_ CHAPTER III. A CHANGE OF DYNASTY
With the cold November sunlight flooding her room, Grace rose next morning, dressed and went down stairs. Very neat and lady-like she looked, in her spotted gingham wrapper, her snowy collar and cuffs, and her dark hair freshly braided.
A loud-voiced clock in the entrance-hall struck seven. No one seemed to be astir in the house but herself, and her footsteps echoed weirdly in the dark passages. A sleepy scullery maid was lighting the kitchen fire when she got there, gaping dismally over her work; and Grace, leaving some directions for Ma'am Ledru, the cook, departed again, this time for the dining-room, where footman James was lighting another fire. Grace opened the shutters, drew back the curtains, and let in the morning sunburst in all its glory. Then she dusted and re-arranged the furniture, swept up the marble hearth, and assisted Babette to lay the cloth for breakfast. It was invariably her morning work; and the table looked like a picture when she had done, with its old china and sparkling silver.
It was almost eight before she got through; and she ran upstairs for her bonnet and shawl, and started for her customary half-hour's walk before breakfast. She took the road leading to the village, still and deserted, and came back all glowing from the rapid exercise.
Captain Danton stood on the front steps smoking a meerschaum pipe, as she came up the avenue.
"Good morning, Hebe!" said the Captain. "The November roses are brighter in Canada than elsewhere in August!"
Grace laughed, and was going in, but he stopped her.
"Don't go yet. I want some one to talk to. Where have you been?"
"Only out for a walk, sir."
"So early! What time do you get up, pray?"
"About half-past six."
"Primitive hours, upon my word. When is breakfast time?"
"Nine, sir. The bell will ring in a moment."
It rang as she spoke, and Grace tripped away to take off her bonnet and smooth her hair, blown about by the morning wind. The Captain was in the dining-room when she descended, standing in his favourite position with his back to the fire, his coat-tails drawn forward, and his legs like two sides of a triangle.
"Are the girls up yet, Grace? Excuse the prefix; we are relatives, you know. Ah! here is one of them. Good-morning, Mademoiselle."
"Good-morning, papa," said Eeny, kissing him. "Where is Kate?"
"Kate is here!" said the voice that was like silver bells; and Kate came in, graceful and elegant in her white cashmere morning robe, with cord and tassels of violet, and a knot of violet ribbon at the rounded throat. "I have not kept you waiting, have I?"
She kissed her father and sister, smiled and bowed to Grace and took her place to preside. Very prettily and deftly the white hands fluttered among the fragile china cups and saucers, and wielded the carved and massive silver coffee-pot.
Grace thought she looked lovelier in the morning sunshine than in the garish lamplight, with that flush on her cheeks, and the beautiful golden hair twisted in shining coils.
Grace was very silent during breakfast, listening to the rest. The Captain and his eldest daughter were both excellent talkers, and never let conversation flag. Miss Danton rarely addressed her, but the Captain's cordiality made amends for that.
"I must see that brother of yours to-day, Grace," he said, "and get him to come up here. The Curé, too, is a capital fellow--I beg his pardon--I must bring them both up to dinner. Are the Ponsonbys, and the Landry's, and the Le Favres in the old places yet?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'll call on them, then--they don't know I'm here--and see if a little company won't enliven our long Canadian winter. You three, Grace, Rose and Eeny, have been living here like nonettes long enough. We must try and alter things a little for you."
The Captain's good-natured efforts to draw his taciturn housekeeper out did not succeed very well. She had that unsocial failing of reserved natures, silence habitually; and her reserve was always at its worst in the presence of the Captain's brilliant daughter. That youthful beauty fixed her blue eyes now and then on the dark, downcast face with an odd look--very like a look of aversion.
"What kind of person is this Miss Grace of yours, Eeny?" she asked her sister, after breakfast. "Very stupid, isn't she?"
"Stupid! Oh, dear, no! Grace is the dearest, best girl in the world, except you, Kate. I don't know how we should ever get on without her."
"I didn't know," said Kate, rather coldly; "she is so silent and impenetrable. Come! You promised to show me through the house."
