“Lady M—,” replied I, “I do thank you most heartily. I do consider that you have acted a friendly part. That I have been dreadfully shocked and mortified, I admit,” continued I, wiping away the tears that forced their passage; “but I shall not give an opportunity for future unjust insinuations or remarks, as I have made up my mind that I shall leave Lady R— as soon as possible.”
“My dear mademoiselle, I did not venture to make you acquainted with what I knew would, to a person of your sensitive mind, be the cause of your quitting the protection of Lady R— without having considered whether an equivalent could not be offered to you; and I am happy to say that I can offer you a home, and I trust comfort and consideration, if you will accept of them. The fact is, that had I known that you had any idea of quitting Madame Bathurst, I should have made the offer then—now I do so with all sincerity;—but at present you are agitated and annoyed, and I will say no more. If I send the carriage for you to-morrow at two o’clock, will you do me the favour to come and see me? I would call upon you, but of course the presence of Lady R— would be a check to our free converse. Say, my dear, will you come?”
I replied in the affirmative, and Lady M— then rose, and giving me her arm, we walked back to the bench which I had left, where I found Lady R— in a hot dispute with a member of Parliament. I sat down by her unnoticed, and Lady M— having smiled an adieu, I was left to my own reflections, which were anything but agreeable. My head ached dreadfully, and I looked so ill that Lady R—’s warm antagonist perceived it, and pointed it out to her, saying, “Your protégée is not well, I fear, Lady R—.”
I replied to Lady R—, “that I had a violent headache, and wished to get home if it were possible.”
She immediately consented, and showed great concern. As soon as we were home, I need hardly say, that I hastened to my room.
I sat down and pressed my forehead with my hands: my knowledge of the world was increasing too fast. I began to hate it—hate men, and women even more than men. What lessons had I learnt within the last year. First Madame d’Albret, then Madame Bathurst, and now Lady R—. Was there no such thing as friendship in the world—no such thing as generosity? In my excited state it appeared to me that there was not. All was false and hollow. Self was the idol of mankind, and all worshipped at its altar. After a time I became more composed, I thought of little Madame Gironac, and the recollection of her disinterested kindness put me in a better frame of mind. Mortified as I was, I could not help feeling that it was only the vanity of Lady R— and her desire to shine, to which I had been made a sacrifice, and that she had no intention of wounding my feelings. Still, to remain with her after what had been told to me by Lady M— was impossible.
And then I reflected upon what steps I should take. I did not like to tell Lady R— the real grounds of my leaving her. I thought it would be prudent to make some excuse and part good friends. At last it occurred to me that her intention of going to France would be a good excuse. I could tell her that I was afraid of meeting my relatives.
Having decided upon this point, I then canvassed the words of Lady M—. What could she offer me in her house? She had three daughters, but they were all out, as the phrase is, and their education supposed to be completed. This was a mystery I could not solve, and I was obliged to give up thinking about it, and at last I fell asleep. The next moment I woke up, jaded in mind, and with a bad headache, but I dressed and went down to breakfast. Lady R— asked after my health, and then said, “I observed you talking very confidentially with Lady M—. I was not aware that you knew her. Between ourselves, Valerie, she is one of my models.”
“Indeed,” replied I, “I do not think that her ladyship is aware of the honour conferred upon her.”
“Very likely not, but in the last work she was portrayed to the life. Lady M— is a schemer, always plotting; her great object now is to get her three daughters well married.”
“I believe that most mothers wish that, Lady R—.”
“I grant it, and perhaps manoeuvre as much, but with more skill than she does, for every one sees the game that she is playing, and the consequence is, that the young men shy off, which they probably would not if she were quiet, for they are really clever, unaffected, and natural girls, very obliging, and without any pride; but how came you to be so intimate with Lady M—?”
“Lady M— and her eldest daughter were staying for some time with Madame Bathurst in the country when I was there.”
“Oh, I understand, that accounts for it.”
“I am going to call upon Lady M—, if she sends her carriage for me,” replied I. “She told me that she would, if she could, at two o’clock. She has proposed my paying her a visit; I presume it will be after she leaves town.”
“But that you will not be able to do, Valerie; you forget our trip to France.”
