VI

Clive obtained a reluctant permission from Lord Culvers, and set off for Florence, to interrogate, under a seal of secrecy, Madame Verdi as to her possible knowledge of Ida’s movements.

It must be admitted that his hopes did not rise very high as to the results of his journey. Nothing better, however, at the moment presented itself, so it seemed a thing to be done.

Lord Culvers multiplied injunctions to the young man as to caution and secrecy.

“You’ll bear in mind,” finally he said, by way of summing up his hundred-and-one instructions, “that Ida may write at any moment. If not this week, next week, perhaps, or the week after. And I don’t want tongues set going in Florence, any more than in London, over my daughter’s eccentricities, and so increase difficulties in the way of her return to her husband. Heaven knows, it’s bad enough to endure such wild whims, without having all the world talking about them.”

His powers of endurance were, however, to be still farther taxed. Clive was no sooner out of sight, so to speak, than another “wild whim,” as Lord Culvers phrased it, was started⁠—this time by Juliet.

With the season at its height, with her card-rack literally stuffed with engagements, and with Goodwood as yet in the far distance, the young lady suddenly made the announcement that London was stifling, simply unendurable, and that she thought it would be heavenly to throw over all engagements and get back to Dering at once.

Exclamations from father and stepmother greeted her announcement. The former immediately rose and quitted the room, knowing that “battle-royal” between his wife and Juliet was bound to ensue.

He was right. The “battle-royal” in this instance lasted about twenty minutes. Lady Culvers retired from the contest with a very red face and vibrating with excitement; while Juliet, calm and cool as ever, went up to her room, rang the bell for her maid, and in a tranquil tone gave many and minute directions as to the packing of her wardrobe, and the “things” to be supplied to it before she left town.

“We shall leave in a day or two, without doubt,” she added; “for whenever I set my mind upon a thing it invariably comes to pass.”

Assuredly the maid knew that well enough, as also did every member of Lord Culvers’s household.

It must be admitted that Fortune, in her dealings with Lord Culvers, had justified her reputation of never coming with both hands full. With one hand she had bestowed upon him health, wealth, and a placid temper; with the other she had filled his life with worries and anxieties from year’s end to year’s end.

Perhaps, however, if in addition to his easy, placid temperament, he had been endowed with an average amount of common sense and an eye for character, one-half of his worries might have been spared him. His first wife had captivated him with her beauty and grace of manner, and he had married her without so much as a thought whether her disposition was likely to harmonise with his own; his second wife captivated him with a smooth tongue and a sympathetic manner, and he married her without a thought as to her capability of doing that of which he felt himself incapable⁠—controlling his wayward, wilful young daughters.

It was true that Miss Pigott had remained longer than any other of the governesses who, in a quick succession, had tried and failed to “govern” the young ladies; but he did not set his mind to account for the circumstance, and so failed to discover that the secret of Miss Pigott’s success with them lay in the fact that she never openly opposed any piece of folly they might plan, although privately, to their father, she might condemn it vigorously.

Miss Pigott was a wise woman in her generation; she had come into Lord Culvers’s house with the intention of remaining in it, and had steered her course accordingly. She had easily read the characters of her pupils, and had found out that, although they were quick-tempered and self-willed, they were goodhearted and generous; that, though they might nearly worry the life out of her one day with their vagaries, they would do their best to make atonement the next by loading her with presents and kindnesses⁠—provided always they were allowed full license to carry out every whim that came into their heads. With this secret in her hands, she quickly saw her way to an easy life and a good income; and when, later on, by dint of soft words and a sympathetic manner, she succeeded in ingratiating herself into Lord Culvers’s favour to the extent of becoming his confidante on all matters relating to his daughters, she saw her way to something else beside a good income⁠—an assured position as Lord Culvers’s wife.

In age she was about forty-five, in appearance she was short and stout, with a red face, and a quantity of white hair, which she piled on top of her head⁠—à la Marie Antoinette⁠—in order to increase her height. Ida and Juliet would as soon have thought of looking for their future stepmother in one of the maids of the household as in their useful “Peggy.” So it came about that while they were alternately worrying and caressing her, and in all respects, as they imagined, turning her round their little fingers, she was stealing a march on them, and saying to herself: “By-and-by the tables shall be turned, and all debts be paid off with interest.”

When, however, after a certain ceremony in a certain West End church, the tables were turned, and she began the attempt to pay off her debts, she found it was not quite so easy a task as she had anticipated. Ida and Juliet, individually, were a host in themselves; combined, they appeared to be invincible. They always seemed to be on the alert, and any attempt of hers to assert herself, or to stand on her dignity, was promptly nipped in the bud. They would allow her to spend an hour or so daily with the housekeeper, and to regulate generally the household routine, because that had been her province as Miss Pigott in the days of her general usefulness. When, however, it came to the issuing or accepting of invitations, the family exits from town or country houses, the annual visits to the moors, or to the sea, they simply ignored her, carried their wishes, or, rather, their commands, as of old to their father, bent him to their will as easily as one can bend a willow wand, and poor “Peggy,” whether she liked it or not, was obliged to follow their lead.

And they did it all so lightly and easily, without so much as a flushed face or a heightened voice. She, poor soul! with much travail of thought, and many a sleepless night, would concoct some elaborate plan for self-assertion, and the girls, with a little curl of their lips, a little arching of their brows, and some quick, bright speech, would bring it all to nought in a moment, and she would think herself fortunate if she were allowed to acknowledge her defeat, and withdraw from the scene without having been made to look foolish before a roomful of people.

It was all in vain for her to appeal to her husband. Alone with her he would be sympathetic, and vow that his authority should support hers. Brought face to face with his daughters, however, he would at once surrender mutely, and then get out of the way as quickly as possible.

The chances were that Miss Pigott would never have become Lady Culvers if Ida and Juliet had not, at their own request, gone without their chaperon on a three months’ visit to friends in Ireland, thus giving their father time and opportunity not only to woo and to win his bride, but also absolutely to fix his wedding-day without let or hindrance.