Amethyst: The Story of a Beauty

“I have been looking for you everywhere. Where did you vanish to?” said Lucian, in a tone of boyish vexation, that sounded utterly trivial in the anxious ears of the others.

“Well, I thought that you would look for me, if you wanted me,” said Amethyst; “and, you see, here I am.”

It was a not unnatural girlish retort; but it wanted to Sylvester’s ear the crystal candour of Amethyst’s ordinary utterances.

“I have been having the pleasure of making Miss Haredale’s acquaintance,” said Miss Verrequers, pleasantly.

“We are going to find my mother,” said Amethyst, “because Miss Verrequers wishes to settle a day to come over to Cleverley. Will you come, Lucian?”

He walked on by her side, a little rebuked, and, as it were, kept down by her manner. But, as they all followed in a stream, Sylvester saw her turn her head aside for a moment, and a look swept over her face, of utter misery and shame, a look gone even while he noted it.

The rest of the day was for him like a miserable dream. He thought of every kind of excuse, of the free and easy manners of great houses and fashionable folk, of childish freedom, and girlish coquetry, but every theory degraded Amethyst’s stately maidenhood, and none fitted the despair in her eyes. He could hardly bear his part with his father and aunt, as they went home, in the discussion of the party, and Mr Riddell noticed his silence and preoccupation, over their evening pipe.

“Not such good company as usual to-night, my dear boy,” he said.

“No, dad, I dare say not Father,” he added, as he turned to go up-stairs, “if ever you pray for your stray lambs, do so to-night. There’s trouble ahead, though you might not think it.”

“Ah?” said Mr Riddell, with a long inquiring intonation. “But, Syl, I know my lambs by name, and I forget none of them; no more when their feet are in the green pastures, than when they are wandering on the mountain.”

“Thank you!” said Sylvester, with unconscious fervour.

Mr Riddell looked at him as he hurried up-stairs, and, in his prayers that night for those in trouble and distress of mind, he did not forget his well-beloved son.

Chapter Twelve

As it was

The letter, which Amethyst had posted with so much distress of mind, had been answered by a little note from Major Fowler, offering to take charge of the amethysts, if they could be privately handed over to him at Loseby. He would make the opportunity, he said, if Miss Haredale would watch for indications of the right moment.

Amethyst approved of selling the amethysts, and, hateful as was the secrecy with regard to Lucian, she braced herself up to the effort, with a sense of martyrdom. Lady Haredale contrived to work on her feelings, and bewilder her mind, and would have influenced her still further, if she had understood better the views that would influence an innocent and high-minded girl. Lady Haredale, with all her experience, and all her fine ladyhood, had the delight of a school-girl in sentimental mysteries. As she believed all her relations with “Tony” to be quite innocent, not to say praiseworthy, she confided much of them to Amethyst, finding even her daughter a better confidant than no one. Otherwise, no doubt, the affair could have been managed in a simpler fashion.

Amethyst listened, and half believed that her mother had been Tony’s good angel, but that stupid conventionalities obliged all this caution. She was so much puzzled by Una, that her mother’s light treatment of the matter seemed to her possibly the best and wisest. It was easier to fall back on the idea that Una talked exaggerated nonsense, than to recognise that Lady Haredale did so.

She managed, when at Loseby, to follow Major Fowler’s lead with a skill and self-possession that surprised herself; and which made him smile, and think to himself that none of Lady Haredale’s daughters found a little plotting unnatural.

But, when she found herself alone with him in the turfed walk, she froze up into shy dignity.

“My mother desired me to say that you had shown her so much kindness, that she ventures to trouble you once more,” she said; so translating Lady Haredale’s message – “Tell dear old Tony that he is always my resource, and I know he’ll never fail me.”

Major Fowler looked at her curiously. He did not quite see why she was put forward for what Lady Haredale must have known would be a painful interview, unless her mother thought that her fresh beauty would make him waver in his purpose, and soften what he meant to say. He did not know how far she comprehended the errand on which she had been sent. But the easiest course was to take it for granted that she understood it all as well as Una would have done, and had been chosen as a messenger because her secrecy could be better depended upon.

“You see, my dear young lady,” said Major Fowler, twirling his moustaches, as he walked close beside her, “bachelor pleasures must come to an end. I am no end grateful to Lady Haredale for all she did for a poor lonely fellow, giving one the run of the house, and treating one like a – cousin. Any little service I could render, was quite part of the plan, as you may say. But now– it wouldn’t be possible.”

“My mother understood that you consented to – to manage about the jewels,” said Amethyst, abruptly.

“Your precious namesakes? Oh yes, I’ll manage that little piece of business. But I am afraid the other request in her letter is – well – a slight anachronism – if you understand?”

His tone jarred intensely on Amethyst, she could not tell whether it was purposely offensive or only jesting. But she felt that he meant to make her understand – something.

“I did not know that my mother had asked you to do anything else,” she said.

“No? – That she asked me once more to act as her banker? Under present circumstances I must regret to be unable to do so. Of course it’s been an honour and a pleasure; but you will, I am sure, convince her ladyship, that I must resign the situation, its pleasures and emoluments, and – its responsibilities.”

“But, if the amethysts are sold – perhaps she might be able to pay you the money back?” said Amethyst, with childish directness.

