Elizabeth's Pretenders/Part 2/Chapter 7

CHAPTER VII.

Elizabeth sat by Miss Baring's bedside the following day.

"I am not going to rise," she said; "my cough is too troublesome, and all my limbs ache."

"It was imprudent of you sitting out so late in the forest. I wonder your brother allowed it. If I had been near you I should have remonstrated."

"Ah! you were too much engrossed." This was said, in a low but sharp voice, between her fits of coughing.

"Yes, I was anxious to finish my last study of rock, I confess. But Mr. Baring being so near you———"

"Oh! Alaric was engrossed too, for that matter."

"When one is sketching, one does not think, does one?"

"No; it was my own case. But though you were not close to me, I could not have gone away and left you alone in the forest."

"I was not alone. Mr. George was with me."

"A nice protector! A man who was a stranger to you five days ago, and whom you know absolutely nothing of!"

"What does one know of any one?—of any man, I mean?"

Hatty looked scarlet and indignant, but that may have been due to her violent cough.

"For instance," continued Elizabeth, taking advantage of her friend's inability to speak, "I am not stupider than most other women, and I know very little of your brother, after nearly three months' acquaintance."

"It is your own fault," gasped Hatty.

"No, I deny that. He doesn't wish me to know him. You are always trying to make him like me, but it is of no use. One can't fight against that sort of prejudice."

Miss Baring sat up in bed, and leant forward, pressing her face close to Elizabeth's, as she said—

"How blind you are!" Then she sank back on her pillow. After a little pause, she continued, "Alaric dislikes to see you wasting yourself on such society as Monsieur Doucet's or Mr. George's."

"What is there against Mr. George? I give up Monsieur Doucet—but Mr. George? A clever, inoffensive young man, with good spirits, but never an attempt at familiarity," she flared up.

"He has not a face to be trusted."

"Come, that is prejudice, if you will! There is a fine healthy robustness about the man at variance with anything underhand."

"I caught him fingering all the letters that had arrived the other morning."

"He wanted to see if there was one for himself, I suppose."

"He was examining one in a suspicious way, as if he wanted to open it, and dropped it as he caught sight of me."

The girl laughed aloud.

"It is you who have a suspicions way, Hatty! Your imagination is fed by your determination to see everything the poor young man does en noir. His curiosity would have a small field to exercise itself upon with me. I don't receive more than one letter a month."

"You did receive a letter that morning, however, for you told me so. You mentioned that there had been a very heavy storm in London."

"Oh! from my old solicitor-friend. Not a correspondent who would arouse jealousy, supposing it possible that Mr. George suffered from the complaint. But do disabuse your mind, Hatty, of all this nonsense. Mr. George has no curiosity about me. He has never asked me a question."

"He is too sharp. However, it is no use discussing him; we shan't agree. Go to the atelier. I have talked enough. It makes me cough."

The letter from Mr. Twisden, to which reference was here made, was unimportant, but contained one passage of more moment than Elizabeth attached to it. It ran thus—

"Lord Robert Elton called on me yesterday, chiefly, I apprehend, to ask if I could give him any information as to your present whereabouts. I need hardly say that in this he did not succeed. At the same time, I was greatly impressed by his evident anxiety on the subject. He said that he had been much distressed, and so had her Grace, at learning that you had left your uncle's house, to escape—it was whispered in the county—being coerced into a marriage against your inclinations. The gossip of servants, added to the reticence of Mr. and Mrs. Shaw as to your movements (they say you are 'visiting friends'), has led to this report, no doubt. I could neither confirm nor deny it; but I confess, my dear Miss Shaw, to feeling a strong desire to relieve her Grace's mind and that of Lord Robert as to your safety, your present refuge, and your designs for the future."

He had, in point of fact, dropped, unintentionally, several hints on these subjects. Miss Shaw was abroad; she was in a great city; she was studying; she had persons of congenial tastes near her. The shrewd young man with an obstinate lip had not forgotten part of a conversation with the heiress when he was at Farley. He had no difficalty in arriving at the conclusion that the study was painting; the city, either Dresden or Paris. If the former, it would be easy to run her to earth; if the latter, it might be difficult. Still, as being the nearer, he would try it first. And so, a few days later, he arrived at Meurice's Hotel. An examination of the strangers' list at every known hotel and at Galignani's, together with inquiries at the British Embassy and at sundry bankers, proving fruitless, he had made up his mind to leave Paris that night for Dresden, when it occurred to him that there was just a chance, if she were here, of finding her in the Gallery of the Luxembourg. He had been more than once to the Louvre, but the modern pictures across the Seine he had not yet visited.

