Wild Margaret
"You? – Good gracious me, no!" said the old lady quite pityingly.
"Then I'll get my hat and go into the garden," said Margaret.
"Do, my dear; but keep this side of the house, mind, and do not go in front of the earl's windows."
"Very well; I'll take care," laughed Margaret. "I suppose if the earl should happen to catch sight of me twice in one day it would be fatal! – or would he only have a fit?" But Mrs. Hale, fortunately for her, did not hear this.
Margaret went out into the garden, and carefully kept out of sight of the great windows. She was very happy, and now and again she would break into song. The garden attached to this wing was a large one, and filled with flowers, and when she came in to lunch she had a large bunch of roses and heliotrope and pinks in her hand.
"There was no notice – 'Do not pick the flowers!' grandma. I hope I haven't been very wicked?"
"No, no, my dear," said Mrs. Hale, who was in a fine state of flurry. "What a beautiful bouquet you have got!"
"Isn't it?" said Margaret, pinning a red rose in the bosom of her dress. "Where shall I put these?" and she looked round for a vase.
"Anywhere you like, my dear. Oh, Margaret, how nice they would be in Lord Leyton's room! It would make it seem more homely like; do what you will, a room that hasn't been used for months does look cold and formal."
"Doesn't it?" agreed Margaret. "And there is nothing like flowers to take off that effect. His lordship is welcome to them; so there they are, grandma."
"Yes, thank you," said Mrs. Hale, hurriedly. "I'll ring for Mary, unless you wouldn't mind running up with them; you'll arrange them decently, while she'll just throw them into a vase."
"Very well. Show me the way, Mary, to Lord Leyton's room," said Margaret as Mary entered.
Mrs. Hale had given him one of the best rooms in the house, and Margaret, who had never seen such an apartment, was lost in admiration of the silken hangings which stood in place of paper on the walls, and the old and priceless furniture.
She arranged the flowers in a deep, glass dish, and placed it on the spacious dressing table.
"His lordship ought to be pleased, miss," said Mary, shyly, as they were leaving the room.
Margaret laughed.
"I daresay he will think them very much in the way and throw them out of the window. I hope he won't throw dish and all," she said.
As she entered Mrs. Hale's sitting-room, she saw Mr. Stibbings approaching.
"I have been looking for you, miss," he said. "I have had a table put in the gallery, as his lordship directed, and his compliments, would you like any blinds put to the windows to shade the light?"
"Grandma, he did mean it after all," said Margaret, delightedly. "How kind? Oh, thank him, Mr. Stibbings! No, nothing more. I've got a portable easel and everything, and the light will do very well. Grandma, I may go now?"
"Yes, I suppose so," said the old lady, absently; "but mind, dear, if you hear the earl coming, you must get up and go away at once."
"Very well," said Margaret, with a smile, and she ran up and got her folding easel and painting materials. Mr. Stibbings wanted to place a footman at her disposal, but she laughingly declined, and with her impedimenta under her arm, and her paintbox in her hand, she made her way after lunch to the gallery.
"In the future, when I hear any one remark – 'as proud as a lord,' I shall correct them and say – 'kind as a lord,'" she said to herself. With all the eagerness of an artiste she set up her easel before the picture and commenced at once; and in a few minutes she had become absorbed in her work, and was lost to everything save the burning desire to catch something of the spirit of the great original she was copying.
"It is almost wicked to be so great!" she murmured. "How can I do more than libel you, you beautiful face?"
The afternoon glided on unnoticed by her. She heard a great bell booming overhead in a solemn fashion, but she gave it no attention beyond the thought, "the dinner or dressing bell," and went on with her copy.
She was so absorbed that she did not hear some one who had entered the gallery, and it was not until the some one stood close beside her that she knew of his presence.
With a start she looked up, and for a moment saw nothing but a handsome young man in evening dress.
His beauty – of the manliest type – gave her a pleasant sensation – she was an artist, remember – but the next moment she recognized him.
It was the young man whom she had called a savage; the gentleman who had fought Jem Pyke. Her eyes grew wide and her lips opened, and she sat and stared at him.
As for him, his astonishment equalled and surpassed hers. He had seen her back as he was passing the door of the gallery, and being unable to resist the temptation to ascertain what the face belonging to so graceful a figure was like, he had entered and softly approached her.
