The Jewelled Snuff Box (11 page)

Chapter XII. Unaccountable Behaviour Of My Lord

LADY BORDESLEY yawned, and stretched herself with the lazy grace of a cat. She glanced at Jane, who was sitting on the opposite side of the fire, busily plying her needle at a cushion-cover of which my lady had tired.

“God, I’m bored! Do you not find life inexpressibly dull, Jane?”

The other looked up for a moment from her work, holding the needle poised.

“Not dull, precisely; no, never dull. There are too many variations for that, don’t you agree?”

“I cannot think why you, of all people, shouldn’t find it so,” remarked Celia, with a touch of malice.

“Why myself more than another?” enquired Jane, going on with her task.

“Obliged always to be at the beck and call of others, never to have anything exciting happen to you; always to be dressed in the cheapest clothes — to pinch and scrape, to smile and make the best of it — bah! I tell you, it would drive me so distracted I should most likely put poison in the milk of my charges, or scratch out my employer’s eyes!”

She put so much expression into her face whilst uttering these words, that Jane was constrained to laugh.

“It’s fortunate, then, that these things have fallen to my lot rather than yours. But truly, Celia, you dramatise my life; it is not so very bad. Sometimes, perhaps, I am not quite content. For instance, I must confess to a fondness for pretty clothes that so far I’ve not been able to gratify. But you’re mistaken when you say that nothing exciting ever happens to me; things of that kind are happening all the time to everyone, in all walks of life. In any case, you are possessed of all those things which you say I lack: do you find yourself any happier, or less bored on that account?”

Celia stared, then burst out laughing.

“Oh, well done, Jane! Touché! I suppose I am not. Oh, I’m happy enough at a grand Assembly, or when I have a new gown; but for the most part, my life is insipid, tedious!”

Jane set a stitch carefully before replying.

“Perhaps that might be because you have never learnt to centre it on another,” she said.

Celia’s lips twisted.

“True love, again? Come, Jane, who is this man? For I’m convinced there is one!”

Jane kept her head bent over her work, but made no answer.

“I wonder now,” said Celia, musingly, “why you were so overcome in the Circulating Library the other day? Did you see him there, by any chance?”

“It was close in there after the cool air of the street,” replied Jane, as carelessly as she was able. “I am often similarly afflicted in hot rooms.”

“I haven’t before observed it,” said Celia, eyeing her narrowly. “Let me see, now, whom did we pass on our way in? They were mostly females, if my recollection serves me rightly. Oh, there was Mr. Verrett, of course, with that silly sister of his — could it be he, Jane? But surely not; he is obese, and has a squint in one eye! Lord Symmons, then: it is no use to set your cap at him, Jane, for he is married already, and has a daughter older than you. Of course, a liaison is always possible, but I do not much fancy your chances beside an Opera dancer. One could not precisely call you a little bit of muslin, you know, and men prefer their pastimes to be empty of head and morals alike. Your worst enemy could not say that of you; perhaps that is what makes you so inordinately dull!”

Jane lifted her head, and fixed the other with her candid grey eyes. She was prepared to carry the war into the enemy’s camp.

“Have you ever been in love, Celia, I wonder — really in love, so that you cared for the object of your affection more than for yourself?”

“A fool’s question, Jane. I told you once before that it is folly to love in that way. I have been in love a dozen times, but only as much as it pleased me. Take my advice, and follow my example. Why, if you choose, you might lead a very different sort of life, for I must say that you are not bad looking, Jane.”

“I thank you,” replied Jane drily, and was silent for a while.

She threaded her needle with a strand of red silk, and set the first stitch in a rosebud on the design. Her thoughts were busy; there was something she was determined to find out if she could.

“But surely there must have been someone,” she persisted, looking up suddenly into Celia’s face. “Someone who meant more to you than the rest? That gentleman we met at the theatre, for example, or — or Sir Richard Carisbrooke?”

The name came out more easily than she would have believed possible.

“Julian,” said Celia, softly. “Yes, I think if I could love any man in the way that you mean, Jane, it would be he. But much I should get for my pains! No, we understand each other too well to harbour any such romantical notions. As for Richard —”

She paused, and a slight frown creased her brows.

“I used to think of Richard as a dear, ingenuous boy. He is changed, though, in these four years — that swift, imperious manner is new to him, and there is a cynical air, very different from what I remember, and vastly fetching! But as for anything in the nature of your undying passion, Jane, I am afraid it would never be he who had the power to raise it. No, Richard is intriguing, and it might be sport to bring him to my feet again, but that is all.”

And more than enough, thought Jane. So complete an avowal of Celia’s intentions was unexpected, but the content was exactly as Jane had supposed. She pressed her lips together to still the trembling which suddenly overcame them, and wondered what the man’s feelings might be. Presumably he still found Celia irresistible, since he sought clandestine meetings with her. Yet Celia had spoken as though she had lost him, if not irretrievably; and surely if he were in love with her, he could not have spoken of her as he had done in the Park yesterday morning? He had said that she was no fit companion for Jane. These were not the words of a lover.

Celia broke in suddenly upon these reflections.

“By the way, Jane, I meant to ask this of you the other day — do not mention to my husband that I met Richard in the Library.”

Jane’s glance was indignant.

“Do you suppose that I should?”

Celia shrugged. “Why not? I tell you plainly that I suppose Francis to have brought you here for that purpose: presumably you are bound to do that for which you are paid.”

“No such undertaking,” said Jane, with emphasis, “was ever given by me — or indeed, sought. I came here as your companion, no more.”

“There is one other possibility,” said Celia, eyeing Jane narrowly.