They were alone in the dining-room. She walked over to the fire, and stood looking thoughtfully up at the two portraits hanging over the mantel--Captain Danton at twenty-seven, and his wife at twenty-four.
"Poor mamma!" Kate said, with a rare tenderness in her voice. "How pretty she was! Do you remember her, Eeny?"
"No," said Eeny. "You know I was such a little thing, Kate. All I know about her is what Margery tells me."
"Who is Margery?"
"My old nurse, and Harry's, and yours, and Rose's. She nursed us all, babies, and took care of mamma when she died. She was mama's maid when she got married, and lived with her all her life. She is here still."
"I must see Margery, then. I shall like her, I know; for I like all things old and storied, and venerable. I can remember mamma the last time she was in England; her tall, slender figure, her dark, wavy hair, and beautiful smile. She used to take me in her arms in the twilight and sing me to sleep."
"Dear Kate! But Grace has been a mother to me. Do you know, Margery says Rose is like her?"
"Whom? Mamma?"
"Yes; all except her temper. Oh!" cried Eeny, making a sudden grimace, "hasn't Rose got a temper!"
Kate smiled.
"A bad one?"
"A bad one! You ought to see her tearing up and down the room in a towering passion, and scolding. Mon Dieu!" cried Eeny, holding her breath at the recollection.
"Do you ever quarrel?" asked Kate, laughing.
"About fifty times a day. Oh, what a blessing it was when she went to Ottawa! Grace and I have been in paradise ever since. She'll behave herself for a while when she comes home, I dare say, before you and papa; but it won't be for long."
Grace came in, and Kate drew Eeny away to show her over the house. It was quite a tour. Danton Hall was no joke to go over. Upstairs and down stairs; along halls and passages; the drawing-room, where they had been last night; the winter drawing-room on the second floor, all gold and crimson; a summer morning-room, its four sides glass, straw matting on the floor, flower-pots everywhere, looking like a conservatory; the library, where, perpetuated in oils, many Dantons hung, and where book-shelves lined the walls; into what was once the nursery, where empty cribs stood as in olden times, and where, under a sunny window, a low rocker stood, Mrs. Danton's own chair; into Kate's fairy boudoir, all fluted satin and brocatelle; into her bed-chamber, where everything was white, and azure, and spotless as herself; into Eeny's room, pretty and tasteful, but not so superb; into Rose's, very disordered, and littered, and characteristic; into papa's, big, carpetless, fireless, dreadfully grim and unlike papa himself; into Grace's, the perfection of order and taste, and then Eeny stopped, out of breath.
"There's lots more," she said; "papa's study, but he is writing there now, and the green-room, and Mr. Richards' rooms, and----"
"Never mind," said Kate, hastily, "we will not disturb papa or Mr. Richards. Let us go and see old Margery."
They found the old woman in a little room appropriated to her, knitting busily, and looking bright, and hale, and hearty. She rose up and dropped the young lady a stiff curtsey.
"I'm very glad to see you, Miss," said Margery. "I nursed you often when you was a little blue-eyed, curly-haired, rosy cheeked baby. You are very tall and very pretty, Miss; but you don't look like your mother. She don't look like her mother. You're Dantons, both of you; but Miss Rose, she looks like her, and Master Harry--ah, poor, dear Master Harry! He is killed; isn't he, Miss Kate?"
Kate did not speak. She walked away from the old woman to a window, and Eeny saw she had grown very pale.
"Don't talk about Harry, Margery!" whispered Eeny, giving her a poke. "Kate doesn't like it."
"I beg your pardon, Miss," said Margery. "I didn't mean to offend; but I nursed you all, and I knew your mamma when she was a little girl. I was a young woman then, and I remember that sweet young face of hers so well. Like Miss Rose, when she is not cross."
Kate smiled at the winding up and went away.
"Where now?" she asked, gayly. "I am not half tired of sight-seeing. Shall we explore the outside for a change? Yes? Then come and let us get our hats. Your Canadian Novembers are of Arctic temperature."
"Wait until our Decembers tweak the top of your imperial nose off," said Eeny, shivering in anticipation. "Won't you wish you were back in England!"
