The Bramleighs of Bishop's Folly Part 49

No, this must be what you used to call a week of cold-mutton days, mind that, and resist all temptation to money-spending."

L'Estrange bowed his head in quiet acquiescence; his was the sad thought that so many of us have felt; how much of enjoyment life shows us, just one hair's breadth beyond our power to grasp; vistas of lovely scenery that we are never to visit; glimpses of bliss closed to us even as we catch them; strains of delicious music of which all our efforts can but retain the dying cadences. Not that he felt all these in any bitterness of spirit; even in narrowed fortune life was very pleasant to him, and he was thoroughly, heartily grateful for the path fate had a.s.signed him to walk in.

How would they have liked to have lingered in the Brianza, that one lovely bit of thoroughly rural Italy, with the green of the west blending through all the gorgeous glow of tropical vegetation; how gladly they would have loitered on the lake at Como--the brightest spot of landscape in Europe; with what enjoyment had they halted at Milan, and still more in Florence! Stern necessity, however, whispered ever onwards; and all the seductions of Raffaels and t.i.tians yielded before the hard demands of that fate that draws the purse-strings. Even at Rome they did not venture to delay, consoling themselves with the thought that they were to dwell so near, they could visit it at will. At last they reached Albano, and as they drove into the village caught sight of a most picturesque little cottage, enshrined in a copse of vines. It was apparently untenanted, and they eagerly asked if it were to be let. The answer was, No, it was waiting for the "Prete Inglese," who was daily expected to arrive.

"Oh, George, it is ours," cried Julia, in ecstasy, and hid her head on his shoulder, and actually cried with excess of delight.

CHAPTER x.x.xII. THE CHURCH PATRONS AT ALBANO.

The patrons of the English chapel at Albano were the three great leaders of society in Rome in winter, and at Albano during the summer. Of these the first was Lady Augusta Bramleigh; next came Sir Marcus Cluff; and last--not indeed, either in activity or zeal--was Mrs. Trumpler, a widow lady of considerable fortune, and no small share of energy in her nature.

To these George L'Estrange had brought formal letters of introduction, which he was cautiously enjoined should be presented in the order of their respective ranks--making his first approaches to the Lady Augusta.

To his request to know at what hour he might have the honor to wait on her Ladyship, came a few lines on the back of his own card, saying, "Two o'clock, and be punctual." There did not seem to be any unnecessary courtesy in this curt intimation; but he dressed himself carefully for the interview, and with his cravat properly arranged by Julia, who pa.s.sed his whole appearance in review, he set out for the pretty Villa of the Chestnuts, where her Ladyship lived.

"I don't suppose that I'm about to do anything very unworthy, Julia,"

said he, as he bade her good-bye; "but I a.s.sure you I feel lower in my own esteem this morning than I have known myself since--since--"

"Since you tumbled over the sunk fence, perhaps," said she, laughing, and turned back into the house.

L'Estrange soon found himself at the gate of the villa, and was conducted by a servant in deep mourning through a very beautiful garden to a small kiosk, or summerhouse, where a breakfast-table was spread. He was punctual to the moment; but as her Ladyship had not yet appeared he had ample time to admire the beauty of the Sevres cups of a pale blue, and the rich carving of the silver service--evidently of antique mould, and by a master hand. The rare exotics which were disposed on every side, amongst which some birds of bright plumage were encaged, seemed to fill up the measure of this luxurious spot, and impressed him with--he knew not what exalted idea of her who should be its mistress.

He waited at first patiently enough--there was much to interest and amuse him; but at last, as nigh an hour had elapsed, and she had not appeared, a feeling, half of irritation at the thought of neglect, and half doubt lest he should have mistaken what the servant said, began to worry and distress him. A little pendule on a bracket played a few bars of a waltz, and struck three. Should he wait any longer? was the question he put to himself. His sense of shame on leaving home at the thought of presenting himself before a patron came back upon him now with redoubled force. He had often felt that the ministers who preached for a call were submitting themselves to a very unworthy ordeal. The being judged by those they were appointed to teach seemed in itself little short of an outrage; but the part he was now playing was infinitely worse; he had actually come to show himself, to see if, when looked at and talked to, her Ladyship would condescend to be his patron, and as it were to impress the indignity more strongly upon him he was kept waiting like a lackey!

