The Sin of Cleopatra Newsans;
OR,
WAS HE SINCERE.
[IT
having came to my knowledge that many of my readers are
of opinion that short, interesting stories should be included
in this magazine, I have made arrangements whereby, on
payment of a very large sum, I have acquired the right of
publishing the following story, by one of our most popular
and able writers, who, once a shop-walker, is now chief
novelist to the eminent publishing firm of Green & Co.,
and is best known as the author of "Only a Cardsharper."
— EDITOR.]
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CHAPTER I.
"CLEOPATRA,"
said Mrs. Newsans, turning to her niece, "is
tea ready?"
"No, aunt, dear," she replied, standing, in all the fresh
beauty of her English girlhood, at the window.
"Then ring for it."
Cleopatra looked lovingly at her aunt, who, although infirm
of age and temper, had taken in the orphan child when she
arrived from India, and had supported her ever since.
Yes, Cleopatra, beautiful Cleopatra, lovable Cleopatra — whose
soft auburn hair, blue fathomless eyes, tall lissom figure, and
sweet low voice were in themselves a perfect dream — was, we
will confess it, an orphan.
Her mother had died when she was a babe, and her father —
handsome, stalwart Rupert Newsans — had fallen fighting for his
country in India, and she was therefore left an orphan.
In this conjuncture, her only living relation, her father's
sister, a rich old maid of unattractive appearance and repellent
demeanour, invited the orphan babe to come and live with her,
and, escorted on board the P. & O. boat by the full force of the
"Bet-and-don't-Pay" Boys, she left Bombay with her nurse
amidst the tumultuous cheering of the comrades of Fighting
Rupert Newsans. That happened fourteen years ago, she was
then six years old, and we will violate confidence and say that
now she was twenty. Poor young girl, her life had been hard;
forced to endure the ill-temper of her aunt, and scarcely able to
call her soul her own, except twice on Sundays, she awaited the
happiness that never came.
On this afternoon her aunt was more than usually querulous,
and expressed her annoyance at there being no celery for tea.
"The dear Duchess of Blank always has celery, and in my
own house I will have what I like, so understand that. If my
ways don't suit you, go."
The gentle girl's blue eyes welled with tears, but she made
no reply; her heart was too full to speak.
"You temper is really atrocious," her aunt continued, "and
you must curb it, or you shall not go to the Duchess's ball
to-morrow night."
"Oh, aunt!" This was more than she could bear, and she
sobbed violently, her hair falling in streaming masses over her
tiny hands. "I have no one to love me," she cried, and ran out
of the room, while her aunt calmly continued her tea.
CHAPTER II.
THERE
was no fairer picture to be seen in the Duchess of
Blank's drawing-room on the occasion of her annual ball than
Cleopatra, who was chaperoned by six of the twenty-nine
daughters of the local curate.
She was lovely, and clad in a dress of white gauze with
moss-coloured chenille flakes, her hair studded with natural
curls, a single rose in her bosom, and white gloves on her
hands, she appeared a very goddess of purity and beauty.
She knew few people, but when she entered a suppressed
hum of admiration went round the room, and in an instant the
hostess was besieged by countless myriads of men, all clamouring
to be introduced.
"Me first," said the Earl of Woodhead, a dark, saturnine
man, who was popularly reputed to have suggested suicide to
his late wife, and assisted her to carry out the suggestion; "I
must know her."
"Struck, eh?" put in a tall, languid youth, with the face of
a young Greek god. "By Jove, Woodhead, I never thought you
were so inflammable. Deuce take it, no."
The speaker was Lord Algernon Fitzroy de Bratant, second
son of the Duke of Blank, and brother of Lord Woodhead.
"Your opinion is of no consequence to me," he returned,
with haughty dignity. "You are but a younger son."
The hot blood rushed to Lord Algernon's face, but he
refrained from noticing the gross slur his more fortunately
circumstanced brother had cast upon his character, and forthwith
went into the refreshment room, where the guests were talking
in loud tones about the new "Beauty," Cleopatra Newsans.
"A downright bad style," Captain Marks ventured to say.
"Please hand me that currant bun Cap'n," said the eldest
Miss Lovelace, the last of an ancient race.
"Haw, certainly; will you have a brandy and soda? No?
then, hang it, I will. Haw, waiter two splits."
"I hate the creature," Mrs. de Jones volunteered.
"And so do I," said Mrs. de Brown; and the remainder of the
company assented. Alas! even the aristocracy have their
failings!
"She seems to be fast!" But a strong clear voice rang
through the air, crying, "You lie, you coward, you scoundrel;
here, in my mother's house, I tell you so," and Lord Algernon
threw one decanter, two glasses, one cork-screw, seven biscuits,
three buns, and one semi-detached egg, right in the face of the
cowardly calumniator, the Marquis of Dash.
The scene that followed was indescribable; the Marquis was
given into custody and marched off to the police station, where
he remained during the night, and Lord Algernon returned to
the ball-room, where he was greeted with loud applause, his
mother kissing him on either cheek. "And now," she said
graciously, "I will introduce you to the girl whose character
you have saved, come," and she brought him to where Lord
Woodhead and Cleopatra were sitting.