The yellow November sunshine glorified garden, lawn and meadow as Eeny led her sister through the grounds. They explored the long orchard, strolled down the tamarack walk, and wandered round the fish pond. But garden and orchard were all black with the November frost, the trees rattled skeleton arms, and the dead leaves drifted in the melancholy wind. They strayed down the winding drive to the gate, and Kate could see the village of St. Croix along the quarter of a mile of road leading to it, with the sparkling river beyond.
"I should like to see the village," she said, "but perhaps you are tired."
"Not so tired as that. Let us go."
"If I fatigue you to death, tell me so," said Kate. "I am a great pedestrian. I used to walk miles and miles daily at home."
Miss Danton found St. Croix quite a large place, with dozens of straggling streets, narrow wooden sidewalks, queer-looking, Frenchified houses, shops where nothing seemed selling, hotels all still and forlorn, and a church with a tall cross and its doors open. Sabbath stillness lay over all--the streets were deserted, the children seemed too indolent to play, the dogs too lazy to bark. The long, sluggish canal, running like a sleeping serpent round the village, seemed to have more of life than it had.
"What a dull place!" said Kate. "Has everybody gone to sleep? Is it always like this?"
"Mostly," said Eeny. "You should hear Rose abuse it. It is only fit for a lot of Rip Van Winkles, or the Seven Sleepers, she says. All the life there is, is around the station when the train comes and goes."
The sisters wandered along the canal until the village was left behind, and they were in some desolate fields, sodden from the recent rains. A black marsh spread beyond, and a great gloomy building reared itself against the blue Canadian sky on the other side.
"What old bastille is that?" asked Kate.
"The St. Croix barracks," said Eeny uneasily. "Come away Kate. I am afraid of the soldiers--they may see us."
She turned round and uttered a scream. Two brawny redcoats were striding across the wet field to where they stood. They reeled as they walked, and set up a sort of Indian war-whoop on finding they were discovered.
"Don't you run away, my little dears," said one, "we're coming as fast as we can."
"Oh, Kate!" cried Eeny, in terror, "what shall we do?"
"Let us go at once," said Kate, "those men are intoxicated."
They started together over the fields, but the men's long strides gained upon them at every step.
"I say, my dear," hiccoughed one, laying his big hand on Kate's shoulder, "you musn't run away, you know. By George! you're a pretty girl! give us a kiss!"
He put his arms round her waist. Only for an instant; the next, with all the blood of all the Dantons flushing her cheeks, she had sprung back and struck him a blow in the face that made him reel. The blood started from the drunken soldier's nose, and he stood for a second stunned by the surprise blow; the next, with an imprecation, he would have caught her, but that something caught him from behind, and held him as in a vise. A big dog had come over the fields in vast bounds, and two rows of formidable ivory held the warrior fast. The dog was not alone; his master, a tall and stalwart gentleman, was beside the frightened girls, with his strong grasp on the other soldier's collar.
"You drunken rascal!" said the owner of the dog, "you shall get the black hole for this to-morrow. Tiger, my boy, let go." The dog with a growl released his hold. "And now be off, both of you, or my dog shall tear you into mince-meat!"
The drunken ruffians shrunk away discomfited, and Eeny held out both her hands to their hero.
"Oh, Doctor Danton! What should we have done without you?"
"I don't know," said the Doctor. "You would have been in a very disagreeable predicament, I am afraid. It is hardly safe for young ladies to venture so far from the village unattended, while these drunken soldiers are quartered here."
"I often came alone before," said Eeny, "and no one molested me. Let me make you acquainted with my sister--Kate, Doctor Danton."
Kate held out her hand with that bewitching smile of hers.
"Thank you and Tiger very much. I was not aware I had a namesake in St. Croix."
"He is Grace's brother," said Eeny, "and he is only here on a visit--he is just from Germany."
Kate bowed, patting Tiger's big head with her snowflake of a hand.
"This is another friend we have to thank," she said. "How came you to be so opportunely at hand, Doctor Danton?"
"By the merest chance. Tiger and I take our morning constitutional along these desolate fields and flats. I'll have these fellows properly punished for their rudeness."
"No, no," said Kate, "let them go. It is not likely to happen again. Besides," laughing and blushing, "I punished one of them already, and Tiger came to my assistance with the other."
