The music
Of man's fair composition best accords,
When 'tis in consort, not in single strains:
My heart has been untuned these many months,
Wanting her presence, in whose equal love
True harmony consisted.
FORD.
At the beginning of September the whole party assembled at Maristow
Castle. Even Mrs. Elizabeth Fitzhenry was among the guests. She had not
visited Ethel in London, because she would not enter Lady Lodore's house,
but she had the true spinster's desire of seeing the baby, and thus
overcame her reluctance to quitting Longfield for a few weeks. Fanny Derham
also accompanied them, unable to deny Ethel's affectionate entreaties.
Fanny's situation had been beneficially changed. Sir Gilbert Derham,
finding that his granddaughter associated with people _in the world_, and
being applied to by Lord Maristow, was induced to withdraw Mrs. Derham
from her mean situation, and to settle a small fortune on each of her
children. Fanny was too young, and too wedded to her platonic notions of
the supremacy of mind, to be fully aware of the invaluable advantages of
pecuniary independence for a woman. She fancied that she could enter on
the career--the only career permitted her sex--of servitude, and yet
possess her soul in freedom and power. She had never, indeed, thought
much of these things: life was, as it concerned herself, a system of
words only. As always happens to the young, she only knew suffering
through her affections, and the real chain of life--its necessities and
cares--and the sinister influences exercised by the bad passions of our
fellow-creatures--had not yet begun to fetter her aspiring thoughts.
Beautiful in her freedom, in her enthusiasm, and even in her learning,
but, above all, in the lively kindliness of her heart, she excited the
wonder and commanded the affections of all. Saville had never seen any
one like her--she brought to his recollection his own young feelings
before experience had lifted "the painted veil which those who live call
life," or passion and sorrow had tamed the ardour of his mind; he looked
on her with admiration, and yet with compassion, wondering where and how
the evil spirit of the world would show its power to torment, and
conquer the free soul of the disciple of wisdom.
Yet Saville's own mind was rather rebuked than tamed: he knew what
suffering was, yet he knew also how to endure it, and to turn it to
advantage, deriving thence lessons of fortitude, of forbearance, and
even of hope. It was not, however, till the seal on his lips was taken
off, and the name of Cornelia mentioned, that he became aware that the
same heart warmed his bosom, as had been the cause at once of such
rapture and misery in former times. Yet even now he did not acknowledge
to himself that he still loved, passionately, devotedly loved, Lady Lodore.
The image of the pale Clorinda stretched on the pavement--his
victim--still dwelt in his memory, and he made a sacrifice at her tomb
of every living feeling of his own. He fancied, therefore, that he spoke
coldly of Cornelia, with speculation only, while in fact, at the very
mention of her name a revulsion took place in his being--his eyes
brightened, his face beamed with animation, his very figure enlarged,
his heart was on fire within him. Villiers saw and appreciated these
tokens of passion; but Ethel only perceived an interest in her mother,
shared with herself, and was half angry that he made no professions of
the constancy of his attachment.
Still, day after day, and soon, all day long, they talked of Lady Lodore.
None but a lover and a daughter could have adhered so pertinaciously to one
subject; and thus Saville and Ethel were often left to themselves, or
joined only by Fanny. Fanny was very mysterious and alarming in what she
said of her beautiful and interesting favourite. While Ethel lamented
her mother's love of the continent, conjectured concerning her return,
and dwelt on the pleasures of their future intercourse, Fanny shook her
head, and said, "It was strange, very strange, that not one letter had
yet reached them from her." She was asked to explain, but she could only
say, that when she last saw Lady Lodore, she was impressed by the idea
that all was not as it seemed. She tried to appear as if acting
according to the ordinary routine of life, and yet was evidently
agitated by violent and irrepressible feeling. Her manner, she had
herself fancied, to be calm, and yet it betrayed a wandering of thought,
a fear of being scrutinized, manifested in her repetition of the same
phrases, and in the earnestness with which she made assurances
concerning matters of the most trivial import. This was all that Fanny
could say, but she was intimately persuaded of the correctness of her
observation, and lamented that she had not inquired further and
discovered more. "For," she said, "the mystery, whatever it is, springs
from the most honourable motives. There was nothing personal nor
frivolous in the feelings that mastered her;" and Fanny feared that at
that very moment she was sacrificing herself to some project--some
determination, which, while it benefited others, was injuring herself.
