Chapter 1

It was the magic hour of dining. The long Digue of Heyst was almost
deserted; so was the strip of loose, yellow sand which skirted its
base, and all the _tables d’hôtes_ were filling fast. Henri, the
youngest waiter of the Hôtel Lion d’Or, was standing on the steps
between the two great gilded lions, which stood rampant on either side
the portals, vigorously ringing a loud and discordant bell to summons
the stragglers, whilst the ladies, who were waiting the commencement of
dinner in the little salon to the side, stopped their ears to dull its
clamour. Philippe and Jules were busy, laying white cloths and glasses,
etc., on the marble tables in the open balcony, outside the _salle
à manger_, where strangers to the Hotel might dine _à la carte_, if
they chose. Inside, the long, narrow tables, were decorated with dusty
geraniums and fuchsias, whilst each cruet stand had a small bunch of
dirty artificial flowers tied to its handle. But the visitors to the
Lion d’Or, who were mostly English, were too eager for their evening
meal, to cavil at their surroundings. The Baroness Gobelli, with her
husband on one side, and her son on the other, was the first to seat
herself at table. The Baroness always appeared with the soup, for she
had observed that the first comers received a more generous helping
than those who came in last. No such anxiety occupied the minds of Mrs.
Pullen and her friend Miss Leyton, who sat opposite to the Baroness
and her family. They did not care sufficiently for the _potage aux
croutons_, which usually formed the beginning of the _table d’hôte_
dinner. The long tables were soon filled with a motley crew of English,
Germans, and Belgians, all chattering, especially the foreigners, as
fast as their tongues could travel. Amongst them was a sprinkling of
children, mostly unruly and ill-behaved, who had to be called to order
every now and then, which made Miss Leyton’s lip curl with disgust.
Just opposite to her, and next to Mr. Bobby Bates, the Baroness’s son
by her first marriage, and whom she always treated as if he had been a
boy of ten years old, was an unoccupied chair, turned up against the
table to signify that it was engaged.

“I wonder if that is for the German Princess of whom Madame Lamont is
so fond of talking,” whispered Elinor Leyton to Mrs. Pullen, “she said
this morning that she expected her this afternoon.”

“O! surely not!” replied her friend, “I do not know much about
royalties, but I should think a Princess would hardly dine at a public
_table d’hôte_.”

“O! a German Princess! what is that?” said Miss Leyton, with a curled
lip again, for she was a daughter of Lord Walthamstowe, and thought
very little of any aristocracy, except that of her own country.

As she spoke, however, the chair opposite was sharply pulled into
place, and a young lady seated herself on it, and looked boldly (though
not brazenly) up and down the tables, and at her neighbours on each
side of her. She was a remarkable-looking girl--more remarkable,
perhaps, than beautiful, for her beauty did not strike one at first
sight. Her figure was tall but slight and lissom. It looked almost
boneless as she swayed easily from side to side of her chair. Her skin
was colourless but clear. Her eyes were long-shaped, dark, and narrow,
with heavy lids and thick black lashes which lay upon her cheeks. Her
brows were arched and delicately pencilled, and her nose was straight
and small. Not so her mouth however, which was large, with lips of a
deep blood colour, displaying small white teeth. To crown all, her
head was covered with a mass of soft, dull, blue-black hair, which was
twisted in careless masses about the nape of her neck, and looked as if
it was unaccustomed to comb or hairpin. She was dressed very simply in
a white cambric frock, but there was not a woman present, who had not
discovered in five minutes, that the lace with which it was profusely
trimmed, was costly Valenciennes, and that it was clasped at her throat
with brilliants. The new-comer did not seem in the least abashed by
the numbers of eyes which were turned upon her, but bore the scrutiny
very calmly, smiling in a sort of furtive way at everybody, until the
_entrées_ were handed round, when she rivetted all her attention upon
the contents of her plate. Miss Leyton thought she had never seen any
young person devour her food with so much avidity and enjoyment. She
could not help watching her. The Baroness Gobelli, who was a very
coarse feeder, scattering her food over her plate and not infrequently
over the table cloth as well, was nothing compared to the young
stranger. It was not so much that she ate rapidly and with evident
appetite, but that she kept her eyes fixed upon her food, as if she
feared someone might deprive her of it. As soon as her plate was empty,
she called sharply to the waiter in French, and ordered him to get her
some more.

“That’s right, my dear!” exclaimed the Baroness, nodding her huge head,
and smiling broadly at the new-comer; “make ’em bring you more! It’s an
excellent dish, that! I’ll ’ave some more myself!”

As Philippe deposited the last helping of the _entrée_ on the young
lady’s plate, the Baroness thrust hers beneath his nose.

