Who was there to whom I could apply? Sir Guy, of course, was out of
the question. Then, in an affair of such delicacy, I could not consult
a _young_ man; besides, these boys, I fancy, are always for fighting,
right or wrong. A woman was no use, or I should have gone straight
back to Lady Scapegrace. I pondered matters over and over again. I
thought of every horror in the way of duelling I had ever heard of.
My own uncle was shot dead by a Frenchman when attached to the army of
occupation at Cambray. It was a romantic story, and I had often heard
the particulars from my godfather, General Grape, who officiated as
his second. My uncle was a handsome, chivalrous youth, deeply attached
to a countrywoman of his own, whose picture he wore constantly next
his heart. Such a man was not likely to become compromised with
another lady. It happened, however, that my uncle was quartered in the
vicinity of a château belonging to a retired general of the Grand
Army, who hated an Englishman as a matter of taste, and a British
officer as a matter of duty.
The French general had a charming daughter, and Rosalie, besides being
_belle comme le jour_, was likewise what her acquaintance called _tant
soit peu coquette_. So she made love to my uncle on every available
opportunity, and of course, because he didn't care for her two pins,
set her faithless heart upon him, as a woman will. To make things
simpler, she was herself engaged to a young marquis in the
neighbourhood. Well, my uncle, like a sensible man, did his best to
keep clear of the whole thing, but he could not avoid meeting Rosalie
occasionally in his walks, nor could he absolutely refuse to make her
acquaintance, or refrain from perusing the letters she wrote to him,
or, finally, prevent that forward young person from falling into his
arms, and bursting into tears, with her head on his shoulder. The
moment was, however, ill-chosen for so dramatic a scene, inasmuch as
it occurred under the very noses of her father and her _fiancé_, both
of whom, unknown to the fair wanderer, had followed Rosalie, on
purpose to find out where it was she walked day after day so
perseveringly.
My uncle had scarcely recovered his surprise at the first
demonstration ere he was staggered by the second--"_Malheureuse!_"
exclaimed the father; "_Perfide!_" groaned the lover; "_Traître!_"
shouted the marquis; "_Lâche!_" growled the general. My uncle turned
from one to the other, completely at a nonplus, Rosalie in the
meantime clinging to his breast and imploring him passionately to save
her! My uncle's waistcoat came undone--his real mistress's miniature
dropped out; the sight added fuel to the fire of the belligerents.
Nothing would satisfy them but his blood. In vain he protested, in
vain he swore, in extremely bad French, that he had no _penchant_ for
Rosalie, had never made love to her in his life; in fact, rather
disliked her than otherwise.
The Frenchmen _sacréed_, and fumed, and stormed at him, and jostled
him, till my uncle lost all patience, shook himself clear of Rosalie,
who fell fainting to the ground, knocked each of his adversaries down
in turn, and walked home to his quarters, very much disgusted with the
world in general, and the wilfulness of French young ladies in
particular. Of course he knew perfectly well it was not to end here.
He sent for Grape, then a brother subaltern, and placed his honour in
that officer's hands.
No message came for two days, that interval having elapsed in
consequence of a deadly quarrel between the marquis and the general as
to who should take the thing up first. Grape firmly believes they
decided the matter with small swords; another version is, that they
played piquet for eight-and-forty hours to settle it--the best out of
so many games. Be this how it may, the general appeared as the
ostensible champion, and the marquis officiated as his _témoin_.
Grape, as my uncle's second, chose pistols for the weapons, and
selected a retired piece of ground in a large garden near the château
as the lists. I give the conclusion in his own words:--
"Horsingham was as cool as a cucumber, and the only thing that
seemed to annoy him was a possibility that the cause of his
_rencontre_ might be misrepresented to her he loved at home.
"'Tell her I was faithful to the last,' said he to me as he squeezed
my hand just before _I put him up_. 'Tell her, if I fall, that I
never loved another; that my heart is pure and spotless as that
white rose, which I will wear upon it for her sake.'
"While he spoke, he plucked a white rose from a neighbouring bush,
and in spite of my remonstrances fixed it in the breast of his
close-fitting dark coat.
"'What are you about, Charlie?' I urged. 'This is no time for
romance. Don't you know all these cursed Frenchmen are dead shots?
You might as well chalk out a bull's eye over the pit of your
stomach!'
"He was a romantic, foolish fellow. I can see him now, drawing
himself up, and looking like a knight of the olden time, with his
brightening eye, and his smooth, unruffled forehead."
"'Give her the white rose,' he only said. 'She'll keep it when it's
withered, perhaps. And tell her I never wavered--never for an
hour!'"