Margaret was a beautiful girl, but she was never lovelier than when under the spell which falls upon an artist absorbed in her work.
The clear, oval face grew dreamy, the large eyes softer and mystical, the red lips sweeter with a suggestful tenderness.
It was the loveliness of the face as well as the recognition of it which struck him – Blair Leyton, of all men – dumb and motionless.
They looked into each other's eyes while one could count fifty, then, with an embarrassment quite novel, he spoke.
"I've disturbed you?"
"No," said Margaret, and the word sounded blunt and cold in his ears. Who could he be, and how did he come here? Yesterday, fighting on the village green, this evening at Leyton Court. Then it flashed upon her: it was Lord Leyton! "No, I didn't hear you," she added.
"I came in quietly so as not to disturb you," he said, regaining some of his usual composure, but not all of it, for her loveliness dazzled, and her identity with the girl who had so sternly rebuked him yesterday, bewildered him.
"You – you are an artist?" he said.
"I have that honor," she said.
He looked at the copy.
"And a very good one! Your picture is better than the old one."
"You are not an artist, evidently," she said with a smile.
"No," he admitted; then a light shone in his eyes. "Oh, no, I am a savage!"
A burning blush covered her face, and she took up her brush.
Mr. Stibbings appeared between the velvet curtains.
"Dinner served, my lord."
Lord Blair Leyton nodded impatiently without turning.
"Are you staying here?" he said.
"Yes," said Margaret, going on with her painting.
He stood looking at her, at the beautiful, intelligent "artist" face, at the dove-colored dress, at the pink-white hand with its supple, capable fingers.
"Are you not going to dinner, my lord?" she said, unable to bear his silent presence any longer.
"I beg your pardon!" he said with a little start. "I was waiting for you."
"For me?" she said, turning her face to him with wide-eyed surprise.
"Yes," he said; "we will go together. You are coming, are you not?"
"I?" she said, then she laughed; "I am Mrs. Hale's – the housekeeper's granddaughter, Lord Leyton."
He reddened and bit his mustache.
"And you are not coming?" he said. "I am very sorry. I – "
"Dinner is served, my lord," said a footman in a low voice from the doorway.
Lord Blair uttered an impatient exclamation, which, as it was something remarkably like an oath, was fortunately unintelligible.
"Have you forgiven me yet?" he said, humbly.
"Forgiven?" said Margaret, as if she were trying to discover to what he referred. "Forgiven?"
"Yes! That affair of yesterday – the set-to, you know," he explained.
"Oh!" – the monosyllable dropped like a stone from her lips – "I had forgotten."
"That's right," he said, quickly; "if you've forgotten you have forgiven. I assure you – "
"Dinner is served, my lord," said a solemn voice.
He turned sharply.
"Confound it all – "
"Whether I have forgiven you is not of the least consequence, my lord," said Margaret, "but the earl will certainly not forgive you if you keep dinner waiting any longer," and she bent over her canvas with an air of absorption which shut him out of her cognizance completely.
He stood for a minute, then with an audible "Confound the dinner!" strode off.
CHAPTER V
Margaret did not raise her head from her work as Lord Blair Leyton moved reluctantly and impatiently down the gallery, but when the echo of his footsteps had died away she looked up with a slightly startled and altogether strange expression.
To her astonishment and disgust, the hand which held her brush was trembling. It was impossible to work any longer. Guido's head danced before her sight, and the other head – the handsome one of Blair Leyton – came between her and the painted one.
How very far from guessing she had been that this, the young man she had called a savage, was the earl's nephew, Lord Blair Leyton!
What must he think of her? And yet he had taken her for a guest of the house, had asked her if she were not going in to dinner with him!
She sat, paint brush in hand, and stared musingly at the curtained doorway through which he had gone, and thought of him.
It is a dangerous thing for a young, impressionable girl to think of a young man. But how could she help it? Her grandmother's words were ringing in her ears; according to Mrs. Hale, nothing was too bad to be said of poor Blair Leyton. He was the wickedest of the wicked, bad beyond all description. And yet – and yet! How bravely he had fought a stronger and bigger man than himself on behalf of a helpless dog!
She pondered over this question for half an hour, looking dreamily in the direction he had gone, then, without having arrived at any answer to it, she jumped up and, putting her painting materials together, left the gallery.