“’Ere!” she said, “bring three more ’elpings for the Baron and Bobby
and me!”

The man shook his head to intimate that the dish was finished, but the
Baroness was not to be put off with a flimsy excuse. She commenced to
make a row. Few meals passed without a squabble of some sort, between
the Hotel servants and this terrible woman.

“Now we are in for it again!” murmured Miss Leyton into Mrs. Pullen’s
ear. The waiter brought a different _entrée_, but the Baroness insisted
upon having a second helping of _tête de veau aux champignons_.

“_Il n’y a plus, Madame!_” asseverated Philippe, with a gesture of
deprecation.

“What does ’e say?” demanded the Baroness, who was not good at French.

“There is no more, mein tear!” replied her husband, with a strong
German accent.

“Confound their impudence!” exclaimed his wife with a heated
countenance, “’ere, send Monsieur ’ere at once! I’ll soon see if we’re
not to ’ave enough to eat in ’is beastly Hotel!”

All the ladies who understood what she said, looked horrified at
such language, but that was of no consequence to Madame Gobelli, who
continued to call out at intervals for “Monsieur” until she found
the dinner was coming to an end without her, and thought it would be
more politic to attend to business and postpone her feud till a more
convenient occasion. The Baroness Gobelli was a mystery to most people
in the Hotel. She was an enormous woman of the elephant build, with a
large, flat face and clumsy hands and feet. Her skin was coarse, so
was her hair, so were her features. The only things which redeemed
an otherwise repulsive face, were a pair of good-humoured, though
cunning blue eyes and a set of firm, white teeth. Who the Baroness
had originally been, no one could quite make out. It was evident that
she must have sprung from some low origin from her lack of education
and breeding, yet she spoke familiarly of aristocratic names, even
of Royal ones, and appeared to be acquainted with their families and
homes. There was a floating rumour that she had been old Mr. Bates’s
cook before he married her, and when he left her a widow with an only
child and a considerable fortune, the little German Baron had thought
that her money was a fair equivalent for her personality. She was
exceedingly vulgar, and when roused, exceedingly vituperative, but
she possessed a rough good humour when pleased, and a large amount of
natural shrewdness, which stood her instead of cleverness. But she was
an unscrupulous liar, and rather boasted of the fact than otherwise.
Having plenty of money at her command, she was used to take violent
fancies to people--taking them up suddenly, loading them with presents
and favours for as long as it pleased her, and then dropping them as
suddenly, without why or wherefore--even insulting them if she could
not shake them off without doing so. The Baron was completely under her
thumb; more than that, he was servile in her presence, which astonished
those people, who did not know that amongst her other arrogant
insistences, the Baroness laid claim to holding intercourse with
certain supernatural and invisible beings, who had the power to wreak
vengeance on all those who offended her. This fear it was, combined
with the fact that she had all the money and kept the strings of the
bag pretty close where he was concerned, that made the Baron wait upon
his wife’s wishes as if he were her slave. Perhaps the softest spot in
the Baroness’s heart was kept for her sickly and uninteresting son,
Bobby Bates, whom she treated, nevertheless, with the roughness of a
tigress for her cub. She kept him still more under her surveillance
than she did her husband, and Bobby, though he had attained his
nineteenth year, dared not say Boo! to a goose, in presence of his
Mamma. As the cheese was handed round, Elinor Leyton rose from her seat
with an impatient gesture.

“Do let us get out of this atmosphere, Margaret!” she said in a low
tone. “I really cannot stand it any longer!”

The two ladies left the table, and went out beyond the balcony, to
where a number of painted iron chairs and tables were placed on the
Digue, for the accommodation of passing wayfarers, who might wish to
rest awhile and quench their thirst with _limonade_ or lager beer.

“I wonder who that girl is!” remarked Mrs. Pullen as soon as they were
out of hearing. “I don’t know whether I like her or not, but there is
something rather distinguished-looking about her!”

“Do you think so?” said Miss Leyton, “I thought she only distinguished
herself by eating like a cormorant! I never saw anyone in society
gobble her food in such a manner! She made me positively sick!”

“Was it as bad as that?” replied the more quiet Mrs. Pullen, in
an indifferent manner. Her eyes were attracted just then by the
perambulator which contained her baby, and she rose to meet it.

“How is she, Nurse?” she asked as anxiously as if she had not parted
from the infant an hour before. “Has she been awake all the time?”

“Yes, Ma’am, and looking about her like anything! But she seems
inclined to sleep now! I thought it was about time to take her in!”

