Croker A Nine Days' Wonder

1. Auflage 2022
ISBN: 978-3-98744-921-5
Verlag: OTB eBook publishing
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, 220 Seiten

Reihe: Classics To Go

Excerpt: A Tall grey-haired soldier, with a professionally straight back, stood looking out of an upper window in the Rag one wet October afternoon. His hands were buried in his pockets, and his face was clothed with an expression of almost mediaeval gloom. The worldly wise mask their emotions so that those who run may not read, but Colonel Doran had lived so many years among a primitive race that he made no effort to conceal his feelings, and all the world was welcome to see that he was bored to death. To tell the truth, he had been too long in the East to appreciate club life. Other men were undoubtedly contented, interested, occupied; it was different in his case. The palatial dignity, solemnity, luxury of the place failed to stir his pride; even its traditions left him as cold as the marble statue on the great staircase. He would have felt ten times more at home in a Bombay chair, on a brick verandah, with the old Pioneer in his hands and a Trichy in his mouth.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Croker, B. M.

Leseproben

CHAPTER II
Julia Barker was the youngest daughter of a needy gentleman of good family who for many years had roamed about the cheaper continental resorts, bearing in his train two dashing good-looking girls—and leaving in his track a considerable number of bad debts. Occasionally, his rich relations came to his assistance; for instance, when Fanny succeeded in capturing the affection of a wealthy baronet, Sir Herbert Barre, the connection provided a suitable wedding and trousseau, and hinted that they looked to Fanny to help her sister in the like manner. It was really discreditable, the way in which old Fitzroy dragged their name about in the dust of Europe; they were constantly encountering people who said, “Oh—we met your cousins the Hollington-Barkers at Spa or Monte Carlo—they are your cousins, are they not? Rather a handsome girl, and a thin old gentleman, who gambles a good deal.” Sometimes it appeared that the thin old gentleman had borrowed money from these too confiding travellers. However, at last Captain Fitzroy Hollington-Barker’s wanderings came to an end; he was accorded (for the sake of the connection) a decent funeral, buried in the ancestral vault; and Julia his daughter had her liberty, the world before her, and one hundred and fifty pounds a year. Lady Barre had exerted herself in every way to “help off poor Ju” as she termed it; but so far her anxious efforts had proved of no avail: on the contrary, poor Ju had sustained several crushing disappointments. Yet Julia Barker was a handsome woman, in a showy dark style; she had bright eyes, a bright, somewhat fixed colour, a fine carriage, and a sustained supply of energy and conversation. Also she was granddaughter of the late Earl of Hollington, and sister to Lady Barre, who entertained so well; but—Miss Barker had no money—was losing her looks and figure, and bore the reputation of a temper, and debts! In spite of her clever manœuvring, and her astonishing aptitude for exacting invitations, favours, presents, and even the use of their carriages, from her circle, Miss Barker’s future was becoming somewhat grey. People were beginning to weary of her company, her stories, her assurance, and herself! when Maudie Sutton—to her supreme joy—presented to her the gallant gentleman, whom she subsequently advertised as “her fate.” She and Maudie, who had been intimates for years, met at the glove-counter of a well-known shop in Knightsbridge. “You got my note, Ju?” said Mrs. Sutton. “I hope you are coming on Friday?” “No, dearest; I am engaged to the Farmers—charades and a dance——” “Oh, never mind the Farmers, Ju,” interrupted Mrs. Sutton; “this little dinner of mine is ten million times more important—and,” she lowered her voice and concluded her speech in a series of somewhat breathless whispers. The young lady over the gloves was curious—evidently something mysterious was afoot! Miss Barker now became all animation and interest, and as she took leave of her friend, she kissed her repeatedly, and said— “Thank you, dear old Maudie—you are a real friend!” When Major Sutton received his brother officer at the drawing-room door, he said, “Look here, Pat, I owe you ever so many apologies—I guaranteed a family party, and I’ve let you in for a ‘Burra Khana.’ Maudie had arranged it before—better luck next time.” There was indeed a large party at 402 Sloane Street, and Colonel Doran was one of the latest arrivals; he looked very distinguished and soldierly, as he talked to Mrs. Sutton, a vision in yellow and diamonds. “I know you were told we were to be alone,” she said, smiling; “but it makes no matter to a man if there are three, or three hundred—not like us poor women, who have to dress according to numbers. Now I want to introduce you to a most particular old friend of mine, Miss Hollington-Barker,” and she towed him over to a sofa, on which was enthroned a handsome Juno-like form. “Julia—this is Johnny’s comrade, Colonel Doran; you are to be very nice to him, and he will take you down to dinner”; and with an affable smile Mrs. Sutton sailed away and left them. Colonel Doran stood before Julia, lamely discoursing of the rain and the east wind—whilst she figuratively proceeded to take his measure. When she descended the stairs on her cavalier’s arm, Julia Barker had definitely decided that “he would do.” He was neither too old, nor too young—he was good-looking, a gentleman, and a soldier—with a fine property in Ireland; and as to family, her own was of mushroom growth in comparison! Maudie Sutton had given her this splendid chance, and Miss Barker meant to seize it. She had heard all about Major Sutton’s distinguished friend—a man without relatives, but possessing immense savings and a castle—who was looking about him for a wife! There was now no occasion for him to seek further than his present companion. As his partner ate her soup, which he had declined, Colonel Doran studied her stealthily. The lady was dark-browed, dark-haired, with brown eyes, a high colour, a large mouth, and a short straight nose; her age was considerably over thirty, her figure plump; she was remarkably well dressed (in one of Lady Barre’s cast-offs), black, with pink velvet, and wore a handsome old-fashioned necklace. Subsequently his eyes travelled round the table and he noted Mrs. Sutton—fair and fluffy-haired, animated and pretty. Sutton was a lucky man! He discovered several attractive-looking ladies; one opposite had dark auburn hair and an ivory skin, whom he admired immensely. And now his own partner began to unmask her fascinations; she was a practised diner-out, and talked well. Little did he guess that on the present occasion she was talking for a wedding ring, and straining every nerve to interest this polite, but unresponsive gentleman. Their conversation really opened with that disastrous catastrophe, the upsetting of the salt-cellar. “Yes, and it’s on a Friday!” she exclaimed, with mock tragic eyes,—“and I’ve upset it towards you, and will bring you sorrow!” As he looked a little embarrassed by this jaunty speech, she rattled on to relate the well-known anecdote of an absent-minded gentleman, who, having spilled some salt, instantly poured a glass of claret over it—thus transposing the usual remedy. With sundry excellent, and, to him, perfectly fresh chestnuts, she kept her victim thoroughly entertained—actually so interested, that he forgot to glance at the red-headed girl—or even at Mrs. Sutton—and refused two of the most toothsome plats. What a fortunate fellow he was, to have secured such a charming companion! By turns amusing, sympathetic, or serious; he had but to listen, to look into her eloquent dark eyes, admire her white teeth, and her delightful smile. Among other things, she told him how it had ever been the one dream of her life to go to India, and how she still devoured ravenously every book about India that came in her way. She drew him out cleverly about his regiment (his hobby), his chargers and polo-ponies, his tiger-shooting; and presently he found himself talking to the lady as if he had known her for years; they had discovered a mutual Indian friend—one Bobbie Travers, late of the 170th Bengal Lancers, who was Miss Barker’s own second cousin, and he—oh, lucky man—now commanded no less a regiment than Holland’s Horse. Here was a tie indeed! Bobbie proved not merely a link, but a chain, and it was almost in the nature of a shock when Mrs. Sutton gave the signal, and the two enthralled companions were compelled to relinquish an absorbing conversation. As soon as the men appeared in the drawing-room, Miss Barker made a significant movement of her hand, and as the enchanted veteran ventured to occupy the seat beside her, she began— “I am longing for you to finish that story about the old sower, and the pariah dog—do, please, do go on—you had just got to where he was lying on the orderly-room steps, when Maudie hustled us all upstairs”; and so conversation was resumed precisely where it had been interrupted. “Your experiences are so enthralling!” she remarked, as he took her coffee-cup. “I only wish my sister could hear them—you really ought to write a book.” Colonel Doran looked at her doubtfully for a moment: then he laughed aloud. “Lady Barre is my only sister; I live with her,” she resumed. This was not a fact. Julia happened to be staying with her for a few days; but, as the Spanish proverb says, “there is no tax on lies.” “Will you come and have tea with us some afternoon?” “I—I——” He was about to refuse, but she suddenly looked up at him with an appeal in her eyes, and he said “Er—I shall be delighted.” “We live at two hundred and five, Grosvenor Street,—shall we say Tuesday at four o’clock?” “Thank you.” “You won’t forget, will you?” again looking up at him. “If you do, I shall feel so hurt and disappointed.” Colonel Doran, though over fifty years of age, blushed as if he were seventeen; he actually felt his face burning at the implied compliment. How astonishing it seemed that this handsome, charming woman should be interested in a battered old soldier. What did she see in him? *         *         *         *         *         * “Fanny,” said Julia, as she opened the door of her sister’s boudoir. “So you’ve not gone to bed yet! I am so glad. I’ve...