CHAPTER VI. AT CHETWYND PARK.

Taranaki Herald, Volume XXI, Issue 2107, 14 June 1873, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER VI. AT CHETWYND PARK.

While Gilbert Monk had beon so successfully playing the part assigned to him, and had ingratiated himself iv the esteem of the youthful Marchioness, his sistor had been far moro active and no less successful in the role sho had undertaken. In the first place, she had created in tho household a strong feeling against Lord Chetwynd's girl bride, and this sbo accounted a highly important stop in her evil task. Having communicated the fact of Lord Chetwynd's marriage to tho bailiff, tho steward, and tho butler, through Gilbert Monk, as recorded, sho summoned the housekeeper to a private conference and imparted the news to her. Miss Monk was deadly pale, and the glitter of her eyes and ,the -restless agitation of her manner proclaimed that she had received a cruel and unexpected blow. She told the story, reading- aloud a portion of his lordship*s letter, with quivoring voico and averted face. Mrs. Skew en, the elderly housekeeper, a ladylike woman, round and rosy in appearance, who had occupied her present position some twenty years, roceivod the tidings in almost incredulous surprise. The engagement of the Marquis to Miss Monk was generally known, but the fact that this engagement had been broken — and by the lady herself in a moment of anger r—was not known, " It must be some horrid mistake, Miss Monk," exclaimed the good woman. " My lord is playing some cruel just, though it's not like him. But then no Chetwynd was ever guilty of a dishonorable act, and my lord is incapable of putting- a public slight upon a lady,, and that lady one he expected to marry. He is polite to the poorest yvoman on the estate. He could not be insulting to you." " You have heard the letter," replied Hiss Monk drearily. "It is only too true that I am publicly jilted by my botrothed husband, and that I shall be pitied and - stared at and gossiped about for the rost of my life. Oh, Heaven, it is horrible ! But Lord Chetwynd must not be blamed, Mrs. Skewer. He has been led away from honor and duty by a sudden, mad infatuation for this young lady — if she is a lady by birth* — and I pray he may never regret it. Let there be no gossiping in the servants' hall upon the matter. As for me, to leave the Park now would be to proclaim the f«ct that I have been jilted. I can only take the sting out of all the gossip by remaining here for the present, and so Loi'd Chetwynd seems to think, for he urges me- to stay. I will even take charge of the festive preparations in honor of the bride. No ono shall say that I am heart-broken, or that my appearance declares that I have been badly treated," Mrs. Skewer was full of admiration for a spirit so self-sacrificing, so proud, so womanly, as sho enthusiastically and tearfully declared. Miss Monk made same further allusion to Lord Chotwynd's " low-born bride," stating her belief that tho Marchioness was the daughter of a rndo fisher of St. Kilda, and had been adopted by the pastor of the island on account of her beauty, and soon after dismissed the housekeeper and withdrew into an inner chamber, and to tho presence of her old East Indian nurse Ragee. Mrs. Skewer, in all honesty and innocence of soul, spread throughout the household the false impressions she had herself received. Miss Monk was believed to have been disgracefully treated by Lord Chetwynd, and as all his dependents loved him the blame was laid, not upon him, but upon Bernice, against whom a smothered hostility was thns awakened from the first, and this hostility was deepened with the idea that the young Marchioness was "lowborn, and Consequently no better than the lowest of the servants." Satisfied that the elements of discord were in play, Miss Monk, with the air of a martyr, which was by no means assumed, superintended the arrangements for the reception of the bridal pair. She summoned Mr. Sanders, the bailiff, a gentleman by birth and education, who lived with his family in a handsome villa on the estate, to a private conference, and begged him' to have notices of the marriage published in the London and local papers, and to have flower arches erected and other festive demonstrations prepared in time for the arrival of the newly married pair. * * The Marquis had requested Miss Monk, in hi 3 letter, to refurnish a certain suit of rooms'which his mother