“I did not think that you were serious,” replied I; “you mentioned it as the resolution of a night, and I did not know that you might not think differently upon further consideration.”
“Oh no, my resolutions are hastily formed, but not often given up. Go to Paris we certainly shall.”
“If you are determined upon going, Lady R—, I am afraid that I cannot accompany you.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed her ladyship, in surprise. “May I ask why not?”
“Simply because I might meet those I am most anxious to avoid; there is a portion of my history that you are not acquainted with, Lady R—, which I will now make known to you.”
I then told her as much as I thought necessary relative to my parents, and stated my determination not to run the risk of meeting them. Lady R— argued, persuaded, coaxed, and scolded, but it was all in vain; at last she became seriously angry, and left the room. Lionel soon afterwards made his appearance, and said to me, in his usual familiar way, “What’s the matter, Miss Valerie? The governess is in a rage about something; she gave me a box on the ear.”
“I suppose you deserved it, Lionel,” replied I.
“Well, there may be differences of opinion about that,” replied the boy. “She went on scolding me at such a rate that I was quite astonished, and all about nothing. She blew up cook—didn’t she—blew her half up the chimney—and then she was at me again. At last I could bear it no longer, and I said, ‘Don’t flare up, my lady.’”
“‘Don’t my lady me,’ cried she, ‘or I’ll box your ears.’”
“Well, then, as she is always angry if you call her my lady, I thought she was angry with me for the same reason, so I said, ‘Sempronia, keep your temper,’—and didn’t I get a box on the ear.”
I could not help laughing at this recital of his cool impudence, the more so as he narrated it with such an air of injured innocence.
“Indeed, Lionel,” said I at last, “you well deserved the box on the ear. If you ever quit the service of Lady R—, you will find that you must behave with proper respect to those above you; if not, you will not remain an hour in any other house. Lady R— is very odd and very good-tempered, and permits more liberties than any other person would. I will, however, tell you why Lady R— is displeased. It is because she wishes me to go to France with her and I have refused.”
“Then you are going to leave us?” inquired Lionel, mournfully.
“I suppose so,” replied I.
“Then I shall go, too,” said the boy. “I’m tired of it.”
“But why should you go, Lionel? You may not find another situation half so comfortable.”
“I shall not seek one. I have only stayed here with the hope that I may find out from her ladyship who and what my parents were, and she will not tell me. I shall live by my wits, never fear; ‘the world’s my oyster,’ as Shakespeare says, and I think I’ve wit enough to open it.”
I had not forgotten the observations of Lady M— relative to Lionel, and what the lad now said made me surmise that there was some mystery, and, on examination of his countenance, there was a family likeness to Lady R—. I also called to mind her unwillingness to enter upon the subject when I brought it up.
“But, Lionel,” said I, after a pause, “what is it that makes you suppose that Lady R— conceals who were your parents—when we last talked on the subject, you said you had found out something—she told me that your father was a bailiff, or steward to Sir Richard.”
“Which I have proved to be false. She told me that my father was Sir Richard’s butler; that I have also discovered to be false, for one day the old housekeeper, who called upon me at school, came here, and was closeted with Lady R— for half-an-hour. When she went away, I called a hackney-coach for her, and getting behind it, went home with her to her lodgings. When I found out where she lived, I hastened back immediately that I might not be missed, intending to have made a call upon her. The next day Lady R— gave me a letter to put in the twopenny-post; it was directed to a Mrs Green, to the very house where the hackney-coach had stopped, so I knew it was for the old housekeeper. Instead of putting the letter in the post, I kept it till the evening, and then took it myself.
“‘Mrs Green,’ said I, for I found her at home with another old woman, sitting over their tea, ‘I have brought you a letter from Lady R—.’ This is about a year ago, Miss Valerie.
“‘Mercy on me,’ said she, ‘how strange that Lady R— should send you here.’
“‘Not strange that she should send a letter by a servant,’ said I, ‘only strange that I should be a servant.’
“I said this, Miss Valerie, as a random throw, just to see what answer she would make.
“‘Why, who has been telling you anything?’ said she, looking at me through her spectacles.
“‘Ah,’ replied I, ‘that’s what I must keep to myself, for I’m under a promise of secrecy.’
