CHAPTER XIII.
A DEATH-BED.
It comes--it wrings me in my parting hour, The long-hid crime--the well-disguised guilt. Bring me some holy priest to lay the spectre!
_Old Play._
The general expectation of the company had been disappointed by thepacific termination of the meeting betwixt the Earl of Etherington andTyrrel, the anticipation of which had created so deep a sensation. Ithad been expected that some appalling scene would have taken place;instead of which, each party seemed to acquiesce in a sullen neutrality,and leave the war to be carried on by their lawyers. It was generallyunderstood that the cause was removed out of the courts of Bellona intothat of Themis; and although the litigants continued to inhabit the sameneighbourhood, and once or twice met at the public walks or publictable, they took no notice of each other, farther than by exchanging onsuch occasions, a grave and distant bow.
In the course of two or three days, people ceased to take interest in afeud so coldly conducted; and if they thought of it at all, it was butto wonder that both the parties should persevere in residing near theSpa, and in chilling, with their unsocial behaviour, a party mettogether for the purposes of health and amusement.
But the brothers, as the reader is aware, however painful theiroccasional meetings might be, had the strongest reasons to remain ineach other's neighbourhood--Lord Etherington to conduct his design uponMiss Mowbray, Tyrrel to disconcert his plan, if possible, and both toawait the answer which should be returned by the house in London, whowere depositaries of the papers left by the late Earl.
Jekyl, anxious to assist his friend as much as possible, made in themeantime a visit to old Touchwood at the Aultoun, expecting to find himas communicative as he had formerly been on the subject of the quarrelbetwixt the brothers, and trusting to discover, by dint of address,whence he had derived his information concerning the affairs of thenoble house of Etherington. But the confidence which he had been inducedto expect on the part of the old traveller was not reposed. FerdinandMendez Pinto, as the Earl called him, had changed his mind, or was notin the vein of communication. The only proof of his confidence worthmentioning, was his imparting to the young officer a valuable receiptfor concocting curry-powder.
Jekyl was therefore reduced to believe that Touchwood, who appeared allhis life to have been a great intermeddler in other people's matters,had puzzled out the information which he appeared to possess of LordEtherington's affairs, through some of those obscure sources whence veryimportant secrets do frequently, to the astonishment and confusion ofthose whom they concern, escape to the public. He thought this the morelikely, as Touchwood was by no means critically nice in his society, butwas observed to converse as readily with a gentleman's gentleman, aswith the gentleman to whom he belonged, and with a lady's attendant, aswith the lady herself. He that will stoop to this sort of society, whois fond of tattle, being at the same time disposed to pay someconsideration for gratification of his curiosity, and not overscrupulous respecting its accuracy, may always command a great quantityof private anecdote. Captain Jekyl naturally enough concluded, that thisbusy old man became in some degree master of other people's affairs bysuch correspondences as these; and he could himself bear witness to hissuccess in cross-examination, as he had been surprised into an avowal ofthe rencontre between the brothers, by an insidious observation of thesaid Touchwood. He reported, therefore, to the Earl, after thisinterview, that, on the whole, he thought he had no reason to fear muchon the subject of the traveller, who, though he had become acquainted,by some means or other, with some leading facts of his remarkablehistory; only possessed them in a broken, confused, and desultorymanner, insomuch that he seemed to doubt whether the parties in theexpected lawsuit were brothers or cousins, and appeared totally ignorantof the facts on which it was to be founded.
It was the next day after this _eclaircissement_ on the subject ofTouchwood, that Lord Etherington dropped as usual into the bookseller'sshop, got his papers, and skimming his eye over the shelf on which lay,till called for, the postponed letters destined for the Aultoun, sawwith a beating heart the smart post-mistress toss amongst them, with anair of sovereign contempt, a pretty large packet, addressed to FrancisTyrrel, Esq. &c. He withdrew his eyes, as if conscious that even to havelooked on this important parcel might engender some suspicion of hispurpose, or intimate the deep interest which he took in the contents ofthe missive which was so slightly treated by his friend Mrs. Pott. Atthis moment the door of the shop opened, and Lady Penelope Penfeatherentered, with her eternal _pendante_, the little Miss Digges.