Elizabeth, though living so near it, had only been there three times since her arrival, and she always chose to do so at the earliest hour that the gallery was open, when strangers were rare. A fatality willed that Hatty—it was abont ten days after their return from Fontainebleau—should ask Elizabeth, to accompany her to the Luxembourg on this particular morning. It was the first time she was out since her severe cold; she did not feel strong enough to work in her atelier, but said she was just equal to crawl across the garden in the mid-day October sunshine after déjeuner, and sit down opposite two or three of her favourite pictures for an hour or so. Alaric had gone to his work; but Mr. George, much to Miss Baring's annoyance, proposed to accompany the two ladies. Elizabeth, knowing her friend's dislike to the young Englishman, assured him they required no escort. When, however, he replied with the sweetest smile, "Of course not; but will you not allow me to have the pleasure of seeing the pictures and discussing them with you?"—what could she reply.

The air had the first touch of frost in it, though the sun shone still warmly among the red leaves which silently detached themselves from the boughs, and drifted down, turning the yellow gravel paths to crimson. The thin edge of the air made the American girl cough. By the time they had ascended the narrow stair which leads to the saloons of the old historic palace, she was exhausted, and sank down on the first seat.

"Go on," she said to Elizabeth. "Don't mind me. I will join you presently, when I am a little rested."

It was the first time since they left Fontainebleau that George found himself alone with the object of his quest. In public, he was cautious not to single her out for his attention. At table, and in the salon, he talked even more to Madame de Belcour; and the two older ladies were loud in praise of the young Englishman's agreeability and petits soins. But now, for a few minutes at least, he had the field to himself, unshadowed by any necessity for cautious tact or dissimulation. And it must never be forgotten, in our dealings with George Daintree, that, money-bags apart, he was really attracted to Elizabeth Shaw.

He began, "Living, as we do, in the pension, is a great school of discipline, I find."

"Why so? I don't understand."

"In London I lead a very lonely life. I have no one to consider but myself, and an old uncle of mine. I go to the people I like; the others I leave alone. Here, one is forced to associate with a number of people one does not care about, and try to be pleasant to all."

Elizabeth laughed. "I am sure that is your principle through life, Mr. George. I am afraid I am not like that. I didn't try to be pleasant here at all at first. I am wiser now. With one or two exceptions, they are good natured and amusing."

"And you have some real friends among them. I have none. Your friends dislike me—I know it. You must not let them prejudice you against me, Miss Shaw."

She smiled a little. "I am not easily prejudiced by others—not easily enough, perhaps. No one can help likes and dislikes."

"Certainly not. And I should not complain of Miss Baring's dislike if I were not afraid that she may influence you. I don't know what I have done to annoy her—unless it be that I differ from her brother on subjects of art. My conduct here, I am sure, has been immaculate. You are the only person I wished to talk to, but I have avoided making you conspicuous, knowing what a hotbed of gossip the pension was."

Elizabeth was resolved to glide off on to the impersonal surface of this speech, and not to be induced to cut any figures of eight with this adroit skater—on very thin ice.

"You and I agree very well about art, Mr. George—much better than I do with Mr. Baring. I do not see nature as he does, and to me it seems that completion is not incompatible with breadth. He tries with infinite pains to produce the effect of sketchiness. I do not believe the greatest men of any time ever did that."

"As Ruskin said of a much greater man than Baring, 'He flings his paint-pot in the face of the public.' That sort of thing is all affectation."

"Mr. Baring is not affected," said Elizabeth, quickly. "He is entirely sincere in his views."

"I was speaking of the school, not of Mr. Baring. I have no wish to discuss him. I had rather speak about yourself. Will you treat me as a friend, and tell me how long you intend remaining in Paris?"

"All the winter."

"You will not move further south?"

"I have no idea of doing so at present."

"I may be called back to England in a day or two."

"Really? You have not been here more than three weeks!"

"My holiday was only for six, and I have a letter this morning which renders it probable that I may be wired for. But, if my leave is curtailed, I believe—that is to say, I hope very much that I may be able to return in the winter. I would certainly do so"—he looked her full in the face—"if I knew that my presence here again would not be thought objectionable by you."

It shot through Elizabeth's mind as he spoke, "Here is a man who, in his own calm, unimpassioned way, cares something for me. It may not be much. It will not give him a heartache, probably. But at least the care is not mercenary." She said aloud—

"If you should return to Paris, and that I am here, Mr. George, I shall be glad to see you."

"You will count me, then, among your friends? "

"I don't know you well enough as yet to call you a friend. It means so much, and I am slow to make new ones."

"I hope I may become one in time. I shall not despair. What is your scheme of life—if you have one?"

"I have none at present. The next few months will decide whether I have enough talent to make painting my profession."

He checked the rejoinder, and the smile that played about his mouth.