had occupied, and bad specified that the prevailing colour of the new furniture should be crimson. Miss Monk made* -a trip up to London, aud brought back witlj her upholsterers, who, under her directions, speedily transformed the great, cold-looking chambers into bowers of warmth and brightness. The pale yellow draperies at the windows were replaced with softly flowing curtains of crimson satin over lace. The pale-hued carpet gave place to a heavy velvet pil&, of shaded crimson. The chairs, couches, and ottomans were all upholstered in velvet of warm, purplish crimson, of the same tint as the curtains, and choice pictures framed in gilt hung against the pale- tinted walls. Miss Monk filled the bay window with flowers, and causod a fire to be lighted daily in the grate, that all dampness might be dispelled from the long unused rooms. The bedroom, dressing-room, and bathroom wero refitted to accord with the boudoir, aud the apartments were all ready

for their oxpected occupants sorao three ' days in advanco of their arrival. A telegraphic mossago to Miss Mouk announced the hour of tho coming of tho bridal party. Mr. Sanders, the bailiff, roceived a similar despatch, and in good timo set out in the barouche for Eastbourno, a drive of ten miles, followed, by a spring cart which was to bring back Lady Chotwynd's maid and luggage. Tho servants wero all in now liveries of green and gold, and woro bridal favours on thoir coats. Miss Mouk watched the imposing oquipago as it dashed down tho avenue with a bitter pang of onv}' and regret. But for hor own jealous anger of months ago, this baroucho might have been proceeding to Eastbourne to bring her back from tho station upon her return from hor bridal tour. The thought nearly maddonod hor, and sho glided away to her own room with a dosperate soul and a face of chalk-like pallor. "I am well punished for my wild folly in breaking my engagement," she muttered. " Bat I could not believe he would take me at my word. And now I must mako ready to receive another in tho position I mean to occupy. Oh, this is bitterer than d#th !" She fought with hor rage and her despei'ation until she had gained a despairing calmness, and then she went into her dressing-room to prepare her toilet. Tho day was chilly, with a keen broczo from the Channel. A fire had been kindled in Miss Monk's dressing-room, and she went up to the hoarth, and stooping held her hands over tho blaze, shivering as with an ague. Liko all nativo East Indians she loved warmth, and delighted to bask in the sun or the firelight as a cat does. But the chill upon her now came from within rather than withont. Her haggard eyes, no longer half shut, but wild and glittering, roved about tho room. She was alono, but she had barely discovered tho fact when the door opened, and her old nurse and solo attendant came into the room. "Is it you, Ragee ?" inquired Miss Monk listlessly. "It is timo to dress, I suppose. But how can I dress to meet Ms wife ?" and hor tone grow suddonly fierce. "I will not — I will not " " Oh, hush, missy," interrupted Ragee soothingly. " There you go into one of those fits of passion that aro wasting your strength and killing you. You have scarcely slept at night since the ill news came, and you rage like a mad woman whenever you are alono. Are you going to be weak and quietly sink into the place of dependent—you who have tho beauty of a queen, my darling ? Or will you rise up and bo > mistress of yourself and the fate of this lows-born Lady Chetwynd? Bah!" I see yon have really no spirit. There is no obstacle between you and Lord Chetwynd that your own hand — or mme — cannot set i aside." I The old woman came nearer and bent ' forward her withered, brown face, thrusting it under the drooping one of Miss Monk, and tho Hindoo's eyes shot strange fii'e into the orbs of her mistress. Sylvia Monk sprang upright like a bow from which tho strain is loosened. Tho red firo leaped to her eyes ; the red stain to her cheeks and lips. "You aro light, Ragoe," she exclaimed. "I am childish to fret at an obstacloinmy way which can easily be removed. But I will be weak no longer. Dress me. I must look my best. I will not appear haggard by thesido of Chetwynd's young bride, uor shall her beauty dim mine. Quickly, Ragee — my tnosi becoming dress." The Hindoo woman smiled approval, and hastened to obey. She was old and tbin, with a skin liko ancient parchment, seamed with wrinkles, and