"Have you seen Mr. Mowbray?--Has Mr. Mowbray of St. Ronan's been downthis morning?--Do you know any thing of Mr. Mowbray, Mrs. Pott?" werequestions which the lettered lady eagerly huddled on the back of eachother, scarcely giving time to the lady of letters to return a decidednegative to all and each of them.
"Mr. Mowbray was not about--was not coming there this morning--hisservant had just called for letters and papers, and announced as much."
"Good Heaven! how unfortunate!" said Lady Penelope, with a deep sigh,and sinking down on one of the little sofas in an attitude of shockingdesolation, which called the instant attention of Mr. Pott and his goodwoman, the first uncorking a small phial of salts, for he was apharmacopolist as well as vender of literature and transmitter ofletters, and the other hastening for a glass of water. A strongtemptation thrilled from Lord Etherington's eyes to his finger-ends. Twosteps might have brought him within arm's-length of the unwatchedpacket, on the contents of which, in all probability, rested the hopeand claims of his rival in honour and fortune; and, in the generalconfusion, was it impossible to possess himself of it unobserved? Butno--no--no--the attempt was too dreadfully dangerous to be risked; and,passing from one extreme to another, he felt as if he was incurringsuspicion by suffering Lady Penelope to play off her airs of affecteddistress and anxiety, without seeming to take that interest in themwhich her rank at least might be supposed to demand. Stung with thisapprehension, he hastened to express himself so anxiously on thesubject, and to demonstrate so busily his wish to assist her ladyship,that he presently stood committed a great deal farther than he hadintended. Lady Penelope was infinitely obliged to his lordship--indeed,it was her character in general not to permit herself to be overcome bycircumstances; but something had happened, so strange, so embarrassing,so melancholy, that she owned it had quite overcome her--notwithstanding,she had at all times piqued herself on supporting her own distresses,better than she was able to suppress her emotions in viewing those ofothers.
"Could he be of any use?" Lord Etherington asked. "She had enquiredafter Mr. Mowbray of St. Ronan's--his servant was at her ladyship'sservice, if she chose to send to command his attendance."
"Oh! no, no!" said Lady Penelope; "I dare say, my dear lord, you willanswer the purpose a great deal better than Mr. Mowbray--that is,provided you are a Justice of Peace."
"A Justice of Peace!" said Lord Etherington, much surprised; "I am inthe commission unquestionably, but not for any Scotch county."
"O, that does not signify," said Lady Penelope; "and if you will trustyourself with me a little way, I will explain to you how you can do oneof the most charitable, and kind, and generous things in the world."
Lord Etherington's delight in the exercise of charity, kindness, andgenerosity, was not so exuberant as to prevent his devising some meansfor evading Lady Penelope's request, when, looking through thesash-door, he had a distant glance of his servant Solmes approaching thePost-office.
I have heard of a sheep-stealer who had rendered his dog so skilful anaccomplice in his nefarious traffic, that he used to send him out tocommit acts of felony by himself, and had even contrived to impress onthe poor cur the caution that he should not, on such occasions, seemeven to recognise his master, if they met accidentally.[II-9] Apparently,Lord Etherington conducted himself upon a similar principle; for he hadno sooner a glimpse of his agent, than he seemed to feel the necessityof leaving the stage free for his mac
hinations.