“And that is? —”

“Could it be my lord who inspires in you these feelings of high and noble love?” asked Celia, quickly.

Jane stared at her for a moment, then gave a short laugh.

“Why on earth should you suppose so?”

The incredulity in her tone satisfied my lady. Jane, she was prepared to swear, was no actress.

“Just a notion I had,” she said. “I see I was wrong.”

She did not mean to put ideas into the other’s head by explaining that she had noticed a certain interest, a warmth in the Earl’s manner towards his wife’s companion. Celia would have found it difficult to believe that a girl in Jane’s situation would not hasten to ingratiate herself with the Earl, should she have reason to believe that there existed any partiality on his side. She therefore said no more, and a silence fell for some moments, during which Jane was free to pursue her own thoughts.

These were not altogether agreeable. She was recalling an incident brought to mind again by what Celia had just said, an incident concerning the Earl. It had occurred a few days ago, before the Earl’s departure for Worcestershire. Lady Breakwell had been sitting with Celia at the time, and Jane had been peremptorily dismissed. She had drifted into the drawing room and seated herself at the pianoforte, idly strumming as the fancy moved her. At such moments, alone and immersed in the memories recalled by the music she was playing, she was apt to be a little off her guard. Thus it was that she suddenly looked up with eyes luminuous with unshed tears, to see the Earl of Bordesley standing beside her chair.

She could not realise what a bewitching picture she presented. The soft candlelight imparted a golden glow to the skin of her shoulders, partly revealed by the neckline of the simple yellow gown she wore; and her hair glinted with fiery lights as she moved her head.

He looked down at her with a glance that startled Jane by its warmth.

“The golden girl,” he said, softly.

She rose hastily, the colour mounting to her cheeks.

“No, do not stop.” He arrested her movement with a gesture of his hand. “Will you be good enough to play that air for me again?”

Jane complied, her fingers stumbling slightly. It was an old English air that had been a favourite of her father’s. The Earl placed one hand upon the instrument, and stood listening in silence until she had finished.

“Thank you, Jane,” he said, quietly. “You do not mind if I call you Jane, as my wife does?”

Jane inclined her head stiffly. She did mind, very much, and made a mental note to call tomorrow at one of the employment agencies.

“My mother was very fond of that air,” continued the Earl, reminiscently. “You remind me of her.”

This was a gambit to which Jane was not unused. In spite of her efforts to subdue her good looks, there had been one or two occasions in her career when her virtue had been attempted. Such incidents had always involved finding a fresh post. She sighed; she had thought herself free here from that kind of happening, at least. All her anxieties had been on Celia’s account. It was never the hazards one forsees, she reflected, with a tinge of bitterness.

Aloud she said, “Your lordship will please to excuse me; there are commissions I must execute on my lady’s behalf.”

She half rose as she spoke; but he placed a beringed white hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her back into her seat. His green eyes held an inscrutable expression.

“There is no need of haste, my dear young lady.”

He paused, and looked down into her eyes, his hand still on her shoulder.

“You are wise beyond your years, Jane. What do you think of my marriage?”

Jane started, and returned his glance coldly.

“It is not my affair to think of such matters, my lord.”

He dropped his hand, as though for the first time he realised the implication she might place upon his words and actions.

“What you say is very proper; would to God my lady might have such a nice sense of propriety! But it is not proper sentiments I want from you, Jane, but the truth: those eyes, I dare swear —” he placed his fingers beneath her chin, tilting up her head —“cannot lie. Tell me truly, Jane, is not my marriage a mistake?”

For a moment, in spite of herself, Jane felt a strange affinity flow between them. She put away his hand with fingers that were not quite steady, and lowered her gaze.

“You have answered me, though you never spoke a word,” said the Earl. “Yes, I myself know it is a mistake. There is no real understanding between Celia and myself; I should never have married her.”

Again, this speech held a familiar ring. Jane had before this encountered gentlemen whose wives, according to their report, did not understand them. Her chin went up, and she rose in a decisive manner.

“I can no longer listen to you, my lord,” she said, with a quelling glance. “You wrong all of us by such talk — your wife, yourself, even me.”

His countenance filled with dismay, and he started forward: but she swept quickly from the room, closing the door firmly behind her. He did not follow.

Sitting now beside Celia, Jane relived this incident in her mind. She had forgotten it in the distraction of yesterday’s meeting with Sir Richard, but reviewing it now, in the light of what Celia had just let fall, it was distinctly disquieting. Perhaps she had made a mistake in changing her hair from its once severe, repelling style; but after the remarks made by — by someone who should be nameless, the urge had come over her once more to make herself as attractive as Nature had intended her to be. Evidently she must have succeeded only too well. She frowned; yet the Earl’s manner could not definitely be considered amorous. Was it perhaps his own particular technique in the business of seduction? His words, she reflected, were almost exactly the same as those in which her favours had been sought on previous occasions.

She shrugged her shoulders slightly, a sinking feeling at her heart. There was no profit in thinking further of the matter. There were many matters of which she must not think …

Celia yawned again, more widely, but still daintily.

“Come, Jane, we will retire early,” she said, glancing at the clock. “Time hangs so heavily without company, and with Francis absent from home, there is no occasion to keep the servants up.”

This speech had the effect of bringing Jane out of her reverie. It was a novel idea for my lady to consider her servants.

“Heigh ho!” said Celia, rising and extending her white arms above her head in a luxurious stretching gesture. “I declare one becomes more fatigued sitting quietly at home than dancing half into the night! But it is ever so; it is always the tedious things which quite wear one out.”