Chapter XX

THE INVITATION COMES IN SPITE OF ALL OBSTACLES.

Cattarina Diabelli had arranged her plan very well, but she was not aware of the dogged determination and cleverness of English coachmen--how they often contrive when drunk not only to sit upon a hammercloth without falling off, but manage to guide their horses with extraordinary precision amid the densest crowd. She climbed up to the summit of the hill to see that the carriage took the turn in a contrary direction from The Grange village; but if she had remained there a few minutes longer she would have seen the carriage lamps suddenly turn the other way; for in spite of the deaf man’s remonstrance, the coachman declared that he had been told to “turn to the right close agin that ’ere windmill,” and doggedly pursued his way till he arrived at the old Manor House, with the Duchess’s note safe in his pocket. Joe Naylor inquired whether he should take in the Duchess’s note, but not liking to trust the man who had tried to mislead him so strangely, the coachman determined to give it into the servant’s hands.

But now that the note has reached the door of the house where I was staying, I will resume the narrative in my own person.

It was only in the afternoon of that very day I heard that the foreign gentleman, whose name was coupled so suspiciously with that of the Countess, was really Carlo Spinola. We had before heard the sad rumour that the Count and Cunigunda intended to separate; that he only remained at Castle Hall till after the fête, in order not to create more sensation in the county. Other reports were to the effect that she was much compromised by the presence of a foreign gentleman with whom she was constantly seen.

I found afterwards that Aunt Jane had all the time a strong suspicion that this foreigner was Carlo, but at last she was determined to ascertain the truth. This she only succeeded in doing the very day of the fête, when she immediately informed me of it, and at the same time suggested that I should write to Carlo. She asked me to begin by releasing him from any engagement he might consider I might imagine could still exist, but to express the greatest interest for his happiness; to inform him of the rumours which had reached us, and to endeavour to show him the horror of poor Cunigunda’s position--the loss of reputation, the loss of friendship, which his presence, if prolonged, entailed upon her with all the best people in every country;--all this, and a great deal more, she implored me to write.

I feared it would have no effect, but still I did not like to take upon myself the responsibility of rejecting her advice. So I sat down and wrote several letters, but destroyed them one after another; and at last, as the time began to press, I begged Aunt Jane to write and I would copy it, and addressed the letter to Castle Hall. She wrote a very good and most persuasive letter, and as soon as I copied it we despatched it by a trusty servant, who was told to ask for the Marchese Spinola, and give it into his own hands.

It was strange that in this letter Aunt Jane had contrived to describe so vividly the old feeling Carlo and I had for each other in childhood and early youth, that it seemed to awaken in me a most extraordinary interest in his fate. An intense longing to know how he would receive this missive, whether it would only excite anger and disgust towards me, or whether it---- So absorbed was I with these thoughts, and the re-awakened recollection of old, old times, that hours passed as I sat at the window of my own room. Aunt Jane would not disturb me, so she left me quite alone till dinner was announced, and I started up in surprise at the length of time that must have passed since the messenger went; and yet, when I looked back on those hours, I seemed to have lived years during their progress.

Seven o’clock, and the messenger had not returned, so he had probably not succeeded in seeing Carlo, and Aunt Jane told him not to return without bringing some kind of answer, even if he waited until the next morning.

Dinner, which I scarcely tasted, was over, and I tried to read and work. Still no answer; but about nine o’clock we were startled to hear a carriage drive up to the door, and the loud old hall-bell was violently rung. Aunt Jane rushed out to see what it could be, but I seemed rooted to the spot. I did not think it could be Carlo, but--

“Here, my dear child,” exclaimed Aunt Jane, as she ran back into the room with the Duchess’s note in her hand; “the Duke of Dromoland has sent his carriage to take you to the ball, and here is a note from the Duchess--a long note,” she added, as she saw it covered four sides. “You must and shall go there,” added Aunt Jane. “I shall never forgive you if you refuse.”

It was a most kind letter, and the Duchess had thoughtfully anticipated every objection I could make about dress and everything else.

“You will, of course, have no costume ready,” she said at the end of her letter, “but never mind; come just as you are, for it so happened I brought two costumes, for the Duke is so particular and fanciful that I am obliged to have a variety, for he says one kind of dress suits me one day, and quite a different one the next. I have also a spare domino, and a variety of masks.”

“I could furnish them also,” said Aunt Jane, as I read the note aloud to her. “There’s my old aunt’s theatrical wardrobe upstairs--domino, masks, everything; so put on your plain tarlatane dress with the camellias, and I’ll look for the costume at once. That will be much better; and you need not give any name, and I’ll go with you, and, if possible, we will get in without letting anybody know who we are, and we shall see how the coast stands.”

I could make no further objections, particularly as I saw the state of joyful excitement into which the idea of our going disguised to the ball had thrown Aunt Jane; and I had such confidence in her judgment that I resolved to follow implicitly her advice. But I would have given anything to know whether Carlo had received my letter or not; and now that I might possibly have an opportunity of speaking to him, I could not help regretting that it had been sent. Aunt Jane, however, was quite satisfied, and endeavoured to persuade me that it was much better to have sent it, so I tried to be content. I put on my white tarlatane to please Aunt Jane, but I firmly resolved that nothing should induce me to put off the mask and domino which she so providentially had found.

“And now as to our coming home. I’ll order the pony-carriage to be at Castle Hall at one o’clock; and it can wait, in case we should not be ready.”

So off we set in the Duke’s carriage, and were much surprised, at being handed into it by our old friend the mysterious deaf man, who told us, in answer to Aunt Jane’s inquiry, that he was engaged to be helper in the stables while so much company was at the Castle Hall.