"Grandma," she said, as she entered the room in which the old lady was seated, placidly knitting, for the dinner was in full swing, and Mrs. Hale's anxiety was over, "grandma, I have seen Lord Leyton."
The old lady almost jumped.
"Seen Lord Leyton, Madge?"
Margaret nodded.
"Yes; he came into the gallery – "
The old lady broke in with a groan.
"Margaret, no good will come of your going to the picture gallery! Mark my words! It isn't – isn't proper and right like! And you've seen him. Did he speak to you?"
"Very much," said Margaret, smiling, but pensively. "He asked me if I weren't going in to dinner with him!"
"You don't say so!" exclaimed Mrs. Hale, lifting her hands. "Took you for a lady! Dear, now!"
"Yes; isn't it strange?" said Margaret, with great irony.
"Well – I don't know that," said the old lady, eying the graceful figure and lovely, refined face. "But, Margaret – "
"Well, grandma?" said Margaret, as the old lady hesitated.
"Well, I was going to say that – that – you must be careful!"
"Careful? What of?" said Margaret smiling. "Does Lord Blair bite, as well as the earl? What am I to be careful of, grandma?"
The old lady frowned.
"My dear, it isn't right and proper that you and Lord Blair should be on speaking terms," she said at last. "He's the earl's nephew, and – and you are only my granddaughter, you know."
"Which I am quite content to be," said Margaret, busily engaged with her paint box. "But I don't see that I have done anything very wicked, grandma. I couldn't very well refuse to answer him when he spoke."
"No, no, certainly not," said the old lady; "but if he speaks again – but there, it isn't likely you'll see him again. He is only going to stop the night, and you're not likely to meet him again, that's one comfort."
"It is indeed," said Margaret, with a laugh. "Especially as he is the gentleman whom I saw fighting in the village, and whom I called a savage."
"You – you called him a savage!" gasped Mrs. Hale. "My dear Margaret, is it possible?"
"It is only too possible and certain," said Margaret lightly, "and his lordship remembered it, too. However, as he asked me to forgive him, I suppose he has forgiven me; and if he has not I don't care. He was like a savage, and I spoke the truth." Then after a pause, during which the old lady stared in a rapt kind of fashion – "Grandma, what a pity it is that so wicked a man should be so good-looking."
"Yes, he is handsome enough," sighed the old lady, shaking her head.
"Oh, handsome, yes! I didn't mean that exactly. I meant really good looking. He looks so frank and – yes! – gentle, and his eyes seem to shine with kindness and – and – boyishness. Nobody would believe that he was a bad young man."
"They'd soon learn the truth when they knew him," said the old lady, rather shrewdly.
"I dare say. What a good thing it would be if all the good men were handsome, and all the bad ugly. You would tell at a glance, then, how the case lay. As it is, the man who looks like a villain may be as good as a saint, while the other who looks like a hero and an angel, is probably as bad as – as – "
"Lord Blair," broke in the old lady.
"Exactly – as Lord Blair," laughed Margaret. "And now I am going out to hear the nightingales, grandma. We haven't any nightingales in London – not of your sort, I mean. Ours haven't nice voices at all, and they mostly sing 'We won't go home till morning,' or 'He's a jolly good fellow,' and their voices sound rather unsteady as they go along the pavement. Those are the London kind of nightingale! Oh, what a lovely night – "
"Put a shawl on, Madge!" called the old lady. "Come back now; I can't have you catching cold the very first night!"
"Shawl? I haven't such a thing!" laughed Margaret. "This will do, won't it?" and catching up an antimacassar she threw it round her shoulders and ran out.
Dinner at Leyton Court was a stately function. Very often the earl, as Mrs. Hale had said, would make his meal of a morsel of fish or a tiny slice of mutton, but all the same an elaborate menu was prepared, and the courses were served with due state and ceremony by the butler and two footmen.
This night, in honor of Lord Blair, the dinner was more elaborate than usual; Mr. Stibbings had selected his choicest claret, and a bottle of '73 Pommery, and had himself superintended its icing. Already, although he had only been in the house a few hours, the young man had won the hearts of the servants!