“‘Mercy on me, it couldn’t be—no, that’s impossible,’ muttered the old woman, as she opened the letter and took out a bank-note, which she crumpled up in her hand. She then commenced reading the letter; I walked a little way from her, and stood between her and the window. Every now and then she held the letter up to the candle, and when the light was strong upon it, I could read a line from where I stood, for I have been used to her ladyship’s writing, as you know. One line I read was, ‘remains still at Culverwood Hall;’ another was, ‘the only person now left in Essex.’ I also saw the words ‘secrecy’ and ‘ignorant’ at the bottom of the page. The old woman finished the letter at last, but it took her a good while to get through it.
“‘Well,’ says she, ‘have you anything more to say?’
“‘No,’ says I; ‘you are well paid for your secrecy, Mrs Green.’
“‘What do you mean?’ said she.
“‘Oh, I’m not quite so ignorant as you suppose,’ replied I.
“‘Ignorant,’ said she, confused, ‘ignorant of what?’
“‘When were you last in Essex?’ said I.
“‘When, why? what’s that to you, you impudent boy?’
“‘Nay, then, I’ll put another question to you. How long is it since you were at Culverwood Hall?’
“‘Culverwood Hall! What do you know about Culverwood Hall? the boy’s mad, I believe; go away, you’ve done your message; if you don’t, I’ll tell her ladyship.’
“‘Certainly, Mrs Green,’ said I. ‘I wish you a good-night.’
“I left the room, slamming the door, but not allowing the catch to fall in, so that I held it a little ajar, and then I heard Mrs Green say to the other woman,
“‘Somebody’s been with that boy; I wonder who it can be? He’s put me in such a flurry. Well, these things will out.’
“‘Yes, yes, it’s like murder,’ replied the other; ‘not that I know what it’s all about, only I see there’s a secret—perhaps you’ll tell me, Mrs Green?’
“‘All I dare tell you is that there is a secret,’ replied Mrs Green, ‘and the boy has got an inkling of it somehow or another. I must see my lady—no, I had better not,’ added she; ‘for she is so queer that she’ll swear that I’ve told him. Now there’s only one besides myself and her ladyship who knows anything, and I’ll swear that he could not have been with the boy, for he’s bedridden. I’m all of a puzzle, and that’s the truth. What a wind there is; why the boy has left the door open. Boys never shut doors.’
“Mrs Green got up and slammed the door to, and I walked off; and now, Miss Valerie, that’s all that I know of the matter; but why I should be sent to a good school and wear pepper and salt, and to be taken away to be made first a page, and now a footman, I can’t tell; but you must acknowledge that there is some mystery, after what I have told you.”
“It certainly is strange, Lionel,” replied I, “but my advice is that you remain patiently till you can find it out, which by leaving Lady R— you are not likely to do.”
“I don’t know that, Miss Valerie; let me get down to Culverwood Hall, and I think I would find out something, or my wits were given me to no purpose. But I hear her ladyship coming upstairs: so good-bye, Miss Valerie.”
And Lionel made a hasty retreat.
Lady R— slowly ascended the stairs, and came into the room. Her violence had been exhausted, but she looked sullen and moody, and I could hardly recognise her; for I must do her the justice to say, that I had never before seen her out of temper. She sat down in her chair, and I asked her whether I should bring her her writing materials.
“A pretty state I am in to write,” replied she, leaning her elbows on the table, and pressing her hands to her eyes. “You don’t know what a rage I have been in, and how I have been venting it upon innocent people. I struck that poor boy—shame on me! Alas! I was born with violent passions, and they have been my curse through life. I had hoped that years had somewhat subdued them, but they will occasionally master me. What would I not give to have had your placid temper, Valerie! How much unhappiness I should have been spared! How much error should I have avoided! I was going to say, how much crime.”
Lady R— was evidently more talking to herself than to me when she said the last words, and I therefore made no reply. A silence of more than a quarter of an hour followed, which was broken by Lionel coming in, and announcing the carriage of Lady M—.
“That woman is the cause of all this,” said Lady R—; “I am sure that she is. Pray do not wait, Valerie. Go and see her. I shall be better company when you come back.”
