The Daltons; Or, Three Roads In Life. Volume II

And now they are gone! steaming calmly away across the Gulf of Genoa. They have closed the little episode of their life in Italy, and with heavy hearts are turning homeward. The great Mazzarini Palace looks sad and forlorn; nor do we mean to linger much longer on a scene whence the actors have departed.

CHAPTER III. A LAST SCENE

One last glance at the Mazzarini Palace, and we leave it forever

Seated in the drawing-room where Lady Hester once held sway, in the very chair around which swarmed her devoted courtiers and admirers, Mrs. Ricketts now reclined, pretty much on the same terms, and with probably some of the same sentiments, as Louis Blanc or his friend Albert might have experienced on finding themselves domesticated within the Palace of the Luxembourg. They were, so to say, parallel circumstances. There had been a great reverse of fortune, an abdication, and a flight. The sycophants of the day before were the masters now, and none disputed the pretensions of any bold enough to assume dictation. To be sure, Mrs. Ricketts’s rule, like Ledru Rollings, was but a provisional government; for already the bills for an approaching sale of everything were posted over the front of the palace, and Racca Morlache’s people were cataloguing every article with a searching accuracy, very tormenting to the beholders.

From some confused impression that they were friends of Lady Hester, and that Mrs. Ricketts’s health was in a precarious condition, Sir Stafford gave orders that they should not be molested in any way, but permitted to prolong their stay to the latest period compatible with the arrangement for sale. A sense of gratitude, too, mingled with these feelings; for Mrs. Ricketts had never ceased to indite euphuistic notes of inquiry after George himself, – send presents of impracticable compounds of paste and preserves, together with bottles of mixtures, lotions, embrocations, and liniments, one tithe of which would have invalided a regiment Gronnsell, it is true, received these civilities in a most unworthy spirit; called her “an old humbug,” with a very unpolite expletive annexed to it; and all but hurled the pharmacopoeia at the head of the messenger. Still, he had other cares too pressing to suffer his mind to dwell on such trifles; and when Onslow expressed a wish that the family should not be disturbed in their occupancy, he merely muttered, “Let them stay and be d – d;” and thought no more of them.

Now, although the palace was, so to speak, dismantled, the servants discharged, the horses sent to livery for sale, the mere residence was convenient for Mrs. Ricketts. It afforded a favorable opportunity for a general “doing up of the Villino Zoe,” – a moment for which all her late ingenuity had not been able to provide. It opened a convenient occasion, too, for supplying her own garden with a very choice collection of flowers from the Mazzarini, – fuchsias, geraniums, and orchidae, being far beyond all the inventoriai science of Morlache’s men; and lastly, it conferred the pleasing honor of dating all her despatches to her hundred correspondents from the Palazzo Mazzarini, where, to oblige her dear Lady Hester, she was still lingering, – “Se sacrificando” as she delighted to express it, “Jai doveri dell’ amicizia.” To these cares she had now vowed herself a martyr. The General believed in her sorrows; Martha would have sworn to them; and not a whit the less sincerely that she spent hours in secreting tulip roots and hyacinths, while a deeper scheme was in perpetration, – no less than to substitute a copy of a Gerard Dow for the original, and thus transmit the genius of the Ricketts family to a late posterity. Poor Martha would have assisted in a murder at her bidding, and not had a suspicion of its being a crime!

It was an evening “at home to her few most intimate friends,” when Mrs. Ricketts, using the privilege of an invalid, descended to the drawing-room in a costume which united an ingenious compromise between the habit of waking and sleeping. A short tunic, a kind of female monkey-jacket, of faded yellow satin edged with swansdown, and a cap of the same material, whose shape was borrowed from that worn by the beef-eaters, formed the upper portion of a dress to which wide fur boots, with gold tassels, and a great hanging pocket, like a sabretasche, gave a false air of a military costume. “It was singular,” she would remark, with a bland smile, “but very becoming!” Besides, it suited every clime. She used to come down to breakfast in it at Windsor Castle. “The Queen liked it;” the Bey of Tripoli loved it; and the Hospodar of Wallachia had one made for himself exactly from the pattern. Her guests were the same party we have already introduced to our reader in the Villino Zoe, – Haggerstone, the Pole, and Foglass being the privileged few admitted into her august presence, and who came to make up her whist-table, and offer their respectful homage on her convalescence.

The Carnival was just over, the dull season of Lent had begun, and the Rickettses’ tea-table was a resource when nothing else offered. Such was the argument of Haggerstone as he took a cheap dinner with Foglass at the Luna.

