Edith Wharton - Novella 01 (5 page)

 
          
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The Luckiest Man in
London.

 
          
“Oh, to be in England, now that April’s
there.”
 
Robert Browning: Dramatic Lyrics.

 
          
As
the warm Roman Winter melted into Spring, Jack Egerton felt growing upon him
the yearning which the poet expressed above; excepting that he would have
transposed the month & made it May, or, in other words, “the season.” In
short, he got a little tired of his painting & the Bohemianism of his life
in Rome; & would have been only too glad if he could have carried Guy off
with him. But Guy would not go. His love had not been of the slight sort which
can be cast off like a dress out of fashion, at the right time; & he
dreaded being within reach of the possibility of seeing his cousin again. As it
is with many another young man of like class & habits, the warp in his love
had warped his life; an undertone of bitterness ran habitually through it now,
which Jack had striven in vain to destroy. Guy had decided to spend the Summer
in Alp-climbing; but he intended to stay on in Rome until the end of April, so
that Jack, who started homeward in the early part of that month, left him still
there. Jack got back to England in time to pay several duty visits to his
relations in the country; but the opening season found him in London again, ready,
as the phrase is, for everything “going.” Everybody was glad to see “Jack-All”
back again; but his welcome at Swift’s was perhaps the warmest & the most
heartily gratifying that he got. “Hullo, melancholy Jacques!” cried some
familiar voice as Jack stalked into the reading room one mild May evening. “Back
from Rome, eh?
An R.A. yet?”
More than one took up the
chorus; & Jack found himself surrounded by a group of laughing flaneurs,
all asking questions, “chaffing,” & regaling the newcomers with town news. “How’s
Hastings?” said a tall Life-Guardsman (a Duke’s son) who had joined in the
circle of talk over the broadcloth shoulder of a wiry little Viscount. “Didn’t
Hastings go to Rome with you?” “Of course he did,” said the Viscount, who knew
everybody. “Don’t you know, Hasty was so awfully gone on old Breton’s wife,
& she jilted him—didn’t she, Jack? Stunning little woman!” “Yes,” said
someone else, “Hasty was entirely done up by that. It was hard lines.” “Has
Hasty gone in regularly for painting?” enquired the Life Guard’s man; &
staunch Jack, who had not answered a word to this volley, turned the subject
dexterously. “Yes. He has joined the Alpine Club.”
“Instead
of the Royal Academy?”
“Whoever made that witticism ought to be
blackballed,” said the Viscount. “Can’t you give Jack full swing, all of you?”
“By all means!
Fire away, old boy. How many women are you in
love with, how many pictures have you sold & how many people have you
quarrelled with?” “I am in love with as many women as I was before,” said our
stout misogynist, “& I have sold two pictures” (“Why did you make him
perjure himself?” observed the Viscount parenthetically) “& I have
quarrelled with everybody who didn’t buy the rest.” There was a general laugh;
& just then Lord Breton (who was one of the Patriarchs of the Club) came up
& caught sight of Jack. “Ha! Mr. Egerton. I understood you were in Italy,”
said his lordship condescendingly. “Have you been long in town? If you have no
prior engagement, dine with me tomorrow night at 8.” And Lord Breton passed on
with a bow, while Jack stood overwhelmed by this sudden condescension. “By
Jove,” said the Lifeguardsman as the old peer passed out of hearing, “I believe
you’re the luckiest man in London!” “Why?” said Jack, amused. “Why! Don’t you
know that you’re going to dine with the fastest, handsomest, most bewitching
woman in town? Don’t you know that everybody’s mad over Lady Breton?” “Yes!”
added the Viscount. “Tom Fitzmore of the  th & little Lochiel
