THE END OF CLAUDIA'S PRIDE.
Is she saved by pangs that pained her?
Is there comfort in all it cost her?
Before the world had gained her,
Before the Lord had lost her,
Or her soul had quite disdained her?
For her soul--(and this is the worst
To bear, as we well know)--
Has been watching her from the first
As closely as God could do,
And herself her life has curst!
Talk of the flames of hell,
We build, ourselves, I conceive,
The fire the fiend lights.--Well!
Believe or disbelieve,
We know more than we tell.
--_Owen Meredith._
After a sleepless night, whose lonely anguish would have driven
almost any woman who was compelled to endure it mad, Claudia arose
and rung her bell.
No one answered it.
Too impatient to wait for the tardy attendance of her servants,
Claudia thrust her feet into slippers, drew on her dressing-gown,
and went and opened the window-shutters to let in the morning light.
Then she rang again.
Still no one obeyed the summons.
She was not alarmed. Even with the knowledge of what had gone
before, she felt no uneasiness. She went to the dressing glass and
loosened her hair, and let it fall all over her shoulders to relieve
her burning head. And then she bathed her face in cold water. She
was impatient to make her toilet and leave the castle.
She knew that all was over with her worldly grandeur; that all her
splendid dreams had vanished forever; that obscurity, perhaps
deepened by degradation, was all that awaited her in the future.
Wounded, bruised, and bleeding as her heart was, she felt glad to
go; glad to leave the abode of splendid discord, misery, and crime,
for any quiet dwelling-place. For she was utterly worn out in body,
mind, and spirit.
She no longer desired wealth, rank, admiration, or even love; she
only longed for peace; prayed for peace.
She knew a turbulent future threatened her; but she feebly resolved
to evade it. She knew that Lord Vincent would sue for a divorce from
her; would drag her name before the world and make it a by-word of
scorn in those very circles of fashion over which she had once hoped
to reign; she would not oppose him, she thought; she had no energy
left to meet the overwhelming mass of testimony with which he had
prepared to crush her. If her father should come over and defend her
cause--well and good. She would let him do it; but as for her, she
would go away, and seek peace.
You see, Claudia was in a very different mood of mind from that of
the night previous, which had inspired her with such royal dignity
and heroic courage to withstand and awe her accusers.
There had come the natural reaction from high excitement, and feats
which had appeared easy, in the hour of her exalted indignation,
seemed now impossible. She could now no more go to the American
minister, and tell him her story, and claim his assistance, than she
could have run into a burning fire. But, thank Heaven, she could go
from the castle.
She rang her bell a third time, and more sharply than before. After
a few minutes it was answered by the housekeeper, who entered with
her customary respectful courtesy.
"She has not heard of last night's scandal," thought Claudia, as she
noticed the dame's unaltered manner.
"I have rung three times, Mrs. Murdock. Why has not my maid come
up?" she inquired.
"Indeed, me leddy, I dinna ken. I ha' na seen the lass the morn,"
answered the woman.
"What! You do not mean to say that Sally has not made her appearance
this morning?"
"Indeed and she ha' na, me leddy."
"Mrs. Murdock, pray go at once to her room and see if she is there."
The housekeeper went away; and after an absence of fifteen minutes
returned to say that Sally was not in her room.
"But I dinna think she is far awa', me leddy; because her bed is all
tumbled as if she was just out of it. And her shoes and clothes are
lying there, just as she put them off."
"I will dress and go and make inquiries myself. This house is a
place of mysterious disappearances. I wonder if the beach below is
of quicksand, and does it swallow people up alive?"
"I dinna ken, me leddy," gravely answered the dame.
"Mrs. Murdock, can you help me to dress?"
"Surely, me leddy," said the housekeeper, approaching Claudia with
so much respectful affection that the unhappy lady said once more to
herself:
"She knows nothing of last night's work."
