He and a ruddy-faced companion had fared forth1 doggedly2 into the long summer twilight3 in quest of some amusement to dispel4 the memory of the extravagantly5 gloomy little dinner that they had shared at the club, followed by a painful hour over admirable port and still more admirable cigars. It was August, and London was empty as a drum of the pretty faces and pretty hats and pretty voices that made it tolerable at times—it was as dry and dusty as life itself, and John Saint Michael Beauclerc, ninth Duke of Bolingham, tramping along the dull street beside a dull comrade, thought to himself with a sudden alien passion that youth was a poor thing to look back on, and age an ugly thing to look forward to, and middle age worse than either. He scowled6 down magnificently from his great height at the once-gregarious Banford, whose flushed countenance8 bore the consternation9 of one who has made a bad231 bargain and sees no way out of it—no duke lived who was worth such an evening, said Gaddy Banford’s hunted eyes. This particular duke eyed him sardonically10.
“About nine,” replied his unhappy host. “But, I say, you know, I don’t want to drag you around if you’d rather not. She’s frightfully good in her line, but if dancing bores you——”
“You’re dashed considerate all at once,” remarked his guest. “If I haven’t cracked by now, I fancy I’ll live through the best dancing of the century. That’s what you called it, wasn’t it? Here, you!”
He waved an imperious hand at a forlorn hansom clattering13 down the silent street, and it jolted14 to a halt under one of the gas lamps. For it was not in this century that the Duke of Bolingham met Miss Biddy O’Rourke. No, it was in a century when hansom cabs and gas lamps were commonplaces—when ladies wore bonnets15 like butterflies on piled-up ringlets, and waltzed for hours in satin slippers16 and kid gloves two sizes too small for them—when gentlemen cursed eloquently17 but noiselessly because maidens18 whisked yards of tulle and tarlatan behind them when they danced—a century of faded flowers and fresh sentiments and232 enormous sleeves—of conservatories19 and cotillions and conventions—of long, long letters and little perfumed notes—of intrigues20 over tea tables, and coaching parties to the races, and Parma violets, and pretty manners, and broken hearts. A thousand years ago, you might think, but after all it was only around the corner of the last century that the Duke of Bolingham stepped into the decrepit21 hansom closely followed by his unwilling22 retainer, and in no uncertain tones bade the driver proceed to the Liberty Music Hall.
He sat cloaked in silence while they drove, his heavy shoulders hunched23 up, his eyes half closed, brooding like a despoiled24 monarch25 and a cheated child over the sorry trick that life had played him. He had had everything—and he had found nothing worth having. He had the greatest fortune in England—and one of the greatest names. He had Beaton House, the Georgian miracle that was all London’s pride—and Gray Courts, that dream of sombre beauty, that was all England’s pride—Gray Courts that even now held his three tall, black-browed sons who could shoot and hunt and swear as well as any in the country—yes, even fourteen-year Roddy. That held, too, a collection of Spanish and Portuguese26 armour27 second to none, and a collection of Van Dykes28 first of any, and the finest clipped yew29 hedge in a thousand miles.233 That held the ladies Pamela, Clarissa, Maud, and Charlotte, his good sisters, too acidulous30 to find a husband between them, for all their great dowers and name and accomplishments31. That for six long years had held the Lady Alicia Honoria Fortescue, a poor, sad, dull little creature, married in a moment of pity and illusion when they were both young enough to know better, who had gone in mortal terror of him from the night that they crossed the threshold of the Damask Room to the day that they laid her away under the kind marble in the little chapel32.
He sat huddled33 in the corner of the hansom, remembering with the same shock of sick amazement34 his despair at the discovery of her fear of him; it still haunted every tapestried35 corridor of Gray Courts—every panelled hall in Beaton House—he set his teeth and turned his head, and swore that he would take the next boat to France and drink himself to death in Cannes. And the hansom cab stopped.
Gaddy Banford had two seats in the first row of stalls; had ’em for every night that the lady danced, he informed the duke with chastened pride. The duke, trampling36 over the outraged37 spectators with more than royal indifference38, eyed him grimly.
“Spend the rest of your valuable time hanging round the stage door, what?” he inquired audibly.
234 Five of the outraged spectators said “Sh-s-h,” and the duke, squaring about in his seat, favoured them with so black a glance that the admonitions died on their lips and apologies gathered in their eyes. Banford smiled nervously39 and ingratiatingly.
“Oh, rather not—no, no, nothing of that kind whatever. She doesn’t go in for stage-door meetings, you know. I’ve had the honour of meeting the lady twice and she’s most frightfully jolly and all that, but——”
“Sh-h-h,” enjoined40 one rebellious41 spirit, studiously avoiding the duke’s eye. That gentleman remarked “Ha!” with derisive42 inflection and turned a contemptuous eye on the stage. A very large and apparently43 intoxicated44 mouse was chasing a small and agitated45 cat with rhythmic46 zest47, the two having concluded the more technical portion of their programme, in which they had ably defended against all comers their engaging title of the “Jolly Joralomons, Europe, Asia, Africa, and America’s Most Unique and Mirth Compelling Acrobats49, Tumblers, and Jugglers.” The Jolly Joralomons scampered51 light-heartedly off, rolling their equipment of bright balls before them with dexterous52 paws, and capered53 back even more light-heartedly to blow grateful kisses off the tips of their whiskers to an enraptured54 audience, with which the Duke of Bolingham was all too obviously not in accord.