I made no reply, but left the room, and putting on my bonnet, was driven to Lady M—’s. She received me with great cordiality, and so did her daughters, who were in the room; but they were dismissed by their mother, who then said, “I told you last night, my dear Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, that I wished you to reside with me. You may say in what capacity, and I acknowledge that I hardly know what answer to give. Not as governess, certainly, for I consider it an odious position, and one that I could not offer you; indeed, my girls do not require teaching, as they have finished their studies; in only one thing you could be of advantage to them in that respect, which is in music and singing. But I wish you to come as their companion, as I am convinced that they will gain much by your so doing. I wish you, therefore, to be considered by others as a visitor at the house, but at the same time I must insist that from the advantages my girls will derive from your assisting them in music and singing, you will accept the same salary per annum which you have from Lady R—. Do you understand me: I wish you to remain with me, not as a model after the idea of Lady R—, but as a model for my girls to take pattern by. I shall leave it to yourself to act as you please. I am sure my girls like you already, and will like you better. I do not think that I can say more, except that I trust you will not refuse my offer.”
There was a delicacy and kindness in this proposal on the part of Lady M— which I felt gratefully; but it appeared to me that after all it was only an excuse to offer me an asylum without any remuneration on my part, and I stated my feeling on that point.
“Do not think so,” replied Lady M—. “I avoided saying so, because I would not have you styled a music-mistress; but on that one point alone you will more than earn your salary, as I will prove to you by showing you the annual payments to professors for lessons; but you will be of great value to me in other points, I have no doubt. May I, therefore, consider it as an affaire arrangée?” After a little more conversation, I acquiesced, and having agreed that I would come as soon as Lady R— went to the continent, or at all events in three weeks, when Lady M— quitted London, I took my leave, and was conveyed back to Lady R—, in the carriage which had been sent for me.
On my return, I found Lady R— seated where I had left her.
“Well,” said she, “so you have had your audience; and I have no doubt but that you were most graciously received. Oh! I know the woman; and I have been reflecting upon it during your absence, and I have discovered what she wants you for; but this she has not mentioned, not even hinted at. She knows better; but when once in her house, you will submit to it, rather than be again in search of a home.”
“I really do not know what you mean, Lady R—,” said I.
“Has not Lady M— asked you to come as a visitor, without specifying any particular employment?”
“No, she has not. She has proposed my staying in the house to give lessons to her daughters in music, and to be their companion; but there is nothing stated as to a fixed residence with her.”
“Well, Valerie, I know that I am odd; but you will soon find out whether you have gained by the change.”
“Lady R—, I really do not consider you should be so sarcastic or unkind towards me. I do not like to go to France with you for reasons which I have fully explained, at the expense of disclosing family affairs, which I had much rather not have mentioned. You leave me by myself, and I must seek protection somewhere. It is kindly offered by Lady M—, and in my unfortunate position I have not to choose. Be just and be generous.”
“Well, well, I will,” said Lady R—, the tears starting in her eyes; “but you do not know how much I am annoyed at your leaving me. I had hoped, with all my faults, that I had created in you a feeling of attachment to me—God knows, that I have tried. If you knew all my history, Valerie, you would not be surprised at my being strange. That occurred when I was of your age which would have driven some people to despair or suicide. As it is, it has alienated me from all my relations, not that I have many. My brother, I never see or hear from, and have not for years. I have refused all his invitations to go down to see him, and he is now offended with me; but there are causes for it, and years cannot wipe away the memory of what did occur.”
“I assure you, Lady R—, I have been very sensible of your kindness to me,” replied I, “and shall always remember it with gratitude; and if you think I have no regard for you, you are mistaken; but the subject has become painful—pray let us say no more.”
“Well, Valerie, be it so; perhaps it is the wisest plan—”
To change the conversation, I said—“Is not your brother the present baronet?”
“Yes,” replied Lady R—
“And where does he reside?”
“In Essex, at Culverwood Hall, the seat of all my misfortunes.”
I started a little at the mention of the place, as it was the one which the reader may remember was spoken of by Lionel. I then turned the conversation to other matters, and by dinner-time Lady R— had recovered herself, and was as amiable as ever.