"You served him right," said the Doctor. "If you will permit me, Miss Danton, I will escort you to the village."
"Come home with us," said Eeny, "we will just be in time for luncheon, and I know you want to see Grace."
"A thousand thanks, Mademoiselle--but no--not this morning."
Kate seconded the invitation; but Doctor Danton politely persisted in refusing. He walked with them as far as St. Croix, then raised his hat, said good-bye, whistled for Tiger, and was gone.
The young ladies reached the hall in safety, in time to brush their hair before luncheon, where, of course, nothing was talked of but their adventure and their champion.
"By George! if I catch these fellows, I'll break every bone in their drunken skins," cried the irate Captain. "A pretty fix you two would have been in, but for the Doctor. I'll ride down to the parsonage, or whatever you call it, immediately after luncheon, and bring him back to dinner, will he nill he--the Curé, too, if he'll come, for the Curé is a very old friend."
Captain Danton was as good as his word. As soon as luncheon was over, he mounted his horse and rode away, humming a tune. Kate stood on the steps, with the pale November sunlight gilding the delicate rose-bloom cheeks, and making an aureole round the tinsel hair watching him out of sight. Eeny was clinging round her as usual, and Grace stopped to speak to her on her way across the hall.
"You ought to go and practise, Eeny. You have not touched the piano to-day, and to-morrow your teacher comes."
"Yes, Eeny," said Kate, "go attend to your music. I am going upstairs, to my room."
She smiled, kissed her, opened the parlour door, pushed her in, and ran up the broad staircase. Not to her own room, though, but along the quiet corridor leading to the green baize door. The key of that door was in her pocket; she opened it, locked it behind her, and was shut up with the, as yet, invisible Mr. Richards.
Eeny practised conscientiously three hours. It was then nearly five o'clock, and the afternoon sun was dropping low in the level sky. She rose up, closed the piano, and went in search of her sister. Upstairs and down stairs and in my lady's chamber, but my lady was nowhere to be found. Grace didn't know where she was. Eunice, the rosy English maid, didn't know. Eeny was perplexed and provoked. Five o'clock struck, and she started out in the twilight to hunt the grounds--all in vain. She gave it up in half an hour, and came back to the house. The hall lamps were lighted upstairs and down, and Eeny, going along the upper hall, found what she wanted. The green baize door was unlocked, and her sister Kate came out, relocked it, and put the key in her pocket.
Eeny stood still, looking at her, too much surprised to speak. While she had been hunting everywhere for her, Kate had been closeted with the mysterious invalid all the afternoon.
"Time to dress for dinner, I suppose, Eeny," she said looking at her watch. "One must dress, if papa brings company. Did you see Eunice? Is she in my room?"
"I don't know. Have you been in there with Mr. Richards all the afternoon?"
"Yes; he gets lonely, poor fellow! Run away and dress."
Eunice was waiting in her young lady's boudoir, where the fire shone bright, the wax candles burned, the curtains were drawn, and everything looked deliciously comfortable. Kate sank into an easy-chair, and Eunice took the pins out of the beautiful glittering hair, and let it fall in a shining shower around her.
"What dress will you please to wear, miss?"
"The black lace, I think, since there is to be company, and the pearls."
She lay listlessly while Eunice combed out the soft, thick hair, and twisted it coronet-wise, as she best liked to wear it. She stood listless while her dress was being fastened, her eyes misty and dreamy, fixed on the diamond ring she wore. Very lovely she looked in the soft, rich lace, pale pearls on the exquisite throat; and she smiled her approval of Eunice's skill when it was all over.
"That will do, Eunice, thank you. You can go now."
The girl went out, and Kate sank back in her chair, her blue eyes, tender and dreamy, still fixed on the fire. Drifting into dream-land, she lay twisting her flashing diamond round and round on her finger, and heedless of the passing moments. The loud ringing of the dinner-bell aroused her, and she arose with a little sigh from her pleasant reverie, shook out her lace flounces, and tripped away down stairs.
They were all in the dining-room when she entered--papa, Eeny, Grace and strangers--Doctor Danton and a clerical-looking young man, with a pale scholarly face and penetrating eyes, and who was presented as Father Francis.