Ethel, with all her affection for her mother, was not persuaded of the
justice of these suspicions, nor could be brought to acknowledge that
the mystery of Lady Lodore's absence was induced by any motives as
strange and forcible as those suggested by Fanny; but believed that her
young friend was carried away by her own imagination and high-flown
ideas. Saville was operated differently upon. He became uneasy,
thoughtful, restless: a thousand times he was on the point of setting
out to find a clue to the mystery, and to discover the abode of the
runaway,--but he was restrained. It is usually supposed that women are
always under the influence of one sentiment, and if Lady Lodore acted
under the direction and for the sake of another, wherefore should
Saville interfere? what right had he to investigate her secrets, and
disturb her arrangements?
Several months passed. Mrs. Elizabeth Fitzhenry returned to Longfield,
and still the mystery concerning Ethel's mother continued, and the
wonder increased, Soon after Christmas Mr. Gayland, who was also Lord
Maristow's solicitor, came down to the Castle for a few days. He made
inquiries concerning Lady Lodore, and was somewhat surprised at her strange
disappearance and protracted absence. He asked several questions, and
seemed to form conclusions in his own mind; he excited the curiosity of
all, yet restrained himself from satisfying it; he was evidently
disquieted by her unbroken silence, yet feared to betray the origin of
his uneasiness.
While he remained curiosity was dominant: when he went he requested
Villiers to be good enough to let him know if any thing should be heard
of Lady Lodore. He asked this more than once, and required an absolute
promise. After his departure, his questions, his manner, and his last
words recurred, exciting even more surprise than when he had been
present. Fanny brought forward all he said to support her own
conjectures; a shadow of disquiet crossed Ethel's mind; she asked
Villiers to take some steps to discover where her mother was, and on his
refusal argued earnestly, though vainly, to persuade him to comply.
Villiers was actuated by the common-place maxim of not interfering with
the actions and projects of others. "Lady Lodore is not a child," he
said, "she knows what she is about--has she not always avoided you,
Ethel? Why press yourself inopportunely upon her?"
But Ethel was not now to be convinced by the repetition of these
arguments. She urged her mother's kindness and sacrifice; her having
given up her home to them; her house still unclaimed by her, still at
their disposal, and which contained so many things which must have been
endeared by long use and habit, and the relinquishing of which showed
something extraordinary in her motives. This was a woman's feeling, and
made little impression on Villiers--he was willing to praise and to
thank Lady Lodore for her generosity and kindness, but he suspected nothing
beyond her acknowledged acts.
Saville heard this disquisition; he wished Villiers to be convinced--he
was persuaded that Ethel was right--he was angry at his cousin's
obstinacy--he was miserable at the idea that Cornelia should feel
herself treated with neglect--that she should need protection and not
have it--that she should be alone, and not find assistance proffered,
urged upon her. He mounted his horse and took a solitary ride,
meditating on these things--his imagination became heated, his soul on
fire. He pictured Lady Lodore in solitude and desertion, and his heart
boiled within him. Was she sick, and none near her?--was she dead, and her
grave unvisited and unknown? A lover's fancy is as creative as a poet's
and when once it takes hold of any idea, it clings to it tenaciously. If
it is thus even with ordinary minds, how much more with Saville, with
all energy which was his characteristic, and the latent fire of love
burning in his heart. His resolution was sudden, and acted on at once.
He turned his horse's head towards London. On reaching the nearest town,
he ordered a chaise and four post horses. He wrote a few hurried lines
announcing an absence of two or three days, and with the rapidity that
always attended the conception of his purposes and their execution, the
next morning, having travelled all night, he was in Mr. Gayland's
office, questioning that gentleman concerning Lady Lodore, and seeking
from him all the light he could throw upon her long-continued and
mysterious absence.