"The Earl" moved away with a scornful angry glance at his
brother, and Cleopatra, thanking her preserver, looked into his
eyes.
It was enough, in that one look their souls had for ever
blended, and never afterwards did she address him without the
love-light illuminating each perfect feature of her perfect face,
and never did he hear her name mentioned without feeling the
exquisite pain which only those who have loved truly can
appreciate. One glance, and she had confessed her love, and
instinctively realised that it was returned.
"Will you come into the conservatory?" he pleaded.
She bowed consent, and wrapping herself in a fleecy mantilla,
of delicious whiteness, accompanied him to the dimly-lighted
recess.
"You are unhappy?" he asked, oh, so tenderly!
She burst into tears, and made no reply.
"Tell me the reason; I am only a lieutenant in the 250th
Lancers, but you may trust me."
As a pledge of her belief in his sincerity, she laid her hand
in his, and he covered it with a kiss.
"My darling!"
Cleopatra did not withdraw her hand; she did not know
what to think of the situation, but she felt happy, ridiculously
happy, and why? Was it because Lord Algernon, handsome
and brave, loved her? — she knew that he did, she felt it, and she
loved him — or was it due to the novelty of the surroundings?
Maddening thought; but no, it was due to love and love only.
She bent her head, she was not worthy of this great love; she
would tell him.
"Lord Algernon!"
"My darling!" and he strained her to his breast.
"I am not what you think I am."
"Great heaven, your meaning; quick, or I slay myself!" and
he produced a horse-shoe pin.
"No, no," she implored; "I mean I am not in your class of
life."
"My darling! My dearest! My love! You love me!"
and he enfolded her in his arms.
Happy minutes, but destined soon to pass away, for, standing
before the lovers was, stern and pitiless, the Earl of
Woodhead. Deathly pale, he bowed and retired, leaving Lord
Algernon and Cleopatra terrorstricken.
"You will always love me, dearest," he cried, passionately.
"I will."
And they sealed the compact with a delirious kiss.
CHAPTER III.
"MISS SMITH,
you will take little Lord à la Fauntleroy for a
walk."
"Yes," and Miss Smith raised her pretty head and disclosed
the features of Cleopatra Newsans.
A governess! yes, a governess!
She had fled from her home, and for this reason: Lord
Algernon's passion had been detected by a former fiancée, who had
imparted her knowledge to the Duchess of Blank, who, in return,
had furiously insisted that her son should never see Cleopatra
again.
This, Lord Algernon would not promise; whereupon his
mother clandestinely visited Cleopatra, and threatened, if she
did not herself put an end to the engagement, his father would
cut off the fifty thousand per annum which he allowed to his
younger son.
It was not a large sum, but Cleopatra knew the effect the
carrying out of the threat would have on her beloved's future,
and, like a true-hearted girl, resolved to run away from him.
She therefore immediately packed up her things, and, having
obtained, through the medium of a newspaper, a situation in a.
nobleman's family in London, she borrowed a small sum of
money from the weeping gardener, and, without going through
the formality of saying goodbye, left her happy village home for
ever.
Her eyes were swollen when she reached 300, Grosvenor
Square, and, with a very heavy heart, she entered upon her new
duties, which were in the highest degree distasteful to her. She
never ceased to think of Lord Algernon. In the stillness of the
night she would hear, in the music of the policeman's tread, one
word, "Algernon;" that name the winds bore along, and the
rustling of the trees conveyed; she lived on the thought of him,
and cherished her hero in her heart of hearts.
And he, where was he? Alas! lying on a sick bed, with bags
of ice on his head, two nurses in attendance day and night, and
a conscience-stricken mother assiduous in her loving care at his
bedside.
"Cleopatra! Cleopatra! Cleopatra" he unceasingly cried,
and refused to be comforted, and his mother and father groaned
in their despair.
"It was my wretched pride that caused this; I would give
worlds to undo my folly," the Duchess of Blank moaned; but
the sufferer grew no better, in fact, he hourly became worse.
Advertisements were inserted in the papers, entreating
Cleopatra to at once repair to De Brabant Castle; but little she
recked, poor child, of the peril of her lover, as the rules of the
house forbade her reading anything but the most severely
religious books.
Little Lord à la Fauntleroy was a constant worry, and by his
fretful conduct and angry words made Cleopatra's life almost
unendurable. However, she bore it without a murmur, until one
day when his lordship had used language the very reverse of
polite to her, she went to his mother and made a complaint.
The mother heeded her not, but told her to be more agreeable
to her pupil; and, weeping bitterly, she went out of the room.
As she closed the door behind her she heard a voice, and looking
up, found herself face to face with the Earl of Woodhead.
"You are in trouble?" he said, turning his flashing black eyes
on her troubled face.
"I am," she said; "and you, I hope, are well."
"My darling, you must be aware that I am yours body and
soul. Command me as you please; nay, do not hesitate."
"Take me away," she sobbed.
"You will come," he cried eagerly.