But notwithstanding the choice character of the wines and the elaborate menu, Lord Blair seemed rather absent-minded and preoccupied. The earl was silent, almost grimly so, but the young man seemed not grim by any means, but dreamy. The fact was that the face of the young girl who had called him a savage yesterday, and whom he had seen again in the gallery this evening, was haunting him.
And – he wondered when and how he could see her again.
Of course he knew, as well as did Mrs. Hale, that there should be no acquaintanceship between Viscount Leyton and the granddaughter of his uncle's housekeeper, but he did not think of that, and, if he had, the reflection would not have stifled the desire to find her out and get a few more words from those sweet lips, one more smile or glance from the lovely eyes.
So that, what with Lord Blair being Margaret-haunted, and the earl being possessed by the fact of his nephew's wickedness, the grand dinner was anything but hilarious.
They talked now and again, but long before the dessert appeared they had dropped into a mutual silence. Then Mr. Stibbings carried in, daintily and carefully, a bottle of the famous Leyton port, and, with the air of one bestowing a farewell benediction, glided out and left the two gentlemen alone.
"Do you drink port, Blair?" said the earl, with his hand on the decanter.
"Yes, sir; I drink anything," replied the young man, awaking with a little start.
"You have a good digestion – good constitution?" said the earl.
"Oh, yes," assented Lord Blair, cheerfully; "I suppose so. Never had a day's illness in my life that I can remember, and can eat anything."
The earl looked at him musingly.
"And yet – " he paused, "your habits are not regular; you keep late hours?"
Lord Blair laughed.
"I'm seldom in bed before ten," he said. "Yes," he added, "I'm afraid I don't keep very good hours; it's generally daylight before I am in my little cot. What capital port, sir!"
"Yes? I do not drink it," said the earl.
There was silence for a moment, during which the elder man looked at the handsome face and graceful, stalwart figure of the younger one. Lord Blair was one of those men who look at their best in evening dress, and the earl could not help admiring him. Then he sighed.
"Have you thought over the words that passed between us this afternoon, Blair?" he asked.
"Well – I'm afraid I haven't," he admitted, frankly.
The earl frowned.
"And yet they were important ones – especially those which referred to your future, Blair. We have not seen much of each other – perhaps wisely – "
"I dare say," said Lord Blair, cheerfully. "People who can't agree are better apart, sir."
"But," continued the earl grimly, and not relishing the interruption, "but I would wish you to believe that I have your best interests at heart."
"Thank you, sir. I will take another glass of port."
"And in no surer way can these interests be promoted than by your marriage with Violet Graham."
Lord Blair frowned slightly, then he smiled.
"'Pon my word, sir, I'm sorry to refuse you anything, especially after all your liberality; but it isn't to be done."
"Why not?" demanded the earl coldly.
Lord Blair hesitated, then he laughed grimly.
"Well, I suppose we can't hit it off; we don't care for each other."
The earl frowned.
"I have every reason to believe that Violet would be willing – "
"Oh, it's all a mistake, sir!" broke in Lord Blair quickly. "Nothing of the kind! Violet doesn't care a straw for me! And as to breaking her heart, as you said this afternoon, why" – he laughed – "she's the last girl in the world for that sort of thing! No, we thought we could manage it, but we found pretty soon that it wouldn't work, and so – and so – well, we just broke it off!"
"I can understand!" said the earl, grimly. "You wearied her with your dissipation, and stung her by your neglect."
Lord Blair flushed.
"Put it so, if you like, sir," he said, thinking what a good thing it was that they did not see much of each other.
"And so lost the chance of restoring your ruined fortunes," said the earl. "Violet's fortune is a large one. I am one of the trustees, and can speak with authority. It is large enough to repair all the mischief your wild, spendthrift course has produced. And you have lost, not only the means of your salvation, but one of the best girls in England. Great Heaven" – he spoke quite quietly – "how can a man be so great a fool, and so blind!"
At another time the young man might have retorted, but he had had a good dinner and two glasses of the wonderful port, and so he only laughed.
"I suppose I am a fool, sir," he said good-temperedly. "Perhaps it's part of my constitution. But don't let us quarrel. It isn't worth while."
"You are right. It isn't worth while," said the earl, sinking back in his chair. "After all, I ought to be thankful that Violet has escaped; but blood is thicker than – water and I have thought of you more than of her. But let it pass. You are bent on following the road you have set out upon, and not even she nor I can stay you. As to Ketton, you refuse to accept my offer – "
"Yes, sir," said Lord Blair, gently but firmly. "I shall mortgage Ketton. I can't take any more money from you. If we were – well, better friends, it would be different, but – It's a pity you can't touch this port! The best wine I ever tasted!"