(Westmoreland’s son, you know) had a row about her that might have ended
seriously if the Duchess of Westmoreland hadn’t found out & gone down on
her knees to her eldest hope, imploring him to give it up. Lochiel is a muff,
& went off to Scotland obediently, but Fitzmore was furious.” “They say
Monsieur is as watchful as a dragon & as jealous as an old woman, but she
plays her cards too cleverly for him,” resumed my lord Lifeguardsman. “I’ve
danced with her once, & by Jove!
it’s
like moving
on air with a lot of roses & soft things in your arms.” “And how she sings!”
cried the Viscount, waxing warm. “I swear
,
it’s a pity
she’s a lady. She’d make a perfect actress.” “But old B. (‘Beast’ they call him
you know—’Beauty & the Beast’),” explained the other, “is awfully
suspicious & never lets her sing except to a roomfull of dowagers &
ugly men.” “Thanks!” observed the quick-witted Viscount. “I’ve heard her sing
twice.” “Which proves the truth of my statement,” quoth the Lifeguardsman
coolly, lounging off towards another group, while the little nobleman, in a deep
note of mock ferocity called after him for an explanation. This was not the
last that Jack heard of Lady Breton’s praises. The next day he went to see a
friend, a brother-artist (whose fame, however, exceeded Jack’s) & saw on
his easel the head of a woman with a quantity of white lace & pearls folded
about a throat as round & soft as a Hebe’s. Her soft, chesnut-brown hair
fell in resistless little rings & wavelets about a low white arch of
forehead, beneath which two brilliant hazel eyes, with curly fringes, glanced
out with a half-defiant, half-enticing charm. The features, which had no
especial regularity, were redeemed by the soft peachbloom on either rounded
cheek, & the whole face made piquant by a small nose, slightly “tip-tilted,”
& a dimple in the little white chin. Although Jack could find no real
beauty in the lines of the charmingly-poised head, some nameless fascination
arrested his eyes; & he stood before the picture so long that the artist,
who was just then busy with another portrait called out, “What! Are you losing
your heart too, Benedick?” “Who is it?” said Jack. “What!
don’t
you—It’s the handsomest—no, not the handsomest, nor the most beautiful, nor the
prettiest, woman in London; but, I should say, the most fascinating. Isn’t that
face irresistible? That is Lady Breton!” Jack started; perhaps he for the first
time fully understood what had darkened Guy Hastings’ life. “Yes,” continued
his friend, enthusiastically, “she is the sensation of the season. And no
wonder! There is a perfect magic about her, which, I see by your face, I have
been fortunate enough to reflect in part on my canvas. But if you knew her!” “I
am going to dine there tonight,” said Jack turning away, his admiration changed
to a sort of loathing, as he thought of the destruction those handsome eyes had
wrought. “Are you? Let me congratulate you. You’re the luckiest man in London,”
cried the portrait-painter, unconsciously repeating the words which had hailed
Jack’s good-fortune at Swift’s the night before. “And this,” thought Egerton, “is
what a woman gets for spoiling a man’s life!” Nevertheless, prompted by a
certain curiosity (which Jack was careful to call a natural interest in the
various phases of human nature, since to confess the desire of seeing a woman—even
the woman whom all London was raving about—would have been high-treason to his
cherished misogynism)—actuated, I say, by this feeling, he looked forward
rather impatiently to the evening which was to introduce him to the famous Lady
Breton; &, as he was ushered by a resplendent Jeames up the velvet-spread
staircase of her Belgravian mansion, was aware of that pleasurable sensation
with which an ardent play-goer awaits the lifting of the curtain upon the first
scene of a new drama. How the curtain lifted, what scenes it disclosed, &
how unexpectedly it fell, our next chapter will reveal.