of dark brown hue approaching to blackness. Her small eyes were liko polished jet beads. Her scanty hair was hidden by a red turban, and she wore a clinging gown of Indian silk, and sandals on hor feet. She was a weird, witch-like woman, and was regarded by the servants at the Park with a mysterious awe and fear. As Hindoo ayahs are not uncommon in England in tho families of returned East Indians, her attendants upon Miss Monk, who had beon her nursling, excited no comment, scarcely any surprise. She proceeded to dress her mistress, and when she had finished, exclaimed exnltantly: " There ! Lord Chetwynd won't bring a handsomer woman to Chetwynd Park, and he'll be sick at heart of his fisher-girl when he sees you, missy. Why, you look like a queen !" Tho comparison was not inapt. Miss Monk was robed in purple velvet of a warm shade, which admirably relieved the swarthiness of her complexion. Her dress was made with a court train, which was trimmed with ermine, and trailed in heavy voluminous waves on tho carpet. Her corsage, open at the throat, was edged with a narrow band of ermine, above which rose a filmy frill of point lace. A fall of similar lace shaded her bands. Her waist was encircled by a belt of flexible gold, ami a .string- of rubies adorned her neck. Her hair shaded heavily hor ser-pent-like forehead, and she wore a quaint tiara of golden stars. The chalky whiteness of hor face still remained unchanged, save in the cheeks, where a glowing red was burning ; but the fiery spark glittered in hor dull, black eyos, and tho serpent grace of her movements was more manifest than ever. She was indeed like the cobra, beautiful, sinuous, undulating — deadly ! " Hark !" sho whispered, upraising hor hand in an unconsciously theatrical gesture. "Do you hear them ? The bells of Chefcwynd aro ringing the bridal I peal. Tho sound is maddening. No, no, | don't speak to me, Ragee. I am calm. '

I shall not givo way to one of my white rages. I cannot givo way at this moment, when I nood my self-possession. I must be ready to receivo tho bridal pair." Sho gave utterance to a strango, mfrthloss laugh that was singularly chilling and repulsive. Old Ragco crossed tho floor, unlocked and opened a massive Indian cabinet, and brought forth a gcblot half filled with a colorless liquid, which she presented to her mistress. It was a soothing draught, and Miss Monk had had frequent recourse to it of late. Sho drank of it now, and Ragee put away tho goblet and locked tho cabinet, putting tho keys in hor bosom. Miss Monk, after a few words spoken in tho Hindostanee tongue with her attendant, glided from her rooms into tho great central hall of tho mansion, and crossed to Lady Chotwynd's apartments. A fire was burning in each of the rooms. A pallid sort of sunlight came in at the curtained windows. The waters of tho Channol, white and restless, were visible, and upon thorn, the air being clear, could bo seen far out the white sails of fishing craft and nearer, at tho water's edge, were tho gay Swiss looking boat and bath houses. The grim rocks of apoi'tion of they.coast, tho velvety lawn between the mansion and the sea, tho giant treos, and the fallow-deor, mado up a picture such as Bernieo had nover seen in all hor young life, and it was a picture that Sylvia Monk's eyes had always loved to dwell on. It was strangely distasteful to her now. She turned from the windows and passed into tho dressing-room, a spacious chamber with crimson couches, low fauteuils, an American rocker, and tall mirrors stretching from floor to ceiling, with other mirrors in frames capable of being moved about with pleasure. The bed-chamber was beyond, and might have beon tho sleoping-room of a Roman Princess. Tho floor was paved with marble of dazzling whiteness. Before the low carved French bedstead, with its canopy of filmy lace, and its linen exquisitely embroidered with the Chetwynd name and crest, and its coverlet of embroidered satin, and before the low silken couch and the hearth, were Pei'sian rugs of brilliant dye. The walls were faintly flushed with pink like the glow of sunrise. A few piotures of cabinet size — one of the Holy Family, one of a sleeping infant, and others suggestive of peacefnl innocence and of repose — hung on the walls. It was a large, luxurious room, the gem of the suite. Miss Monk passed out into the hall, consumed with envy and bitterness of spirit. All this might have been her own but for