And then Claudia, who was much too high-spirited and sincere to
receive attentions rendered by the dame in ignorance of that night's
scandal which she might not have so kindly rendered had she known of
them, said:
"Mrs. Murdock, do you know what happened last night?"
"Aye, surely, me leddy, I ken a' about it, if your leddyship means
the fause witness o' that de'il Frisbie," said the housekeeper,
growing red with emotion.
"It was a false witness! a base, wicked, infamous calumny! I think
the more highly of you, Mrs. Murdock, for so quickly detecting this.
And I thank you," said Claudia, with difficulty restraining the
tears, which for the first time since her great wrong were ready to
burst from her eyes.
"Ou, aye, me leddy! It did na require the Witch of Endor to see the
truth of that business. Ye'll see I ken Laird Vincent and Frisbie
and the player-quean, wha is worst o' a'! And I hanna served ye, me
leddy, these twa months without keening yer ladyship as well. And
sae I ken the differ, me leddy. I ken the differ---"
"Oh, Mrs. Murdock, in this deep desolation I find some comfort in
your faith in me!"
"And sae I dinna believe a word the fause knave Frisbie says. And
neither does auld Cuthbert, honest man! But wae's me, me leddy,
whate'er our convictions may be, we canna disprove the lees o' yon
de'il."
"No, we cannot," said Claudia, with a sigh of despair; "and unless
Providence intervenes to save me, I am lost."
"Aweel, me leddy, ye maun just hope that he will intervene. Na, na,
dinna greet sae sairly!" the good woman entreated, for Claudia had
burst into a flood of tears, and was weeping bitterly.
This refreshed her spirit and cleared her brain. Presently, wiping
her eyes and looking up, she said:
"Mrs. Murdock, I cannot meet those wretches at breakfast. Send me
some coffee; and order the carriage to be at the door in an hour;
also send Sally, who must be at hand by this time, to help me pack."
The dame went on this errand, and after a short absence returned,
bringing Claudia's breakfast on a tray.
"Where is Sally?" inquired Lady Vincent, as the housekeeper arranged
the breakfast on a little table.
"She hanna come yet, me leddy," said the housekeeper, who remained
and waited on Lady Vincent at breakfast.
Claudia could eat but little. To all her own sources of trouble was
now added alarm, on account of Sally. What if the hapless girl had
shared old Katie's fate? was the question that now began to torture
her.
"Have you seen my footman this morning, Mrs. Murdock?" she inquired.
"Nae, me leddy; the lad aye gaes to Banff for the mail about this
hour."
"When he comes send him to me at once. And now please take the
service away. And when you go downstairs institute a search for my
maid. And do you, if you can do so conveniently, return and help me
to pack."
"Aye, me leddy," replied the woman, as she lifted the tray and
carried it away.
In a few minutes she returned and assisted Lady Vincent to fill one
large trunk.
"That is all I shall take with me. I shall leave the remainder of my
wardrobe in your care, Mrs. Murdock, and I must request you to see
them packed and sent on to Edinboro', where I shall stop before
deciding on my future steps," said Lady Vincent.
"Aye, me leddy; ye may be sure I will do a' in my power to serve
your leddyship."
"And now pray see if Jim has returned from the post office."
Mrs. Murdock went; but returned with startling news:
"The lad Jamie has na got back, me leddy; and it e'en appears that
he has na gane. I just asked ane o' the stable lads what time it was
when Jamie took the horse to gang to the post office, and the lad
said that Jamie had na come for the horse at a'!"
Claudia sprang up and gazed at the speaker in consternation; and
then sunk down in her chair, and covered her face with her hands and
groaned.
"Dinna do that, me leddy--dinna do that!"
"Oh, Mrs. Murdock! don't leave me! don't lose sight of me, or I
shall vanish too; swallowed up in this great ruin!" she cried, with
a shudder.
There was a rap at the door. Mrs. Murdock opened it. Lord Vincent's
footman stood there.
"My lord sends his compliments to my lady, and says that the
carriage is waiting to take her from the castle; the tide is rising,
which will render the road impassable for several hours; and he
hopes she will take that fact into consideration and not delay her
departure."