From that day until Lady R— set off for Paris, there was not a word said relative to Lady M—. She was kind and polite, but not so warm and friendly as she had been before, and in her subdued bearing towards me was more agreeable. Her time was now employed in making preparations for her tour. Lionel was the only one who was to accompany her except her own maid. At last she fixed the day of her departure, and I wrote to Lady M—, who returned an answer that it suited her exactly, as she would go to the country the day after. The evening before Lady R— was to start was passed very gloomily.
I felt great sorrow at our separation, more than I could have imagined; but when you have been associated with a person who is good-tempered and kind, you soon feel more for them than you would suppose until you are about to quit them.
Lady R— was very much dispirited, and said to me, “Valerie, I have a presentiment that we never shall meet again, and yet I am anything but superstitious. I can truly say that you are the only person to whom I have felt real attachment since my youth, and I feel more than I can describe. Something whispers to me, ‘Do not go to France,’ and yet something impels me to go. Valerie, if I do come back I trust that you will consider my house your home, if at any time you cannot place yourself more to your satisfaction; I will not say more, as I know that I am not exactly a lovable person, and my ways are odd; but do pray look upon me as your sincere friend, who will always be ready to serve you. I have to thank you for a few happy months, and that is saying much. God bless you, my dear Valerie.”
I was moved to tears by what Lady R— said, and I thanked her with a faltering voice.
“Come now,” said she, “I shall be off too early in the morning to see you: let us take our farewell.”
Lady R— put a small packet into my hand, kissed me on the forehead, and then hastened up to her own room.
That people love change is certain, but still there is a mournfulness connected with it; even in a change of residence, the packing up, the litter attending it, the corded trunks and packages, give a forlorn appearance to the house itself. To me it was peculiarly distressing; I had changed so often within the last year, and had such a precarious footing wherever I went, I felt myself to be the sport of fortune, and a football to the whims and caprices of others. I was sitting in my bedroom, my trunks packed but not yet closed down, thinking of Lady R—’s last conversation, and very triste. The packet was lying on the table before me, unopened, when I was roused by a knock at the door. I thought it was Lady R—’s maid, and I said, “Come in.”
The door opened, and Lionel made his appearance.
“Is it you, Lionel? What do you want?”
“I knew that you were up, and I recollected as we leave before you do, to-morrow, that you would have no one to cord your luggage, so I thought I would come up and do it for you to-night, Miss Valerie, if it is ready.”
“Thank you, Lionel, it is very considerate of you. I will lock the trunks up, and you can cord them outside.”
Lionel took out the trunks and corded them in the passage. When he had finished he said to me, “Good bye, Miss Valerie. You will see me again very soon.”
“See you very soon, Lionel! I am afraid there is no chance of that, for Lady R— intends to stay abroad for six months.”
“I do not,” replied he.
“Why, Lionel, it would be very foolish for you to give up such a good situation. You have such unusual wages: twenty pounds a year, is it not?”
“Yes, Miss Valerie. I should not get half that in another situation, but that is one reason why I am going to leave. Why should she give me twenty pounds a year. I must find out why, and find out I will, as I said to you before. She don’t give me twenty pounds for my beauty, although she might give you a great deal more, and yet not pay you half enough.”
“Well, Lionel, I think you have been here long enough. It is too late to sit up to pay compliments. Fare you well.”
I shut my door upon him gently, and then went to bed. As usual after excitement, I slept long and soundly. When I awoke the next morning, I found it was broad day, and nearly ten o’clock. I rang the bell, and it was answered by the cook, who told me that she and I were the only people in the house. I rose, and as I passed by my table, I perceived another package lying by the side of the one which Lady R— had given me. It was addressed to me and I opened it. It contained a miniature of Lady R— when she was about my age, and very beautiful she must have been. It was labelled “Sempronia at eighteen. Keep it for my sake, dear Valerie, and do not open the paper accompanying it until you have my permission, or you hear of my being no more.”
