"I did not know that there was a woman in the house who could wake the soul in the piano like that," said Lady Lancaster to herself, when the girl was gone. "What a touch! What grand notes! Who is it that has been hiding her talents in a napkin? Not Lady Adela! She is fast enough to show all the accomplishments she possesses. So are all the other women, for that matter. Modesty is not one of their failings."
And she waited most impatiently for Elise to return. She was both curious and angry. She was angry because her nap had been brought to an untimely end, and she was curious to know who had done it.
It seemed to her that the maid stayed a long time. The march from "Norma" was finished, and the unknown musician had struck into another piece—a melancholy fugue—before the girl came flying back with upraised hands and dilated eyes, exclaiming:
"Oh, my lady, I never was so astonished in all my life!"
CHAPTER XXIX
"You fool!" cried Lady Lancaster, in a rage. "Who cares whether you are astonished or not? Why don't you tell me what I sent you to find out?"
"What a spiteful old cat!" Elise said to herself, indignantly; but she answered, meekly enough:
"So I am going to tell you, my lady, directly. It's that girl from America—the housekeeper's niece."
Lady Lancaster bounded erect in her bed and regarded the maid for a moment in unfeigned dismay. She had utterly forgotten the existence of Mrs. West's niece, and it took several minutes of bewildered thought to recall her to her mind. When her memory had fully come back, she gasped out feebly:
"Do you say that that child—West's niece—is down in the drawing-room playing on the piano?"
"Yes, my lady, that was what I said," said Elise, who was almost as much astonished as her mistress.
"The impertinent little monkey! Wherever did she learn to play like that? Did you tell her to go away, Elise?" angrily.
"No, my lady. I only went and peeped in at the door. When I saw who it was, I came quietly away."
"Help me out of bed, Elise," cried her mistress, imperiously.
"Oh, my lady, and bring back all the pain in your shoulder again!" Elise cried, aghast.
"Do as I bid you, girl," sharply.
The maid took the thin, bony little figure into her strong young arms, and lifted it out upon the floor.
"Now bring my dressing-gown, my slippers, and my wig. Put them on me—quickly," commanded my lady.
Elise knew that there was no use in expostulating. She quietly did as she was told. She powdered the yellow face, adjusted the curly wig and youthful cap, put on the velvet slippers and the gorgeous brocaded dressing-gown that made Lady Lancaster look like the Queen of Sheba in all her glory.
"Now give me your arm," she said, turning toward the door.
"But, my lady, where are you going?" cried Elise.
"To the drawing-room," curtly.
"You'll catch your death of cold," whimpered the maid.
"What is that to you?" flashed the dowager, sharply. "Come along."
And clinging to the arm of Elise, and groaning at every step with the reawakened pain in her shoulder, Lady Lancaster took up her march to the drawing-room, her flowered gown trailing majestically behind her, going forth as one goes to conquer, for she was intent on the instant and utter annihilation, metaphorically speaking, of the daring plebeian child who had so coolly transgressed her commands.
Leonora had never got beyond the picture-gallery and the drawing-room. The great, black, ebony piano had fascinated her. She could not tear herself away.
"Oh, Aunt West, my fingers ache to touch the keys!"
"Can you play, dear?" asked her aunt, with one of her kind, indulgent smiles.
"Only let me show you," said the girl. "There is no one to hear, is there, aunt?"
"No, there is no one," said Mrs. West, reflectively. "The maids are all in the other wing. This part of the house is empty. I dare say it will be no harm for you to amuse yourself a little while."
She threw back the magnificent embroidered cover, and raised the lid herself. Leonora's eyes beamed under their long lashes at sight of the gleaming pearl keys.
"Oh!" she said, under her breath, and sat down. She ran her fingers lightly along the keys. A shower of melody seemed to fall from them. The silver-sweet notes fell soft and swift as rain-drops from the flying fingers, and full of subtle harmony and delicious sound. She played on and on, and when the exquisite aria came to a close Mrs. West gazed at her in amazement.
"Oh, my dear, what music!" she cried. "I do not believe that any of the ladies who come here can play as well as that."
"Can not Lady Adela?"
"No, I am sure she can not," Mrs. West answered, decidedly. "But shall we go now?"
"Presently, Aunt West. I may stay just a little longer, may I not?"
"If you like to stay alone. I have just thought of some duties I have to perform. I will go back and leave you here. If I come in half an hour, will you be ready?"
"Oh, yes, thank you, aunt," she answered, and ran her fingers lovingly over the keys, little thinking that the strong, full, joyous notes were awakening Nemesis from her nap upstairs.
CHAPTER XXX
While Lady Lancaster was finishing her toilet upstairs, Leonora finished her fugue in the drawing-room. Then she played a little morceau from Bach. Then she began to sing. The dowager, coming along the corridor outside with stealthy, cat-like steps, was amazed to catch the passionate words of a little gem from "Iolanthe," sung in a voice as sweet and clear and well trained as many a professional could boast.
"An opera song! Upon my word! What sort of a girl is it, anyhow?" ejaculated the dowager, in astonishment; and in spite of her haste and anger, she could not help pausing to hear the words of the tender love song:
"Upon my word, that must be a remarkable child," Lady Lancaster said to herself; and, like Elise, she peeped around the door to get a secret view of the daring transgressor.
After she had looked she stepped back a pace in amazement. She was more astonished than she had ever been in her life.
The child she had come to see was nowhere. She had come down the stairs with a distinct intention of "boxing the little brat's ears for her temerity." She stared in amazement at what she saw.
And yet it was not a wonderful sight, but only a very pleasing one—unless my lady had been hard to please—only a graceful, girlish figure in deep black, with a line of white at the slender throat, where the narrow linen collar was fastened with a neat bar of jet—only a fair young face, with its profile turned toward the door, and two small white hands guiltless of rings or other adorning, save their own dimpled beauty, straying over the keys with a loving touch, as if all her soul was in her song.
Lady Lancaster caught her breath with a gasp as if someone had thrown cold water over her. She turned to the maid; exclaiming, in a shrill whisper:
"Elise, that is not West's American niece. You are trying to deceive me!"
"No, my lady, I am not. It is Miss West. Is she not a pretty girl?"
"But I thought," said my lady, ignoring the question, "that West's niece was a child. I am sure she told me so."
"I do not know what she told you; but this is certainly Leonora West," reiterated the maid; and then her mistress stepped over the threshold into the room, the long train of her stiff brocade rustling behind her as she walked with an air of withering majesty upon her wrinkled face.
Leonora, hearing the ominous sound, glanced around with a startled air, her hands fell from the keys, and she sprung to her feet, and stood waiting the lady's approach—not humbly, not nervously, but with that calm dignity and self-possession that seemed characteristic of her, and that seemed to belong peculiarly to her as fragrance belongs to a flower.