"My servant," he said, with as much indifference as he could assume,"will call for my letters--I must attend Lady Penelope;" and, instantlyproffering his services as Justice of the Peace, or in whatever otherquality she chose to employ them, he hastily presented his arm, andscarce gave her ladyship time to recover from her state of languor tothe necessary degree of activity, ere he hurried her from the shop; and,with her thin hatchet-face chattering close to his ear, her yellow andscarlet feathers crossing his nose, her lean right honourable armhooking his elbow, he braved the suppressed titters and sneers of allthe younger women whom he met as they traversed the parade. One glanceof intelligence, though shot at a distance, passed betwixt his lordshipand Solmes, as the former left the public walk under the guidance ofLady Penelope, his limbs indeed obeying her pleasure, and his earsdinned with her attempts to explain the business in question, but hismind totally indifferent where he was going, or ignorant on whatpurpose, and exclusively occupied with the packet in Mrs. Pott's heap ofpostponed letters, and its probable fate.
At length an effort of recollection made Lord Etherington sensible thathis abstraction must seem strange, and, as his conscience told him, evensuspicious in the eyes of his companion; putting therefore the necessarydegree of constraint upon himself, he expressed, for the first time,curiosity to know where their walk was to terminate. It chanced, thatthis was precisely the question which he needed not to have asked, if hehad paid but the slightest attention to the very voluble communicationsof her ladyship, which had all turned upon this subject.
"Now, my dear lord," she said, "I must believe you lords of the creationthink us poor simple women the vainest fools alive. I have told you howmuch pain it costs me to speak about my little charities, and yet youcome to make me tell you the whole story over again. But I hope, afterall, your lordship is not surprised at what I have thought it my duty todo in this sad affair--perhaps I have listened too much to the dictatesof my own heart, which are apt to be so deceitful."
On the watch to get at something explanatory, yet afraid, by demandingit directly, to show that the previous tide of narrative and pathos hadbeen lost on an inattentive ear, Lord Etherington could only say, thatLady Penelope could not err in acting according to the dictates of herown judgment.
Still the compliment had not sauce enough for the lady's sated palate;so, like a true glutton of praise, she began to help herself with thesoup-ladle.
"Ah! judgment?--how is it you men know us so little, that you think wecan pause to weigh sentiment in the balance of judgment?--that isexpecting rather too much from us poor victims of our feelings. So thatyou must really hold me excused if I forgot the errors of this guiltyand unhappy creature, when I looked upon her wretchedness--Not that Iwould have my little friend, Miss Digges, or your lordship, suppose thatI am capable of palliating the fault, while I pity the poor, miserablesinner. Oh, no--Walpole's verses express beautifully what one ought tofeel on such occasions--
'For never was the gentle breast Insensible to human woes; Feeling, though firm, it melts distress'd For weaknesses it never knows.'"
"Most accursed of all _precieuses_," thought his lordship, "when wiltthou, amidst all thy chatter, utter one word sounding like sense orinformation!"
But, Lady Penelope went on--"If you knew, my lord, how I lament mylimited means on those occasions! but I have gathered something amongthe good people at the Well. I asked that selfish wretch, Winterblossom,to walk down with me to view her distress, and the heartless beast toldme he was afraid of infection!--infection from a puer--puerperal fever!I should not perhaps pronounce the word, but science is of nosex--however, I have always used thieves' vinegar essence, and neverhave gone farther than the threshold."
Whatever were Etherington's faults, he did not want charity, so far asit consists in giving alms.
"I am sorry," he said, taking out his purse, "your ladyship should nothave applied to me."
"Pardon me, my lord, we only beg from our friends; and your lordship isso constantly engaged with Lady Binks, that we have rarely the pleasureof seeing you in what I call _my_ little circle."
Lord Etherington, without further answer, tendered a couple of guineas,and observed, that the poor woman should have medical attendance.
"Why, so I say," answered Lady Penelope; "and I asked the bruteQuackleben, who, I am sure, owes me some gratitude, to go and see her;but the sordid monster answered, 'Who was to pay him?'--He grows everyday more intolerable, now that he seems sure of marrying that fat blowzywidow. He could not, I am sure, expect that I--out of my pittance--Andbesides, my lord, is there not a law that the parish, or the county, orthe something or other, shall pay for physicking the poor?"