235 “Gad!” he remarked with appalled56 conviction. “Death’s too good for them! Here, let’s get out of this while I’ve got strength——”
Banford lifted a pleading hand. There was a warning roll of drums, a preliminary lilt of violins, and the orchestra swung triumphantly58 into the “Biddy Waltz”—the waltz that all London had revolved59 to for three good months. The house sighed like a delighted child, and far up in the gallery an ecstatic voice called “Ah, there, lassie!” And another echoed “Come ahn, Biddy—Alf and me’s ’ere!”
And onto a stage that was black as night, with one great bound as though she had leapt through infinite space from a falling star into the small safe circle of the spotlight60, came Biddy O’Rourke, straight on the tips of her silver toes, with laughter for a dark world in both her outstretched hands—and the piece of the world that faced her rose to its feet and shouted a welcome. All but one.
The Black Duke of Bolingham sat square in the centre in the first row of seats in the Liberty Music Hall as still as though he had been struck down by lightning, with the “Biddy Waltz” rising and falling about him unheeded, his eyes fixed61 incredulously on the Vision in the spotlight. The Vision had already fixed the eyes and turned the heads and broken the hearts of half the masculine population236 of London (the other half not having seen her!) but nothing that the duke had heard had prepared him for this.
Who could have told him that a music hall dancer called Biddy O’Rourke, late of Dublin, no taller than a child and seventeen years old to the day, could look like a fairy and an angel and an imp12 and a witch and a dream? Not Gaddy Banford, of a certainty—not Gaddy, who, in a burst of lyric62 enthusiasm, had confided63 to his duke that she was little and blonde and light on her feet. “Little”—you who were more fantastically minute than any elf, Biddy! Blonde—oh, sacrilege, to dismiss thus that foam64 and froth of curls cresting65 and bubbling about your gay head like champagne66, with the same pure glitter of pale gold—that skin of pearl beneath which danced little flames of rose fire—those eyes, bluer than anything on earth—blue as the skies and seas and flowers that haunt our dreams. Light on your feet—oh, Biddy, you, who soared and floated and drifted like a feather in the wind, like a butterfly gone mad—like a flying leaf and a dancing star! Had he said that you had a nose tilted67 as a flower petal68, and a mouth that tilted, too? Had he said that when you blew across the dark stage that you would be arrayed in silver brighter than foam and white more airy than clouds? Had he said that you would dance not237 only with those miraculous69 toes but with your curls and with your lashes70 and with your lips and with your heart? Had he said that you would come laughing, little Biddy?
High on the tips of those incredible toes she came—nearer and nearer, so swift and light and sure that it seemed to Bolingham’s dazzled eyes that it would take less than a breath to blow her over that barrier of light straight into his arms—straight into his heart—into his tired and lonely heart. He leaned forward, and the vision of gold and silver stared back at him, faltered71, tilted forward on her toes, and flung down to him the airy music of her mirth.
“Oh, I couldn’t any more dance with you looking like that than I could grow feathers!” cried the Vision. “No, not if Saint Patrick himself were to bid me. Whatever in the whole world’s the matter?”
The audience stopped howling its delirious72 approval at their Biddy’s appearance in order to revel73 in their Biddy’s chaff74. No one could chaff like Biddy—no one nearer than Cork75, at any rate. It was better than seeing her dance to listen to her laugh, gentle as a lamb, and pert as a monkey, and gay as a Bank Holiday. Free as air, too; if any of those Johnnies in the stalls tried any of their nonsense, it was a fair treat to hear her give ’em what238 for! The audience stood on tiptoes and shoved and elbowed in riotous76 good humour in their efforts to locate her latest victim—that great black fellow with shoulders like a prize-fighter, likely. The great black fellow promptly77 gratified their fondest expectations by falling into the silver net of Biddy’s laughter and answering her back.
“Thanks,” he replied distinctly. “Nothing in the whole world’s the matter—now.”
And the Black Duke replied as clearly as though he were addressing the lady in the hush78 of the rose garden at Gray Courts instead of in the presence of the largest and most hilarious79 audience in London.
“I was wondering how in God’s name I was going to get to you quickly enough to tell you what I was thinking before I burst with it.”
The transfixed Gaddy tottered80 where he stood, and the audience howled unqualified approval, even while they waited for her to pin him to the wall with her reply. But Biddy only came a step nearer, staring down at him with the strangest look of wonder and delight and enchanted81 mischief82.
“Oh, whatever must you think of me, not knowing you at all?” she cried to him over the muted239 lilt of her waltz. “’Twas the lights in my eyes, maybe—or maybe the lights in yours. It’s the foolish creature I am anyway you put it. Would you be waiting for ten minutes?”
“No,” said His Grace firmly.
“Seven?”
“It’ll kill me,” said His Grace. “Where will you be?”
“There’s a wee door over beyond the red curtain,” said Biddy. “You go through that, and you’re in an alley83 as black as a pit, and you take three steps—no, with the legs you have you can do it in two with no trouble at all—and there’ll be another door with a fine big light over it, and I’ll be under the light. Don’t die.”