“O! no! not on such a warm, lovely evening! If she does go to sleep in
the open air, it will do her no harm. Leave her with me! I want you to
go indoors, and find out the name of the young lady who sat opposite to
me at dinner to-day, Philippe understands English. He will tell you!”

“Why on earth do you want to know?” demanded Miss Leyton, as the
servant disappeared.

“O! I don’t know! I feel a little curious, that is all! She seems so
young to be by herself!”

Elinor Leyton answered nothing, but walked across the Digue and stood,
looking out over the sea. She was anticipating the arrival of her
_fiancé_, Captain Ralph Pullen of the Limerick Rangers, but he had
delayed his coming to join them, and she began to find Heyst rather
dull.

The visitors of the Lion d’Or had finished their meal by this time,
and were beginning to reassemble on the Digue, preparatory to taking a
stroll before they turned into one of the many _cafés-chantants_, which
were situated at stated intervals in front of the sea. Amongst them
came the Baroness Gobelli, leaning heavily on a thick stick with one
hand, and her husband’s shoulder with the other. The couple presented
an extraordinary appearance, as they perambulated slowly up and down
the Digue.

She--with her great height and bulk, towering a head above her
companion, whilst he--with a full-sized torso, and short legs--a large
hat crammed down upon his forehead, and no neck to speak of, so that
the brim appeared to rest upon his shoulders--was a ludicrous figure,
as he walked beside his wife, bending under the weight of her support.
But yet, she was actually proud of him. Notwithstanding his ill-shaped
figure, the Baron possessed one of those mild German faces, with pale
watery blue eyes, a long nose, and hair and beard of a reddish-golden
colour, which entitled him, in the estimation of some people, to be
called a handsome man, and the Baroness was never tired of informing
the public that his head and face had once been drawn for that of some
celebrated saint.

Her own appearance was really comical, for though she had plenty of
means, her want of taste, or indifference to dress, made everyone stare
at her as she passed. On the present occasion, she wore a silk gown
which had cost seventeen shillings a yard, with a costly velvet cloak,
a bonnet which might have been rescued from the dustbin, and cotton
gloves with all her fingers out. She shook her thick walking-stick in
Miss Leyton’s face as she passed by her, and called out loud enough for
everyone to hear: “And when is the handsome Captain coming to join you,
Miss Leyton, eh? Take care he ain’t running after some other gal! ‘When
pensive I thought on my L.O.V.E.’ Ha! ha! ha!”

Elinor flushed a delicate pink but did not turn her head, nor take any
notice of her tormentor. She detested the Baroness with a perfectly
bitter hatred, and her proud cold nature revolted from her coarseness
and familiarity.

“Tied to your brat again!” cried the Baroness, as she passed Margaret
Pullen who was moving the perambulator gently to and fro by the handle,
so as to keep her infant asleep; “why didn’t you put it in the tub as
soon as it was born? It would ’ave saved you a heap of trouble! I often
wish I had done so by that devil Bobby! ’Ere, where are you, Bobby?”

“I’m close behind you, Mamma!” replied the simple-looking youth.

“Well! don’t you get running away from your father and me, and winking
at the gals! There’s time enough for that, ain’t there, Gustave?” she
concluded, addressing the Baron.

“Come along, Robert, and mind what your mother tells you!” said the
Herr Baron with his guttural German accent, as the extraordinary trio
pursued their way down the Digue, the Baroness making audible remarks
on everybody she met, as they went.

Margaret Pullen sat where they had left her, moving about the
perambulator, whilst her eyes, like Elinor’s, were fixed upon the
tranquil water. The August sun had now quite disappeared, and the
indescribably faint and unpleasant odour, which is associated with the
dunes of Heyst, had begun to make itself apparent. A still languor had
crept over everything, and there were indications of a thunderstorm
in the air. She was thinking of her husband, Colonel Arthur Pullen,
the elder brother of Miss Leyton’s _fiancé_, who was toiling out in
India for baby and herself. It had been a terrible blow to Margaret,
to let him go out alone after only one year of happy wedded life, but
the expected advent of her little daughter at the time, had prohibited
her undertaking so long a journey and she had been compelled to remain
behind. And now baby was six months old, and Colonel Pullen hoped to be
home by Christmas, so had advised her to wait for his return. But her
thoughts were sad sometimes, notwithstanding.

Events happen so unexpectedly in this world--who could say for certain
that she and her husband would ever meet again--that Arthur would
ever see his little girl, or that she should live to place her in her
father’s arms? But such a state of feeling was morbid, she knew, and
she generally made an effort to shake it off. The nurse, returning
with the information she had sent her to acquire, roused her from her
reverie.

“If you please, Ma’am, the young lady’s name is Brandt, and Philippe
says she came from London!”

