Roger Kyffin's Ward

The Colonel invited Harry to stop to dinner. It was more hurried than usual, because Lucy insisted that they should have dancing after it, to practise for the next day. Those were primitive days. Lynderton boasted of but one public conveyance, denominated the Fly, though it seldom moved out of a snail’s pace, except when the driver was somewhat tipsy, and hurrying back to obtain a second fare. Harry had been sent round a short time before dinner to invite several maiden ladies, with one or two other dames who were not able to attend the ball the following day, while three or four of the foreign officers had received an intimation that they would be welcome.

Dinner over, and the tables cleared away, the gay young party began tripping it merrily to the music of harpsichord, violin, and flageolet, played by the foreign officers. Lucy appeared in excellent health and spirits, in spite of the fatigue she had gone through in the morning. No one danced more eagerly or lightly after the first country dance. She and the young Baron stood up to perform their proposed minuet: every one remarked how lovely she looked, and how gracefully she moved. People forgot to watch the slides and bows of the young Frenchman; at least, some of the guests did, though he was rewarded for his exertions by the evident admiration of several of the young ladies.

“That young Tryon, who is dancing with Mabel Everard, considering he is an Englishman, acquits himself very well indeed,” observed the Dowager Countess of Polehampton, eyeing the young couple through her glass. “If any creature could make a man dance, Mabel Everard would do so. Do you admire her or her cousin most?”

“Really, your ladyship, they are both fine girls; it is difficult to decide between them,” answered Sir John Frodsham, an old beau who faithfully danced attendance on the Countess. “If I were a young man I might be called upon to decide the question, and then I should certainly have voted in favour of the heiress; but now Lady Frodsham puts that out of my power.”

“Oh, fie! Sir John, you men are all the same, money carries off the palm with young and old alike.”

Harry meantime was enjoying his dance with Mabel, caring very little what the Countess of Polehampton or Sir John Frodsham might say of him.

During that evening more than one could not help remarking the rich colour and the sparkling eyes of the heiress of Stanmore. Never had she looked so lovely; indeed, generally she carried off the palm from her cousin. The dance continued, the amateur musicians exerting themselves to the utmost; and everybody declared that if the present impromptu little party went off so well, that of the next day must be a great success. The Colonel was seated at the end of the room, paying attention to his more elderly guests, and occasionally saying a pleasant word or two to the young ones. Madam Everard kept moving about and acting the part of an attentive hostess. Frequently her nieces assisted her, when not actually engaged in dancing. There was a question to be decided as to what dance should next take place.

“Where is Lucy?” exclaimed Madam Everard, looking round. Lucy had left the room; some minutes passed, and she did not return. Madam Everard became anxious. Mabel was again dancing, or she would have sent her to look for her cousin. Madam Everard hastened from the ball-room; she went up-stairs, and met a servant by the way.

“Miss Everard went up into her room some time ago.”

Madam Everard hastened forward, telling the maid to follow.

The door was slightly open. There was no sound in the room – a lamp burned on the table; Madam Everard’s heart sank with dread. She looked round. Stretched on the floor lay her beloved niece in her gay ball dress, her countenance like marble, and blood flowing from her lips!

“She breathes, she breathes!” she said; and she and the maid lifted her on to the bed.

She had broken a blood-vessel. Madam Everard knew that at a glance: Lucy’s mother had done the same.

“Dr Jessop must be sent for immediately;” but Madam Everard did not wish to give the alarm to the rest of the guests. She would let the visitors depart, and allow those who were to remain in the house to go to their rooms before the sad intelligence was conveyed to them. She did all that could be done, and applied such restoratives as she believed would be effectual.

Immediately Paul Gauntlett threw himself on horseback, and galloped off to fetch Dr Jessop. He would not even stop to put a saddle on the horse’s back, and would have gone off with the halter.

Meantime Lucy returned to consciousness, and declared that she did not feel ill, only somewhat tired, and would like to go to sleep. The guests shortly began to take their departure. The maid-servants of the maiden ladies came with their pattens and hoods, and big cloaks, some with huge umbrellas in addition. There were footmen and footboys also, with many-coloured liveries, carrying huge stable lanterns to light their mistresses. They were generally employed in the service of the dowagers. The Fly was in requisition, but only for a select few.