“No,” said His Grace. “I won’t.”
“Play it faster than that,” Biddy cried to her stupefied musicians, once more poised84 high on her silver toes. “Ah, it’s the poor, slow, thumb-fingered creatures you are, the lot of you! Play it fast as my Aunt Dasheen’s spotted85 kitten chasin’ its tail or I’ll dance holes in your drums for you—weren’t you after hearin’ that I have five minutes to do three great dances? It’s black-hearted fiends you are, with your dawdlin’ and your ditherin’. Ah, darlin’s, come on now—spin it faster than that for the poor dyin’ gentleman and the girl that’s goin’ to save him!”
240 And with a flash and a dip and a swirl86 she was off, and the Black Duke was off, too. Gaddy Banford put up a feeble clamour as his guest swept by him toward the aisle87.
“Oh, but my dear fellow—no, but I say, wait a bit—she’s simply chaffing you, you know; she’ll never in the world be there for a minute——”
“Hand over my stick, will you?” inquired the duke affably. “You’ve no earthly use for two. And don’t come trotting88 along after me, either. She’s not expecting you, you know—rather not.” He swung buoyantly off toward the red curtain, bestowing89 a benign90 nod on the now deliriously91 diverted audience.
“Take a chair along, matey!” “Want a mornin’ paper? Come in ’andy to pass away the time!” “Fetch ’im ’is tea at nine, Bertie—’e’ll need it bad.” “Don’t you wait for her no more than twenty-four hours, ole dear—promise us that, now——”
“Bolingham, I say——” panted the unfortunate Gaddy. “I say, someone must have tipped her off, you know!”
“Tipped her off?”
“Told her who you were, you know?”
The duke laughed aloud and Gaddy Banford, who had never heard him do this, jumped badly.
“D’you know what I’ve been wondering,241 Gaddy? I’ve been wondering how the deuce I was going to own up to her—a duke’s such a damn potty thing, when you come down to it. Why the devil didn’t someone make me Emperor of Russia?”
He brushed aside the red curtain, grinned once more into Banford’s stunned92 countenance, and passed with one great stride through the door into the black alley. The door swung to behind him, and he stood leaning against it for a minute, savouring the wonder and the magic that he had fallen heir to. There was a drift of music in the alley—the sky was powdered thick with stars—the air was sweet as flowers against his face. He drew a deep breath, and turned his head; and there she stood beneath the light, with a black scarf over her golden head and a black cloak over her silver dress—and it took him two strides to reach her, as she had said. She had one hand to her heart and was breathing quickly in little light gasps93, as though she had come running.
“Were you waitin’ long?” she asked. “I never stopped at all to change a stitch and dear knows ’twas a sin how I cheated on that last one—no more than a flout94 and a spin, and not that maybe; only I was afraid for my soul you’d be gone. Was it long you waited?”
“Forty-two years,” said His Grace. “Forty-two years and three days.”
242 He watched the rose flood up to her lashes at that, but the joyous95 eyes never swerved96 from his.
“Ah, well,” she murmured, “I waited seventeen my own self, and I not half the size of you—no higher than your pocket, if you come to look. I can’t think at all what you’ve been doing with yourself all that time.”
“Don’t think—ever,” he said. “I’ve done nothing worth a moment’s thought but miss you.”
“Have you missed me then, truly?” she whispered. “Oh, it’s from farther than Cork I’d come to hear you say that; I’d come from Heaven itself, may the Saints there forgive me. Say it again, quick!”
“I’ve missed you since the day I drew breath,” he told her, and his voice shook. “Every day that I’ve lived has been black and bare and cold without you—blackest because I never knew I’d find you. Biddy, is it true? Things don’t happen like this, do they? No one out of a dream ever had such hair—no one out of a fairy tale such eyes! Biddy, would you laugh like that if it were a dream?”
“I would that,” she remarked with decision. “It’s a fine dream and a grand fairy tale and the truest truth you ever heard in your life. I knew ’twas you even when you were scowlin’, but those243 lights were in my eyes, so I couldn’t be sure till you smiled.”
“Biddy, how did you know?”
She pushed the scarf back from those golden bubbles with a gay gesture of impatience97.
“Well, why wouldn’t I know? That’s a queer way to talk to a bright girl! Didn’t my own Aunt Dasheen, she that was all the family I had till I ran off and took London for one, tell me that I’d be the grandest dancer that ever leapt, and marry the finest gentleman that ever walked, as big as a giant and black as a devil and handsome as a king? And she ought to know, surely, what with reading in tea and clear water as quick as you and me in the Good Book. It was the wicked, cunning old thing she was, God rest her soul.”
“Is she dead?”
“She is that,” replied Aunt Dasheen’s niece cheerfully. “Or I’d never be here to tell it. She kept tight hold of me as if I were a bit of gold, for all that she sorrowed and sang how I was more trouble to her than any monkey from Egypt. If Tim Murphy and his brothers hadn’t been coming to show the Londoners how to juggle50 glass balls and brought me along to hold the things, I’d be in the wee room tending the fire and the kitten this minute, instead of standing98 under a light in a silver dress with my heart in my hands.”
244 “I wish I could thank her,” said the duke.