“English! I should never have guessed it!” observed Mrs. Pullen, “She
speaks French so well.”

“Shall I take the baby now, Ma’am?”

“Yes! Wheel her along the Digue. I shall come and meet you by and by!”

As the servant obeyed her orders, she called to Miss Leyton.

“Elinor! come here!”

“What is it?” asked Miss Leyton, seating herself beside her.

“The new girl’s name is Brandt and she comes from England! Would you
have believed it?”

“I did not take sufficient interest in her to make any speculations on
the subject. I only observed that she had a mouth from ear to ear, and
ate like a pig! What does it concern us, where she comes from?”

At that moment, a Mrs. Montague, who, with her husband, was conveying
a family of nine children over to Brussels, under the mistaken
impression, that they would be able to live cheaper there than in
England, came down the Hotel steps with half a dozen of them, clinging
to her skirts, and went straight up to Margaret Pullen.

“O! Mrs. Pullen! What is that young lady’s name, who sat opposite to
you at dinner? Everybody is asking! I hear she is enormously rich, and
travelling alone. Did you see the lace on her dress? Real Valenciennes,
and the diamond rings she wore! Frederick says they must be worth a lot
of money. She must be someone of consequence I should imagine!”

“On the contrary, my nurse tells me she is English and her name is
Brandt. Has she no friends here?”

“Madame Lamont says she arrived in company with another girl, but they
are located at different parts of the Hotel. It seems very strange,
does it not?”

“And it sounds very improper!” interposed Elinor Leyton, “I should
say the less we have to say to her, the better! You never know what
acquaintances you may make in a place like this! When I look up and
down the _table d’hôte_ menagerie sometimes, it makes me quite ill!”

“Does it?” rejoined Mrs. Montague, “I think it’s so amusing! That
Baroness Gobelli, for instance----”

“Don’t mention her before me!” cried Miss Leyton, in a tone of disgust,
“the woman is not fit for civilised society!”

“She is rather common, certainly, and strange in her behaviour,” said
Mrs. Montague, “but she is very good-natured. She gave my little Edward
a louis yesterday. I felt quite ashamed to let him take it!”

“That just proves her vulgarity,” exclaimed Elinor Leyton, who had not
a sixpence to give away, herself, “it shows that she thinks her money
will atone for all her other shortcomings! She gave that Miss Taylor
who left last week, a valuable brooch off her own throat. And poor
payment too, for all the dirty things she made her do and the ridicule
she poured upon her. I daresay this _nouveau riche_ will try to curry
favour with us by the same means.”

At that moment, the girl under discussion, Miss Brandt, appeared on the
balcony, which was only raised a few feet above where they sat. She
wore the same dress she had at dinner, with the addition of a little
fleecy shawl about her shoulders. She stood smiling, and looking at
the ladies (who had naturally dropped all discussion about her) for
a few moments, and then she ventured to descend the steps between
the rampant gilded lions, and almost timidly, as it seemed, took
up a position near them. Mrs. Pullen felt that she could not be so
discourteous as to take no notice whatever of the new-comer, and so,
greatly to Miss Leyton’s disgust, she uttered quietly, “Good evening!”

It was quite enough for Miss Brandt. She drew nearer with smiles
mantling over her face.

“Good evening! Isn’t it lovely here?--so soft and warm, something like
the Island, but so much fresher!”

She looked up and down the Digue, now crowded with a multitude of
visitors, and drew in her breath with a long sigh of content.

“How gay and happy they all seem, and how happy I am too! Do you know,
if I had my will, what I should like to do?” she said, addressing Mrs.
Pullen.

“No! indeed!”

“I should like to tear up and down this road as hard as ever I could,
throwing my arms over my head and screaming aloud!”

The ladies exchanged glances of astonishment, but Margaret Pullen could
not forbear smiling as she asked their new acquaintance the reason why.

“O! because I am free--free at last, after ten long years of
imprisonment! I am telling you the truth, I am indeed, and you would
feel just the same if you had been shut up in a horrid Convent ever
since you were eleven years old!”

At the word “convent”, the national Protestant horror immediately
spread itself over the faces of the three other ladies; Mrs. Montague
gathered her flock about her and took them out of the way of possible
contamination, though she would have much preferred to hear the rest of
Miss Brandt’s story, and Elinor Leyton moved her chair further away.
But Margaret Pullen was interested and encouraged the girl to proceed.

“In a convent! I suppose then you are a Roman Catholic!”

Harriet Brandt suddenly opened her slumbrous eyes.