"I don't think I ought to stoop to this," muttered he, bitterly, to himself; and taking a card and a pencil from his pocket, he wrote: "The Rev. George L'Estrange has waited from two to three o'clock in the hope of seeing Lady Augusta Bramleigh; he regrets the disappointment, as well as his inability to prolong his attendance." "There," cried he, aloud, "I hope that will do!" and he placed the card conspicuously on the table.

"Do what, pray?" said a very soft voice, as a slight figure in deep mourning swept noiselessly into the kiosk, and taking the card up sat down without reading it.

One glance showed that the handsome woman before him was Lady Augusta, and the bashful curate blushed deeply at the awkwardness of his position.

"Mr. L'Estrange, I presume?" said she, waving her hand to him to be seated. "And what is your card to do; not represent you, I hope, for I 'd rather see you in person?"

"In my despair of seeing your Ladyship I wrote a line to say--to say"--and he blundered and stopped short.

"To say you 'd wait no longer," said she, smiling; "but how touchy you must be. Don't you know that women have the privilege of unpunctuality?

don't you know it is one of the few prerogatives you men have spared them? Have you breakfasted?"

"Yes--some hours ago."

"I forget whether I have not also. I rather think I did take some coffee. I have been very impatient for your coming. Sit here, please,"

said she, pointing to an armchair beside her own sofa. "I have been very impatient indeed to see you. I want to hear all about these poor Bramleighs; you lived beside them, did n't you, and knew them all intimately? What is this terrible story of their ruin? this claim to their property? What does it mean? is there really anything in it?"

"It is somewhat of a long story," began L'Estrange.

"Then don't tell it, I entreat you. Are you married, Mr. L'Estrange?"

"No, madam, I have not that happiness," said he, smiling at the strange abruptness of her manner.

"Oh, I am so glad," she cried; "so glad! I 'm not afraid of a parson, but I positively dread a parson's wife. The parson has occasionally a little tolerance for a number of things he does n't exactly like; his wife never forgives them; and then a woman takes such exact measure of another woman's meanings, and a man knows nothing about them at all: that on the whole I 'm delighted you are single, and I fervently trust you will remain so. Will you promise me as much? will you give me your word not to marry till I leave this?"

"I need scarcely pledge myself, madam, to that; my narrow fortune binds me, whether I would or not."

"And you have your mother with you, haven't you?"

"No, madam; my sister has accompanied me."

"I wish it had been your mother. I do so like the maternal pride of a dear old lady in her fine, handsome son. Is n't she vain of you? By the way, how did your choice fall upon the Church? You look more like a cavalry officer. I'm certain you ride well."

"It is, perhaps, the only accomplishment I possess in the world," said he, with some warmth of manner.

"I 'm delighted to hear that you 're a horseman. There 's a mare of mine become perfectly impossible. A stupid creature I took as groom hurt her mouth with a severe bit, and she rears now at the slightest touch.

Could n't you do something with her? Pray do; and in return I'll take you some charming rides over the Campagna. There's a little valley--almost a glen--near this, which I may say I discovered myself.

You mustn't be afraid of bad tongues because you ride out with me. Mrs.

Trumpler will of course take it up. She's odious--perfectly odious. You have n't seen her yet, but you 'll have to call on her; she contributes a thousand francs a year to the Church, and must not be neglected. And then there's old Sir Marcus Cluff--don't forget him; and take care to remember that his mother was Lady Marion Otley, and don't remember that his father was Cluff and Gosier, the famous fishmonger. I protest I'm becoming as scandalous as Mrs. Trumpler herself. And mind that you come back and tell when you 've seen these people what they said to you, and what you said to them, and whether they abused me. Come to tea, or, if you like better, come and dine to-morrow at six, and I 'll call on your mother in the mean while and ask her--though I 'd rather you 'd come alone."

"It is my sister, madam, that is with me," said he, with great difficulty refraining from a burst of laughter.

"Well, and I 've said I 'd visit her, though I 'm not fond of women, and I believe they never like me."