“She ‘s an infernal bore, sir, – that I know fully as well as you can inform me; but please to tell me who is n’t a bore.” Then he added, in a lower voice, “Certainly it ain’t you!”

“Yes, yes, – I agree with you,” said Foglass; “she has reason to be sore about the Onslows’ treatment.”

“I said a bore, sir, – not sore,” screamed out Haggerstone.

“Ha!” replied the other, not understanding the correction. “I remember one day, when Townsend – ”

“D – n Townsend!” said Haggerstone.

“No, not Dan, – Tom Townsend. That fellow who was always with Mathews.”

“Walk a little quicker, and you may talk as much balderdash as you please,” said the other, buttoning up his coat, and resolving not to pay the slightest attention to his companion’s agreeability.

“Who is here?” asked Haggerstone, as he followed the servant up the stairs.

“Nobody but Count Petrolaffsky, sir.”

“Un Comte à bon compte,” muttered Haggerstone to himself, always pleased when he could be sarcastic, even in soliloquy. “They ‘ll find it no easy matter to get a tenant for this house nowadays. Florence is going down, sir, and will soon be little better than Boulogne-sur-Mer.”

“Very pleasant, indeed, for a month in summer,” responded Foglass, who had only caught up the last word. “Do you think of going there?”

“Going there!” shouted out the other, in a voice that made misconception impossible. “About as soon as I should take lodgings in Wapping for country air!”

This speech brought them to the door of the drawing-room, into which Haggerstone now entered, with that peculiar step which struck him as combining the jaunty slide of a man of fashion with the martial tread of an old soldier.

“Ha! my old adherents, – all my faithful ones!” sighed Mrs. Ricketts, giving a hand to each to kiss; and then, in a voice of deep emotion, she said, “Bless you both! May peace and happiness be beneath your roof-trees! joy sit beside your hearth!”

Haggerstone reddened a little; for, however alive to the ludicrous in his neighbors, he was marvellously sensitive as to having a part in the piece himself.

“You are looking quite yourself again,” said he, bluntly.

“The soul, indeed, is unchanged; the spirit – ”

“What’s become of Purvis?” broke in Haggerstone, who never gave any quarter to these poetic flights.

“You ‘ll see him presently. He has been so much fatigued and exhausted by this horrid police investigation, that he never gets up till late. I ‘ve put him on a course of dandelion and aconite, too; the first effect of which is always unpleasant.”

Leaving Foglass in conclave with the hostess, Haggerstone now approached the Count, who had for several times performed his toilet operation of running his hands through his hair, in expectation of being addressed.

“How d’ye do, – any piquet lately?” asked the Colonel, half cavalierly.

“As if I was tinking of piquet, wid my country in shains! How you can aske me dat?”

“What did you do with Norwood t’other night?” resumed the other, in a voice somewhat lower.

“Won four hundred and fifty, – but he no pay!”

“Nor ever will.”

“What you say? – not pay me what I wins!”

“Not a sou of it.”

“And dis you call English noblemans, – pair d’Angleterre!”

“Hush! Don’t be carried away by your feelings. Some men Norwood won’t pay because he does n’t know them. There are others he treats the same way because he does know them, – very equitable, eh?”

The observation seemed more intelligible to the Pole than polite, for he bit his lip and was silent, while Haggerstone went on, —

“He ‘s gone, and that, at least, is a point gained; and now that these Onslows have left this, and that cur Jekyl, we may expect a little quietness, for a while, at least; but here comes Purvis.” And that worthy individual was led in on Martha’s arm, a large green shade over his eyes, and his face plentifully sprinkled with flour.

“What’s the matter with you, man? you ‘re ‘got up’ like a ghost in a melodrama.”

“They ‘ve taken all the cuti-cuti-cuti – ”

“Call it skin, sir, and go on.”

“Sk-skin off my face with a lin-liniment,” cried he, “and I could sc-scream out with pain whenever I speak!”

“Balm of marigolds, with the essential oil of crab-apple,” said Martha. “I made it myself.”

“I wish to Hea-Heaven you had tr-tried it, too,” whispered he.

“Brother Scroope, you are ungrateful,” said Mrs. Ricketts, with the air of a Judge, charging. “The vicissitudes of temperature, here, require the use of astringents. The excessive heat of that police-court – ”

“By the way, how has that affair ended?” asked Haggerstone.

“I’ll tell you,” screamed out Purvis, in a burst of eagerness. “They ‘ve fi-fi-fiued me a hundred and f-f-fifty scadi for being w-where I never was, and fighting somebody I n-never saw.”