 
          
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Jack the Avenger.

 
          
“I have a heart tho’ I have played it
false.”
Old Play.

 
          
Lady
Breton was leaning against the chimney-piece in her splendid drawing-room, hung
with violet satin, & illuminated by sparkling chandeliers. Her black velvet
dress set off the neatly-moulded lines of her figure, which seemed to have
gained in height & stateliness since her unmarried days in Holly Lodge;
& the low, square-cut bodice revealed a bosom the whiter by contrast to a
collar of rubies clasped closely about the throat. She was watching,
half-absently, the flash of her rings, as she leaned her chin upon one drooping
hand; & was so absorbed in some silent reverie, that she scarcely noticed
the pompous entrance of her lord & master, until that noble gentleman
observed, “I have asked Egerton to dine here tonight. I believe you know him.” “I?”
said Georgie, starting slightly. “N—no—I do not know him.” But she did know
that he was Guy’s friend & travelling companion. “A very gentlemanly
fellow, & of good family,” said Lord Breton, graciously, “though an artist.”
A moment later, &, fortunately for his peace of mind, just too late to
catch these words, Mr. Egerton was announced. Lord Breton went ponderously
through an introduction to “Lady Breton, my friend Mr. Egerton”; & then he
found himself sitting in a very easy chair, with only a velvet-covered
tea-table between himself & the most popular woman in London. Certainly,
the charm of her face, her tone, her gesture, was irresistible. Her ease was so
engaging, there was such a pretty spice of freedom in her speech & manner,
her coquetry was so artless & original, that Jack had surely succumbed if
he had not seen in this fascinating Lady Breton the destroyer of his friend’s
happiness. Ten minutes later, after another stray man, a distant relative of
Lord Breton’s, had made his appearance in dinner-array, Egerton had the whitest
of hands lying on his coat-sleeve & was leading his hostess to the
dining-room, in a very delightful frame of mind. The parti quarre was kept alive,
during the elaborate courses of the dinner, by Lady Breton’s vivacity; & as
she employed herself in drawing Jack out (Jack was a clever talker) the two
kept a constant flow of words circulating. Every moment, as he watched her
& heard her voice, the fascination & the loathing increased together.
In truth, Georgie had laid herself out to conquer this clever friend of Guy’s;
& she in part succeeded. When at last she rose, with her rich draperies
falling about her & a deeper flush on her cheek, & swept out of the
room,
a dullness
fell on the three men which Lord
Breton’s sublimity was not likely to relieve. Jack was glad when the time which
etiquette orders to be devoted to nuts & wine (Lord Breton’s wine was by no
means contemptible) was over, & the gentlemen went to the drawing-room to
join Georgie; nor was his i pleasure impaired by the fact that Lord Breton soon
challenged his other guest to a game of billiards. “Let us stay here, Mr.
Egerton,” said Georgie, with a smile. “It always makes my head ache to see Lord
Breton play billiards. You don’t mind staying?” Jack protested. “Ah! I see you
are like all other men—you always flatter.” “How can we help it when there is
so much to flatter?” “That is a doubtful compliment, but I will take it at its
best, as one must everything in this life. Do you take tea, Mr. Egerton?” Jack
had an old-maid’s passion for the fragrant brew, & watched with no small
enjoyment the quick movements of Georgie’s pretty hand as she filled &
sweetened his cup. “There! You have got to pay for my services by getting up to
fetch it, since you will plant yourself at the other end of the room,” she
said, laughing, as she handed it to him. “Thanks. I find that English tea is a
different thing from Roman tea,” said Jack, leaning back luxuriously, so that
he could watch her as she sat opposite, in a charming negligee attitude, as
easy as his own. “But one doesn’t go to Rome for tea! At least, I believe not,”
she said, taking up her cup. “What does one go to Rome for?” returned Jack; “as
I sit here, in this charming drawing-room, with London on every side, I wonder
how anyone can care to go abroad?” “Really,” said Georgie, smiling, “your words
have a
double entendre
. Is it my