"Painting," he said, "is a willing slave, a hard taskmaster."

"I had rather have any master, than drift through life idle and purposeless."

"Need you drift 'purposeless' in England? Have you no wish ever to make your home there?"

"Perhaps, by-and-by—a long time hence. At present I hate the thought of England." Then turning suddenly, as if to dismiss a subject she had no desire to pursue further, "How beautiful is that 'Naïade' of Henner's! Not a mere realistic treatment of a model. The old painters to ought like that. So do Watts and Burne-Jones. But most of these Frenchmen's so-called 'nymphs' are dreadful to me."

He did not reply. He had turned suddenly pale, and his eyes were fixed on a figure which bad just entered the gallery at the further end. Several visitors had come in just before. Miss Shaw's back was turned towards them all; she was absorbed in contemplation of Henner's "Naïade." George recognized Lord Robert Elton instantly; he knew him well. He knew, too, his lordship's pursuit of Elizabeth. He divined at once the object which brought him to Paris. What was to be done? If Elton came up to them unprepared, discovery of George's secret was inevitable. With the rapidity of decision which might almost be called genius, he walked quickly down the room, and met Elton advancing towards him, his hand extended.

"How are you, Mr. Daintree? Little thought to meet you in Paris."

"I am here in a pension. Miss Shaw———"

"Is that Miss Shaw, with her back towards us?"

"Yes. Miss Shaw is in the same pension. But I am a stranger to her. She does not know my name. May I ask you, as a favour, not to mention it? To her I am 'Mr. George.' She would resent the idea of being watched over by any one. She wishes to remain absolutely unknown."

"So I understand. Absurd! You are acting as a kind of sentinel over her, then? Odd women are! Like mystery—otherwise why should she? Of course, I am going to speak to her. But I'll respect your wish to remain incognito. Saw your uncle a few days ago."

"He did not give you any clue to Miss Shaw's abode?"

"Not wittingly. Guessed she was painting somewhere. Who is that with her? Another painting-woman?"

"Yes. A Miss Baring—American."

"Miss Shaw turns her head. She sees us—recognizes me—must go and speak to her;" and he walked quickly down the room, followed by Daintree.

Elizabeth's surprise was anything but pleasant, and she showed it. She was tracked, then; and all the pains she had been at to remain undiscovered were frustrated by this act of indiscretion on her part. At first it did not occur to her that their meeting was the result of anything but accident. Afterwards she remembered that passage in Mr. Twisden's letter which referred to Lord Robert. She felt sure her old friend would not intentionally betray her, but he might have dropped a word which had led the young man to suspect that she was in Paris. And in her first annoyance at recognizing him, the curious coincidence that he should be on cordial terms with Mr. George was overlooked.

Elton shook hands with her, as though it were the most natural thing in the world that they should meet thus.

"So you have carried out your idea of coming to Paris to study, Miss Shaw? Quite right to keep yourself dark—from Embassy and so on—interferes with work. But to your friends, it won't do—it won't, really."

Hatty had seen her friend's face. It was enough to tell her that this encounter was distasteful to Elizabeth. But, whatever the cause, Hatty felt instinctively that it was better she should be out of earshot. Miss Shaw's reticence about all that concerned herself made the American girl additionally scrupulous not to appear inquisitive. She walked on.

Elizabeth took his hand before she spoke.

"I find it 'does' very well. Lord Robert. You have met me, by accident, here; I hope you will be kind enough not to mention it to any one. You are only passing through Paris, I suppose?"

"On the contrary, I mean now to remain some weeks."

"Promise, then, to forget that you have met me—please do."

"Quite impossible. But I'll promise to tell no one where you are."

"Especially my uncle?"

"Certainly. May I say I think you have made a great mistake in going off like this? Food for idle gossip. Always a mistake to give food for idle gossip. However, no business of mine."

"No one can judge but myself in this case," returned the girl, quickly.

"Quite right. Beg pardon. No opinion worth anything without knowing all the facts. Still, to go by yourself to this pension———"

"How did you find out———?" she began, then stopped. "I see. Mr. George—you know him? How curious!"

"Yes, I know him. I am going to try if I can get into your pension myself."

"You? In our pension? Oh! Lord Robert, what on earth will you do there? We are nearly all hard workers there; busy all day long."

"So shall I be. Think I can't work hard? Long wanted to stndy French jurisprudence. Slack time now. Not wanted by my constituency. Just fit in."

"I am afraid yon will not like the people at the pension."

"Shan't I? What does it signify? I shall have you—and—Mr. George—to talk to."

"I must tell yon frankly you will see but little of me. Except for my meals, I am rarely in the public rooms."

"You will relax your rule a little in my favour, I hope. Who are you working with?"