“You got off cheaply, sir. I ‘ve known’ a man sentenced to the galleys for less; and with a better character to boot,” muttered he to himself.

“Lord Norwood and the rest said that I was a pr-pr-principal, and he swore that he found me hiding in a cave.”

“And did he so?”

“Yes; but it was only out of curi-curi-curi – ”

“Curiosity, sir, like other luxuries, must be paid for; and, as you seem a glutton, your appetite may be expensive to you.”

“The mystery remains unsolved as to young Onslow, Colonel?” said Mrs. Ricketts, half in question.

“I believe not, madam. The explanation is very simple. The gallant guardsman, having heard of Guilmard’s skill, preferred being reported ‘missing’ to ‘killed,’ having previously arranged with Norwood to take his place. The price was, I fancy, a smart one, – some say five thousand, some call it ten. Whatever the amount, it has not been paid, and Norwood is furious.”

“But the accident?”

“As for that, madam, nothing more natural than to crack your skull when you lose your head.” And Haggerstone drew himself up with the proud consciousness of his own smartness.

“Then of course the poor young man is ruined?” observed Martha.

“I should say so, madam, – utterly ruined. He may figure on the committee of a Polish ball, but any other society would of course reject him.” This was said to obtain a sneer at Petrolaffsky, without his being able to guess why. “I believe I may say, without much fear of contradiction, that these Onslows were all humbugs! The old banker’s wealth, my lady’s refinement, the guardsman’s spirit, were all in the same category, – downright humbugs!”

“How he hates us, – how he detests the aristocracy!” said Mrs. Ricketts, in a whisper to the Pole.

“And de Dalton – what of her? – is she millionnaire?” asked Petrolaffsky.

“The father a small shopkeeper in Baden, sir; children’s toys, nut-crackers, and paper-knives being the staple of his riches. Foglass can tell you all about it. He wants to hear about those Daltons,” screamed he into the deaf man’s ear.

“Poor as Job – has n’t sixpence – lives ‘three-pair back,’ and dines for a ‘zwanziger.’ Lame daughter makes something by cutting heads for canes and umbrellas. He picks up a trifle about the hotels.”

“Ach Gott! and I was so near be in loaf wid de sister!” muttered the Pole.

“She is likely to d-d-do better, Count,” cackled in Purvis. “She caught her Tartar – ha, ha, ha!”

“Midchekoff doesn’t mean marriage, sir, depend upon it,” said Haggerstone.

“Martha, leave the room, my dear,” said Mrs. Ricketts, bridling. “He could no more relish a pleasure without a vice than he could dine without caviare.”

“But they are be-be-betrothed,” cried Purvis. “I saw a letter with an account of the ceremony. Midchekoff fitted up a beautiful chapel at his villa, and there was a Greek priest came sp-epecial from M-M-M-Moscow – ”

“I thought you were going to say from the moon, sir; and it would be almost as plausible,” croaked Haggerstone.

“I saw the letter. It was n’t shown to me, but I saw it; and it was that woman from Breslau gave her away.”

“What! old Madame Heidendorf? She has assisted at a great many similar ceremonies before, sir.”

“It was the Emperor sent her on purpose,” cried Purvis, very angry at the disparagement of his history.

“In this unbelieving age, sir, I must say that your fresh innocence is charming; but permit me to tell you that I know old Caroline Meersburg, – she was sister of the fellow that stole the Archduke Michael’s dress-sword at the Court ball given for his birthday. I have known her five-and-thirty years. You must have met her, madam, at Lubetskoy’s, when he was minister at Naples, the year after the battle of Marengo.”

“I was wearing trousers with frills to them, and hunting butterflies at that time,” said Mrs. Ricketts, with a great effort at a smile.

“I have n’t a doubt of it, madam.” And then muttered to himself, “And if childishness mean youth, she will enjoy a perpetual spring!”

“The ceremony,” resumed Purvis, very eager to relate his story, “was dr-droll enough; they cut off a – a – a lock of her hair and tied it up with one of his.”

“A good wig spoiled!” croaked Haggerstone.

“They then brought a b-b-b – ”

“A baby, sir?”

“No, not a b-baby, a b-basin – a silver basin – and they poured water over both their hands.”

“A ceremony by no means in accordance with Russian prejudices,” chimed in Haggerstone. “They know far more of train-oil and bears’ fat than of brown Windsor!”

“Not the higher nobility, Colonel, – not the people of rank,” objected Mrs. Ricketts.

