34. THE HOTEL BEAU SEJOUR AND SPOTS NEAR IT
The next day, much to Ethelberta's surprise, there was a letter for
her in her mother's up-hill hand. She neglected all the rest of its
contents for the following engrossing sentences:--
'Menlove has wormed everything out of poor Joey, we find, and your
father is much upset about it. She had another quarrel with him,
and then declared she would expose you and us to Mrs. Doncastle and
all your friends. I think that Menlove is the kind of woman who
will stick to her word, and the question for you to consider is, how
can you best face out any report of the truth which she will spread,
and contradict the lies that she will add to it? It appears to me
to be a dreadful thing, and so it will probably appear to you. The
worst part will be that your sisters and brothers are your servants,
and that your father is actually engaged in the house where you
dine. I am dreadful afraid that this will be considered a fine joke
for gossips, and will cause no end of laughs in society at your
expense. At any rate, should Menlove spread the report, it would
absolutely prevent people from attending your lectures next season,
for they would feel like dupes, and be angry with theirselves, and
you, and all of us.
'The only way out of the muddle that I can see for you is to put
some scheme of marrying into effect as soon as possible, and before
these things are known. Surely by this time, with all your
opportunities, you have been able to strike up an acquaintance with
some gentleman or other, so as to make a suitable match. You see,
my dear Berta, marriage is a thing which, once carried out, fixes
you more firm in a position than any personal brains can do; for as
you stand at present, every loose tooth, and every combed-out hair,
and every new wrinkle, and every sleepless night, is so much took
away from your chance for the future, depending as it do upon your
skill in charming. I know that you have had some good offers, so do
listen to me, and warm up the best man of them again a bit, and get
him to repeat his words before your roundness shrinks away, and 'tis
too late.
'Mr. Ladywell has called here to see you; it was just after I had
heard that this Menlove might do harm, so I thought I could do no
better than send down word to him that you would much like to see
him, and were wondering sadly why he had not called lately. I gave
him your address at Rouen, that he might find you, if he chose, at
once, and be got to propose, since he is better than nobody. I
believe he said, directly Joey gave him the address, that he was
going abroad, and my opinion is that he will come to you, because of
the encouragement I gave him. If so, you must thank me for my
foresight and care for you.
'I heave a sigh of relief sometimes at the thought that I, at any
rate, found a husband before the present man-famine began. Don't
refuse him this time, there's a dear, or, mark my words, you'll have
cause to rue it--unless you have beforehand got engaged to somebody
better than he. You will not if you have not already, for the
exposure is sure to come soon.'
'O, this false position!--it is ruining your nature, my too
thoughtful mother! But I will not accept any of them--I'll brazen
it out!' said Ethelberta, throwing the letter wherever it chose to
fly, and picking it up to read again. She stood and thought it all
over. 'I must decide to do something!' was her sigh again; and,
feeling an irresistible need of motion, she put on her things and
went out to see what resolve the morning would bring.
No rain had fallen during the night, and the air was now quiet in a
warm heavy fog, through which old cider-smells, reminding her of
Wessex, occasionally came from narrow streets in the background.
Ethelberta passed up the Rue Grand-Pont into the little dusky Rue
Saint-Romain, behind the cathedral, being driven mechanically along
by the fever and fret of her thoughts. She was about to enter the
building by the transept door, when she saw Lord Mountclere coming
towards her.
Ethelberta felt equal to him, or a dozen such, this morning. The
looming spectres raised by her mother's information, the wearing
sense of being over-weighted in the race, were driving her to a
Hamlet-like fantasticism and defiance of augury; moreover, she was
abroad.
'I am about to ascend to the parapets of the cathedral,' said she,
in answer to a half inquiry.
'I should be delighted to accompany you,' he rejoined, in a manner
as capable of explanation by his knowledge of her secret as was
Ethelberta's manner by her sense of nearing the end of her maying.
But whether this frequent glide into her company was meant as
ephemeral flirtation, to fill the half-hours of his journey, or
whether it meant a serious love-suit--which were the only
alternatives that had occurred to her on the subject--did not
trouble her now. 'I am bound to be civil to so great a lord,' she
lightly thought, and expressing no objection to his presence, she
passed with him through the outbuildings, containing Gothic lumber
from the shadowy pile above, and ascended the stone staircase.
Emerging from its windings, they duly came to the long wooden ladder
suspended in mid-air that led to the parapet of the tower. This
being wide enough for two abreast, she could hardly do otherwise
than wait a moment for the viscount, who up to this point had never
faltered, and who amused her as they went by scraps of his
experience in various countries, which, to do him justice, he told
with vivacity and humour. Thus they reached the end of the flight,
and entered behind a balustrade.
