“You will, I am afraid, hate my memory after this sad disclosure; but in my extenuation recall to mind how madly I loved, how cruelly I was deceived. Remember, also, that if not insane, I was little better at the time I was so criminal; and may it prove to you a lesson how difficult it is, when once you have stepped aside into the path of error ever to recover the right track.
“You now know all my sufferings, all my crimes. You now know why I have been, not without truth, considered as a person eccentric to folly, and occasionally on the verge of madness. Forgive me and pity me, for I have indeed been sufficiently punished by an ever torturing conscience!
“Barbara R—.”
Chapter Nine
I put the papers down on the table as soon as I had finished them, and for a long while was absorbed in meditation.
“Is it possible,” thought I, “that love disappointed can turn to such fury—can so harden the heart to all better feelings—induce a woman to shorten the days of her parent—to allow a sister to remain in painful error on her death-bed, and wreak vengeance upon an innocent being, regardless of all justice? Grant, then, that I may never yield to such a passion! Who would have ever imagined, that the careless, eccentric Lady R— had such a load of crime weighing her down, and daily and hourly reminded of it by the presence of the injured party? How callous she must have become by habit, to still delay doing an act of justice—how strange that the fear of the world and its opinion should be greater than the fear of God!”
This last remark proved how little I yet knew of the world, and then my thoughts went in a different direction. As I have already said, I had been brought up as a Catholic; but, after my grandmother’s death, I had little encouragement or example shown me in religious duties. Now, having been more than two years in England, and continually with Protestants, I had gone to the established Protestant church with those I resided with at first; because I considered it better to go to that church, although I knew it to be somewhat at variance with my own, rather than go to no church at all, and by habit I was gradually inclining to Protestantism; but now the idea came across my mind, if Lady R— had confessed as we Catholics do, this secret could not have been kept so long; and, if she withheld herself from the confessional, had her agents been Catholics, the secret would have been divulged to the priest by them, and justice would have been done to Lionel; and, having made this reflection, I felt as it were, that I was again a sincere Catholic.
After a little more reflection, I put away the papers, wrote a letter to Mr Selwyn, the solicitor, requesting that he would call upon me the following morning, and then went down to Lady M—.
“I suppose that we shall not have much of the pleasure of your company, Miss de Chatenoeuf,” said her ladyship, “now that you have such a novel occupation?”
“It is a very distressing one,” replied I, “and I wish Lady R— had not paid me such a compliment. Might I trespass upon your ladyship’s kindness to request the loan of the carriage for half-an-hour to obtain some papers from Lady R—’s house in Baker Street?”
“Oh, certainly,” replied her ladyship. “Pray have you seen Lady R—’s will?”
“Yes, madame.”
“And how has she disposed of her property?”
“She has left it all to her nephew, Lady M—.”
“Nephew! I never heard her speak of a nephew before. Sir Richard had no nephews or nieces, for he was an only son, and the title has now gone into the Vivian branch, and I never heard of her having a nephew. And what has she left you, mademoiselle, if it is not asking too much?”
“Lady R— has left me 500 pounds, my lady.”
“Indeed! well then, she pays you for your trouble. But really, Miss de Chatenoeuf, I do wish you could put off this business until after the marriages. I am so hurried and worried that I really do not know which way to turn, and really I have felt your loss these last two days more than you can imagine. You are so clever, and have so much taste, that we cannot get on without you. It’s all your own fault,” continued her ladyship, playfully, “you are so good-natured, and have made us so dependent upon you, that we cannot let you off now. Nothing in the trousseaux is approved of, unless stamped by the taste of Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenoeuf. Now, a week cannot make a great difference, and lawyers love delay: will you oblige me, therefore, by leaving Lady R—’s affairs for the present?”
“Certainly, Lady M—,” replied I. “I will stop a letter I was about to send to her solicitor, and write another to the effect you wish, and I will not repeat my request for the carriage until after the marriages have taken place.”
“Many thanks,” replied her ladyship, and I went out, took my letter from the hall table, and wrote another to Mr Selwyn, stating that I could not enter into any business until the following week, when I should be prepared to receive him.
I wrote another to the same effect to Lionel, requesting him not to call again, but that I would write and let him know where to meet me as soon as I was more at leisure.
