The Trellised Lane, page 16
“Nothing of the sort! What a cake you make of yourself, Norcross. Do you think my sister cares for your position in society?”
“I think my offering for her hand would be an insult to your father’s hospitality, and to his trust in myself and my mother.”
“If that is what you think, sir,” said Fitzgerald, who now held his third glass of port in his unsteady left hand, “then you are an idiot, and I am glad you will not be my brother. My father has not the least interest in Julia’s marrying well—why should he? He said so himself, before we left for London.”
“He did?” asked Norcross, sitting upright in his chair.
“He did indeed,” answered Fitzgerald.
“Then I may offer for her?” continued Norcross.
“I cordially invite you to do so myself,” said Fitzgerald.
“Then I most certainly will!” cried Mr. Norcross, jumping out of his seat. “Only how?” he sighed a moment later, sitting down again.
“How?”
“That blasted—that is, Miss Piffin follows her about everywhere she goes. I shall never find her alone…unless…I say, would you excuse me, my dear fellow? I have a bit of studying to do.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Norcross, but I’ll be happy to oblige. Thank you for teaching me how to drink,” he added, standing up rather suddenly. It was an unfortunate move: The last two glasses of port had been rather too much for his system, and the sudden jolt made him feel quite sickeningly dizzy. “Do you know,” he said, in a trembling voice, “I feel a little drunk, after all. I believe I’ll bid you good night, sir.” He crept off carefully to his bedchamber, not even waiting for Norcross’s answer.
That gentleman had other thoughts, anyway. The hour was quite advanced; a few birds could be heard singing outdoors, and dawn would break in an hour at the most. He took up a candle and stole through the unfamiliar house until he came at last to the library. There he searched the shelves until, finding a volume that seemed to interest him enormously, he sat down at the desk with it and read, making copious notes. By the time Julia was being awakened by her maid, he had completed his task; he went unseen to his bedchamber and changed into clothing more suitable to morning. In half an hour he emerged from his room looking as little like a man who had not touched his bed all night as the earl himself. He made a brief foray into the garden and hurried back in to the breakfast table. He found the family there.
“It is such a fine morning, Lady Julia,” he said to her. “Could I not interest you in a walk through the garden?”
“Certainly,” said Julia, hoping against hope that she might at last be permitted at least a glimpse into his feelings for her.
“I will come, too,” pronounced Piffin, looking mournful.
“O no!” objected Julia hastily. “You have not yet finished your breakfast; I would not dream of troubling you.”
“It is no trouble,” intoned Miss Piffin. “One can not eat when one is afflicted, can one?”
“No,” agreed Julia, feeling really quite afflicted at that. She glanced apologetically at Mr. Norcross, but he fairly beamed back at her, the gleam in his eyes shining radiantly. She was confused for a moment, but then reasoned that she must have been wrong; he could not have any thing of importance to say to her if the prospect of Piffin’s company did not cast him down. The trio excused themselves from the table and went out to the garden.
“I rather fancy a walk through the pleached alley,” said Mr. Norcross. “Would that be alright?”
“Of course,” said Julia.
“The flowers look so lovely now,” he added, as they proceeded thither.
“Indeed they do.”
They entered the alley. “Coreopsis is a pretty flower,” said Mr. Norcross, “though seldom seen in an English garden.”
“Indeed,” said Julia again, wondering why he should chuse to mention this bloom in particular. “It means—”
“‘Love at first sight,’ “he filled in, smiling. “Yes, I know. Here is a pleasant blossom,” he continued, breaking off a sprig of coral honeysuckle and handing it to her.
“Coral honeysuckle,” she thought. It means, the “colour of my fate.”
“Of course, it is not so nice as this,” he went on, picking a variegated pink for her.
“Refusal!” thought Julia. “Refusal is the colour of my fate. Does he know what he is saying?”
“Acacia, however, is so much more useful, do you not agree, Miss Piffin?” said Mr. Norcross.
“Very useful,” Miss Piffin affirmed, while Julia thought, “Concealed love; is it possible?” It occurred to her that two could play at his game: A few steps on she spied a maiden’s blush rose. “If you do love me, you will find me out,” it said. She gave him one. Mr. Norcross smiled broadly, but said nothing.
A little ways on grew some stalks of lavender. “There are people,” he remarked, as he handed her one, “who feel that lavender smells even sweeter than the rose. Do you think so?”
It was left to Miss Piffin to answer, for Julia was busy thinking; “Mistrust, could he mistrust me? No! It is d’Arbois he mistrusted!”
“I myself,” Benjamin continued, excessively amused at Julia’s confoundment, “am rather partial to the sweet pea.
“Departure!” thought Julia. “He is telling a story!”
“Look,” shouted Miss Piffin “the snapdragons have begun to bloom.”
“The very thing I myself was about to point out,” said Norcross, laughing.
“Presumption,” thought Julia. He was presumptuous to seek out the count—that must be it.
“Syringa,” Mr. Norcross was saying. “I have never cared for that—do you?”
Julia was quick with her answer, for syringa meant treachery. “Not at all,” she replied, thinking that it was the very plant to symbolise d’Arbois.
They continued down the alley, Miss Piffin keeping up dutifully with the young couple. Mr. Norcross broke off a sprig of eglantine and gave it to Julia. “Your mother seems to have liked wild flowers as well as cultured ones,” he said.
“I wound to heal,” thought Julia. “Now, what can he mean by that?” Her brow creased as she considered the problem. “Of course! He told me of d’Arbois’s treachery to save me from marrying him. But he thought I loved him, so it would have wounded me. But surely, after I sent d’Arbois away, he must have known I did not love him. Why did he not speak then?”
Mr. Norcross broke in upon her thoughts. “Love lies bleeding is such a curious name for a flower, is it not?” he said.
“Curious, indeed,” thought Julia. “And it means ‘Hopeless, not heartless.’ Did he not offer because he thought I would refuse? But what can have changed his mind?”
“But then there are others whose names are quite unimaginative,” Mr. Norcross continued, “such as goldenrod.”
“Encouragement!” Julia thought. “He must have been encouraged some how to ask me. Did Lady Edgehampton urge him?”
There was no time to pursue this thought, for Mr. Norcross was handing her a leaf of purple columbine. He gave it to her wordlessly, looking at her very hard with a serious expression. It signified “resolved to win.”
They walked on a little longer in silence, till he reached up and plucked a peach blossom. His eyes searched hers deeply as she took it. “My heart is thine,” it said.
Julia could have leapt into his arms there and then, but she controlled herself. She did not like the way he had been so amused at her confusion earlier, and she was resolved to punish him a little. She averted her eyes studiously and said, “There are indeed so many lovely flowers, one hardly knows which to admire the most. I myself am very, very partial to variegated pinks, such as the one you have given me.” She paused and smiled inwardly as his countenance fell. “On the other hand,” she continued at last, “I think these are even lovelier.” She looked up shyly at him as she handed him a bridal rose for “Happy love.”
“Then you will marry me?” he exclaimed, to Miss Piffin’s utter amazement.
“I will,” replied Julia, her eyes full of happy tears as she rushed, at last, into the warmth of his embrace.
“I do not believe it!” shouted Miss Piffin, astounded. “I am sure I never thought to see my own Miss Julia behave so—so indiscreetly! I believe—O dear, please help me!” she cried, to the great amusement of the lovers, “I believe I am going to faint!” as indeed, she did.
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Fiona Hill, The Trellised Lane