I laid the miniature down and opened the first packet given me by Lady R—. It contained bank-notes to the amount of one hundred pounds, nearly double the salary due to me. The contents of both these packets only made me feel more melancholy, and I sighed heavily as I put them in my dressing-case; but time ran on, and I had agreed to be at Lady M—’s at one o’clock, when the carriage would be sent for me. I therefore hastened my toilet, closed the remainder of my luggage, and went down to the breakfast which the cook had prepared for me. While I was at breakfast a letter was brought by the post. It had been directed to Madame Bathurst, and was redirected to Lady R—’s address. It was from Madame Paon, and as follows:—
“My dear Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf,—
“As I take it for granted that you do not see the French papers, I write to tell you that your predictions relative to Monsieur G—, have all proved correct. A month after the marriage, he neglected madame, and spent his whole time at the gaming-table, only returning home to obtain fresh supplies from her. These were at last refused, and in his rage he struck her. A suit for separation of person and property was brought into court last week, and terminated in favour of Madame d’Albret, who retains all her fortune, and is rid of a monster. She came to me yesterday morning, and showed me the letter which you had written to her, asking me whether I did not correspond with you, and whether I thought, that after her conduct you could be prevailed upon to return to her. Of course I could not give any opinion, but I am convinced that if you only say that you forgive her, that she will write to you and make the request. I really do not well see how you can do otherwise, after the letter which you wrote to her, but of course you will decide for yourself. I trust, mademoiselle, you will favour me with a speedy answer, as Madame d’Albret is here every day, and is evidently very impatient,—I am, my dear mademoiselle, yours,
“Emile Paon.
“Née Mercé.”
To this letter I sent the following reply by that day’s post:—
“My dear Madame Paon,
“That I sincerely forgive Madame d’Albret is true; I do so from my heart; but although I forgive her, I cannot listen to any proposal to resume the position I once held. Recollect that she has driven all over Paris, and accused me among all her friends of ingratitude and slander. How then, after having been discarded for such conduct, could I again make my appearance in her company. Either I have done as she has stated, and if so, am unworthy of her patronage, or I have not done so, and therefore have been cruelly used: made to feel my dependence in the bitterest way, having been dismissed and thrown upon the world with loss of character. Could I ever feel secure or comfortable with her after such injustice? or could she feel at her ease on again presenting one as her protégée, whom she had so ill-treated? would she not have to blush every time that she met with any of our former mutual friends and acquaintances? It would be a series of humiliations to us both. Assure her of my forgiveness and good-will, and my wishes for her happiness; but to return to her is impossible. I would rather starve. If she knew what I have suffered in consequence of her hasty conduct towards me, she would pity me more than she may do now; but what is done is done. There is no remedy for it. Adieu, Madame Paon. Many thanks for your kindness to one so fallen as I am.
“Yours truly and sincerely,
“Valerie.”
I wrote the above under great depression of spirits, and it was with a heavy heart that I afterwards alighted at Lady M—’s residence in St James’s Square. If smiles, however, and cordial congratulations, and shakes of the hand could have consoled me, they were not wanting on the part of Lady M— and her daughters. I was shown all the rooms below, then Lady M—’s room, the young ladies’ rooms, and lastly my own, and was truly glad when I was at last left alone to unpack and arrange my things.
The room allotted to me was very comfortable, and better furnished than those in which the young ladies slept, and as far as appearances went, I was in all respects treated as a visitor and not as a governess. The maid who attended me was very civil, and as she assisted and laid my dresses in the wardrobe, made no attempt to be familiar. I ought to have informed the reader that Lady M— was a widow, Lord M— having died about two years before. Her eldest son, the present Lord M—, was on the continent. Dinner was announced; there were only two visitors, and I was treated as one of the company. In fact, nothing could be more gratifying than the manner in which I was treated. In the evening, I played and sang. The young ladies did the same; their voices were good, but they wanted expression in their singing, and I perceived that I could be useful.
Lady M— asked me, when we were not overheard, “what I thought of her daughters’ singing?”
I told her frankly.
“It is impossible to doubt the truth of what you say, my dear Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, after having heard your performance. I knew that you were considered a good performer, but I had no idea of the perfection which you have arrived at.”
“If your daughters are really fond of music, they would soon do as well, my lady,” replied I.
“Impossible,” exclaimed her ladyship; “but still they must gain something from listening to you. You look fatigued. Do you wish to go to bed? Augusta will go up with you.”
“I have a nervous headache,” replied I, “and I will accept your ladyship’s considerate proposal.”
Augusta, the eldest daughter, lighted a chamber-candle, and went up with me into my room. After a little conversation, she wished me good-night, and thus passed the first day in St James’s Square.