“It’s little enough you have to thank her for,” replied his Biddy blithely99. “She was crosser than most and cooler than any, God help her. ’Twas that spotted kitten she loved; if she hadn’t seen the bit about me in the tea, she’d have dropped me straight out of the window. But there was my grand gentleman and the rest of it to give her patience. ‘Wed at seventeen, dead at——’” She caught back the words as deftly100 as Tim Murphy’s glass balls, with a triumphant57 shake of her curls. “‘Death to your dancing,’ she’d keep saying. You could thank her for that, maybe—or perhaps ’twas because I danced you stopped scowling101, and you’ll not want me to leave off?”
“Biddy, it’s true then—you’re only seventeen?” His voice was touched with a strange pain and wonder.
“Hear him, now—only, indeed! I’m seventeen the day.”
“And I past forty-two!”
“Are you no more than that?” she asked softly. “However in all the world could you get so great and grand and fine in that little while?”
“Oh,” he cried. “Does laughter take the sting from all that’s ugly? Laugh again then; there’s worse still. Lord help us, darling—I’m a duke!”
“Is that all?” she inquired regretfully. “I’d245 have thought a king at the least. Well, come, there’s no helping102 it—’tis not all of us get our deserts in this wicked world.”
“Biddy,” he begged. “Laugh at this, too, will you? Try, try, dear, before it hurts us. I have three sons, Biddy. I’ve been married before.”
She put her other hand to her heart at that, but she kept her lips curved.
“It’s small wonder,” she said. “Why wouldn’t you have been? I’m the shameless one to say it, but if I’d been ten girls instead of one, it’s ten times you’d have been married.”
He put his arms about her then, and something broke in his heart—something cold and hard and bitter. He wanted to tell her that, but he could find no words, because he was only a duke, and not a very articulate one at that. But the small shining creature in his arms had words enough for two.
“Were you thinking of wedding again, maybe?”
“Oh, Biddy,” he cried, “let’s hurry!”
“If you’re asking me,” she said, “I’d say we were hurrying fast and free. I can hear the air whistlin’ in my ears, I can that. Was she a fine lady, darling?”
“Who?” he asked—and remembered—and forgot her for all time. “Oh, she was a very fine lady, and good, and gentle, too. She died long ago.”
246 “Did she, poor thing?” whispered the future Duchess of Bolingham softly, the cloud in the blue, blue eyes gone for ever. “And me no good at all. I wonder at you! Are they little young things, your sons?”
“The smallest’s big enough to put you in his pocket,” he said. “Biddy, let’s hurry. I know an Archbishop that we could have fix it to-night—I know two, if it comes to that. One of ’em was my godfather.”
“Well, you could know six, and ’twould be all the good it would do you,” commented his Biddy serenely103. “I know one old priest, and his name’s Father Leary, and ’twill be a bitter grief to him, but he may do it, since he’s one of the Saints themselves and terrible fond of a bad girl. Archbishop, indeed!”
“Let’s find him, then, and tell him. I’ll——”
“We’ll not, then. He’s a poor old man that needs his sleep, and we’re two mad things that should know better. See the stars, darlin’; they’re the cool little things. We must do nothing in haste, except leave this door, maybe. The whole lot of them will be out on us like a lot of ravening104 wolves any minute. Wherever can we go?”
“We can go and get married,” said the Duke of Bolingham, who was a simple and determined105 individual. “I’ll get——”
247 “You might get a hansom——” Biddy danced in rapture55 on the tips of her toes. “You might get that one there, and we could ride a hundred miles or so, and watch how cool the stars are. I never was long enough in one in my life to get over feeling sad that soon it would stop, an’ I’d have to be off and out. Would you get one—would you?”
The duke raised his hand to the hansom, and it crawled toward them dubiously106. The small dancing creature on the pavement looked frankly107 incredible, both to the horse and the driver, but the large black one looked as though it knew its mind. The two of them got in quickly, and the small one tilted back her shining head against the great one’s shoulder, sighing rapturously, while the black cloak fell open, and her skirts frothed about her in a manner scandalous to behold108.
“Where to?” inquired the cabby with severity.
“Oh, what matter at all where to?” cried the incredible small one. “A hundred miles or so any way at all, just so we can see those stars go out; they’re that cool and calm it’s an aggravation109.”
“Drive straight ahead—a hundred miles,” said the great one in so terrifying a tone that the cabby gave one sharp pant and started on his pilgrimage. Roaring drunk or plain barmy, the large occupant of the cab was all too plainly one to be humoured.
“Would a hundred miles bring us to dawn?”248 inquired the smaller lunatic. “Oh, I’d rather a dawn than a parade any day there is, though sleeping’s a grand thing, too.”
“When will you marry me?” demanded the duke.
“We must be that wise and cool we’ll put the stars to shame,” she said dreamily. “How many days would there be in a year? I’ve no head for figures at all.”
“A year?” protested the stricken duke fiercely. “Three hundred and sixty-five days? You couldn’t—you couldn’t——”
Biddy raised her hand to the silver laces above her heart with the strangest little look of wonder.
“Three hundred and sixty-five?” she whispered. “No more than that? No more than that—for sure?”