Indeed I was glad that Lady M— had made the request, as the trouble and chattering and happy faces which were surrounding the trousseaux, and the constant employment and appeals made to me, drove away the melancholy which Lady R—’s affairs had occasioned me. I succeeded to a great degree in recovering my spirits, and exerted myself to my utmost, so that everything was complete and satisfactory to all parties two days before the wedding was to take place.
At last, the morning came. The brides were dressed and went down into the drawing-room, frightened and perplexed, but their tears had been shed above. The procession of carriages moved on to Hanover Square; there was a bishop of course, and the church was filled with gay and tastefully-dressed women. The ceremony was performed, and the brides were led into the vestry-room to recover, and receive kisses and congratulations. Then came the banquet, which nobody hardly tasted except the bishop, who had joined too many couples in his lifetime to have his appetite at all affected by the ceremony, and some two or three others who were old stagers on the road of life, and who cared little whether it was a wedding-breakfast, or refreshments after a funeral.
At last, after a most silent entertainment, the brides retired to change their dresses, and, when they re-appeared, they were handed into the carriages of their respective bridegrooms as soon as they could be torn away from the kisses and tears of Lady M—, who played the part of a bereaved mother to perfection. No one to have seen her then, raving like another Niobe, would have imagined that all her thoughts and endeavours and manoeuvres, for the last three years, had been devoted to the sole view of getting them off; but Lady M— was a perfect actress, and this last scene was well got up.
As her daughters were led down to the carriages, I thought that she was going to faint; but it appeared, on second thoughts, that she wished first to see the girls depart in their gay equipages; she therefore tottered to the window, saw them get in, looked at Newman’s greys and gay postillions—at the white and silver favours—the dandy valet and smart lady’s-maid in each rumble. She saw them start at a rattling pace, watched them till they turned the corner of the square, and then—and not till then—fell senseless in my arms, and was carried by the attendants into her own room.
After all, the poor woman must have been very much worn out, for she had been for the last six weeks in a continual worry lest any contre-temps should happen, which might have stopped or delayed the happy consummation.
The next morning her ladyship did not leave her room, but sent word down that the carriage was at my service; but I was fatigued and worn out, and declined it for that day. I wrote to Lionel and to Mr Selwyn, desiring them to meet me in Baker Street, at two o’clock the next day; and then passed the day quietly, in company with Amy, the third daughter of Lady M—, whom I have before mentioned. She was a very sweet, unaffected girl; and I was more partial to her than to her sisters, who had been just married. I had paid great attention to her, for she had a fine voice, and did credit to my teaching, and there was a great intimacy between us, arising on my part from my admiration of her ingenuous and amiable disposition, which even her mother’s example to the contrary could not spoil.
After some conversation relative to her sisters and their husbands, she said, “I hardly know what to do, Valerie. I love you too well to be a party to your being ill-treated, and yet I fear that you will be pained if I tell you what I have heard about you. I know also that you will not stay, if I do tell you, and that will give me great pain; but that is a selfish feeling which I could overcome. What I do not like is hurting your feelings. Now, tell me candidly, ought I to tell you, or not?”
“I will give you my opinion candidly,” replied I. “You have said too little or too much. You speak of my being ill-treated; certainly, I should wish to guard against that, although I cannot imagine who is my enemy.”
“Had I not heard it, I could not have believed it either,” replied she. “I thought that you had come here on a visit as a friend; but what makes me think that I ought to tell you is, that there will be something said against your character, which I am sure, must be false.”
“Now, indeed, I must request that you will tell me everything, and soften nothing down, but tell me the whole truth. Who is it that intends to attack my character?”
“I am sorry—very sorry to say, it is mamma,” replied she, wiping away a tear.
“Lady M—!” exclaimed I.
“Yes,” replied she; “but now you must listen to all I have to say. I am sure that I am doing right in telling you, and therefore nothing shall prevent me. I love my mother—what a sad thing it is that I cannot respect her! I was in the dressing-room, when my mother was lying on the sofa in her bedroom this morning, when her great friend, Mrs Germane, came up. She sat talking with my mother for some time, and they appeared either to forget or not to care if I heard them; for at last your name was mentioned.