“I don’t think so! I’m not quite sure what I am! Of course I’ve had any
amount of religion crammed down my throat in the Convent, and I had to
follow their prayers, whilst there, but I don’t believe my parents were
Catholics! But it does not signify, I am my own mistress now. I can be
what I like!”

“You have been so unfortunate then as to lose your parents!”

“O! yes! years ago, that is why my guardian, Mr. Trawler, placed me
in the Convent for my education. And I’ve been there for ten years!
Is it not a shame? I’m twenty-one now! That’s why I’m free! You see,”
the girl went on confidentially, “my parents left me everything, and
as soon as I came of age I entered into possession of it. My guardian,
Mr. Trawler, who lives in Jamaica,--did I tell you that I’ve come from
Jamaica?--thought I should live with him and his wife, when I left the
Convent, and pay them for my keep, but I refused. They had kept me
too tight! I wanted to see the world and life--it was what I had been
looking forward to--so as soon as my affairs were settled, I left the
West Indies and came over here!”

“They said you came from England in the Hotel!”

“So I did! The steamer came to London and I stayed there a week before
I came on here!”

“But you are too young to travel about by yourself, Miss Brandt!
English young ladies never do so!” said Mrs. Pullen.

“I’m not by myself, exactly! Olga Brimont, who was in the Convent with
me, came too. But she is ill, so she’s upstairs. She has come to her
brother who is in Brussels, and we travelled together. We had the same
cabin on board the steamer, and Olga was very ill. One night the doctor
thought she was going to die! I stayed with her all the time. I used to
sit up with her at night, but it did her no good. We stopped in London
because we wanted to buy some dresses and things, but she was not able
to go out, and I had to go alone. Her brother is away from Brussels at
present so he wrote her to stay in Heyst till he could fetch her, and
as I had nowhere particular to go, I came with her! And she is better
already! She has been fast asleep all the afternoon!”

“And what will you do when your friend leaves you?” asked Mrs. Pullen.

“O! I don’t know! Travel about, I suppose! I shall go wherever it may
please me!”

“Are you not going to take a walk this evening?” demanded Elinor Leyton
in a low voice of her friend, wishing to put a stop to the conversation.

“Certainly! I told nurse I would join her and baby by-and-by!”

“Shall I fetch your hat then?” enquired Miss Leyton, as she rose to go
up to their apartments.

“Yes! if you will, dear, please, and my velvet cape, in case it should
turn chilly!”

“I will fetch mine too!” cried Miss Brandt, jumping up with alacrity.
“I may go with you, mayn’t I? I’ll just tell Olga that I’m going out
and be down again in five minutes!” and without waiting for an answer,
she was gone.

“See what you have brought upon us!” remarked Elinor in a vexed tone.

“Well! it was not my fault,” replied Margaret, “and after all,
what does it signify? It is only a little act of courtesy to an
unprotected girl. I don’t dislike her, Elinor! She is very familiar and
communicative, but fancy what it must be like to find herself her own
mistress, and with money at her command, after ten years’ seclusion
within the four walls of a convent! It is enough to turn the head of
any girl. I think it would be very churlish to refuse to be friendly
with her!”

“Well! I hope it may turn out all right! But you must remember how
Ralph cautioned us against making any acquaintances in a foreign hotel.”

“But I am not under Ralph’s orders, though you may be, and I should not
care to go entirely by the advice of so very fastidious and exclusive
a gentleman as he is! My Arthur would never find fault with me, I am
sure, for being friendly with a young unmarried girl.”

“Anyway, Margaret, let me entreat you not to discuss my private affairs
with this new _protégée_ of yours. I don’t want to see her saucer eyes
goggling over the news of my engagement to your brother-in-law!”

“Certainly I will not, since you ask it! But you hardly expect to keep
it a secret when Ralph comes down here, do you?”

“Why not? Why need anyone know more than that he is your husband’s
brother?”

“I expect they know a good deal more now,” said Margaret, laughing.
“The news that you are the Honourable Elinor Leyton and that your
father is Baron Walthamstowe, was known all over Heyst the second
day we were here. And I have no doubt it has been succeeded by the
interesting intelligence that you are engaged to marry Captain Pullen.
You cannot keep servants’ tongues from wagging, you know!”

“I suppose not!” replied Elinor, with a _moue_ of contempt. “However,
they will learn no more through me or Ralph. We are not ‘’Arry and
’Arriet’ to sit on the Digue with our arms round each other’s waists.”

“Still--there are signs and symptoms,” said Margaret, laughing.

“There will be none with us!” rejoined Miss Leyton, indignantly, as
Harriet Brandt, with a black lace hat on, trimmed with yellow roses,
and a little fichu tied carelessly across her bosom, ran lightly down
the steps to join them.