“There are none such, madam. I have lived in intimacy with them all, from Alexander downwards. You may dress them how you please, but the Cossack is in the blood. Raw beef and red breeches are more than instincts with them; and, except the Poles, they are the dirtiest nation of Europe.”

“What you say of Polen?” asked Petrolaffsky.

“That if oil could smooth down the acrimony of politics, you ought to be a happy people yet, sir.”

“And we are a great people dis minet. Haven’t we Urednfrskioctsch, de best general in de world; and Krakouventkay, de greatest poet; and Vladoritski, de most distinguish pianist?”

“Keep them, sir, with all their consonants; and Heaven give you luck with them,” said Haggerstone, turning away.

“On Tuesday – no, We-Wednesday next, they are to set out for St. P-P-Petersburg. And when the Emperor’s leave is gr-granted, then Midchekoff is to follow; but not before.”

“An de tyrant no grant de leave,” said the Pole, gnashing his teeth and grasping an imaginary dagger in his wrath. “More like he send her to work in shains, wid my beautiful sisters and my faders.”

“He’ll have more important matters to think of soon, sir,” said Haggerstone, authoritatively. “Europe is on the eve of a great convulsion. Some kings and kaisers will accept the Chiltern Hundreds before the year’s out.”

“Shall we be safe, Colonel, here? Ought Martha and I – ”

“Have no fears, madam; age commands respect, even from Huns and Croats. And were it otherwise, madam, where would you fly to? France will have her own troubles, England has the income-tax, and Germany will rake up some old grievance of the Hohenstaufen, or the Emperor Conrad, and make it a charge against Prince Metternich and the Diet! It’s a very rascally world altogether, and out of Tattersall’s yard I never expect to hear of honesty or good principles; and, à propos to nothing, let us have some piquet, Count.”

The table was soon got ready, and the players had just seated themselves, when the sound of carriage-wheels in the court attracted their attention.

“What can it mean, Scroope? Are you quite certain that you said I wouldn’t receive to-night?”

“Yes; I told them what you b-bade me; that if the Archduke called – ”

“There, you need n’t repeat it,” broke in Mrs. Ricketts, for certain indications around Haggerstone’s mouth showed the sense of ridicule that was working within him.

“I suppose, madam, you feel somewhat like poor Pauline, when she said that she was so beset with kings and kaisers she had never a moment left for good society?”

“You must say positively, Scroope, that I admit no one this evening.”

“The Signor Morlache wishes to see you, madam,” said a servant. And close behind him, as he spoke, followed that bland personage, bowing gracefully to each as he entered.

“Sorry – most sorry – madam, to intrude upon your presence; but the Prince Midchekoff desires to have a glance at the pictures and decorations before he goes away from Florence.”

“Will you mention to him that to-morrow, in the afternoon, about five or – ”

“He leaves this to-morrow morning, madam; and if you could – ”

But before the Jew could finish his request the door was flung wide, and the great Midchekoff entered, with his hands in his coat-pockets, and his glass in one eye. He sauntered into the room with a most profound unconsciousness that there were people in it. Not a glance did he even bestow on the living figures of the scene, nor did a trait of his manner evince any knowledge of their presence. Ranging his eyes over the walls and the ceilings, he neither noticed the martial attitude of Haggerstone, nor the graceful undulations by which Mrs. Ricketts was, as it were, rehearsing a courtesy before him.

“Originals, but all poor things, Morlache,” said the Prince. And really the observation seemed as though uttered of the company rather than the pictures.

“Mrs. Ricketts has been good enough, your Highness – ” began the Jew.

“Give her a Napoleon,” said he, listlessly, and turned away.

“My sister, Mrs. Ricketts – Mrs. M-M-Montague Ricketts,” began Scroope, whose habitual timidity gave way under the extremity of provocation. And the Prince turned slowly round, and surveyed the speaker and the imposing form that loomed behind him.

“Tell them that I don’t mean to keep any establishment here, Morlache.” And with this he strolled on, and passed into another room, while, like as in a tableau, the others stood speechless with rage and indignation.

“He took you for the housekeeper, ma’am,” said Haggerstone, standing up with his back to the fire – “and a housekeeper out of place!”

“Martha, where’s the General? Where is he, I say?” cried Mrs. Ricketts, furious with passion.

“He went to bed at nine,” whispered Martha. “He thought, by rising early to-morrow, to finish the attack on Utrecht before night.”

“You are as great a fool as himself. Scroope, come here. You must follow that Russian. You must tell him the gross rudeness – ”

“I’ll be ha-ha-hanged if I do. I ‘ve had enough of rows, for one winter at least. I ‘ll not get into another sc-scrape, if I can help it.”