“No more?” he cried. “Why, it’s a lifetime—it’s eternity——”
“Ah, and so it is,” said his Biddy. “Well, then, let’s be wise as the stars—and wait till morning. Father Leary, he’s an old man, and he wakes at dawn; ’tis himself that says so. He’ll marry us then if I have to do penance110 for the rest of my days. Three hundred and sixty-five, you say? You’re right—oh, you’re right. ’Tis a lifetime!”
And so at dawn Biddy O’Rourke became the Duchess of Bolingham, and the greatest scandal of249 the century broke over a waking city. Things like that don’t happen, you say—no, things like that don’t happen, except in real life or in fairy tales. But if you had asked the duke or his duchess, they could have told you that this was real life—and a fairy tale.
They drove down to Gray Courts behind a pair of bright bays called Castor and Pollux that same day, in a high trap of black and scarlet111, with fawn-coloured cushions. The duke drove, and the duchess sat perched beside him in a great red postillion’s coat from Redfern with a ruby112 ring as big as the Pope’s on her finger and a hat no larger than a poppy tilted over one eye. It had a little red feather in it that wagged violently every time the bays lifted a foot, and Her Grace’s tongue wagged more violently than the feather.
“Is it a castle you live in, darlin’?”
“It’ll be a castle once you’re in it. Who ever heard of a Princess that didn’t live in a castle?”
“Is it terrible big and black and grand, like you?”
“Terrible—you couldn’t tell us apart.”
“Do your great sons live there all by themselves?”
“Oh, rather not. They live there with two tutors and a trainer and an old nurse and four aunts, besides all the hounds and horses and grooms250 and jockeys and farriers that they can wedge into the stables.”
“Oh, God forgive me, I clean forgot ’em!” The duke’s cry was quite as heartfelt, but it lacked piety. “No, I swear that’s the truth. I sent a messenger down this morning with a letter for Noll, but not one of the lot of them entered my head—Biddy, Biddy, if I’d remembered, I’d have taken you somewhere else.”
“Ah, well, it can’t be helped, darlin’. It’s glad news and golden that I’ve driven the thought of four grand ladies clear out of your head, and it’s small fault of yours that so much as a whisper of the word aunt makes the soles of my feet grow cold and the hairs of my head rise up on end. If you’d known my father’s sister Dasheen you’d never wonder! Maybe the four of these are nice old bodies?”
“And maybe they’re not!” remarked the duke. “Gad, but I’d give a thousand pound to have them hear you calling them nice old bodies. Clarissa, now——”
He gave such a shout of laughter that the off bay swerved and Biddy had to clutch at his sleeve to keep from falling.
“Are they just young aunts then?” she inquired hopefully.
251 The duke let the bays fend48 for themselves while he kissed the ridiculous hand and the dancing feather and both of the small corners of her smile.
“Beautiful, wait till you see them! They’re not aunts at all, Heaven help us—they’re sisters! One of their noses would make four of yours, and every last one of them is more like Queen Elizabeth in her prime than any one going around England these days. They have fine bones and high heads and eyes like ripe hearts of icicles and tongues like serpents’ tails dipped in vinegar.”
“Have they now!” remarked Her Grace pensively116. “Well, ’twill not be dull at Gray Courts, I can tell that from here. Was Elizabeth the cross heathen that snipped118 the head off the pretty light one home from France?”
“I wish I’d had your history teacher,” said the duke with emphasis. “I spent years on end learning less about the ladies that you’ve put in a dozen words. I shouldn’t wonder if cross heathens described the lot as well as anything else. I was a cross heathen myself till half-past nine last night.”
“Never say it!” cried his Biddy. “You’ve a heart of gold and a tongue of silver, and I’m the girl that knows. ’Tis likely they’ll love me no better than the cross one loved the pretty one, then?”
“’Tis likely they’ll love you less,” prophesied120 the252 duke accurately121, “since they can’t snip117 off your head!”
Biddy’s laughter was a flight of silver birds.
“Then since it’s sorrow we’re goin’ to,” she begged, “let’s go easy. Make the horses step soft and slow, darlin’; ’tis the prettiest evening in all the world, and I’m that high up I can see clear over the great green hedges into the wee green gardens. I doubt if it’ll smell any better in Heaven!”
“I doubt if it’ll smell half as sweet,” he said. “If we go slow we’ll miss our dinner.”
“Ah, let’s miss our dinner!” she begged. “Did we not eat all those little fat quail122 and those great fat peaches for our lunch? I’d rather sup on the lights that’ll be coming out behind the window-panes while we pass, and the stars that’ll slip through the sky while we’re not looking, and the smell of gilly-flowers and lavender warm against the walls. Maybe if we go slow, we might have a slip of new moon for dessert—maybe if we go slower than that, the horses will know what it’s all about, and let you hold one of my hands.”
And so the horses did, and so he did, and it was long past dinner when the duke and his duchess drove through the gates of Gray Courts, and swept proudly up the long alley with its great beech123 trees to the door where grooms113 and butlers and housekeepers124 and maids and men enough to start a253 republic came running sedately126 to greet them. The duke stood them off with a gesture and held out both his hands to help his duchess down from her throne, and she laid her finger-tips in his and reached the threshold high on her toes.
“This,” said the duke with a pride that made his former arrogance127 seem humility128, “is Her Grace.”
