Part 9 (1/2)
”h.e.l.lo, Papa!” Beryl called out casually.
Torilla scrambled to her feet and kissed her uncle affectionately.
”It is very nice to see you again, Torilla,” the Earl said with a note of genuine affection in his voice.
”It is lovely to be back, Uncle Hector.”
”Surely by now your father is tired of burying himself in the wilds of nowhere?” the Earl suggested.
”He is working too hard, Uncle Hector.”
”Then tell him to come back here. The Vicar of Wheathampstead is retiring soon. It is a good inc.u.mbency and I am quite prepared to add a few hundreds to the stipend if your father will take it on.”
”That is very kind of you, Uncle Hector.”
”Tell him it is his for the asking. I have missed you, Torilla, and you are a good influence on Beryl which is more than some people are.”
He walked from the room as he spoke and Beryl made a little grimace.
”What does he mean by that?” Torilla asked.
”He hates most of my friends. He thinks they are fast and improper, which indeed they are, but they are certainly more amusing than the old fuddy-duddies Papa likes to entertain.”
”Do you really a like all the people you a meet at Carlton House?” Torilla asked a little hesitantly.
Beryl smiled at her.
”Some of them are fantastic! You wonder where the Prince could find such extraordinary people. But the worst are the members of the aristocracy like the Marquis of Queensbury who is absolutely famous for his amorous indiscretions!”
She laughed at the expression on Torilla's face and added, ”The wicked Barrymore brothers are horrors of the worst description, you would be appalled at the things they do.”
”I think I would be a frightened of people like that.”
”It will be amusing to see what effect they have on you,” Beryl laughed. ”You will meet them all when we go to London next week.”
Torilla looked at her questioningly and Beryl went on, ”I have just decided, Torilla, that I shall present you to the Beau Monde. It will not only be fun to see what you think of it, but also to watch what they think of you! I don't believe any of them have ever met anybody who is really good!”
”You make me embarra.s.sed,” Torilla exclaimed.
”It is true,” Beryl said. ”You are good a you always were a while I am the opposite. I want to be bad. Not wicked, like the Barrymores, just bad enough to enjoy all the things I ought not to.”
”You are not bad!” Torilla contradicted loyally. ”And anyway, dearest, once you are married it will be very different.”
Beryl did not answer and Torilla suddenly had the uncomfortable feeling that on the contrary perhaps it would be worse.
If the Marquis was as wicked as she thought him to be, would he not drive Beryl, who had always been impulsive, into doing things that she might afterwards regret?
Torilla suddenly felt very apprehensive, then she s.h.i.+ed away from her own thoughts.
Beryl talked a lot of nonsense, but undoubtedly she would continue to be just as sweet, kind and generous as before, although it was to be admitted, susceptible to flattery.
'And who could blame her?' Torilla wondered, 'when she is so beautiful a so amazingly beautiful.'
She remembered her mother saying once, ”Beryl is like a picture by Rubens a all brilliant colours. You, my darling, are an exquisite watercolour that creeps into one's soul so that you find it difficult to think of any other painting as being so lovely.”
Torilla thought at the time that her mother was only consoling her because Beryl attracted so much more attention than she did.
Now she thought that Beryl was, in fact, with her gaiety, her sparkle and her vivacity very like a brilliant breathtaking picture by a great master.
Then, as if she wished to change the subject, Torilla asked, ”What shall we do with all these flowers? The lilies are perfect!”
She picked up a big bunch of them as she spoke and looked down at them, their fragrance seeming to have a mystical quality about them.
”You had better have those put in your bedroom if you like them so much,” Beryl replied, ”but throw the rest away. There are too many flowers in the house as it is.”
”Oh, no! You must not do that!” Torilla exclaimed.
She had always thought of flowers as being alive and liable to suffer as much as human beings could, and she hated it when the servants forgot to water them or they were thrown away before they were dead.
”I will see to them,” she said, knowing that Beryl was not listening.
There was the sound of voices in the hall and her cousin started to her feet.
”It is Gallen!” she exclaimed. ”I thought he would come today! Oh, how exciting! Now you can see him.”
She rushed across the room to pull open the door.
”Gallen! Gallen!”
Torilla heard her exclaim.
”How wonderful that you are here! I have been so looking forward to seeing you!”
A man's deep voice replied, but Torilla could not hear what he said.
Standing with the lilies in her arms she was steeling herself for the moment that made her whole body feel tense.
The horror the Marquis of Havingham evoked in her was like a live coal burning in her breast.
She hated him a she hated him so intensely that she thought if it was within her power she would strike him dead.
Last night, when she had gone to bed, she had prayed with a fervency she had never used before that something would prevent him from marrying Beryl.
How could she allow anyone she loved marry a man who would commit such crimes against human beings as the Marquis was committing against the miners and their families?
She had always pictured him as fat and gross with lines of debauchery under his eyes.