"No, no. I will be brave and true to your brother."
"Curse him!" he hissed, between his set teeth; "curse him,
he has always beaten me. Even at school he won the long
jump over my head. At college — well, I was sent down; and
now he filches from me the only woman I have ever, ever loved.
Believe me, my darling?"
And his handsome face aglow with passion, he knelt on the
door-mat and offered his hand and heart to the shrinking girl.
"Get up! my Lord; I love your brother," she said firmly.
He rose, and, flicking the dust away with a silken
handkerchief, in a voice which betrayed a world of bitterness, he
said: "I will ruin you —–; oh, but first I will go to the drawing-room
and smoke a cigarette; au revoir."
His white teeth glistened, and the love-light shone no longer
in his eye as he ascended the stairs.
"Lord Woodhead, what does this mean?"
He stopped, and confronted Lady Packemoff.
"I am sorry, but as an old friend, I warn you that —"
Cleopatra appealed to him with a look which would have
wrung the heartstrings of another man; but he only lighted a
cigarette, and, puffing the smoke over the balusters, continued:
"Miss Smith is no fit companion for your son."
Cleopatra fell fainting on to the floor.
CHAPTER IV.
ONE
year had passed.
It was a cold winter's night, the snow was sheeting the earth
with a robe of purity, the moon's fitful gleams were not noticeable,
the birds had ceased to sing, everything was drear and terrible.
Number 300, Grosvenor — square was, however, brilliantly lighted,
and ever and anon a carriage stopped before its door, and
deposited its human load on the carpeted pavement.
A beautifully appointed brougham drove up, and there
descended from it a man in faultless evening attire, and a woman
enveloped in costly furs, who were startled by hearing — great
Heaven, what was it? — a human cry!
Yes, and it proceeded from the woman who, faint and
ill-clad, was leaning against the area railings.
The man paused for a moment, and then, with a gladsome
shout of "Cleopatra, at last I have found you," wildly threw
his arms around the emaciated figure, and held her in his arms.
It was Cleopatra found at last!
"Where have you been all this time, my love?" he asked,
caring nothing for the snow, and sheltering his adored under the
silk-lined Inverness he wore on his broad shoulders.
"Working at a milliner's; but it is a long story. I want to
sleep."
He lifted her in his arms, and carried her into the house.
"Show me your mistress's bedroom, and send her maid to
me," he said to one of the many footmen who cowered before
him, menials as they were.
"Yes, my Lord," and in less than quarter of an hour she was
lying between the flowered sheets of the Marquesa di Santiago.
Lord Algernon's hostess seemed averse to this arrangement,
but he, paying no attention to her uncharitable suggestion that
another room should be set apart for the visitor's use, with head
erect and desperation written on his face, went into the supper
room.
Why was he miserable? Ah, the reason is too apparent.
Deeming Cleopatra was dead, he had become engaged to
another.
CHAPTER V.
THE
Earl of Woodhead was dressing when his brother entered.
"Good morning. Ah! Thomas bring me my silver portmanteau,
and open it with the small pearl key. Sit down, won't you
Lord Algernon?"
Thomas did as he was told.
"Give me the packet of letters you will find in the gold
pocket."
They were brought; "There is one letter that will interest
you," he said, turning to his brother.
Lord Algernon with trembling fingers opened the letter
indicated, and read, "My Lord of Woodhead, I hate you. Yours,
Cleopatra Newsans." He handed it to his brother, remarking,
"I always thought she did."
Lord Woodhead became very pale; he had possessed
originally two letters, and had destroyed the wrong one.
"You will be pleased to hear," said Lord Algernon, as he
rose to go, "that my late fiancée has run away with a stable boy,
and so enabled me to marry Cleopatra; also that Cleopatra's
aunt has died and left her fifty thousand pounds per annum;
also that my mother and father have approved the match, also
that we shall be glad to see you at our wedding, and now I will
wish you a very good morning."
He departed, and ten minutes afterwards, Thomas, hearing
the report of a pistol, went into the dressing-room, and found
his master lying dead, holding a letter tightly clenched in his
right hand.
CHAPTER VI.
"MY
darling wife, at last I can call you so," Lord Algernon
said, kissing Cleopatra as they started on the first stage of their
honeymoon.
"Are you happy?"
"I am, darling husband."
"You have borne much for my sake, dearest, and my whole
life shall be devoted to you. I shall never forget the hideous
pain and anguish you suffered in my interest, darling."
"Dearest!"
"You are happy?"
"Yes," and a look of ineffable happiness heightened the
loveliness of her pale face.
"You love me?"
"Dearest!"
"You know I do."
"Darling!"
"Yes," Lord Algernon said, proudly. "You have proved
yourself worthy of any man's love, and I have now but to
endeavour to approximate to you — my ideal."
"Darling husband!"
"Dearest wife!"
"Your troubles are now over; let us look forward to a
glorious future."
And as the sun sank behind the Western hills her head
rested on her lover's breast, and she was happy.
ISIDORE OUIDA-BRADDON-HUNGERFORD-ALEXANDER LEVI.
(THE END)