'The prospect will be very lovely from this point when the fog has
blown off,' said Lord Mountclere faintly, for climbing and
chattering at the same time had fairly taken away his breath. He
leant against the masonry to rest himself. 'The air is clearing
already; I fancy I saw a sunbeam or two.'
'It will be lovelier above,' said Ethelberta. 'Let us go to the
platform at the base of the fleche, and wait for a view there.'
'With all my heart,' said her attentive companion.
They passed in at a door and up some more stone steps, which landed
them finally in the upper chamber of the tower. Lord Mountclere
sank on a beam, and asked smilingly if her ambition was not
satisfied with this goal. 'I recollect going to the top some years
ago,' he added, 'and it did not occur to me as being a thing worth
doing a second time. And there was no fog then, either.'
'O,' said Ethelberta, 'it is one of the most splendid things a
person can do! The fog is going fast, and everybody with the least
artistic feeling in the direction of bird's-eye views makes the
ascent every time of coming here.'
'Of course, of course,' said Lord Mountclere. 'And I am only too
happy to go to any height with you.'
'Since you so kindly offer, we will go to the very top of the spire-
-up through the fog and into the sunshine,' said Ethelberta.
Lord Mountclere covered a grim misgiving by a gay smile, and away
they went up a ladder admitting to the base of the huge iron
framework above; then they entered upon the regular ascent of the
cage, towards the hoped-for celestial blue, and among breezes which
never descended so low as the town. The journey was enlivened with
more breathless witticisms from Lord Mountclere, till she stepped
ahead of him again; when he asked how many more steps there were.
She inquired of the man in the blue blouse who accompanied them.
'Fifty-five,' she returned to Lord Mountclere a moment later.
They went round, and round, and yet around.
'How many are there now?' Lord Mountclere demanded this time of the
man.
'A hundred and ninety, Monsieur,' he said.
'But there were only fifty-five ever so long ago!'
'Two hundred and five, then,' said the man 'Perhaps the mist
prevented Mademoiselle hearing me distinctly?'
'Never mind: I would follow were there five thousand more, did
Mademoiselle bid me!' said the exhausted nobleman gallantly, in
English.
'Hush!' said Ethelberta, with displeasure.
'He doesn't understand a word,' said Lord Mountclere.
They paced the remainder of their spiral pathway in silence, and
having at last reached the summit, Lord Mountclere sank down on one
of the steps, panting out, 'Dear me, dear me!'
Ethelberta leaned and looked around, and said, 'How extraordinary
this is. It is sky above, below, everywhere.'
He dragged himself together and stepped to her side. They formed as
it were a little world to themselves, being completely ensphered by
the fog, which here was dense as a sea of milk. Below was neither
town, country, nor cathedral--simply whiteness, into which the iron
legs of their gigantic perch faded to nothing.
'We have lost our labour; there is no prospect for you, after all,
Lord Mountclere,' said Ethelberta, turning her eyes upon him. He
looked at her face as if there were, and she continued, 'Listen; I
hear sounds from the town: people's voices, and carts, and dogs,
and the noise of a railway-train. Shall we now descend, and own
ourselves disappointed?'
'Whenever you choose.'
Before they had put their intention in practice there appeared to be
reasons for waiting awhile. Out of the plain of fog beneath, a
stone tooth seemed to be upheaving itself: then another showed
forth. These were the summits of the St. Romain and the Butter
Towers--at the western end of the building. As the fog stratum
collapsed other summits manifested their presence further off--among
them the two spires and lantern of St. Ouen's; when to the left the
dome of St. Madeline's caught a first ray from the peering sun,
under which its scaly surface glittered like a fish. Then the mist
rolled off in earnest, and revealed far beneath them a whole city,
its red, blue, and grey roofs forming a variegated pattern, small
and subdued as that of a pavement in mosaic. Eastward in the
spacious outlook lay the hill of St. Catherine, breaking intrusively
into the large level valley of the Seine; south was the river which
had been the parent of the mist, and the Ile Lacroix, gorgeous in
scarlet, purple, and green. On the western horizon could be dimly
discerned melancholy forests, and further to the right stood the
hill and rich groves of Boisguillaume.
Ethelberta having now done looking around, the descent was begun and
continued without intermission till they came to the passage behind
the parapet.
Ethelberta was about to step airily forward, when there reached her
ear the voices of persons below. She recognized as one of them the
slow unaccented tones of Neigh.