He swung her through the carved doors before the most skillful of them could do more than gape129 or sketch130 a curtsey—in the great stone hall with the flagged floor and the two fireplaces built by giants to burn oak trees she looked smaller than a child and brighter than a candle. She stood smiling as warmly at the cold and hollow suits of armour, with their chilled gleam of steel and gold and silver and the jaded131 plumes132 drooping133 in their helmets, as though they were her brothers, and the dun-coloured hound lying with his nose on his paws blinked twice, and rose slowly, in his huge grace, and strolled to where she stood gleaming, thrusting his great head beneath her hand.
“Oh, the wonder he is!” she cried. “What will I call him?”
“His name’s Merlin,” the duke told her, and he put his arm about her in full sight of the stunned household. “He knows a witch as well as the one he was named for. Layton, where are my sisters?”
“Good!” replied His Grace distinctly. “Where are my sons?”
“Their Lordships drove over late this afternoon for a dinner and theatricals135 at the Marquis of Dene’s, Your Grace.”
“Better!” said His Grace. “Then shall we go to our room, Biddy? We’ve not eaten; send some claret and fruit and cold fowl—what else, Biddy?”
“Some little cakes stuffed full with raisins136, if there’re any about,” suggested Her Grace hopefully.
“Cakes,” commanded the Duke of Bolingham in a voice that would have raised cakes from the stone flags. “Will you have a maid, Biddy?”
“Whatever for?” inquired Biddy with candid137 interest. “I’ve still the use of all ten of my fingers, and you’d be there to help if I broke one, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” said the duke, his arm closing faster about her, his voice shaken. “No maid. Is the room ready, Layton?”
“Quite ready, Your Grace.” Layton seized the great black dressing-case with the gold locks and the little snakeskin jewel case that Biddy had pounced138 on in Bond Street that morning, and James swung up the huge pigskin bags of His255 Grace, and Potter appeared from somewhere with fruit and wine, and Durkin from nowhere with a silver basket of small cakes, and a very young gentleman called Tunbridge appeared with candles that were larger than he. The duke and the duchess followed this procession up the dark splendour of the stairs, with Merlin padding superbly behind his witch. When they reached the landing the procession swung to the right.
“Here!” called Bolingham. “Which room?”
“The Damask Room, Your Grace.”
“No,” said His Grace. “No.” He did not raise his voice, but his fingers crushed down desperately139 on the light ones lying in his. “We’ll use the Blue Room.”
The agitated voice of the housekeeper125 cried, “Oh, Your Grace, it’s not ready!”
They were quick. Feet ran, hands flew, while the duke and his duchess stood waiting in the room in which a king had slept and a prince had died, and which for a hundred years had stood empty of life, save when some awed141 visitor tiptoed across the threshold, marvelling142 at its more than royal beauty—its walls stretched with velvet143 blue and deep as night, its painted beams, its hooded144 fireplace, its great bed around which the velvet curtains swept,256 brave with their golden Tudor roses; quick hands now brought other roses, wine-red in silver bowls, to sweeten the air, and sticks of wood to light a fire to warm it, for even August turned chilly145 in that magnificence; they spread a gay feast before the flames and fine linen on the bed; they brought high candelabra wrought146 of silver, more of them and more of them, until the shadows wavered and danced, and the new duchess clapped her hands and danced, too.
“That enough?” the duke asked her.
“Oh, ’tis enough to light the way from here to the pole! I’d not have said there were so many candles in all the world.”
And the quick hands and the quick feet were gone, and the duke was left alone with his duchess.
“It’s not too cold?” he asked.
“No, no!” she said. “It’s fine and warm.”
“It’s not too dark?”
“No, no—it’s fine and bright!”
“My little heart, you don’t hate it? You’re not afraid?”
“Afraid?” cried his heart, alight with laughter. “Afraid with you by me? Am I mad?”
He knelt at that and put his arms about her.257 Even kneeling his black head was higher than her bright one.
“It’s I who am afraid. Biddy, what if I made you stop smiling? Biddy, Biddy, don’t ever stop smiling!”
“Never fear!” she cried. “Never fear, my dear love. I’ll never in this world stop smiling——” She caught her breath, and shook her curls, and laid her laughing lips gayly and bravely against his. “Nor in the next one, either!” said Her Grace.
She kept her word. That shining mischief of hers never wavered—nothing touched it, not the frozen hatred148 of the four outraged ladies or the surly insolence149 of the three dark boys, or the indifferent disdain150 of the county neighbours, or the blank indignation of the court. He watched over her with terror and rage in his heart; they, they to scorn his miracle!
That first dinner, with the ladies Pamela, Clarissa, Maude, and Charlotte, looking down their high noses at the radiant intruder, pouring out venom151, poison, and vinegar as freely as wine——
“Say the word,” he told her through his teeth, safe in the sanctuary152 of their dark and beautiful room, “and the four of them shall walk to London!”
“Well, if they crawled there, ’twould be no more than they deserve!” said Her Grace with decision.258 “The cross faces they have, and the mean tongues! They’d wear the patience out of a Saint.”
“They can start packing now!” he cried, and made for the door.
“No, no!” Her laughter checked him like a hand. “What does it matter at all, since I’m no Saint? I’ll not need patience; all I’ll need is grace to keep a straight face and a civil tongue. Let them be, darlin’; ’tis a thousand pities my Aunt Dasheen died without laying eyes on them. They’re like her own sisters. Did no one ever give that fine Roddy of yours a good cuff153?”