"We will find means to secure the Doctor's attendance," said LordEtherington; "and I believe my best way will be to walk back to theWell, and send him to wait on the patient. I am afraid I can be oflittle use to a poor woman in a childbed fever."
"Puerperal, my lord, puerperal," said Lady Penelope, in a tone ofcorrection.
"In a puerperal fever, then," said Lord Etherington; "why, what can I doto help her?"
"Oh! my lord, you have forgotten that this Anne Heggie, that I told youof, came here with one child in her arms--and another--in short, aboutto become a mother again--and settled herself in this miserable hut Itold you of--and some people think the minister should have sent her toher own parish; but he is a strange, soft-headed, sleepy sort of man,not over active in his parochial duties. However, there she settled, andthere was something about her quite beyond the style of a common pauper,my lord--not at all the disgusting sort of person that you give asixpence to while you look another way--but some one that seemed to haveseen better days--one that, as Shakspeare says, could a taleunfold--though, indeed, I have never thoroughly learned herhistory--only, that to-day, as I called to know how she was, and sent mymaid into her hut with some trifle, not worth mentioning, I find thereis something hangs about her mind concerning the Mowbray family here ofSt. Ronan's--and my woman says the poor creature is dying, and is ravingeither for Mr. Mowbray or for some magistrate to receive a declaration;and so I have given you the trouble to come with me, that we may get outof the poor creature, if possible, whatever she has got to say.--I hopeit is not murder--I hope not--though young St. Ronan's has been astrange, wild, daring, thoughtless creature--_sgherro insigne_, as theItalian says.--But here is the hut, my lord--pray, walk in."
The mention of the St. Ronan's family, and of a secret relating to them,banished the thoughts which Lord Etherington began to entertain ofleaving Lady Penelope to execute her works of devoted charity withouthis assistance. It was now with an interest equal to her own, that hestood before a most miserable hut, where the unfortunate female, herdistresses not greatly relieved by Lady Penelope's ostentatious bounty,had resided both previous to her confinement, and since that event hadtaken place, with an old woman, one of the parish poor, whose miserabledole the minister had augmented, that she might have some means ofassisting the stranger.
Lady Penelope lifted the latch and entered, after a momentaryhesitation, which proceeded from a struggle betwixt her fear ofinfection, and her eager curiosity to know something, she could notguess what, that might affect the Mowbrays in their honour or fortunes.The latter soon prevailed, and she entered, followed by LordEtherington. The lady, like other comforters of the cabins of the poor,proceeded to rebuke the grumbling old woman for want of order andcleanliness--censured the food which was provided for the patient, andenquired particularly after the wine which she had left to make caudlewith. The crone was not so dazzled with Lady Penelope's dignity orbounty as to endure her reprimand with patience. "They that had theirbread to won wi' ae arm," she said, for the other hung powerless by herside, "had mair to do than to soop hooses; if her leddyship wad let herain idle quean of a lass take the besom, she might make the house asclean as she liked; and madam wad be a' the better of the exercise, andwad hae done, at least, ae turn of wark at the week's end."
"Do y
ou hear the old hag, my lord?" said Lady Penelope. "Well, the poorare horrid ungrateful wretches--And the wine, dame--the wine?"
"The wine!--there was hardly half a mutchkin, and puir, thin, fusionlessskink it was--the wine was drank out, ye may swear--we didna fling itower our shouther--if ever we were to get good o't, it was by taking itnaked, and no wi' your sugar and your slaisters--I wish, for ane, I hadne'er kend the sour smack o't. If the bedral hadna gien me a drap ofusquebaugh, I might e'en hae died of your leddyship's liquor, for"----
Lord Etherington here interrupted the grumbling crone, thrusting somesilver into her grasp, and at the same time begging her to be silent.The hag weighed the crown-piece in her hand, and crawled to herchimney-corner, muttering as she went,--"This is something like--this issomething like--no like rinning into the house and out of the house, andgeeing orders, like mistress and mair, and than a puir shilling againSaturday at e'en."