her own act. She hated herself, Bornico, Chetwynd, the whole world, in that moment of humiliation. She descended to the lowor hall. The joy bells of the little hamlot of Chetwynd-by-the-Sea, a mile distant, were still ringing a merry chime. The hamlet was owned by the Marqui3, and its population had turned out to do honor to his marriage. Tho villagers wero all coming to the Park to be feasted with beef and ale. An ox was to be barbecued and a cask of ale broached in honor of tho occasion, and there were to bo fireworks in the ovoniug. The villagers were beginning to arrive in the grounds, and tho servants wero assembled in the great inarblo hall. The butler, in his best suit, took charge of tho dozen male servants, and Mrs. Skewor, in her best gown and cap with pink ribbons, headed her array of cooks and housemaids, comprising- another dozen at least. A great hush fell upon the groups of servants as Miss Monk glided down the grand staircase. They all remembered that she was to have been Marchioness of Chetwynd, and they looked at her with curious and pitying eyos. But sho passed between the parallel ranks as not seeing thorn, and entorod tho drawing-room, closing the door behind her. The drawing-room was some fifty feet in length and proportionately high. The ceiling had been frescoed by au artist of genius ; the walls were pannelled with satin. The furniture which was new, was upholstered with gold colored satin, relieved with puffs of black velvet. The character of the room was grand and stately, and a beautiful harmony characterised all the appointments. Miss Monk proceeded to a recessed window and waited the coming of tho bridal pair. She had not long now to wait. The lodge gates were open, and presently the barouche came through them and into the avenue and rolled slowly in the shadow of the trees towards the great house. As tho vehicle approached the carriage porch, Miss Monk essayed to go out to meet tho new arrivals, but she was suddenly strengthless. Her courage had for the moment deserted her. Her breath came hot and quick ; hor eyes glared ; hor heart beat like the pounding of a hammor. She hoard the bridal party outer the hall ; sho heard the voice of Lord Chetwynd uttering a briof greeting to his household and introducing tho Lady of Chetwynd ; sho heard a faint cheer from the servants ; sho hoard footstops approaching the drawing-room. Thon she rose up, and by a supreme effort called a false smile to her faco and a welcoming look to her loathing oyes. The door opened and tho Marqnis came in with his bride. Sylvia Monk swept forward, that false smile on her lips, that false light in her eyes, and with a cry as of ecstacy she flung horself upon Lord Chetwynd's breast, exclaiming : " Oh, Roy, my brothor, welcome home !" Tho Marquis kissed her with a brother's fondness, and releasod her, just as Mr. Sanders and Gilbert Mouk appeared ah the door.

"Sylvia," said tho young lord, taking hor hand, " I have brought you a sister. It will mako mo happy to have you two, who aro both so dear to mo, lovo each other. Bornico, this is Sylvia whom you have so longed to seo — my dear sistor Sylvia." Miss Monk drew back and surveyed her successful rival in ono long, comprehensive gaze. Was it for this girl she had beon foi--gotten, sho askod horself — this girl without beauty, except in hor wondrous oyes aud hair ? Was this slender, unformed young croaturo mistress of Chotwynd Park ? Bernice looked up at her with an appealing gazo. Tho girl was dazzled by this splondid, swarthy woman, with her handsome face and regal attiro. " Won't you lovo me, SylviaJ 1 " she asked, in a ploading voice. "I have always wished for a sister. Will you bo • OH * mine r Miss Monk replied by taking the young bride in her arms and kissing her. Bernice returned the caress with interest, and Chetwyud smiled, believing that they wore already friends. "Let me take you up to your room Bornice," said Miss Monk, whon greetings had been exchanged and questions about the journoy from London had boon asked and answered. " You looked tired. You should lie down for a half-hour's rest before dinner." She drew Lady Chetwynd's arm in hers and led her from tho room, up stairs, to the bridal apartments. "Are these my rooms?" asked the youig Marchioness, in surprise and doligh. "They are lovely! How happy I slnll be here, Sylvia ! I may call you SyHa, may I not ? And you must call mo Bernice." "It's an odd name; at least