“I ‘m sorry, madam, that I cannot offer you my services,” said Haggerstone, “but I never meddle in a quarrel which can be made a subject of ridicule. Mr. Foglass, I ‘m certain, has no such scruple.”

“The Prince appears a very agreeable man,” said the ex-Consul, who, not having the slightest notion of what was passing, merely followed his instincts of praising the person of high rank.

“De shains of my enslaved country is on my hands. I ‘m tied like one galérien!” said Petrolaffsky, in a voice guttural with emotion.

“Your pardon once more, madam,” said Morlache, slipping into the chamber, and noiselessly approaching Mrs. Ricketts’s chair. “The Prince will take everything, – pictures, plate, china, and books. I hope to-morrow, at noon, will not inconvenience you to leave this – ”

“To-morrow! Impossible, sir. Perfectly impossible.”

“In that case, madam, we must make some arrangement as to rent. His Highness leaves all to me, and I will endeavor to meet your wishes in every respect. Shall we say two thousand francs a month for the present?” Without waiting for any reply, he turned to the Pole, and whispered, “He ‘ll take you back again. He wants a chasseur, to send to St. Petersburg. Come over to me in the morning, about ten. Mr. Foglass,” cried he, in a loud voice, “when you write to London, will you mention that the varnish on the Prince’s drosky doesn’t stand the cold of Russia, and that they must try some other plan with the barouche? Your brother is an ingenious fellow, and he ‘ll hit upon something. Colonel Haggerstone, the Prince did n’t return your call. He says you will guess the reason when he says that he was in Palermo in a certain year you know of. I wish the honorable company good-night,” said he, bowing with a deference almost submissive, and backing out of the room as he spoke.

And with him we also take our leave of them. They were like the chance passengers we meet on the road of a journey, with whom we converse when near, and forget when we separate from. Were we not more interested for the actors than the scenes on which they “strut their hour,” we might yet linger a few moments on the spot so bound up with our memory of Kate Dalton, – the terrace where she sat, the little orangery where she loitered of a morning, the window where she read, and dreamed of that bright future, so much nearer to her grasp than she knew of! There they were all! – destined to feel new influences and know other footsteps, for she had left them forever, and gone forth upon her “Path” in life.

CHAPTER IV. A PACKAGE OF LETTERS

It was a bright clear morning in May. A somewhat late spring had retarded vegetation, and the blossoming fruit-trees now added their gorgeous beauty to the warmer tints of coming summer. We are once more in Baden; but how different is it from what we saw it last. The frozen fountains now plash, and hiss, and sparkle in the sun. The trim alleys are flanked by the yellow crocus and the daffodil; the spray-like foliage of the ash is flecking the sunlight on the merry river, along whose banks the cheering sound of pleasant voices mingles with the carol of a thousand birds. The windows are open, and gay balconies are spreading, and orange-trees unfolding their sweetness to the breezy air. All is life and motion and joy, for the winter is past, and nothing remains of it save the snow-peaks on some distant mountains, and even they are glowing in brilliant contrast with the deep blue sky beyond them.

Lovely as the valley is in summer or autumn, it is only in spring its perfect beauty appears. The sudden burst of vegetation – the rapid transition from the frost-bound durance of winter to the life and lightness of the young season, have a most exciting and exhilarating effect. This seemed conspicuous enough in the inhabitants as they chatted merrily in the streets, or met each other with pleasant greetings. It was the hour of the post arriving, and around the little window of the office were gathered the chief celebrities of the village, – the principal hotel-keepers, curious to learn what tidings their correspondents gave of the prospects of the coming summer. Everything appeared to smile on that happy moment, for as the various letters were opened, each had some good news to tell his neighbors, – now of some great English Lord, now of some Hungarian magnate or Russian Prince that was to make Baden his residence for the summer. “The Cour de Bade is all taken,” said one; “There will not be a room free in all the Adler;” “The Swan must refuse the Queen of Naples,” – such were the rumors that fell from lip to lip as in hearty congratulation they talked over their good fortune.

One figure only of the assembled group seemed excepted from the general Joy. He was a large elderly man, who, in a patched and threadbare surtout, with a coarse scarlet muffler round his throat, appeared either distrustful of the mild season or unprovided with any change of costume to enjoy it. Seated on a stone bench in front of the window of the post-office, with an arm on each knee, and his head bent heavily forward, he never seemed to notice what went forward, nor hear one syllable of the joyous recognitions about him.