“‘Well, she does dress you and your girls beautifully, I must say,’ said Mrs Germane. ‘Who is she? They say that she is of a good family; and how came she to live with you as a milliner?’
“‘My dear Mrs Germane, that she does live with me as a milliner is true, and it was for that reason only I invited her to the house; but she is not aware that I retain her in that capacity. She is, I understand from Mrs Bathurst, of a noble family in France, thrown upon the world by circumstances, very talented, and very proud. Her extreme taste in dress I discovered when she was living with Mrs Bathurst; and, when I found that she was about, through my management, to leave Lady R—, I invited her here as a sort of friend, and to stay with my daughters—not a word did I mention about millinery; I had too much tact for that. Even when her services were required, I made it appear as her own offer, and expressed my thanks for her condescension, and since that, by flattery and management, she has continued to dress my daughters for me; and, I must say, that I do believe it has been owing to her exquisite taste that my daughters have gone off so well.’
“‘Well, you have managed admirably,’ replied Mrs Germane; ‘but, my dear Lady M—, what will you do with her now?’
“‘Oh,’ replied Lady M—, ‘as Amy will now come out, I shall retain her in my employ until she is disposed of; and then—’
“‘Yes, then will be the difficulty,’ replied Mrs Germane; ‘after having allowed her to live so long with you as a visitor, I may say, how will you get rid of her?’
“‘Why, I was puzzling myself about that, and partly decided that it should be done by mortifying her, and wounding her feelings, for she is very proud; but, fortunately, I have found out something which I shall keep to myself, until the time comes, and then I can dismiss her at a moment’s warning.’
“‘Indeed!’ said Mrs Germane, ‘what could you have found out?’
“‘Well, I will tell you; but you must not mention it again. My maid entered the room the other day, when mademoiselle was receiving a young man who called upon her, and she found them kissing.’
“‘You don’t say so!’
“‘Yes, a kiss was given, and my maid saw it. Now, I can easily make it appear that my maid never mentioned it to me till the time that it may be convenient to make use of it, and then I can send her away; and if any questions are asked, hint at a little impropriety of conduct.’
“‘And very properly too,’ replied Mrs Germane. ‘Had I not better hint a little beforehand to prepare people?’
“‘Why, it may be as well, perhaps; but be cautious, very cautious, my dear Mrs Germane.’
“Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, I am sorry that I am obliged, in doing my duty to you, to expose mamma,” said Amy, rising up from her chair; “but I am sure that you could not be guilty of any impropriety, and I will not allow you to be accused of it, if it is to be prevented.”
“Many thanks,” replied I. “My dear Amy, you have behaved like a kind friend. I have only, in duty to myself, to clear up the charge against me, of impropriety. You must not imagine me guilty of that. It is true that your mother’s maid did come in when a young lad of seventeen, who was grateful to me for the interest I took in his welfare, and who was taking leave of me at the time, did raise my hand to his lips and kiss it, and, had he done so before your mother, I should not have prevented it. This was the kiss which, as your mother asserts, passed between us, and this is the only impropriety that took place. Oh, what a sad, treacherous, selfish, wicked world this is!” cried I, throwing myself on the sofa, and bursting into tears.
Amy was making every attempt to console me, and blaming herself for having made the communication, when Lady M— came downstairs into the room.
“What is all this—what a scene!” exclaimed she. “Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, have you had any bad news?”
“Yes, my lady,” replied I, “so bad that I am under the necessity of leaving you directly.”
“Indeed! may I inquire what has happened?”
“No, my lady, it is not in my power to tell you. I have only to repeat, that I must, with your permission, leave this house to-morrow morning.”
“Well, mademoiselle,” replied her ladyship, “I do not want to pry into your secrets, but this I must say, that where there is concealment, there must be wrong; but I have lately discovered so much, that I do not wonder at concealment—nor am I, indeed, surprised at your wish to leave me.”
“Lady M—,” replied I, haughtily, “I have never done anything during the time that I have been under your roof which I have to blush for—nor indeed anything that requires concealment. This I can proudly say. If I conceal now, it is to spare others, and, I may add, to spare you. Do not oblige me to say more in presence of your daughter. It will be sufficient for me to hint to you, that I am now aware why I was invited to your house, and what are your plans for dismissing me when it suits you.”