Mr. Gayland had promised Lady Lodore not to reveal her secret to Mr. or
Mrs. Villiers; but he felt himself free to communicate it to any other
person. He was very glad to get rid of the burden and even the
responsibility of being her sole confidant. He related all he knew to
Saville, and the truth flashed on the lover's mind. His imagination
could not dupe him--he could conceive, and therefore believe in her
generosity, her magnanimity. He had before, in some degree, divined the
greatness of mind of which Lady Lodore was capable; though as far as
regarded himself, her pride, and his modesty, had deceived him. Now he
became at once aware that Cornelia had beggared herself for Ethel's
sake. She had disposed of her jointure, given up the residue of her
income, and wandered away, poor and alone, to avoid the discovery of the
extent and consequences of her sacrifices. Saville left Mr. Gayland's
office with a bursting and a burning heart. At once he paid a warm
tribute of admiration to her virtues, and acknowledged to himself his
own passionate love. It became a duty, in his eyes, to respect, revere,
adore one so generous and noble. He was proud of the selection his heart
had made, and of his constancy. "My own Cornelia," such was his reverie,
"how express your merit and the admiration it deserves!--other people
talk of generosity, and friendship, and parental affection--but you
manifest a visible image of these things; and while others theorize, you
embody in your actions all that can be imagined of glorious and
angelic." He congratulated himself on being able to return to the
genuine sentiments of his heart, and in finding reality give sanction to
the idolatry of his soul.
He longed to pour out his feelings at her feet, and to plead the cause
of his fidelity and affection, to read in her eyes whether she would see
a reward for her sufferings in his attachment. Where was she, to receive
his protestations and vows? He half forgot, in the fervour of his
feelings, that he knew not whither she had retreated, nor possessed any
clue whereby to find her. He returned to Mr. Gayland to inquire from
him; but he could tell nothing; he went to her house and questioned the
servants, they remembered nothings; at last he found her maid, and
learnt from her, where she was accustomed to hire her post-horses; this
was all the information at which he could arrive.
Going to Newman's, with some difficulty he found the post-boy, who
remembered driving her. By his means he traced her to Reading, but here
all clue was lost. The inn to which she had gone had passed into other
hands, and no one knew any thing about the arrivals and departures of
the preceding summer. He made various perquisitions, and lighted by
chance on the servant she had taken with her to Reading, and there
dismissed. From what he said, and a variety of other circumstances, he
became convinced that she had gone abroad. He searched the foreign
passport-office, and found that one had been taken out at the French
Ambassador's in the month of April, by a Mrs. Fitzhenry. He persuaded
himself that this was proof that she had gone to Paris. It was most
probable that, impoverished as she was, and desirous of concealing her
altered situation, that she should, as Lodore had formerly done, dismiss a
title which would at once encumber and betray her. He immediately
resolved to cross to France. And yet for a moment he hesitated, and
reflected on what it was best to do.
He had given no intimation of his proceedings to his cousin, and they
were unaware that his journey was connected with Lady Lodore. He had a
lover's wish to find her himself--himself to be the only source of
consolation--the only mediator to restore her to her daughter and to
happiness. But his fruitless attempts at discovery made him see that his
wishes were not to be effected easily. He felt that he ought to
communicate all he knew to his cousins, and even to ensure their
assistance in his researches. Before going abroad, therefore, he
returned to Maristow Castle.