So saying, she sat down to her wheel, and seized, while she spun, herjet-black cutty pipe, from which she soon sent such clouds of vilemundungus vapour as must have cleared the premises of Lady Penelope, hadshe not been strong in purpose to share the expected confession of theinvalid. As for Miss Digges, she coughed, sneezed, retched, and finallyran out of the cottage, declaring she could not live in such a smoke, ifit were to hear twenty sick women's last speeches; and that, besides,she was sure to know all about it from Lady Penelope, if it was ever solittle worth telling over again.
Lord Etherington was now standing beside the miserable flock-bed, inwhich lay the poor patient, distracted, in what seemed to be her dyingmoments, with the peevish clamour of the elder infant, to which shecould only reply by low moans, turning her looks as well as she couldfrom its ceaseless whine to the other side of her wretched couch, wherelay the unlucky creature to which she had last given birth; itsshivering limbs imperfectly covered with a blanket, its little featuresalready swollen and bloated, and its eyes scarce open, apparentlyinsensible to the evils of a state from which it seemed about to bespeedily released.
"You are very ill, poor woman," said Lord Etherington; "I am told youdesire a magistrate."
"It was Mr. Mowbray of St. Ronan's, whom I desired to see--John Mowbrayof St. Ronan's--the lady promised to bring him here."
"I am not Mowbray of St. Ronan's," said Lord Etherington; "but I am ajustice of peace, and a member of the legislature--I am, moreover, Mr.Mowbray's particular friend, if I can be of use to you in any of thesecapacities."
The poor woman remained long silent, and when she spoke it wasdoubtfully.
"Is my Lady Penelope Penfeather there?" she said, straining her darkenedeyes.
"Her ladyship is present, and within hearing," said Lord Etherington.
"My case is the worse," answered the dying woman, for so she seemed, "ifI must communicate such a secret as mine to a man of whom I knownothing, and a woman of whom I only know that she wants discretion."
"I--I want discretion!" said Lady Penelope; but at a signal from LordEtherington she seemed to restrain herself; nor did the sick woman,whose powers of observation were greatly impaired, seem to be aware ofthe interruption. She spoke, notwithstanding her situation, with anintelligible and even emphatic voice; her manner in a great measurebetraying the influence of the fever, and her tone and language seemingmuch superior to her most miserable condition.
"I am not the abject creature which I seem," she said; "at least, I wasnot born to be so. I wish I _were_ that utter abject! I wish I were awretched pauper of the lowest class--a starving vagabond--a wifelessmother--ignorance and insensibility would make me bear my lot like theoutcast animal that dies patiently on the side of the common, where ithas been half-starved during its life. But I--but I--born and bred tobetter things, have not lost the memory of them, and they make mypresent condition--my shame--my poverty--my infamy--the sight of mydying babes--the sense that my own death is coming fast on--they makethese things a foretaste of hell!"
Lady Penelope's self-conceit and affectation were broken down by thisfearful exordium. She sobbed, shuddered, and, for once perhaps in herlife, felt the real, not the assumed necessity, of putting herhandkerchief to her eyes. Lord Etherington also was moved.
"Good woman," he said, "as far as relieving your personal wants canmitigate your distress, I will see that that is fully performed, andthat your poor children are attended to."
"May God bless you!" said the poor woman, with a glance at the wretchedforms beside her; "and may you," she added, after a momentary pause,"deserve the blessing of God, for it is bestowed in vain on those whoare unworthy of it!"
Lord Etherington felt, perhaps, a twinge of conscience; for he said,something hastily, "Pray go on, good woman, if you really have any thingto communicate to me as a magistrate--it is time your condition wassomewhat mended, and I will cause you to be cared for directly."