He looked at her scared face, he heard the distress in her tone, and answered with a different accent.

“Oh no, my dear Miss Haredale, no. – That is a closed score.”

“If I could pay the money, I would not close it,” suddenly exclaimed the girl, clenching her hands in their delicate gloves. “You – you bought the right to insult us – and – you have done harm for which no money can pay! My mother does believe in you,” she went on – “she thinks you are very good, and that you are fond of us and a real friend. She trusted you with my little sisters, and you made jokes with them, that you knew were not right; and now you break it all off, because you think Miss Verrequers will blame you, if she hears. If you love her, you would like to tell her the truth. My mother is not selfish, she was glad to hear you had good fortune, though she knew that she would miss you, though she is very sorry to part with you. You should not look like that, and speak in that voice, when you speak of her to me.”

“No, Miss Haredale, I should not,” said Major Fowler. “Nor should you have been sent on this errand. Unselfish! Good heavens! Give me the packet, and I will make all further communications direct to Lady Haredale. I assure you – ” and he looked full at the girl, and pulled his moustaches hard, while he continued – “The situation is a little unusual, but I have the very greatest respect for Lady Haredale, and all her family. It’s all perfectly square, I assure you. Don’t distress yourself.”

He bent closely over her as he took the packet from her hand, and before she could answer, they both became aware of the presence of Sylvester Riddell, and Amethyst, confused and ashamed, feeling herself to blame for losing her temper and her dignity, hardly knowing whether he was very kind or very hateful, had to pull herself together and play her part. So well she did it, that Major Fowler muttered to himself as he turned away, “That’s a good girl – but she’d soon be a bad one, if she was left to her mother.” Amethyst herself was surprised to find that there was a kind of excitement in managing well, and, even when she was alone with Lucian, her feeling was rather that of pushing aside the hateful burden, than of wishing to confide it to him. She wanted to think of him, not of her life apart from him. Mutual confidence is a plant of slower growth than mutual love. Besides, though she could not have put it definitely to herself, she had an instinctive dread of his stern clear judgment, and would not have had him guess at Una’s folly for the world.

The real reason, therefore, why she was unwilling to be absorbed by her lover, was her desire to keep Una out of dangerous interviews; she was uneasy if both she and Major Fowler were out of sight. It was in search of her that she came into the conservatory, and almost immediately finding Miss Verrequers, and seeing Major Fowler come forward to join her, she never imagined that Una was far cleverer than herself at such a game, and had managed a moment’s fatal meeting and parting, so immediately after Amethyst had passed through the conservatory, that the two spectators, whose minds were full of the preconceived idea that Amethyst was there, and who were not accustomed to attribute so womanly an appearance to Una, never dreamed of the mistake they were making.

Conflicting feelings wound Amethyst up to a kind of defiance, and when she came home, she repeated to her mother almost word for word what “Tony” had said to her.

“Ah,” said Lady Haredale, “poor fellow! He was angry because I did not speak to him myself! But I think it’s right to be so prudent! And besides, if my lord heard about the debts just now, he would be so angry. He doesn’t mind getting into debt himself; but he does so dislike my borrowing money, even from an intimate friend.”

Amethyst could have said “I am glad to hear it.” She was more miserable than she knew, as she lay awake in the summer morning, thinking, not of her approaching wedding, but of the miserable complications in which she had been so suddenly involved.

Maidenly instinct, all the upright impulses of a good and truthful girl, revolted against the situation. Still, it was “mother,” and perhaps things might in this one instance be different from what they seemed.

She meant to behave as usual in the morning, but the radiant happiness that had of late been usual with her, could not be assumed at will.

She went out into the garden after breakfast to gather roses, and as she walked along the path under the cypress hedge, stopping here and there to pick and to admire, a step in the wood made her start and look up. It was not Lucian, but his mother.

She crossed the stile with the slow, but secure movements of a country lady, no longer slim and active, but to whom stiles have never ceased to be familiar, and approached Amethyst, who ran to meet her with a pretty look of welcome.

Mrs Leigh was a good woman. Deeply as she resented what she believed to be her son’s betrayal, to save the reputation, and, if possible, touch the conscience of this eighteen-year-old girl, to give her every chance of explaining herself, was her firm intention. She had come herself and alone to face a most painful interview, before saying one word to Lucian on the subject.

“Oh, Mrs Leigh,” said Amethyst, “you have just come in time to have some roses!”

“I think you must know why I have come, Amethyst,” said Mrs Leigh, who was too sincere a person, and in too nervous a mood, to fence.

There was guilt in a moment on Amethyst’s face, and guilt, though not her own, in her heart; for her thoughts flew to her mother’s secret, innocent as she felt herself to be.

“No,” she said, “but I am glad to see you.”

She tried to keep her secret, and when Amethyst was in any way playing a part, she played it with her mother’s soft tones and languid grace.

“Amethyst,” said Mrs Leigh, “there is no use in concealment. You shall tell me your own story; but I must ask you to explain your – interview with Major Fowler. Tell me the truth, my dear, I have come first to ask yourself. It is no hearsay, I saw your parting with him.”

“I dare say you did – what then?” said Amethyst. “So did Mr Riddell. There is nothing – what should there be to explain?”

“Yes, Amethyst, I know Mr Riddell saw you. But oh, my dear, what if my poor Lucian had seen you then?”