He arrived late in the evening. Lord Maristow and his daughters were
gone out to dinner. The three persons whom Saville especially wished to
see, alone occupied the drawing-room. Edward was writing to his father,
who had advised him, now that he had a son, entirely to cut off the
entail and mortgage a great part of the property: it was a distasteful
task to answer the suggestions of unprincipled selfishness. While he was
thus occupied, Ethel had taken from her desk her mother's last letter,
and was reading it again and again, weighing every syllable, and
endeavouring to discover a hidden meaning. She went over to the sofa on
which Fanny was sitting, to communicate to her a new idea that had
struck her. The studious girl had got into a corner with her Cicero, and
was reading the Tusculan Questions, which she readily laid aside to
enter on a subject so deeply interesting. Saville opened the door, and
appeared most unexpectedly among them. His manner was eager and abrupt,
and the first words he uttered were, "I am come to disturb you all, and
to beg of you to return to London:--no time must be lost--can you go
to-morrow?"
"Certainly," said Villiers, "if you wish it."
"But why?" asked Ethel.
"You have found Lady Lodore!" exclaimed Fanny.
"You are dreaming, Fanny," said Ethel; "you see Horace shakes his head.
But if we go to-morrow, yet rest to-night. You are fatigued, pale, and
ill, Horace--you have been exerting yourself too much--explain your
wishes, but take repose and refreshment."
Saville was in too excited a state to think of either. He repelled
Ethel's feminine offers, till he had related his story. His listeners
heard him with amazement. Villiers's cheeks glowed with shame, partly at
the injustice of his former conduct--partly at being the object of so
much sacrifice and beneficence on the part of his mother-in-law. Fanny's
colour also heightened; she clasped her hands in delight, mingling
various exclamations with Saville's story. "Did I not say so? I was sure
of it. If you had seen her when I did, on the day of her going away, you
would have been as certain as I." Ethel wept in silence, her heart was
touched to the core, "the remorse of love" awakened in it. How cold and
ungrateful had been all her actions: engrossed by her love for her
husband, she had bestowed no sympathy, made no demonstrations towards
her mother. The false shame and Edward's oft-repeated arguments which
had kept her back, vanished from her mind. She reproached herself
bitterly for lukewarmness and neglect; she yearned to show her
repentance--to seek forgiveness--to express, however feebly, her sense
of her mother's angelic goodness. Her tears flowed to think of these
things, and that her mother was away, poor and alone, believing herself
wronged in all their thoughts, resenting perhaps their unkindness,
mourning over the ingratitude of her child.
When the first burst of feeling was over, they discussed their future
proceedings. Saville communicated his discoveries and his plan of
crossing to France. Villiers was as eager as his cousin to exert himself
actively in the pursuit. His ingenuous and feeling mind was struck by
his injustice, and he was earnest in his wish to atone for the past, and
to recompense her, if possible, for her sacrifices. As every one is apt
to do with regard to the ideas of others, he was not satisfied with his
cousin's efforts or conclusions; he thought more questions might be
asked--more learnt at the inns on the route which Lady Lodore had taken.
The passport Saville had imagined to be hers, was taken out for Dover.
Reading was far removed from any road to Kent. They argued this. Horatio
was not convinced; but while he was bent on proceeding to Paris, Edward
resolved to visit Reading--to examine the neighbourhood--to requestion
the servants--to put on foot a system of inquiry which must in the end
assure them whether she was still in the kingdom. It was at once
resolved, that on the morrow they should go to London.
Thither they accordingly went. They repaired to Lady Lodore's house.
Saville on the next morning departed for France, and a letter soon reached
them from him, saying, that he felt persuaded that the Mrs. Fitzhenry was
Lady Lodore, and that he should pursue his way with all speed to Paris.
It appeared, that the lady in question had crossed to Calais on the
eleventh of June, and intimated her design of going to the Bagneres de
Bigorre among the Pyrennees, passing through Paris on her way. The
mention of the Bagneres de Bigorre clinched Saville's suspicions--it was
such a place as one in Lady Lodore's position might select for her
abode--distant, secluded, situated in sublime and beautiful scenery,
singularly cheap, and seldom visited by strangers; yet the annual resort
of the French from Bordeaux and Lyons, civilized what otherwise had been
too rude and wild for an English lady. It was a long journey
thither--the less wonder that nothing was heard, or seen, or surmised
concerning the absentee by her numerous acquaintances, many of whom were
scattered on the continent. Saville represented all these things, and
expressed his conviction that he should find her. His letter was brief,
for he was hurried, and he felt that it were better to say nothing than
to express imperfectly the conflicting emotions alive in his heart. "My
life seems a dream," he said at the conclusion of his letter; "a long
painful dream, since last I saw her. I awake, she is not here; I go to
seek her--my actions have that single scope--my thoughts tend to that
aim only; I go to find her--to restore her to Ethel. If I succeed in
bestowing this happiness on her, I shall have my reward, and, whatever
happens, no selfish regret shall tarnish my delight."