"Stop yet a moment," she said; "let me unload my conscience before I gohence, for no earthly relief will long avail to prolong my time here.--Iwas well born, the more my present shame! well educated, the greater mypresent guilt!--I was always, indeed, poor, but I felt not of the illsof poverty. I only thought of it when my vanity demanded idle andexpensive gratifications, for real wants I knew none. I was companion ofa young lady of higher rank than my own, my relative however, and one ofsuch exquisite kindness of disposition, that she treated me as a sister,and would have shared with me all that she had on earth----I scarcethink I can go farther with my story!--something rises to my throat whenI recollect how I rewarded her sisterly love!--I was elder than Clara--Ishould have directed her reading, and confirmed her understanding; butmy own bent led me to peruse only works, which, though they burlesquenature, are seductive to the imagination. We read these folliestogether, until we had fashioned out for ourselves a little world ofromance, and prepared ourselves for a maze of adventures. Clara'simaginations were as pure as those of angels; mine were--but it isunnecessary to tell them. The fiend, always watchful, presented atempter at the moment when it was most dangerous."
She paused here, as if she found difficulty in expressing herself; andLord Etherington, turning, with great appearance of interest, to LadyPenelope, began to enquire, "Whether it were quite agreeable to herladyship to remain any longer an ear-witness of this unfortunate'sconfession?--it seems to be verging on some things--things that it mightbe unpleasant for your ladyship to hear."
"I was just forming the same opinion, my lord; and, to say truth, wasabout to propose to your lordship to withdraw, and leave me alone withthe poor woman. My sex will make her necessary communications more frankin your lordship's absence."
"True, madam; but then I am called here in my capacity of a magistrate."
"Hush!" said Lady Penelope; "she speaks."
"They say every woman that yields, makes herself a slave to her seducer;but I sold my liberty not to a man, but a demon! He made me serve him inhis vile schemes against my friend and patroness--and oh! he found in mean agent too willing, from mere envy, to destroy the virtue which I hadlost myself. Do not listen to me any more--Go, and leave me to my fate!I am the most detestable wretch that ever lived--detestable to myselfworst of all, because even in my penitence there is a secret whisperthat tells me, that were I as I have been, I would again act over allthe wickedness I have done, and much worse. Oh! for Heaven's assistance,to crush the wicked thought!"
She closed her eyes, folded her emaciated hands, and held them upwardsin the attitude of one who prays internally; presently the handsseparated, and fell gently down on the miserable couch; but her eyes didnot open, nor was there the slightest sign of motion in the features.Lady Penelope shrieked faintly, hid her eyes, and hurried back from thebed, while Lord Etherington, his looks darkening with a complication offeelings, remained gazing on the poor woman, as if eager to discernwhether the spark of life was totally extinct. Her grim old assistanthurried to the bedside, with some spirits in a broken glass.
"Have ye no had pennyworths for your charity?" she said, in spitefulscorn. "Ye buy the very
life o' us wi' your shillings and sixpences,your groats and your boddles--ye hae garr'd the puir wretch speak tillshe swarfs, and now ye stand as if ye never saw a woman in a dwambefore? Let me till her wi' the dram--mony words mickle drought, yeken--Stand out o' my gate, my leddy, if sae be that ye are a leddy;there is little use of the like of you when there is death in the pot."
Lady Penelope, half affronted, but still more frightened by the mannersof the old hag, now gladly embraced Lord Etherington's renewed offer toescort her from the hut. He left it not, however, without bestowing anadditional gratuity on the old woman, who received it with a whiningbenediction.
"The Almighty guide your course through the troubles of this wickedwarld--and the muckle deevil blaw wind in your sails," she added, in hernatural tone, as the guests vanished from her miserable threshold. "Awheen cork-headed, barmy-brained gowks! that wunna let puir folk saemuckle as die in quiet, wi' their sossings and their soopings."[II-10]
"This poor creature's declaration," said Lord Etherington to LadyPenelope, "seems to refer to matters which the law has nothing to dowith, and which, perhaps, as they seem to implicate the peace of afamily of respectability, and the character of a young lady, we ought toenquire no farther after."