"I knew too well how it would be. From the instant he came on the
ground the old general never took his eye off his man. What an eye
it was! Cold and gray and leaden; half shut, like that of some wild
animal, with a pupil that contracted visibly while I watched it. I
knew my friend had no chance. I did all I could. As I had the
privilege of placing the men, I stationed our adversary where he
would have to look over his shoulder to see my signal, whilst my
friend's face was turned towards me. They were to fire when I
dropped my hat. I dropped it with a flourish. Alas! all was of no
use. The general shot him right through the heart. I knew he would;
and the bullet cut the stalk of the rose in two, smashed the lower
part of the miniature, leaving only the face untouched, and poor
Charlie Horsingham never spoke again. As we lifted him and
unbuttoned his waistcoat, the two Frenchmen gazed at the miniature
with looks of anger and curiosity. Great was their astonishment to
behold the portrait of another than Rosalie. The younger man was
much affected; he groaned aloud and covered his face with his hands.
Not so the old general. '_Tenez_,' said he, wiping the barrel of his
weapon on his glove, '_c'est dommage! je ne contais pas là-dessus;
mais, que voulez-vous? Peste! ce n'est qu'un Anglais de moins._'"
This is the carelessness with which men talk and think of human life;
and here was my cousin about to go through the fearful ordeal, perhaps
to be shot dead, like poor Charles Horsingham. The more I thought of
it, the more resolutely I determined to prevent it. I had never taken
off my dinner-dress--my candles were nearly burned down--the clock
struck five--in two hours it would be daylight. There was not a moment
to lose. All at once a bright thought struck me. I would rouse good
old Mr. Lumley. He was clever, sensible, and respected; he was
likewise a man of honour and a gentleman. With all his infirmities, I
had seen him show energy enough when he could do any good. I would go
to him at once; and I left my room with the resolution that I, for
one, would move heaven and earth ere a hair of Cousin John's precious
head should be imperilled on my account.
I lit my candle and tripped once more along the silent passages. I
knew where Mrs. Lumley slept, and soon reached the door of her room;
audible snores, base and treble, attested, if not the good
consciences, at least the sound digestions of the inmates. I tapped
loudly; no answer. Again I knocked till my knuckles smarted. A sleepy
"Come in" was the reply to my summons. They probably thought it was
the housemaid arrived to open the shutters. It was no time for false
delicacy or diffidence, and I walked boldly into the apartment. By the
light of the night-lamp I beheld the happy pair. Of course, I am not
going to describe the lady's dress; but all I can say is, that if ever
I am prevailed on to marry, and such a catastrophe is by no means
impossible, I shall _not_ permit my husband to disfigure himself at
any hour by adopting such a custom as that of dear, kind, good old Mr.
Lumley.
A white cotton nightcap, coming well over the ears, and tied under the
throat with tape to match, surmounted by a high _bonnet rouge_ like an
extinguisher, the entire headdress being further secured by a broad
black ribbon, would make Plato himself look ridiculous; and a sleepy
old face, with a small turn-up nose, and a rough stubbly chin of
unshaven gray, does not add to the beauty or the dignity of such a
recumbent subject. However, what I wanted was Mr. Lumley; and Mr.
Lumley I was forced to take as I could get him.
"What's o'clock?" he murmured drowsily. "Come again to light the fire
in half an hour."
"Why, it's Kate!" exclaimed his better half, rousing up, bright and
warm, in a moment, like a child. "Goodness, Kate, what are you doing
here?"
"Miss Coventry!" ejaculated her husband. "What is it? A perfect
specimen of the common house-spider, I'll lay my life. What an
energetic girl! Found it on her pillow, and lost not a moment in
bringing it here! I'm eternally obliged to you. Where is it? Mind you
don't injure the legs. Pray don't stick a pin through the back."
"Oh, Mr. Lumley!" I sobbed out, "it's worse than a spider. Get up,
please; there's going to be a duel, and I want you to stop it. Captain
Lovell and Cousin--Cousin----"
I fairly broke down here, and burst into tears; but the kind old man
understood me in an instant.
"Margery, my dear," he shouted, "get me up directly; there's not a
moment to lose. Oh, these boys! these boys! young blood and absence of
brains! If they would but devote their energies to science. Don't
distress yourself, my dear; I'll manage it all. Where does Captain
Lovell sleep?"
"First door on the right, when you get down the steps in the
Bachelors' wing," I replied unhesitatingly, much to the surprise of
Mrs. Lumley. She would have known too, if she had been shut up there
for a couple of hours in a shower-bath.
"I'll go to him as soon as I'm dressed," promised Mr. Lumley. "I
pledge you my honour he shan't fight till I give him leave. Go to bed,
my dear, and leave everything in my hands. Don't cry, there's a good
girl. By the way, the housemaids here are infernally officious; you
haven't _seen_ a good specimen of the common house-spider anywhere
about, have you?"
I assured the kind-hearted old naturalist I had not; and as he was
already half out of bed, I took my departure, and sought my own
couch--not to sleep, Heaven knows, but to toss and turn and tumble,
and see horrid visions, waken as I was, and think of everything
dreadful that might happen to my cousin, and confess to my own heart
how I loved him now, and hated myself for having treated him as I had,
and revel, as it were, in self-reproach and self-torture. It was broad
daylight ere I fell into a sort of fitful dose, so out-wearied and
over-excited was I, both in body and mind.