A Fluttered Dovecote Part 20

Only think! confined to his bed, and poor Laura unable to go to him to tend him, to comfort him, and smooth his pillow, at a time when he was in such a state of suffering, and all through me--all for my sake! I'm sure I was very much to be pitied, though no one seemed to care; while as for Clara, she grew unbearable, doing nothing but laugh.

Oh, yes, I knew well enough what was the matter, and so did two more; but, to make matters ten hundred times more aggravating, that lean Miss Furness must go about sighing, and saying that it was a bilious attack, and that England did not agree with Monsieur Achille like la belle France; and making believe that she was entirely in his confidence, when I don't believe that he had done more than send word to Mrs Blunt herself. And then, as if out of sympathy, Miss Furness must needs make a fuss, and get permission to take the French cla.s.s--she with her horrid, abominable accent, which was as much like pure French as a penny trumpet is like Sims Reeves's G above the stave.

"Oh, yes," she said, "she should be only too happy to take the cla.s.s while poor Monsieur Achille was ill."

And one way and another, the old fright made me so vexed that I should have liked to make her jealous by showing her one of Achille's letters.

So, as I said before we had a dog in the place; and, oh, such a wretch!

I'm sure that no one ever before saw such a beast, and there it was baying and howling the whole night through.

The very first day he came to inhabit the smart green kennel that Mrs Blunt had had bought, he worked his collar over his ears and got loose, driving the gardener nearly mad with the pranks he played amongst the flowers; when who should come but poor meek, quiet, innocent, tame Monsieur de Kittville. The wretch made at him, seizing him by the leg of his trousers; but how he ever did it without taking out a bit of his leg I can't make out, for his things were always dreadfully tight; and there was the wretch of a dog hanging on and dragging back, snarling the while, and the poor little dancing master defending himself with his fiddle, and shrieking out--

"Brigand! Cochon! Diable de chien! Hola, ho! Au secours! I shall be dechire! Call off te tog!"

And at every word he banged the great beast upon the head with the little fiddle, till it was broken all to bits; but still the dog held on, until the gardener and James ran to his a.s.sistance.

"He won't hurt you, sir," said the great, tall, stupid footman, grinning.

"But he ayve hurt me, dreadful," cried the poor dancing master, capering about upon the gravel, and then stooping to tie his handkerchief over his leg, to hide the place where the dog had taken out a piece of the cloth, and was now coolly lying down and tearing it to pieces. "I am hurt! I am scare--I am fright horrible!" cried poor Monsieur de Kittville; "and my nerves and strings--oh, my nerves and strings--and my leetle feetle shall be broken all to pieces. Ah, Madame Bloont, Madame Bloont, why you keep such monster savage to attack vos amis? I shall not dare come for give lessons. I am ver bad, ver bad indeed."

"Oh, dear, oh, dear! how can I sufficiently apologise?" exclaimed Mrs Blunt, who had hurried up, and now began tapping the great dog upon the head with her fan. "I am so extremely sorry, Monsieur de Kittville.

Naughty dog, then, to try and bite its mistress's friends."

"Aha, madame," said the poor little man, forgetting his trouble in his excessive politeness and gallantry--"mais ce n'est rien; just nosing at all; but I am agitate. If you will give me one leetle gla.s.s wine, I shall nevare forget your bonte."

"Oh, yes, yes--pray come in," said Mrs Blunt.

And then we all came round the poor, trembling little martyr; and although we could not help laughing, yet all the while we pitied the good-tempered, inoffensive little man, till he had had his gla.s.s of wine and gone away; for, of course, he gave no lesson that day, and I must chronicle the fact that Mrs Blunt gave him a guinea towards buying a new instrument.

"But, oh, Clara," I said, when we were alone, "suppose that had been poor Achille?"

"Oh, what's the good of supposing?" said Clara, pettishly. "It was not him, and that ought to be enough."

"But it might have been, though," I said; "and then, only think!"

"Think," said Clara, "oh, yes, I'll think. Why, he is sure to have him some day."

"Don't dear, pray," I said.

"And then," continued Clara, "he'll fight the dog, and kill him as King Richard did the lion."

"Oh, please, don't tease," I said humbly; "I wonder how he is."

"Miss Furness says he is better," said Clara.

"How dare Miss Furness know?" I cried, indignantly.

"Dear me! How jealous we are!" she said, in her vulgar, tantalising way. "How should I know?"

And, for the daughter of a t.i.tled lady, it was quite disgusting to hear of what common language she made use.

"I don't believe that she knows a single bit about it at all," I said, angrily; for it did seem so exasperating and strange for that old thing to know, while somebody else, whom he had promised to make--but there, I am not at liberty to say what he had promised.

"You may depend upon one thing," said Clara, "and that is that your Achille will not be invulnerable to dogs' bites; though, even if he is, he will be tender in the heel, which is the first part that he will show Mr Cyclops, if he comes. But you will see if he does not take good care not to come upon these grounds after dark--that is, as soon as he knows about the dog. By-the-by, dear, what a dislike the dog seems to have to anything French."

"I'd kill the wretch if it bit him," I said.

Clara laughed as if she did not believe me.

"I would," I said; "but I'll take care somehow to warn him, so that he shall run no such risks. For I would not have him bitten for the world."