"I differ from your lordship," said Lady Penelope; "I differextremely--I suppose you guess whom her discourse touched upon?"
"Indeed, your ladyship does my acuteness too much honour."
"Did she not mention a Christian name?" said Lady Penelope; "yourlordship is strangely dull this morning!"
"A Christian name?--No, none that I heard--yes, she said somethingabout--a Catherine, I think it was."
"Catherine!" answered the lady; "No, my lord, it was Clara--rather arare name in this country, and belonging, I think, to a young lady ofwhom your lordship should know something, unless your eveningflirtations with Lady Binks have blotted entirely out of your memoryyour morning visits to Shaws-Castle. You are a bold man, my lord. Iwould advise you to include Mrs. Blower among the objects of yourattention, and then you will have maid, wife, and widow upon your list."
"Upon my honour, your ladyship is too severe," said Lord Etherington;"you surround yourself every evening with all that is clever andaccomplished among the people here, and then you ridicule a poorsecluded monster, who dare not approach your charmed circle, because heseeks for some amusement elsewhere. This is to tyrannize and not toreign--it is Turkish despotism!"
"Ah! my lord, I know you well, my lord," said Lady Penelope--"Sorrywould your lordship be, had you not power to render yourself welcome toany circle which you may please to approach."
"That is to say," answered the lord, "you will pardon me if I intrude onyour ladyship's coterie this evening?"
"There is no society which Lord Etherington can think of frequenting,where he will not be a welcome guest."
"I will plead then at once my pardon and privilege this evening--Andnow," (speaking as if he had succeeded in establishing some confidencewith her ladyship,) "what do you really think of this blind story?"
"O, I must believe it concerns Miss Mowbray. She was always an oddgirl--something about her I could never endure--a sort ofeffrontery--that is, perhaps, a harsh word, but a kind of assurance--anair of confidence--so that though I kept on a footing with her, becauseshe was an orphan girl of good family, and because I really knew nothingpositively bad of her, yet she sometimes absolutely shocked me."
"Your ladyship, perhaps, would not think it right to give publicity tothe story? at least, till you know exactly what it is," said the Earl,in a tone of suggestion.
"Depend upon it, that it is quite the worst, the very worst--You heardthe woman say that she had exposed Clara to ruin--and you know she musthave meant Clara Mowbray, because she was so anxious to tell the storyto her brother, St. Ronan's."
"Very true--I did not think of that," answered Lord Etherington; "stillit would be hard on the poor girl if it should get abroad."
"O, it will never get abroad for me," said Lady Penelope; "I would nottell the very wind of it. But then I cannot meet Miss Mowbray asformerly--I have a station in life to maintain, my lord--and I am underthe necessity of being select in my society--it is a duty I owe thepublic, if it were even not my own inclination."
"Certainly, my Lady Penelope," said Lord Etherington; "but thenconsider, that, in a place where all eyes are necessarily observant ofyour ladyship's behaviour, the least coldness on your part to MissMowbray--and, after all, we have nothing like assurance of any thingbeing wrong there--would ruin her with the company here, and with theworld at large."
"Oh! my lord," answered Lady Penelope, "as for the truth of the story, Ihave some private reasons of my own for 'holding the strange taledevoutly true;' for I had a mysterious hint from a very worthy, but avery singular man, (your lordship knows how I adore originality,) theclergyman of the parish, who made me aware there was something wrongabout Miss Clara--something that--your lordship will excuse my speakingmore plainly,--Oh, no!--I fear--I fear it is all too true--You know Mr.Cargill, I suppose, my lord?"
"Yes--no--I--I think I have seen him," said Lord Etherington. "But howcame the lady to make the parson her father-confessor?--they have noauricular confession in the Kirk--it must have been with the purpose ofmarriage, I presume--let us hope that it took place--perhaps it reallywas so--did he, Cargill--the minister, I mean--say any thing of such amatter?"