“You’d never steal such pleasure for yourself,” she implored156. “In no time at all they’ll be gone to their schools and colleges, and I’ll set what mind I have to growing tall enough to reach their ears if I stand on my toes. Would you like me better if I reached up higher?”
Their world was in that room—its four blue walls held all their heaven and earth. From its windows they saw dawns break and nights fall; when they crossed its threshold they stepped under a spell that held them safe from all disaster. No one had ever loved any one as he loved his little golden duchess; sometimes he smiled gravely and indulgently when he thought of the poor travesties157 that259 passed in the world for adoration158. Dante and the girl that crossed the bridge in her wine-coloured gown—tragic and absurd to call that love, which was not strong enough to win a kiss! Paolo and Francesca stealing hot glances over a closed book in a garden—blasphemous to think that love could come clothed in secrecy159 and guilt160. And those frantic161, desperate children of the Capulets and Montagues—was love, then, something shot with blood and tears? No, no, love was shot with beauty and with mirth—love was his Biddy, dancing through darkness to his arms.
When some unshirkable duty called him from her to the London that they had forgotten he would possess his soul with what patience he might until the doors of Gray Courts opened once more, and before the doors had swung to behind his voice would ring out—
“Where is Her Grace?”
They never had need to tell him; before the words were off his lips he would hear her light feet, running to reach him across the long halls, the dark stairs.
When winter hung the world in silver frost they piled the fire higher and drew the curtains closer and sat wrapped warm in dreaming happiness while the winds roared and lashed162 over the world.
260 “Shall I take you to London?” he asked her.
“London?” she cried in wonder. “Oh, whatever for?”
“You’re not dull here? You’re not lonely?”
“Dull? With you? Lonely—lonely with you?”
After awhile she lifted her head and locked her fingers fast in his, and asked,
“When is your birthday?”
“In July—the twenty-fifth. Why?”
“I’ll have a grand present for you,” said Her Grace. “A baby. A baby that’ll have a yellow head and a twinkle in both his eyes. A baby that’ll grow tall enough to thrash the wickedness out of his black brothers and have sense enough to laugh instead of doing it.”
He bowed his head over the linked fingers.
“Biddy, what more will you give me, you who have given me all the world?”
“’Tis a small thing,” she whispered. “July. That will be a year since you came to see me dance?”
“A year, my heart.”
“How many days are there in a year, did you say?”
“Three hundred and sixty-five.”
“A day—a day is a poor short thing,” said Her Grace. “If I had a wish, I’d wish them longer.261 ’Tis cold in here, with the wind roaring down the chimney. Hold me closer—hold me fast.”
And with spring her wish was granted, and the days were longer; not long enough to hold the joy they poured into them—but filled to the brim with pale sunlight and primroses163 and hawthorn164 hedges. And it was June, and they were longer still, flooded with golden warmth and the smell of yellow roses and life and magic, and the taste of honey. And it was July, and it was his birthday—and the world stood still.
Her Grace gave him the yellow-headed baby for a birthday present. When they brought him his son he looked at him with strange eyes and turned his face away and asked them in a voice that none would have known,
“How is she now?”
The great doctors who had come hurrying from London shook their heads, and were grave and pompous165 and learned.
“Bad. Her heart was in a shocking condition—she had not told you?”
No—no, she had not told him.
“Well, we must hope; we must hope.”
But soon they could no longer hope; soon hope was gone. For all their dignity, for all their learning, they could only give her drugs to make it easier to die; they could only prop119 her up against262 the pillows in the great Tudor bed, and smooth the dark coverlet, and tiptoe from the room, leaving her to her duke. She sat there still and small, her hands on his black head where he knelt beside her, with so little breath left to tell him of her love that she sought the shortest words, she who had been a spendthrift of them.
“Darlin’.” He did not stir, even at that. “Never grieve. I’ve known it a great while; they told me in London before you came that ’twould be no more than a year. And my Aunt Dasheen, she was wise before they. ‘Wed at seventeen, dead at eighteen’——”
“Biddy,” he whispered, “I’ve killed you—I’ve killed you.”
“Oh, what talk is this? You, who gave me my life? I never minded the dying—’twas only when I thought how lonely it would be, with no one caring whether I came or went. I’ve forgotten what loneliness is with you by me. Look up at me.”
He raised his head—and her eyes were dancing.
“Has it yellow hair?”
“Yes.”
“Will you teach it to laugh?”
“Biddy—Biddy——”
“’Twill be dull in Heaven without you,” she said. “But ’twill be gay when you come.” She263 leaned toward him, her lips curved to mischief. “Wait till they tell my Aunt Dasheen—Saint Peter himself will have to laugh. ‘Woman, there’s someone just come asking after you—a little one, even on her toes. She says her name is Biddy and she’s Duchess of Bolingham——’”
The faint voice trailed to airy mirth, and with that music echoing still about her Her Grace closed her dancing eyes, and closed her laughing lips, and turned her bright head away and was gone, as lightly and swiftly as she had come.