"'Delay'? I am only too glad to go. But oh, my poor faithful
servants. Mrs. Murdock, tell the man to send someone up here to
carry my trunk down," said Lady Vincent, hastily putting on her
sable cloak and tying on her bonnet.
Her heart ached at the thought of abandoning her servants; and she
only reconciled herself to the measure by reflecting that to lodge
information with the detective police at Banff would really be the
best means she could possibly take for their recovery.
When two of the men servants had carried down her trunk, Lady
Vincent shook hands with the kind-hearted housekeeper, and prepared
to follow them. In taking leave of Mrs. Murdock she said:
"I thank you sincerely for your kindness to the strangers that came
to your land. You are really the only friend that I and my
unfortunate servants have met since our arrival in this country; and
I shall not forget you!"
The housekeeper wept.
"When my poor servants reappear, if they ever should do so, you will
be so good as to send them to me at Edinboro'. Send them to the
railway office, where I will leave my address."
"Aye, me leddy, I will na forget," sobbed the old dame.
Claudia pressed her hand, dropped it, and went below.
In crossing the central hall towards the principal entrance Claudia
suddenly stopped as though the Gorgon's head had blasted her sight.
For Lord Vincent stood near the open door, as if to witness and
triumph over her expulsion. With a strong effort she conquered her
weakness and approached the door. The viscount made a low and
mocking bow and stepped aside. Claudia confronted him.
"My lord," she said, "you think you have very successfully conspired
against my honor; but if there is justice on earth, or in heaven,
you will yet be exposed and punished."
Lord Vincent made her an ironical bow; but no other reply.
"Where are my servants?" she inquired solemnly.
"I am not their manager, my lady, that I should be conversant with
their movements," answered the viscount.
"My lord, you well know where they are. And if Heaven should bless
my efforts this morning, the world shall soon know."
"My lady, the way is open; the north wind rather piercing. Will you
please to pass out and let me close it?" said his lordship, holding
the door wide open for her exit.
"Will you tell me where my servants are?" persisted Claudia.
"I do not know, my lady. They have probably stolen the plate and
gone. I will ask the butler, and if it is so, I will put the
constables on their track," said Lord Vincent, bowing and waving his
hand towards the door.
"I leave you to the justice of Heaven, evil man!" replied Claudia,
as she passed through and left the castle. She entered the carriage
and was driven off.
Lord Vincent closed the door behind her and then went into the
breakfast room, where the cloth was already laid. Neither Mrs.
MacDonald nor Mrs. Dugald had yet come down. They seemed to be
sleeping late after their disturbed night.
Presently, however, they entered--Mrs. MacDonald looking very much
embarrassed, Faustina pale as death. Lord Vincent received them with
grave politeness, and they all sat down to the table.
It was then Lord Vincent said:
"Mrs. MacDonald, Lady Vincent has this morning left this house upon
which she has brought so much dishonor. It is also necessary for me
to go to London to take measures for the dissolution of my marriage.
I am, therefore, about to ask of you a great favor."
"Ask any you please, my lord. I am very anxious to be of service to
you in this awful crisis. And I will gladly do all in my power to
help you," replied this very complaisant lady.
"I thank you, madam. I thank you very much. The favor I had to ask
of you is this--that you will kindly remain here with Mrs. Dugald,
until some plan is formed for her future residence."
"Surely, my lord, I will remain with great pleasure," answered this
needy lady, who was only too glad to leave for a season the
straitened home of her married sister, and take up her abode in this
plentiful establishment.
"Again I thank you, madam; thank you cordially on the part of my
widowed sister as well as on my own part," said the viscount
courteously.
And this point being settled, the party dispersed.
Mrs. MacDonald retired to her own apartments to write a note to her
sister, requesting that her effects might be forwarded to Castle
Cragg.
Mrs. Dugald went to her boudoir to await there in feverish
impatience the arrival of the viscount.