"Not a word--not a word--I see where you are, my lord; you would put agood face on't.--
'They call'd it marriage, by that specious name To veil the crime, and sanctify the shame.'
Queen Dido for that. How the clergyman came into the secret I cannottell--he is a very close man. But I know he will not hear of MissMowbray being married to any one, unquestionably because he knows that,in doing so, she would introduce disgrace into some honest family--and,truly, I am much of his mind, my lord."
"Perhaps Mr. Cargill may know the lady is privately married already,"said the Earl; "I think that is the more natural inference, begging yourladyship's pardon for presuming to differ in opinion."
Lady Penelope seemed determined not to take this view of the case.
"No, no--no, I tell you," she replied; "she cannot be married, for ifshe were married, how could the poor wretch say that she wasruined?--You know there is a difference betwixt ruin and marriage."
"Some people are said to have found them synonymous, Lady Penelope,"answered the Earl.
"You are smart on me, my lord; but still, in common parlance, when wesay a woman is ruined, we mean quite the contrary of her beingmarried--it is impossible for me to be more explicit upon such a topic,my lord."
"I defer to your ladyship's better judgment," said Lord Etherington. "Ionly entreat you to observe a little caution in this business--I willmake the strictest enquiries of this woman, and acquaint you with theresult; and I hope, out of regard to the respectable family of St.Ronan's, your ladyship will be in no hurry to intimate any thing to MissMowbray's prejudice."
"I certainly am no person to spread scandal, my lord," answered thelady, drawing herself up; "at the same time, I must say, the Mowbrayshave little claim on me for forbearance. I am sure I was the firstperson to bring this Spa into fashion, which has been a matter of suchconsequence to their estate; and yet Mr. Mowbray set himself against me,my lord, in every possible sort of way, and encouraged the under-bredpeople about him to behave very strangely.--There was the business ofbuilding the Belvidere, which he would not permit to be done out of thestock-purse of the company, because I had given the workmen the plan andthe orders--and then, about the tea-room--and the hour for beginningdancing--and about the subscription for Mr. Rymour's new Tale ofChivalry--in short, I owe no consideration to Mr. Mowbray of St.Ronan's."
"But the poor young lady?" said Lord Etherington.
"Oh! the poor young lady?--the poor young lady can be as saucy as a richyoung lady, I promise you.--There was a business in which she used mescandalously, Lord Etherington--it was about a very trifling matter--
ashawl. Nobody minds dress less than I do, my lord; I thank Heaven mythoughts turn upon very different topics--but it is in trifles thatdisrespect and unkindness are shown; and I have had a full share of bothfrom Miss Clara, besides a good deal of impertinence from her brotherupon the same subject."
"There is but one way remains," thought the Earl, as they approached theSpa, "and that is to work on the fears of this d--d vindictiveblue-stocking'd wild-cat.--Your ladyship," he said aloud, "is aware whatsevere damages have been awarded in late cases where somethingapproaching to scandal has been traced to ladies of consideration--theprivileges of the tea-table have been found insufficient to protect somefair critics against the consequences of too frank and liberalanimadversion upon the characters of their friends. So pray, remember,that as yet we know very little on this subject."
Lady Penelope loved money, and feared the law; and this hint, fortifiedby her acquaintance with Mowbray's love of his sister, and his irritableand revengeful disposition, brought her in a moment much nearer thetemper in which Lord Etherington wished to leave her. She protested,that no one could be more tender than she of the fame of theunfortunate, even supposing their guilt was fully proved--promisedcaution on the subject of the pauper's declaration, and hoped LordEtherington would join her tea-party early in the evening, as she wishedto make him acquainted with one or two of her _proteges_, whom, she wassure, his lordship would find deserving of his advice and countenance.Being by this time at the door of her own apartment, her ladyship tookleave of the Earl with a most gracious smile.
FOOTNOTES:
[II-9] Note I.
[II-10] Note II.