“Eaves-dropping, then, is a portion of your character, mademoiselle,” cried Lady M—, colouring up to the temples.
“No, madam, such is not the case, and that is all the answer I shall give; it is sufficient for you that you are exposed, and I do not envy your present feelings. I have only to repeat, that I shall leave this house to-morrow morning, and I will not further trouble your ladyship with my company.”
I then walked out of the room, and as I passed Lady M—, and observed her confusion and vexation, I felt that it was she who was humiliated, and not me. I went up to my room and commenced my preparations for immediate departure, and had been more than an hour busy in packing up, when Amy came into my room.
“Oh, Valerie, how sorry I am—but you have behaved just as I think that you ought to have done; and how very kind of you not to say that I told you. My mother was so angry after you left; said that the maids must have been listening, and declares she will give them all warning; but I know that she will not do that. She spoke about your meeting a young man, and kissing going on; but you have already explained all that.”
“Amy,” replied I, “after I am gone, take an opportunity of saying to Lady M—, that you mentioned this to me, and tell her that my reply was, if Lady M— knew who that young man was, how he is connected, and how large a fortune he will inherit, she would be very glad to see him kiss one of her daughter’s hands with a different feeling from that which induced him to kiss mine.”
“I will, depend upon it,” said Amy, “and then mamma will think that she has lost a good husband for me.”
“She will meet him some of these days,” replied I; “and what is more, he will defend me from any attack made on that score.”
“I will tell her that, also,” said Amy, “it will make her careful of what she says.”
One of the servants then knocked at the door, and said, that Lady M— wished to see Miss Amy.
“Wish me good-bye now,” said I, “for you may not be permitted to see me again.”
The dear girl embraced me cordially, and, with tears in her eyes, left the room. I remained till I had finished packing, and then sat down. Shortly afterwards her ladyship’s maid came in, and delivered me an envelope from her ladyship, enclosing the salary due to me, with Lady M—’s compliments written outside.
I saw no more of Lady M— or her daughter that evening. I went to bed, and, as in my former changes, I reflected what steps I should take. As for the treatment I had received, I was now to a certain degree hardened to it, and my feelings certainly were not so acute as when, the first time, I had received a lesson of what I might expect through life from the heartlessness and selfishness of the world; but in the present case there was a difficulty which did not exist in the former—I was going away without knowing where I was to go. After a little thought, I determined that I would seek Madame Gironac, and ascertain whether she could not receive me until I had decided upon my future plans.
My thoughts then recurred to other points. I recollected that I had to meet Mr Selwyn and Lionel in Baker Street, and I resolved that I would go there with my effects early the next morning and leave them in charge of the cook, who was taking care of the house. I calculated also the money that I had in possession and in prospect. I had such a good stock of clothes when I came to England with Madame Bathurst, that I had no occasion, during the two years and more that I had now been in England, to make any purchases of consequence—indeed, I had not expended more than the twenty pounds I had brought with me. I had received some few presents from Lady M— and Madame Bathurst, and a great many from Lady R—. Altogether, I calculated that I had about two hundred and sixty pounds in my desk, for Lady R— had given me one hundred pounds for only a portion of the year; then there was the five hundred pounds which she had left me, besides her wearing apparel and trinkets, which last I knew to be of value. It was a little fortune to one in my position, and I resolved to consult Mr Selwyn as to the best way of disposing of it. Having wound up my meditations with the most agreeable portion of them, I fell asleep, and in the morning woke up refreshed.
Lady M—’s maid, who had always been partial to me, for I had taught her many things valuable to a lady’s-maid, came in early, and said that she knew that I was going away, which she regretted very much. I replied that I should leave as soon as possible, but I wanted some breakfast. This she brought up to my room.
I had not finished when Amy came in the room and said, “I have permission to come and wish you good-bye, Valerie. I told mamma what you said about the person who was seen to kiss your hand. She acknowledges now that it was your hand that was kissed, and she was so astonished, for she knows that you never tell stories; and, what do you think, she desired me to find out what was the young gentleman’s name that had so large a fortune. I said I would if I could, and so I will, by asking you outright, not by any other means. I don’t want to know his name,” continued she, laughing, “but I’m sure mamma has in her mind fixed upon him for a husband for me, and would now give the world that you were not going away, that through you he might be introduced to her.”