The earl sat in silence for a few minutes, then he rose.
"Coffee will be served in the drawing-room," he said. "You will excuse me?"
"Oh, certainly," said Lord Blair, jumping up. "I don't care about the coffee, I will go and get a cigar on the terrace. Perhaps I sha'n't see you again, sir, I start early in the morning. If I should not, I'll say good-bye," and he held out his hand.
The earl touched it with his thin white fingers.
"Good-bye," he said, and with a sigh he passed down the corridor to his own apartments.
Lord Blair took out his cigar-case and stepped through the open window on to the terrace.
"Yes, I'm on the road to ruin, as mine uncle says," he mused, "and going along at a rattling good pace, too! Sha'n't be long before I reach the terminus, I expect. Hartwell gone, Parkfield gone, and now Ketton. I'm sorry about Ketton! But I'd rather pawn everything that's left than take any more money from him! Heigho! I wonder whether any of the fellows who are so thick now will cut me when I can't come up on settling day and my name's on the black list! And I could put it all right by marrying Violet Graham. Just by marrying Violet. But I can't do that. I suppose I am a fool, as the old gentleman politely remarked. It's wonderful that I'm the only man he is ever rude to. They say he is the pink of courtesy and politeness to the rest of the world. 'Courtly Ferrers,' they used to call him. Ah, well, what does it matter? All the same in a hundred years. I've had my fling, or nearly had it, and after me – "
Before he could conclude with "the deluge," a girl's voice rose softly and sweetly in the distance, and seemed to float in and harmonize with the rather melancholy strain of his musings; and yet the voice was blithe and joyous enough, too.
Lord Blair leaned over the stone rail of the balustrade and listened.
A spell fell upon the wild young man, and for a few minutes a strange feeling – was it of remorse for his wasted life? – possessed him. Then there rose the desire to see the singer, and as such desires were far stronger in Lord Blair's breast than remorse, he moved quickly along the terrace in the direction of the voice.
It did not occur to him that it might be Margaret Hale, and he experienced a sudden thrill of gratification as he saw the dove-colored dress shining, a soft patch of light against the shrubbery of the small garden.
At the same moment Margaret saw his shadow cast upon the smooth lawn, and the song died on her lips.
He stopped short, and stood on top of the steps leading to the little garden, looking down at her.
"May I come?" he said quietly.
Margaret inclined her head gravely and rose. It was quite unnecessary to tell the Viscount Leyton that he was at liberty to step into a part of the garden that would belong to him some day.
"I'm awfully unlucky, Miss Hale," he said, flinging his cigar away and coming up to the seat where she had been sitting. "This is the second time to-day I have disturbed you; and yesterday – oh, yesterday won't bear thinking of! You were singing, weren't you?"
"Yes, my lord," said Margaret gravely, for her grandmother's words had suddenly occurred to her, and she moved away.
"Are you going?" he said. "Now, I have driven you away! Please, don't go. I'll take myself off at once."
"I was going, my lord," said Margaret.
"Oh, come," he retorted pleadingly; "it's almost as wicked to tell stories as it is to fight; and you know you were sitting here comfortably enough until I intruded upon you."
His voice, his manner were irresistible, and produced a smile on Margaret's face.
"It is getting late," she said, "and Mrs. Hale may want me."
"I don't think she will. It isn't late – " he looked at his watch – "I can't see. Your eyes are better than mine, I'll be bound. I've spoilt them sitting up studying at night. Will you look? But upon this condition," he added, covering the face of the watch with his hand, "that if it isn't ten o'clock, you will stay a little while longer; of course I'll go – if you want me to!"
His eagerness was so palpable, almost so boyish, that Margaret could not repress a soft laugh. Rather gingerly she came back a step, and he held out his watch.
"It is half-past nine," she said.
"There you are, you see; it isn't late at all! Now you stop out till ten, and I'll take myself off" – and with a nod he walked toward the steps, with Margaret's antimacassar shawl in his hand.
"My lord!" she said, in a tone of annoyance, for it seemed as if he had done it on purpose.