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收听单词发音
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1
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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dispel
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| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
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extravagantly
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| adv.挥霍无度地 | |
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6
scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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sardonically
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| adv.讽刺地，冷嘲地 | |
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paragon
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| n.模范，典型 | |
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12
imp
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| n.顽童 | |
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clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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14
jolted
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| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15
bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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16
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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17
eloquently
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| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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18
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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19
conservatories
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| n.（培植植物的）温室，暖房( conservatory的名词复数 ) | |
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20
intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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21
decrepit
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| adj.衰老的，破旧的 | |
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22
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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23
hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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24
despoiled
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| v.掠夺，抢劫( despoil的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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26
Portuguese
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| n.葡萄牙人；葡萄牙语 | |
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27
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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28
dykes
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| abbr.diagonal wire cutters 斜线切割机n.堤( dyke的名词复数 )；坝；堰；沟 | |
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29
yew
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| n.紫杉属树木 | |
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30
acidulous
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| adj.微酸的；苛薄的 | |
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31
accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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32
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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33
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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34
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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35
tapestried
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| adj.饰挂绣帷的，织在绣帷上的v.用挂毯（或绣帷）装饰( tapestry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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37
outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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38
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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39
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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40
enjoined
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| v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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42
derisive
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| adj.嘲弄的 | |
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43
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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44
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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45
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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46
rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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47
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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48
fend
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| v.照料（自己），（自己）谋生，挡开，避开 | |
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49
acrobats
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| n.杂技演员( acrobat的名词复数 )；立场观点善变的人，主张、政见等变化无常的人 | |
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50
juggle
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| v.变戏法，纂改，欺骗，同时做；n.玩杂耍，纂改，花招 | |
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51
scampered
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
dexterous
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| adj.灵敏的；灵巧的 | |
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53
capered
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| v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
enraptured
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| v.使狂喜( enrapture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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56
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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57
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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58
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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59
revolved
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| v.（使）旋转( revolve的过去式和过去分词 )；细想 | |
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60
spotlight
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| n.公众注意的中心，聚光灯，探照灯，视听，注意，醒目 | |
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61
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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62
lyric
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| n.抒情诗，歌词；adj.抒情的 | |
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63
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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64
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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65
cresting
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| n.顶饰v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的现在分词 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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66
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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67
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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68
petal
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| n.花瓣 | |
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69
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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70
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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71
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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72
delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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73
revel
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| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
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74
chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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75
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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76
riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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77
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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78
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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79
hilarious
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| adj.充满笑声的，欢闹的；[反]depressed | |
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80
tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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81
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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82
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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83
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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84
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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85
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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86
swirl
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| v.(使)打漩，(使)涡卷；n.漩涡，螺旋形 | |
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87
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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88
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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89
bestowing
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| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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90
benign
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| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
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91
deliriously
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| adv.谵妄（性）；发狂；极度兴奋/亢奋；说胡话 | |
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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93
gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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94
flout
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| v./n.嘲弄，愚弄，轻视 | |
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95
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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96
swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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97
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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98
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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99
blithely
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| adv.欢乐地，快活地，无挂虑地 | |
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100
deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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101
scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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102
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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103
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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104
ravening
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| a.贪婪而饥饿的 | |
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105
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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106
dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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107
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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108
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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109
aggravation
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| n.烦恼，恼火 | |
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110
penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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111
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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112
ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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113
grooms
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| n.新郎( groom的名词复数 )；马夫v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的第三人称单数 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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114
invoked
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| v.援引( invoke的过去式和过去分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
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115
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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116
pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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117
snip
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| n.便宜货，廉价货，剪，剪断 | |
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118
snipped
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| v.剪( snip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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119
prop
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| vt.支撑；n.支柱，支撑物；支持者，靠山 | |
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120
prophesied
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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121
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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122
quail
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| n.鹌鹑；vi.畏惧，颤抖 | |
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123
beech
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| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
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124
housekeepers
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| n.（女）管家( housekeeper的名词复数 ) | |
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125
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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126
sedately
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| adv.镇静地，安详地 | |
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127
arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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128
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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129
gape
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| v.张口，打呵欠，目瞪口呆地凝视 | |
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130
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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132
plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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133
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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134
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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135
theatricals
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| n.（业余性的）戏剧演出，舞台表演艺术；职业演员；戏剧的( theatrical的名词复数 )；剧场的；炫耀的；戏剧性的 | |
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136
raisins
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| n.葡萄干( raisin的名词复数 ) | |
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137
candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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138
pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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139
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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140
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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141
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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142
marvelling
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的现在分词 ) | |
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143
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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144
hooded
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| adj.戴头巾的；有罩盖的；颈部因肋骨运动而膨胀的 | |
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145
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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146
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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147
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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148
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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149
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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150
disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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151
venom
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| n.毒液，恶毒，痛恨 | |
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152
sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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153
cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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154
glowering
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| v.怒视( glower的现在分词 ) | |
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155
cub
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| n.幼兽，年轻无经验的人 | |
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156
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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157
travesties
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| n.拙劣的模仿作品，荒谬的模仿，歪曲( travesty的名词复数 ) | |
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158
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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159
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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160
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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161
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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162
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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163
primroses
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| n.报春花( primrose的名词复数 )；淡黄色；追求享乐（招至恶果） | |
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164
hawthorn
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| 山楂 | |
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165
pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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