L'Estrange blundered out some stupid compliment about her having in recompense abundant admiration from the other s.e.x, and she laughed, and said, "Perhaps so. Indeed, I believe I am rather a favorite; but with clever men--not with the fools. You 'll see that _they_ avoid me. And so," said she, drawing a deep sigh, "you really can tell me nothing about these Bramleighs? And all this time I have been reckoning on your coming to hear everything, and to know about the will. Up to this hour, I am totally ignorant as to how I am left. Is n't that very dreadful?"

"It is very distressing indeed, madam."

"The Colonel always said he 'd insert a clause or a something or other against my marrying again. Can you imagine anything so ungenerous? It's unchristian, actually unchristian--isn't it?"

A slight gesture seemed to say that he agreed with her; but she was for once determined to be answered more definitely, and she said, "I'm sure, as a clergyman, you can say if there's anything in the Bible against my having another husband?"

"I 'm certain there is not, madam."

"How nice it is in the Church of Rome that when there 's anything you want to do, and it's not quite right to do it, you can have a dispensation--that is, the Pope can make it perfectly moral and proper, and legal besides. Protestantism is so narrow--terribly narrow. As the dear Monsignore Balbi said to me the other night, it is a long 'Act of Parliament against sin.' Was n't that neat? They are so clever!"

"I am so new to Italy, madam, that I have no acquaintance with these gentlemen."

"I know you 'll like them when you do know them; they are so gentle and so persuasive--I might say so fascinating. I a.s.sure you, Mr. L'Estrange, I ran a very great risk of going over, as it is called. Indeed, the 'Osservatore Romano' said I had gone over; but that is at least premature. These are things one cannot do without long and deep reflection, and intense self-examination--don't you think so? And the dear old Cardinal Bottesini, who used to come to us every Friday evening, warned me himself against my impulsiveness; and then poor Colonel Bram-leigh"--here she raised her handkerchief to her eyes--"he would n't hear of it at all; he was so devotedly attached to me--it was positive love in a man of his mould--that the thought of my being lost to him, as he called it, was maddening; and in fact he--he made it downright impossible--impossible!" And at last she paused, and a very painful expression in her face showed that her thoughts at the moment were far from pleasurable. "Where was I? what was it I was going to say?" resumed she, hurriedly. "Oh, I remember, I was going to tell you that you must on no account 'go over,' and therefore, avoid of all things what they call the 'controversy' here; don't read their little books, and never make close friendships with the Monsignori. You're a young man, and naturally enough would feel flattered at their attentions, and all the social attractions they 'd surround you with.

Of course you know nothing of life, and that is the very thing they do understand; and perhaps it is not right of me to say it--it's like a treason--but the women, the great leaders of society, aid them powerfully. They 'd like to bring you over," said she, raising her gla.s.s and looking at him. "You'd really look remarkably well in a chasuble and a cope. They 'd positively fight for you as a domestic chaplain"--and the thought so amused her that she laughed outright, and L'Estrange him-self joined her. "I hope I have not wearied you with my cautions and my warnings; but really, when I thought how utterly alone and friendless you must be here, n.o.body to consult with, none to advise you--for, after all, your mother could scarcely be an efficient guide in such difficulties--I felt it would be cruel not to come to your aid. Have you got a watch? I don't trust that little pendule, though it plays a delicious 'Ave Maria' of Rossini's. What hour is it?"

"Half-past four, madam. I am really shocked at the length of my visit."

"Well, I must go away. Perhaps you 'll come and see my sister--she's charming, I a.s.sure you, and she 'd like to know you?"

"If you will vouchsafe to present me on any other day, I shall be but too grateful; but Sir Marcus Cluff gave me a rendezvous for four o'clock."

"And you 'll be with him at five," cried she, laughing. "Don't say it was I that made you break your appointment, for he hates me, and would never forgive you. By-by. Tell your mother I 'll call on her to-morrow, and hope you 'll both dine with me." And without waiting for a word in reply, she tripped out of the summer-house, and hastened away to the villa.

L'Estrange had little time to think over this somewhat strange interview when he reached the entrance-gate to the grounds of Sir Marcus Cluff, and was scarcely admitted within the precincts when a phaeton and a pair of very diminutive ponies drove up, and a thin, emaciated man, carefully swathed in shawls and wrappers, who held the reins, called out, "Is that Mr. L'Estrange?"

The young parson came forward with his excuses for being late, and begged that he might not interrupt Sir Marcus in his intended drive.