"I have begun with Monsieur D———. His class is only just reopened. Hitherto I have been painting from models in Miss Baring's studio."

"That girl? Much of a performer? Looks very ill."

"She is delicate. A charming person, but she does not paint remarkably well. I must rejoin her. If you do come to our pension, may I ask you to say nothing about me? Nothing. Do you understand?" Then, with a sudden and happy audacity, she added, "I have escaped from Farley to avoid mercenary people, who made up to me because I am an heiress. I don't want the same thing to begin again here. I am supposed to have taken up painting as a profession. Will you remember that? Good-bye."

"Till dinner-time only, I hope. Secret's safe with me."

George was standing a little way off. Lord Robert joined him, muttering to himself—

"Deuced queer! Like a masquerade. I suppose I had better put on a domino also, and drop the lordship. But if she thinks she can shake me off so easily—no!"

Then aloud to Daintree—

"Give me the address of your pension, Mr. George, I suppose they'll take me in. Better call myself Mr. Elton— eh?"

The younger man stared at him for a moment in sheer consternation. Then, seeing that he would betray himself to the astute politician if he hesitated, or threw any obstacle in the way of Mr. Elton's acquiring the information he desired, Daintree gave the address, adding—

"Whether there is a vacant room I cannot say. If so, it is at the top of the house. Not very comfortable, I fear."

Lord Robert thanked him, wrote down the name and the address, and straightway departed. That which he was minded to do he did always, without loss of time.

Elizabeth was in a state of revolt, as she rejoined Miss Baring. It was intolerable that she should be hunted down thus. The aristocratic politician, with his dominant airs and elliptical utterance, was all very well in his proper place. She had no objection to his society in England, though she could not but secretly despise a man whom she knew to be mercenary, let Mr. Twisden say what he would. But that he should pursue her to Paris, and now on to Madame Martineau's—for, of course, she could not be deceived by that plea of studying French law—was extremely annoying. Bohemia was not his sphere; he would be horribly out of keeping with all his surroundings; he would not understand them, nor they him; and his attitude towards herself might exasperate her to the point of rudeness, she foresaw.

Hatty was seated, looking white and exhausted, as her friend approached. She asked no question, but read Elizabeth's discomposure in her face.

"That was an acquaintance whom I would have given a great deal not to have met—and I should not have met him if I hadn't come here stupidly at this hour," she said.

"I am sorry! It was my fault!"

"Oh, you couldn't tell, Hatty! It was no one's fault but mine. And the worst of it is, he declares he is coming to take a room at Madame Martineau's!"

There was a quick gleam of intelligence in the American girl's eyes, behind her glasses.

"In that case, I suppose I may ask what his name is?"

Elizabeth hesitated a moment; and her hesitation did not pass unobserved. Then she said, "Elton."

"What is he come here to do?"

"He says to study French jurisprudence."

"Is he clever?"

"Yes. He took honours at Oxford, has read for the Bar, and has now taken up politics."

"And you do not like him? Why?"

"I don't say I dislike him. I didn't want to meet him—that's all. I came here to work, and I don't want to meet any one."

"Let us go home, then," she said with a smile, "for fear we should meet any one else."

"The evil is done. It is most unlikely I should meet any one else I know—though more curious things than that happen. Fancy Mr. George knowing him, too! Such an odd coincidence! Here he comes."

Mr. George's brow was clouded. He looked meaningly into Elizabeth's face.

"It was a surprise, meeting Mr. Elton here." They exchanged glances. "Do you think he will be a pleasant addition to our party?"

"I had rather he were not coming."

"You think he won't be 'in his plate,' as the French say?"

"There are really so many plates," interposed Miss Baring, "that I should say he might find one to suit him."

"There is no political plate. He is nothing if not oratorical. Do you care for oratory, Miss Shaw?"

"I don't know if I do or not. I never heard any. When do you expect to be recalled to England, Mr. George?"

Miss Baring looked up quickly. "Are you really going?"

"Possibly. I shall know to-morrow or next day. I am afraid you will not weep at my departure, Miss Baring," he added, with a laugh.

"I am not given to weeping," she replied.

Elizabeth felt her heart rather softened. Certainly the young man was not mercenary. So far, he was better than this tiresome pertinacious lord. She said nothing, but walked off to a distant picture; and he followed her. Miss Baring also followed, but more slowly.

"Why do you remain in Paris, Miss Shaw?" he said quickly. "You see, it is as difficult to avoid people here as it would be in London. If you lived in Bloomsbury, and attended the Slade School———"

"Good gracious! The Slade School again! No, Mr, George. I prefer Paris, and mean to remain here."

Then Miss Baring came up, and no more passed.