“I cannot tell you, my dear,” replied I. “I am not at liberty to mention it at present, otherwise I would with pleasure. I am going now. May God bless you, my dearest, and may you always continue to be the same frank and amiable creature that you are now! I leave you with regret, and I pray earnestly for your happiness. You have made me very happy by telling me that your mamma acknowledges that it was my hand that was kissed, after that, she will hardly attempt to injure me, as she proposed.”
“Oh no, Valerie, I think she is afraid to do so now. This young man of fortune has made her think differently. He would, of course, protect you from slander, and expose her, if she attempted it. Then, good-bye.”
We embraced, and then I ordered a hackney-coach to be called, and drove with my luggage to Baker Street. The cook welcomed me, saying that she expected my coming, as Mr Selwyn had called to tell her of Lady R—’s death, and that when she asked to whom she was to look for her wages, he had told her that I was the person who was to settle all her ladyship’s affairs, as everything was left on my hands. She showed me a letter from Martha, Lady R—’s maid, by which I found that they would probably arrive in Baker Street that very day, with all her ladyship’s effects.
“I suppose you will sleep here, miss?” said the cook, “I have aired your bed, and your room is all ready.”
I replied that I wished to do so for a night or two, at all events, as I had a good deal to attend to, but that Mr Selwyn would call at one o’clock, and that I would speak to him on the subject.
I had requested Lionel to call at twelve, an hour previous to Mr Selwyn, that I might make him acquainted with the contents of Lady R—’s papers addressed to me. He was punctual to the time, and I shook hands with him, saying, “Lionel, I congratulate you, at now having proofs of your being the nephew of Lady R—, and also at her having left you considerable property. You will be surprised to hear that she has appointed me her executrix.”
“I am not at all surprised,” replied Lionel; “I am sure she has done a wise thing at last.”
“That is more than I am,” replied I, “but I appreciate the compliment. But, Lionel, there is no time to be lost, as Mr Selwyn, the lawyer, is coming here at one o’clock, and before he comes I wish you to read over Lady R—’s confession, if I may so call it, which will explain the motives of her conduct towards you. I am afraid that it will not extenuate her conduct, but recollect that she has now made all the reparation in her power, and that we must forgive as we hope to be forgiven. Sit down and read these papers, while I unpack one or two of my boxes upstairs.”
“The last time that we were here, I corded them up for you, Miss Valerie; I hope that you will allow me to assist you again.”
“Thank you, but you will have no time to read what Lady R— has said, and the cook and I can manage without you.”
I then left the room and went upstairs. I was still busy in my room when a knock at the street door announced the arrival of Mr Selwyn, and I went down into the drawing-room to meet him. I asked Lionel, who was walking up and down the room, whether he had finished the papers, and he replied by a nod of the head. The poor lad appeared very miserable, but Mr Selwyn entered, and I could not say more to him.
“I hope I have not kept you waiting, Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf,” said he.
“No, indeed. I came here at ten o’clock, for I have left Lady M—, and I may as well ask at once whether there is any objection to my taking a bed in this house for a few nights?”
“Objection! Why, mademoiselle, you are sole executrix, and everything is at present yours in fact, for the time. You have, therefore, a right to take possession until he appears, and the will is proved.”
“The hero is before you, Mr Selwyn. Allow me to introduce you to Mr Lionel Dempster, the nephew of Lady R—”
Mr Selwyn bowed to Lionel, and congratulated him upon his accession to the property.
Lionel returned the salute, and then said, “Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf I am convinced that in this case Mr Selwyn must have been made a party to all that has occurred. The reading of these papers has rather disturbed me, and it would be painful to me to hear everything repeated in my presence. With your permission, I will walk out for an hour, and leave you to explain everything to Mr Selwyn, for I am sure that I shall need his advice. Here is the confession of old Roberts which I shall leave for his perusal. Good-morning, then, for the present.”
So saying, Lionel took up his hat and quitted the room.
“He is a very prepossessing young man,” observed Mr Selwyn. “What a fine eye he has!”
“Yes,” replied I, “and now that he has so large a property, others will find out that he is a prepossessing young man with fine eyes; but sit down, Mr Selwyn, for you have to listen to a very strange narrative.”
