, and Miss Verrequers came in, in a minute or two. It is all a mistake. But oh, mother, can’t I tell her that I had a message from you?”

“No, Amethyst,” said Lady Haredale, without any of her usual softness. “If you do, we shall all be ruined. They’ll break off your engagement to a certainty. They’re just the people who never – never would understand about poor Tony. And – and you know, my dear, I’m always honest. I ought to have paid those losses, and it’s a story to gain in the telling. If Miss Verrequers heard some things, there’d be such an explosion. Besides, your father would be furious. Remember, I’ve trusted you with your poor mother’s honour. We must make a story up. They must not know about Tony.”

“Make up a story! But what can I tell them?” exclaimed Amethyst with incautious vehemence.

“The truth!” – and Lucian, who had sprung over the stile and flashed along the path, in a moment had seized her hands; his clear unfaltering eyes were looking into hers, his young strong voice, troubled, angered, and yet loving, sounded in her ears.

“What does my mother mean, Amethyst? what is all this?”

“I did not – oh, I did not!” gasped Amethyst, like a falsely accused child. “Oh, Lucian, don’t you believe what I say?”

“Yes, yes, of course I believe it. But what do you say? What can my mother possibly be thinking of?” cried Lucian, still hasty and unrealising.

“Really, Lucian,” said Lady Haredale, “I cannot tell; Mrs Leigh is under some extraordinary mistake. Amethyst has nothing to tell you, and I really hardly know if I can allow the subject to be dropped here. I believe that Amethyst took a turn with Major Fowler – dear old Tony – who has been like an uncle among the children, and Mrs Leigh has made some extraordinary mistake.”

“What is it, Amethyst? You tell me what it is,” said Lucian, who hated Lady Haredale, and never believed a word that fell from her lips.

But his hastiness, which looked like anger and suspicion, though it was in truth passionate trouble, almost took from her breath and speech. Her face whitened, her figure swayed.

“I – I only took a turn with him,” she stammered, with her eyes on her mother, “a turn in the turfed walk.”

“But afterwards – ” said Lucian. “No, I’ll not ask you in any one’s presence. Come with me, and tell me the meaning of it all.”

“There’s nothing else to tell you,” said Amethyst, suddenly feeling that she would never dare to be alone with Lucian again.

“I don’t think I ought to leave you with the poor child, while you are so unreasonable,” said Lady Haredale.

“I do not choose to ask her such a question even before you,” said Lucian, with dignity.