He did not keep her long in suspense; he soon entered, locked the
door behind him, and seated himself beside her.
"She is gone--really gone?" whispered Faustina, in a low, eager,
breathless voice.
"Yes, my angel; you heard me say so."
"Really and truly gone?"
"Really and truly."
"Oh, I am so glad! And her servants? Ah, I always hated those
blacks! She has not left them behind?"
"Certainly not," answered the viscount evasively.
"Ah, what a relief! The house is well rid of them."
"It is, indeed, my love."
"But--but--but--the dead body?" whispered the woman in a husky
voice, while her eyes dilated with terror.
"It is gone."
"Where? how?"
"I tied a heavy weight to its feet and sunk it in the depths of the
sea," replied the viscount, who felt no scruples in deceiving
anyone, least of all his accomplice in crime.
And this shows the utter falsity of the absurd proverb that asserts
"there is honor among thieves." There can be no honor and no
confidence in any league wherein the bond is guilt.
Lord Vincent was completely under the influence of Mrs. Dugald, whom
he worshiped with a fatal passion--a passion the more violent and
enduring because she continually stimulated without ever satisfying
it. Up to this time she had never once permitted the viscount to
kiss her. Thus he was her slave; but, like all slaves, he deceived
his tyrant. He had deceived Mrs. Dugald from the first; he
habitually deceived her.
In this instance he persuaded her that old Katie died under the
influence of the chloroform that she had helped to administer on
that fatal night when the old negress had been discovered
eavesdropping behind the curtain in Mrs. Dugald's apartments.
What his motive could have been for this deception it would be
difficult to say; perhaps it was for the purpose of gaining some
power over her; perhaps it was from the pleasure of torturing her
and seeing her terrors--for his passion for the woman was by no
means that pure love which seeks first of all the good of its
object; and, finally, perhaps it was from the mere habit of
duplicity.
However that might be, he had persuaded her that Katie was dead,
dead from the effects of the chloroform they had forced her to take.
And now that he had really committed a felony by selling the three
negroes to a West Indian smuggler, he was not inclined to confess
the truth. For not upon any account would he have confided to his
companion in guilt the secret of a criminal transaction in which she
had not also been implicated. He could not have trusted her so far
as to place his liberty in her keeping. Therefore he preferred she
should believe Katie's body had been sunk in the depths of the sea;
and that Sally and Jim had accompanied their lady in her departure
from the castle. It is true, the household servants might soon
disabuse her mind of the mistake that the lady's maid and footman
had gone with their mistress. But if they should do so, the viscount
knew he could easily plead ignorance as to the fact; and say that
all he knew was, she had not left them at the castle.
Mrs. Dugald listened to his account of the disposition of old
Katie's body with deep delight. She clapped her little hands in her
usual silly manner and exclaimed eagerly:
"That is good; oh, that is good! But are you sure it will stay down
there? Great Heaven, if it should rise against us!"
"There is no danger, love, no danger."
"We should all be guillotined!" she repeated for the twentieth time
since that night. And she shuddered through all her frame.
"Hanged, my dearest, not guillotined; hanged by the neck till we are
dead," said the viscount, smiling.
"Ah, but you look like Mephistopheles when you say that!" she
shrieked, covering her face with her hands.
"But there is no danger, none at all, I assure you. And now, my
angel, I must leave you; I ordered the brougham to be at the door at
twelve precisely to take me to Banff to meet the Aberdeen coach. And
I have some preparations to make. Come down into the drawing room
and wait to take leave of me, that is a dear."
"Oh, yes, yes! but before you go, promise me! You will write every
day?"
"Every day, my angel," said the viscount, bowing over her hand,
before he withdrew from the room.
His preparations were soon made. Old Cuthbert performed the duties
of valet. And punctually at twelve o'clock the viscount took leave
of his evil demon and her chaperon and departed for Banff, where he
took the coach to Aberdeen, at which place he arrived in time to
catch the night train up to London.