He urged Villiers, meanwhile, not to rely too entirely on the conviction
so strong in himself, but to pursue his plan of discovery with vigour.
Villiers needed no spur. His eagerness was fully alive; he could not
rest till he had rescued his mother-in-law from solitude and obscurity.
He visited Reading; he extended his inquiries to Newbury: here more
light broke in on his researches. He heard of Lady Lodore's illness--of her
having resided for several months at a villa in the neighbourhood, while
slowly recovering from a fever by which for a long time her life had
been endangered. He heard also of her departure, her return to London.
Then again all was obscurity. The innkeepers and letters of post-horses
in London, were all visited in vain--the mystery became as impenetrable
as ever. It seemed most probable that she was living in some obscure
part of the metropolis--Ethel's heart sunk within her at the thought.
Edward wrote to Saville to communicate this intelligence, which put an
end to the idea of her being in France--but he was already gone on to
Bagneres. He himself perambulated London and its outskirts, but all in
vain. The very thought that she should be residing in a place so sad,
nay, so humiliating, without one gilding circumstance to solace poverty
and obscurity, was unspeakably painful both to Villiers and his wife.
Ethel thought of her own abode in Duke street during her husband's
absence, and how miserable and forlorn it had been--she now wept
bitterly over her mother's fate; even Fanny's philosophy could not
afford consolation for these ideas.
An accident, however, gave a new turn to their conjectures. In the draw
of a work-table, Ethel found an advertisement cut out of a newspaper,
setting forth the merits of a cottage to be let near Rhaiyder Gowy in
Radnorshire, and with this, a letter from the agent at Rhaiyder, dated
the 13th of May, in answer to inquiries concerning the rent and
particulars. The letter intimated, that if the account gave
satisfaction, the writer would get the cottage prepared for the tenant
immediately, and the lady might take possession at the time mentioned,
on the 1st of June. The day after finding this letter, Villiers set out
for Wales.
But first he persuaded Ethel to spend the interval of his absence at
Longfield. She had lately fretted much concerning her mother, and as she
was still nursing her baby, Edward became uneasy at her pale cheeks and
thinness. Ethel was anxious to preserve her health for her child; she
felt that her uneasiness and pining would be lessened by a removal into
the country. She was useless in London, and there was something in her
residence in her mother's house--in the aspect of the streets--in the
memory of what she had suffered there, and the fear that Lady Lodore was
enduring a worse repetition of the same evils, that agitated and preyed
upon her. Her aunt had pressed her very much to come and see her, and
she wrote to say, that she might be expected on the following day. She
bade adieu to Villiers with more of hope with regard to his success than
she had formerly felt. She became half convinced that her mother was not
in London. Fanny supported her in these ideas; they talked continually
of all they knew--of the illness of Lady Lodore--of her firmness of
purpose in not sending for her daughter, or altering her plans in
consequence; they comforted themselves that the air of Wales would
restore her health, and the beauty of the scenery and the freedom of
nature sooth her mind. They were full of hope--of more--of expectation.
Ethel, indeed, had at one time proposed accompanying her husband, but
she yielded to his entreaties, and to the fear suggested, that she might
injure her child's health. Villiers's motions would be more prompt
without her. They separated. Ethel wrote to Saville a letter to find him
at Paris, containing an account of their new discoveries, and then
prepared for her journey to Essex with Fanny, her baby, and the
beautiful little Clorinda Saville, who had been left under her care, on
the following day.