drawing-room, Mr. Egerton, or London that makes it hard to go abroad?” “To
those who have the happiness of knowing you, I should say—both.” “Unanswerable!
Compliments always are—But do tell me, Mr. Egerton, if you have seen my cousin
Guy—Mr. Hastings, lately?” She said it lightly, easily, in the tone she had
used to rally &
amuse
him a moment before; there
was no change in voice, or manner. Jack was disagreeably startled out of his
train of lazy enjoyment; in the charm of her presence he had nearly forgotten
his loyalty to Guy, but the lightness of her tone as she named him, brought all
the horror jarringly back. He changed in a moment from the mere drawing room
lounger, with a flattering repartee for every remark, into the stout friend
& the “good hater.” He was our old Jack Egerton again. For a moment he did
not answer her; 8c as she appeared absorbed in the contemplation of the fan
which she was opening & furling, perhaps she did not see the angry flash in
his honest gray eyes. When he spoke she did look up, & with undisguised
astonishment in her pretty face. “I think, Lady Breton,” said Jack, sternly, “that
you should be able to answer your own question.” “What can you mean, Mr.
Egerton? Why do you speak in that solemn oracular manner?” “Excuse me, Lady
Breton,” returned Jack; “I cannot speak in any other tone of my friend!” “Than
the solemn & oracular?” said Georgie, mischievously. “You must pardon me,”
Egerton answered gravely,” If I ask you not to speak so lightly on a subject
which… which…” “Pray go on, Mr. Egerton,” she said, in a low, taunting voice;
& it urged him on, before he knew it, to utter the truth. “I believe,” he
returned quickly, “that we are speaking at cross-purposes, but since you give
me permission I will go on & tell you frankly that I cannot sit still and
listen to such mere trifling with his name from the woman who has ruined Guy
Hastings’ life.” Her colour deepened, but her voice was quite controlled as she
said, “I do not think I gave you permission to insult me.” “Nor did I mean to
insult you, Lady Breton; if I have, order me out of your drawing-room at once—but
I must speak the truth.”
“Since when have you developped this
virtue, Mr. Egerton?
Well—” she set her lips slightly, “go on. I will
listen to the truth.” “You have heard what I said,” Jack answered, coldly. “Let
me see”—Jack noticed that she composed herself by an effort—”that I had ruined
Guy—Mr. Hastings’ life.”
“As you must ruin the life of any
man who has the misfortune to love you.
You know your power.” “Well—suppose
I do. Did you come from Rome to tell me this, Mr. Egerton?” she said, bitterly.
“No. And I see that I shall repent having told you,” said Jack. “Let us talk of
something else.”
“Not at all!
Since you broached the
subject, it shall be your penalty to go on with it as long as I choose.” “Are
you so unused to the truth, Lady Breton, that even such harsh truths as these
are acceptable?”
“Perhaps.”
She paused, playing with
her fan; then, suddenly, flashing one of her superb looks at him; “How you
despise me!” she said. “You think I cared nothing for—for him?” “I cannot think
that if you had cared for him, you would have thrown him over.” “Ah—you know
nothing of women!” “I believe” said Jack, very low, “I know too much of them.” “And
you despise them all, do you not?” she cried. “Yet—I have a heart.” “My friend
did not find it so,” said Jack, pitilessly. Her eyes flashed; & she bit her
lip (the blood had fled from her whole face) before she could answer. “How do
you know that you are not wronging me?” “If I am wronging you, why is my friend’s
life cursed?” he exclaimed. “No, Lady Breton! The wrong is on your side, &
when I think of him, & of what he might have been, I cannot help telling
you so.” Her agitation had increased perceptibly, & she rose here, as if to
find a vent for it in the sudden movement. Jack could not help thinking how her
pallour altered her. There ran through his head, half unconsciously, the
wonderful words that describe Beatrix Esmond when she finds her guilt
discovered: “The roses had shuddered out of her cheeks; she looked quite old.”
He waited for Georgie to speak. “What he might have been,” she repeated slowly.
“What have I done? What have I done?” “You have very nearly broken his heart.”
She gave a little cry, & put her hand against her breast. “Don’t! Don’t!”
she said, wildly.