it's not comnon," said Miss Monk. "Is it a Wela name ? I understand your naoa isWilsh." l l ' ] don't know to what country my nan* bolongs, but I suppose it's English," she cplied. "Mr. Gvvellan is Welsh, but he di not givo me my name. My own fathc gave it to me." " -ih, it is probably a family name then," said Miss Monk carelessly. "Is your papa iving, Bernice ?" " to— l don't know, I'll toll you all my sbry some day, Sylvia. It is not a happjone altogether, but I have hopes and deams of solving the mystery of it some ime. But lam happy now, happy and cmtent. You don't know how good Roy if' and the young wifo's lovely eyes filled nth sudden tears... "Ah, Sylvia, I mean obe a good wifo to him. I mean to synpathise with all his aspirations, to bocom) a part of his inner self, to be all in all b him, as he is to mo. You shall never legret that your brother married a namdess little nobody. I intend Roy shall b> proud of me." A sjastn of pain that was not unmai'ked by Beiuice passed over Sylvia's face. " We— wo will talk of all this later," said Jiiss Monk hoarsely. "You will want tc dress now. I will send your maid to you. I see that you brought one with you. lour luggage is in the dressingroom." Excuiing herself, Miss Monk hastily with drey. Bornce examined her rooms, pirouettod before her mirrors, looked from her windows, danced liko a very child upon the marble loor of her bedroom, and then with a sobering face but a joyous heart, flung herself on the hearth-rug of hor boudoir and enjoyed the warmth and firelight. Her maid, entering presently, found her thus. Lady Chetwynd rose leisurely, and dropped into a luxurious fauteuil. She was not willing that her maid, a French woman whom Lord Chetwynd had engaged for hor in London, upon the recommendation of an eldorly lady friend, should find her in such a childish attitude, the more especially as Fifine was a silly gossiping creature, whoso professional skill was expected to atone for a great many faults of her tcngue and brain. " Ah, madarae," said Fifine, with a long breath, ' its a grand place, this Chotwynd Park ! Such suites of rooms, such numbers of sorvants, such magnificence everywhere ! It's a grand thing to bo a rich milord. Shall jou dress now, my lady ?" Thebride assented with a little nod. " Aid what dress shall it be, my lady ?" asked Fifine. " I mot Miss Monk in tho hall, aid she sent me to you. Ah, she looks i queen in her velvet and ermino ! She is only my lord's step-sister? find they say, dowa in the servants' hall, that that's no rclatim at all, and that when my lord went awiy in his yacht ho was botrothed to hor, aid that ho played her false and jilted hoi, all becauso of a lovers' quarrel," continuel gossiping Fifine. "And the tall housejuad says that my lord loves her yet, and thathis pique will cost him clear. It's a tumult among tho servants, my lady, and they aro all Miss Monk's friends. You will discharge thorn all, I suppose ; is it not so, my lady ?" Bernia grew pale. The foolish gossip of tho thoughtless maid stabbed her cruelly. Miss Monk's singular beauty gained bj contrast with her own plainness. Roy had never told her a word of his betrothal to Sylvia. A great spasm of jealousy convulsed her passionate young heart. Yet she managed to say with a certain dignity : " You must not come to me with servants' gossip, Fifiue. I do not care to hear what is said in tho servants' hall. Attend to your duties when in my prcsonco, and your duty now is to dress me as soon as possible." Fifino's chattering- toncfiio was siloncod, and she proceeded to fulfill her task.

Bornice was soon dressed. Her attire I was of bridal whito, consisting- of a heavy I whito silk with point lace over-dress, and a fall set of the Chetwynd family diamonds, groat liquid monsuros of radiant light, which glittered on her arms, her neck, her breast; in hoi* ears, and above her streaming 1 waves of hair. Tho dark, patrician faco was still palo, but her brilliant eyes wore moro radiant and glowing than her diamonds. " Now you may go, FiQne," said Lady Chotwynd. "And— stay. Send someone to Lord Chotwynd and say to him that I desiro to see him." Fifiue departed on her orrand. "It is not so, that Roy was ever betrothod to Miss Monk," said Bernice to horself stormily. "Ho would have told mo. I shall ask him. I will know if ho married mo iv consequence of a lovers' quarrel." She awaited the coming of hor young husband in a breathless anxiety.