When he had finished it, he laid it down on the table, saying, “This is perhaps the strangest history that has ever come to my knowledge during thirty years of practice. And so she brought him up as a footman. I now recognise him again as the lad who has so often opened the door for me, but I confess I never should have done so if I had not heard what you have now communicated.”
“He was always much above his position,” replied I. “He is very clever and very amusing; at least I found him so when he served me in his menial capacity, and certainly was much more intimate with him than I ever thought I could be with a servant. At all events, his education has not been neglected.”
“Strange! very strange!” observed Mr Selwyn, “this is a curious world; but I fear that his history cannot be kept altogether a secret, for you must recollect, mademoiselle, that his father’s property must be claimed, and no doubt it will be disputed. I must go to Doctor’s Commons and search out the will at once of Colonel Dempster; he intends, as I presume he does by what he said just now, to employ me. After all, it will, if known, be but a nine days’ wonder, and do him no harm, for he proves his birth by his appearance, and his breeding is so innate as to have conquered all his disadvantages.”
“When I knew him as a servant, I thought him an intelligent and witty lad, but I never could have believed that he would have become so improved in such a short time: not only his manners, but his language is so different.”
“It was in him,” replied Mr Selwyn; “as a domestic the manners and language of a gentleman would have been out of place, and he did not attempt them; now that he knows his position, he has called them forth. We must find out this Mrs Green, and have her testimony as soon as possible. Of course, after the deposition of old Roberts, Sir Thomas Moystyn will not be surprised when I communicate to him the confession of Lady R—, and the disposition of her property. In fact, the only difficulty will be in the recovery of the property of his father, Colonel Dempster, and—”
A knock at the street door announced the return of Lionel. When he entered the room, Mr Selwyn said, “Mr Dempster, that you are the nephew of Lady R—, to whom she has bequeathed her property, and what was your own, is sufficiently established in my opinion. I will, therefore, with your permission, read her ladyship’s will.”
Lionel took a seat, and the will was read. When it was finished, Mr Selwyn said, “Having been Lady R—’s legal adviser for many years I am able to tell you, within a trifle, what property you will receive. There are 57000 three per cents; this house and furniture, which I purchased the lease of for her, and which is only saddled with a ground-rent for the next forty years; and I find, a balance of 1200 pounds at the banker’s. Your father’s property, Mr Dempster, of course, I know nothing about, but will ascertain this to-morrow by going to Doctors’ Commons. I think I may venture to assure the executrix, that she will run no risk in allowing you to take any sum of money you may require from the balance in the bank, as soon as the will is proved, which had better be done to-morrow, if it suits Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf.”
“Certainly,” replied I; “I am anxious to get rid of my trust as soon as possible, and give Mr Dempster possession. There is a tin box of papers, Mr Selwyn, which I cannot get at till the return of Lady R—’s maid, as the keys are with Lady R—’s effects which she is bringing home with her.”
“Yes, they will no doubt be important,” replied Mr Selwyn: “and now, Mr Dempster, if you are in want of any ready cash, I shall be your banker with pleasure till you can have possession of your own.”
“I thank you, sir, I am not in want of any,” replied Lionel, “for the present; but, as soon as I may be permitted to have money from the bank I shall be glad, as it is not my intention to remain in England.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed I.
“No, Mademoiselle Valerie,” said Lionel. “I am but too well aware of many deficiencies which must arise from the position I have been so long in, not to wish to remedy them as soon as possible, and, before I appear as the heir of Lady R—, it is my intention, as soon as I can, to go to Paris, and remain there for two years, or, perhaps, until I am of age; and I think in that time to improve myself, and make myself more what the son of Colonel Dempster should be. I am young yet, and capable of instruction.”
“You propose a very proper step, Mr Dempster,” said Mr Selwyn; “and during your absence all legal proceedings will be over, and, if the whole affair is made public, it will be forgotten again by the time that you propose to return. I am sure that the executrix will be most happy to forward such very judicious arrangements. I will now take my leave, and beg Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf to meet me at Doctors’ Commons at three o’clock to-morrow; that will give me time to look for Colonel Dempster’s will. Good-morning, mademoiselle; good-morning, Mr Dempster.”