The English Illustrated/"The Adventure of Lady Ursula"

by Anthony Hope

"THE ADVENTURE OF LADY URSULA,"

By ANTHONY HOPE.

Played at the Duke of York's Theatre.

LADY URSULA had made up her mind, and so the question was settled, although her cousin, Dorothy Fenton, had opposed her scheme. Lady Ursula had put down her foot; and though it was the daintiest in the county, it was certain she would not lift it till she had carried out her scheme. Such a scheme! She had been flouted by Sir George Sylvester—she, the reigning toast of Middlesex. Moreover, Sir George was likely to kill her brother in a duel because of her reckless escapade, so she had determined to see him and to prevent the duel. How? Thereby hangs a tale. Already the madcap maiden had made an effort to thrust herself upon the famous woman-hater, Sir George, and had been routed in such a fashion as to cause her brother to challenge him, despite the fact that he was the deftest swordsman in England.

It was not an easy task that Lady Ursula had set herself, and her alabaster brow was furrowed by temporary wrinkles while she thought over plans. At last inspiration came: petticoats had kept her out, pantaloons should get her in. A pretty suit had been sent home by the tailor for her youngest brother, who was abroad. It would set off her stately beauty to perfection. So she donned doublet and hose and made a vastly pretty figure of a man.

A few minutes later she found herself in the library of Sir George, and when she heard his footstep, wished herself a thousand miles away. He was delightfully polite, complimented what he deemed the handsome lad upon his wit and pretty leg, and clapped him on the back till feminine tears blurred the bright eyes. In a few moments the pair were as thick as a November fog; a dozen words reminded him of the duel in which he had killed his friend on account of a faithless woman—a duel that had made him forswear the hilts of swords and the lips of women. So he agreed that he would back out of the duel, despite the provocation; and the better to arrange the conclusion of the matter, offered to accompany his guest to the rooms of her brother in London. Lady Ursula gasped at the idea, since it involved certain detection by a man with whom she had fallen in love in less time than it takes to tell of it. Sir George left the room to change his clothes: Lady Ursula left it to change hers—or rather her younger brother's—and instead changed her mind, and hastened to London to her brother's rooms. She came too late. He had gone out to mount guard, and left a set of gallant young officers, hot-headed young bloods, and a civilian called Mr. Dent, even more fiery than the military, carousing in his rooms. Poor Ursula felt horribly ill at ease when she found herself in such society. To know that she has shapely limbs, elegant carriage, and a powerful, handsome face is little assurance to a girl masquerading among boisterous young men. They tried to make her smoke, they tried to make her drink, and failed. Then Mr. Dent tried to make her fight, and succeeded—too well. Ursula was as plucky as a peccary, and perhaps as illogical. She determined to risk the loss of life rather than disclose her sex; and therefore accepted Mr. Dent's challenge, thoughtless of the fact that in so doing she risked both life and secret, since, in the very probable event of a wound, all would be found out inevitably. However, before the man and girl had crossed swords, in came Sir George, apparently in a great rage with Lady Ursula because of her discourteous flight from his house. He claimed the right of fighting the supposed lad in priority of Dent, who gave way reluctantly. Now, the talk of the town at the moment was of a deadly Irish duel, fought across a dining-room table, by two friends, one with a loaded, the other with an unloaded pistol, their choice of weapons having been decided by the dice-box. When Ursula found herself in a duel with Sir George, she, remembering this Irish affair, and being the challenged, named similar conditions. Sir George was horrified.

It may be—who knows?—that he had discovered Lady Ursula's secret,—and intervened to prevent her from being injured by Mr. Dent, relying upon his own skill to keep her from harm in fighting with him. This proposal of the girl was fatal to the scheme, and threatened to be fatal to the schemer, who found it difficult to back out of the duel or decline the terms. Ursula had the choice of weapons, in which was little gain, seeing there was nothing to tell which of them carried a message of death, which of mere impotent rage. The girl bore herself amazingly: not by a trembling of the hand or even a colour did she give the least indication of her feelings—indeed, it was Sir George, the man of well-proved courage, who displayed the only signs of agitation—or rather, one should say Sir George and the young officers, who were dismayed at the scene and anxious to prevent a duel that must end in what would look like a murder and lead to ugly discussion in the law courts, which were unlikely to take a kindly view of such butchery. One after the other the foot-guardsmen tried to make peace or modify the arrangements. All was vain: the girl had screwed up her courage to the sticking point and could not be moved.

So poor Ursula found herself pistol to pistol, at less than three feet interval, with the man whom she loved. What were her thoughts, what her intentions? Did she mean to fire at her opponent when the word was given, or mark the floor or mar the ceiling? To this day nobody knows, except, perhaps, Sir George, and the exception is doubtful. The man gave way, not from cowardice, but from courage—to do the right thing. He stopped the duel, and when the bystanders began to jeer, offered to fight on the same terms with any of them, and so silenced their laughter. Lady Ursula professed to be annoyed, but was really delighted; for not only had her life suddenly grown insurable, but she guessed that he had divined her secret, and that his thoughts of friendship for the handsome boy had changed to feelings of love for the handsome woman.

The position of the two when they found themselves alone was strange, almost absurd. The girl believed that the man knew she was a girl, and that he fancied she was aware of his knowledge: the man had guessed her secret, and believed that she was not ignorant of the accuracy of his guess, and yet each pretended that the other knew nothing, and in consequence they "flirted" in sentences as simple in appearance as the multiplication table and really as full of deep meaning as a Burleigh's nod. However, two young people, thrilling with life and love, can hardly waste their youth in cross questions and crooked answers about their mutual passion; luckily, too, a great deal of trouble arose because Ursula's elder brother failed to understand the puzzling position of his handsome sister towards the noted woman-hater. Wherefore Ursula, for the mere love of peace, consented to lay down her arms, whilst Sir George opened his own to receive her. The wedding-bells rang gaily, and there are many reasons for believing that the amorous duellists lived happily together for half a century.