'Please wait a minute!' she said in a peremptory manner of confusion
sufficient to attract Lord Mountclere's attention.
A recollection had sprung to her mind in a moment. She had half
made an appointment with Neigh at her aunt's hotel for this very
week, and here was he in Rouen to keep it. To meet him while
indulging in this vagary with Lord Mountclere--which, now that the
mood it had been engendered by was passing off, she somewhat
regretted--would be the height of imprudence.
'I should like to go round to the other side of the parapet for a
few moments,' she said, with decisive quickness. 'Come with me,
Lord Mountclere.'
They went round to the other side. Here she kept the viscount and
their suisse until she deemed it probable that Neigh had passed by,
when she returned with her companions and descended to the bottom.
They emerged into the Rue Saint-Romain, whereupon a woman called
from the opposite side of the way to their guide, stating that she
had told the other English gentleman that the English lady had gone
into the fleche.
Ethelberta turned and looked up. She could just discern Neigh's
form upon the steps of the fleche above, ascending toilsomely in
search of her.
'What English gentleman could that have been?' said Lord Mountclere,
after paying the man. He spoke in a way which showed he had not
overlooked her confusion. 'It seems that he must have been
searching for us, or rather for you?'
'Only Mr. Neigh,' said Ethelberta. 'He told me he was coming here.
I believe he is waiting for an interview with me.'
'H'm,' said Lord Mountclere.
'Business--only business,' said she.
'Shall I leave you? Perhaps the business is important--most
important.'
'Unfortunately it is.'
'You must forgive me this once: I cannot help--will you give me
permission to make a difficult remark?' said Lord Mountclere, in an
impatient voice.
'With pleasure.'
'Well, then, the business I meant was--an engagement to be married.'
Had it been possible for a woman to be perpetually on the alert she
might now have supposed that Lord Mountclere knew all about her; a
mechanical deference must have restrained such an illusion had he
seen her in any other light than that of a distracting slave. But
she answered quietly, 'So did I.'
'But how does he know--dear me, dear me! I beg pardon,' said the
viscount.
She looked at him curiously, as if to imply that he was seriously
out of his reckoning in respect of her if he supposed that he would
be allowed to continue this little play at love-making as long as he
chose, when she was offered the position of wife by a man so good as
Neigh.
They stood in silence side by side till, much to her ease, Cornelia
appeared at the corner waiting. At the last moment he said, in
somewhat agitated tones, and with what appeared to be a renewal of
the respect which had been imperceptibly dropped since they crossed
the Channel, 'I was not aware of your engagement to Mr. Neigh. I
fear I have been acting mistakenly on that account.'
'There is no engagement as yet,' said she.
Lord Mountclere brightened like a child. 'Then may I have a few
words in private--'
'Not now--not to-day,' said Ethelberta, with a certain irritation at
she knew not what. 'Believe me, Lord Mountclere, you are mistaken
in many things. I mean, you think more of me than you ought. A
time will come when you will despise me for this day's work, and it
is madness in you to go further.'
Lord Mountclere, knowing what he did know, may have imagined what
she referred to; but Ethelberta was without the least proof that he
had the key to her humour. 'Well, well, I'll be responsible for the
madness,' he said. 'I know you to be--a famous woman, at all
events; and that's enough. I would say more, but I cannot here.
May I call upon you?'
'Not now.'
'When shall I?'
'If you must, let it be a month hence at my house in town,' she said
indifferently, the Hamlet mood being still upon her. 'Yes, call
upon us then, and I will tell you everything that may remain to be
told, if you should be inclined to listen. A rumour is afloat which
will undeceive you in much, and depress me to death. And now I will
walk back: pray excuse me.' She entered the street, and joined
Cornelia.
Lord Mountclere paced irregularly along, turned the corner, and went
towards his inn, nearing which his tread grew lighter, till he
scarcely seemed to touch the ground. He became gleeful, and said to
himself, nervously palming his hip with his left hand, as if
previous to plunging it into hot water for some prize: 'Upon my
life I've a good mind! Upon my life I have!. . . . I must make a
straightforward thing of it, and at once; or he will have her. But
he shall not, and I will--hee-hee!'
The fascinated man, screaming inwardly with the excitement, glee,
and agony of his position, entered the hotel, wrote a hasty note to
Ethelberta and despatched it by hand, looked to his dress and
appearance, ordered a carriage, and in a quarter of an hour was
being driven towards the Hotel Beau Sejour, whither his note had
preceded him.