"The Curé couldn't come," said the Captain. "A sick call. Very sorry. Capital company, the Curé. Why can't people take sick at reasonable hours, Father Francis?"
"Ask Doctor Danton," said Father Francis. "I am not a physician--of the bodies of men."
"Don't ask me anything while the first course is in progress," said the Doctor. "You ought to know better. I trust you have quite recovered from your recent fright, Miss Danton."
"A Danton frightened!" exclaimed her father. "The daughter of all the Dantons that ever fought and fell, turn coward! Kate, deny the charge!"
"Miss Danton is no coward," said the Doctor. "She gave battle like a heroine."
Kate blushed vividly.
"As you are strong, be merciful," she said. "I own to being so thoroughly frightened that I shall never go there alone again. I hope, my preserver, Herr Tiger, is well."
"Quite well. Had he known I was coming here, he would doubtless have sent his regards."
"Who is Herr Tiger?" asked the Captain.
"A big Livonian blood-hound of mine, and my most intimate friend, with the exception of Father Francis here."
"Birds of a feather," said the young priest. "Not that I class myself with Doctors and blood-hounds. You should have allowed Tiger to give those fellows a lesson they would remember, Danton. Their drunken insolence is growing unbearable."
Dinner went on and ended. The ladies left the dining-room; the gentlemen lingered, but not long.
Kate was at the piano entrancing Eeny, and Grace sat at her crochet. Miss Danton got up and made tea, and the young Doctor lay back in an arm-chair talking to Eeny, and watched, with half-closed eyes, the delicate hands floating deftly along the fragile china cups.
"Give us some music, Kate," her father said, when it was over. "Grace, put away your knitting, and be my partner in a game of whist. Father Francis and the Doctor will stand no chance against us."
The quartet sat down. Kate's hands flew up and down the shining octaves of her piano, and filled the room with heavenly harmony, the waves of music that ebbed, and flowed, and fascinated. She played until the card party broke up, and then she wheeled round on her stool.
"Who are the victors?" she asked.
"We are," said the Doctor. "When I make up my mind to win, I always win. The victory rests solely with me."
"I'll vouch for your skill in cheating," said Grace. "Father Francis, I am surprised that you countenance such dishonest proceedings."
"I wouldn't in any one but my partner," said the young priest, crossing over to the piano. "Don't cease playing, Miss Danton. I am devotedly fond of music, and it is very rarely indeed I hear such music as you have given us to-night. You sing, do you not?"
"Sing!" exclaimed her father. "Kate sings like a nightingale. Sing us a Scotch song, my dear."
"What shall it be, papa?"
"Anything. 'Auld Robin Gray,' if you like."
Kate sang the sweet old Scottish ballad with a pathos that went to every heart.
"That is charming," said Father Francis. "Sing for me, now, Scots wha hae."
She glanced up at him brightly; it was a favourite of her own, and she sang it for him as he had never heard it sung before.
"Have you no favourite, Doctor Danton?" she asked, turning to him with that dangerous smile of hers. "I want to treat all alike."
"Do you sing 'Hear me, Norma'?"
Her answer was the song. Then she arose from the instrument, and Father Francis pulled out his watch.
"What will the Curé think of us!" he exclaimed; "half-past eleven. Danton, get up this instant and let us be off."
"I had no idea it was so late," said the doctor, rising, despite the Captain's protest. "Your music must have bewitched us, Miss Danton."
They shook hands with the Captain and departed.
Grace and Eeny went upstairs at once. Kate was lingering still in the drawing-room when her father came back from seeing his guests off.
"A fine fellow, that young doctor," said the Captain, in his hearty way; "a remarkably fine fellow. Don't you think so, Kate?"
"He is well-bred," said Kate, listlessly. "I think I prefer Father Francis. Good-night, papa."
She kissed her father and went slowly up to her room. Eunice was there waiting to undress her, and Kate lay back in an arm chair while the girl took down and combed out her long hair. She lay with half-closed eyes, dreaming tenderly, not of this evening, not of Dr. Danton, but of another, handsomer, dearer, and far away. _