"Of course not--a darling?" said Clara, mockingly.

And then no more was said.

But matters went unfortunately, and I had no opportunity for warning poor Achille, who was attacked in his turn by the wretch of a dog--who really seemed, as Clara said, to have a dislike to everything French; while, by a kind of clairvoyance, the brute must have known that poor Achille was coming. For, by a strange coincidence--not the first either that occurred during my stay at the Cedars--the creature managed to get loose, and lay in wait just outside the shrubbery until _he_ came, when he flew at him furiously, as I will tell.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

MEMORY THE TWENTIETH--THE NEW PRISONER.

I had no idea that Achille was well enough to go on with the lessons, neither had anybody in the house; for Miss Furness had just summoned us all to the French cla.s.s, and my mind was, to a certain extent, free from care and pre-occupation, when I heard a most horrible snarling and yelling, and crying for help. Of course I darted in agony to the window, when it was just as I had antic.i.p.ated--just as I knew, by means of the electric current existing between our hearts--Achille was in peril; for the horrible dog had attacked him, and there he was in full flight.

As I reached the window, the wretch leaped upon him, seizing his coat, and tearing away a great piece of the skirt; but the next moment poor Achille made a bound, and caught at one of the boughs of the cedar he was beneath; and there he hung, with the horrible dog snapping and jumping at his toes every time they came low enough.

It was too bad of Clara, and whatever else I may look over, I can never forgive this; for she laughed out loudly in the most heartless way, and that set all the other girls off wildly, though Miss Furness, as soon as she saw what had happened, began to scream, and ran out of the room.

Only to think of it, for them all to be laughing, when the poor fellow must have been in agony! Now he contracted, now he hung down; then he drew himself up again, so that the dog could not reach him; but then, I suppose, from utter weariness, his poor legs dropped down again, and the vicious brute jumped at them, when of course poor Achille s.n.a.t.c.hed them up again--who wouldn't?--just as if he had been made of india-rubber, so Clara said. Such a shame, laughing at anyone when in torment! It was quite excruciating to see the poor fellow; and if I had dared I should have seized the poker and gone to his a.s.sistance. But, then, I was so horribly afraid of the wretched dog myself that I could not have gone near it; and there poor Achille still hung, suffering as it were a very martyrdom, with the dog snap, snap, snapping at his toes, so that I felt sure he would either be killed or frightfully torn. All at once, for I really could not keep it back, I gave a most horrible shriek, for though James was running to get hold of the dog, he was too late.

The beast--the dog I mean, not James--had taken advantage of poor Achille's weariness, leaped up and seized him by one boot, when nature could bear no more weight, and I saw the unhappy sufferer fall right upon the dog; when there was a scuffle and noise of contention, and the cowardly animal ran yelping and limping off upon three legs; while Achille, looking pale and furious, stood straightening and brushing his clothes, and trying to put himself in a fit state to pay his visit.

That was the last I saw; for the next thing I remember is Mrs Blunt calling me a foolish, excitable girl; and they were sopping my face with cold water, making my hair all in such a wet mess, and the salts they held close to my nose were so strong that they nearly choked me.

"There, leave her now, young ladies, she is getting better," said Mrs Blunt; for the horrible sick sensation was certainly going off, and I began to awaken to the feeling that Achille was safe. Then it struck me all at once that I must have fainted away from what I had seen, and the thoughts of those around being suspicious nerved me to rouse myself up and hide my confusion.

They wanted me to give up my French lesson that morning, but I declared that I was so much better that they let me go in, and I really did expect just a glance; but, no, he was like a piece of marble, and took not the slightest notice either of Clara or poor me. Then, too, he was as cross and snappish as could be, and found great fault, saying everything was disgracefully done, and that every one had been going back with the French ever since he had been away. But I did not mind that a bit; for I saw how it was making Miss Furness's ears tingle, which was some consolation, seeing how hard she had been working us, and what a fuss she had been making, as if she were Monsieur Achille's deputy; and really I was getting jealous of the tiresome old thing.

I took my snubbing very patiently; but I could not help feeling terribly angry when he rose to go, and, with an affectation of bashfulness, Miss Furness followed, simpering, looking, or rather trying to look, in our eyes, as if she were engaged. But I followed too, almost as soon as the door was closed; and to my rage and disgust I found the hall empty, with Achille's hat still standing upon the table, so that he could not have gone.

"They must have gone into the drawing-room," I muttered.

And then once more my head began to swim, for I felt raging--jealous; and it did seem a thing that, after all I had suffered and done for his sake, I was to be given up for a dreadful screwy thing, old enough to be my mother at the very least. But I would not faint this time, I was too angry; and stepping across the hall, I opened the drawing-room door, softly and quickly, and walked in just in time to see that base deceiver, Achille, kissing the hand of the old hypocrite. And how they did both flinch and cower before my indignant glance!

Miss Furness was, of course, the first to recover herself, and step forward in a vixenish manner, just as if she would have liked to bite.

"And pray, Miss Bozerne, what may be your business?" she exclaimed.

"Oh, I merely came for my wool-work," I replied, in a tone of the most profound contempt; and, sweeping across the room, I fetched a piece of work that I knew to be under one of the chair cushions, and then I marched off, leaving Achille the very image of confusion, while as for Miss Furness, she was ready to fly at me with spite and anger.