Behold this ring,
Whose high respect, and rich validity,
Did lack a parallel.
SHAKSPEARE.--_All’s Well that ends Well._
You look upon that sleeve; behold it well.--
O, all you gods!--O pretty, pretty pledge!
Nay, do not snatch it from me;
He that takes this, must take my heart withal.
SHAKSPEARE.--_Troilus and Cressida._
The morning after Almack’s, Lady Flamborough called rather early upon
Lady Boreton, not from any great wish she felt to see her ladyship, but
from a prospective inclination to repeat her visit in the summer to
Boreton Hall.
A dowager’s summer and autumn are apt to hang a little heavy on her
hands. A watering-place is rather an expensive resource; she can’t
bespeak plays and patronise balls for nothing; and, after all, she
is often of the same opinion as the manager, or the master of the
ceremonies, that “_Le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle._” Then, as to
a trip to the Continent, a pretty precocious girl may sometimes be
married before the age at which she would be “out” in England. But
neither Lady Caroline nor Lady Jane were quite so green as to require
to be forced forward; and to lose a London season would be, in their
case, a dangerous experiment. Lady Flamborough had been very much
pleased with the party she last met at Boreton; and though nothing had
actually occurred in consequence, much had then been put in train.
She had certainly some difficulty as to the adverse part that many of
her connexions and relatives had since taken at the election; but
she had been glad to observe, the night before, that Lady Boreton did
not appear to retain any unpleasant feelings on this head. She was
prepared too, this morning, to introduce a topic which might afford
an opportunity of descanting on the pleasures of the visit, without
recalling the troubles of the election. She therefore began:
“Who do you think is come to town this morning? Henry Seaford, my
cousin, Lord Waltham’s third son. You know, he was intended for the
_diplomatique_; but, at nineteen, he wanted to marry a _figurante_
at Naples, so his father very properly determined he should go into
the church. And Lord Waltham certainly has been very kind to him ever
since; and has just got him a capital living in a beautiful hunting
county, and so he is come up from the place where he has been upon
probation. And whom do you think he has been telling us about? You
remember that girl, who was a sort of _protégée_ of Louisa’s, and whom
you were kind enough to invite to that delightful party we had at
Boreton? My girls always say, they never were so happy. You know who
I mean; Miss ----. It was a strange fancy of Louisa’s. I told her, I
thought it was taking a great liberty with you: however, Fitzalbert
cried her up, so every body admired her. Miss Melville was it?--No,
Mordaunt.”
“Miss Mordaunt, to be sure,” said Lady Boreton; “A very pretty pleasant
girl. What of her?”
“Why, Seaford says, she’s left quite a beggar. Her mother died when he
first came there; and she’s gone no one knows where. It’s a great pity!
To be sure, she had a very neat taste in dress, and might make a very
good lady’s maid; only, I can’t bear pretty ladies’ maids; they are
always looking over one’s shoulders at themselves in the glass.”
It so happened, that Oakley just at this time came in to make a morning
visit to Lady Boreton. He was very much out of spirits, having seen
that morning by his agent’s accounts, that Helen’s annuity had never
been claimed. This had made him very uneasy; he determined himself to
leave town to examine into the cause; and had therefore called on Lady
Boreton previous to his departure, to arrange some county business with
her, which it was impossible that he could leave unsettled. It will
have been observed that, to use a vulgar phrase, there was “no love
lost” between him and Lady Flamborough.
He was therefore rather disconcerted, at finding her there; and she,
on her part, abruptly concluded her visit on account of his coming in;
but, as it was impossible with her well-practised eye for incipient
flirtations, that his former attentions to Helen Mordaunt could have
entirely escaped her observation, she said rather maliciously, just as
she went out: “Indeed, my dear Lady Boreton, any thing one could do
to get her in a decent line, would be quite a charity for her, poor
thing! It is shocking to think of the temptations to which she may be
exposed; for she certainly was rather pretty. You had better talk it
over with Mr. Oakley; he is a governor of so many of those charitable
institutions. The Magdalen, is it? No; that is not exactly what I mean:
however, I’ll leave you to settle it all with him. Good morning.”
When Lady Boreton explained to Oakley that it was Helen Mordaunt
of whom they had been speaking, he turned as pale as death; and had
her ladyship not been engrossed in many projects on which she had
long wished to consult him, she could not have avoided observing his
emotion. It was in vain, however, that she attempted to command his
attention, whilst she expounded to him several joint-stock schemes, in
which she was then anxiously engaged. “You must take a hundred shares
in this, Mr. Oakley, it is the best of all. It is called the ‘Joint
Stock Staff of Life Company.’ You know there is nothing in which one
is so shamefully abused as in the London bread. Well, we propose to
bake in one immense oven, and the dough is to be kneaded by steam.
Fitzalbert says, that if the dandies must go into the city for money,
they had better give up fishmonger’s companies, and go into the _best
bread_ society, where they will be very much _kneaded_. Very good
that, Mr. Oakley.”
But even this appeal did not force from Oakley an unconscious smile at
Fitzalbert’s execrable pun, much less rouse him from his abstraction;
though he rose mechanically, at Lady Boreton’s desire, to examine
the model of the oven. In showing it off, Lady Boreton’s wrist got
entangled in the machinery, and her bracelet broke and fell to the
ground. Oakley stooped to pick it up, hardly knowing what he was doing,
till his eye accidentally glancing upon that which he held in his hand,
his attention instantly became riveted, whilst Lady Boreton went on
indefatigably explaining that at which he was no longer pretending to
look. The bracelet was made of hair, and irresistibly reminded him of
one he had seen Helen Mordaunt, at Boreton, making of her own hair for
Lady Latimer: it had been of a peculiarly ingenious manufacture, lately
invented at Paris, and had not been previously known in this country;
he remembered too being struck, at the time, with the admiration
the company then bestowed on the workmanship; and not a little
disgusted at the frivolity which could single out this, of all Helen’s
accomplishments, the most to admire.
That which he now held in his hand, was of the same fashion, the same
plaiting; and could he have believed it, he would almost have said, the
same hair.
Lady Boreton, having finished her unheeded lecture on machinery,
offered to take the bracelet away. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Oakley, the
clasp is broken, I perceive. Bazaar goods never last.”
But Oakley was unwilling thus to part with it, and offered himself to
take it there to be repaired; thinking that, by that means, he might
perhaps obtain a clue to the discovery of Helen.
Lady Boreton looked not a little surprised at such an offer on his
part, as it was a civility quite out of his usual line; but she
nevertheless accepted his services.
Oakley hastened out of the house, went direct to the bazaar, and found
out the stall mentioned by Lady Boreton; but, once there, he almost
omitted his commission, and entirely forgot the explicit direction he
had received as to the new setting, in the eagerness of his enquiries
about the person from whom it had been procured. The shopwoman, having
still some pretensions to good looks herself, gave not an over partial
account of the personal appearance of her, the mere description of whom
seemed to blind her hearer to the more obvious charms before him; but
even from her account, Oakley extracted enough to convince him that it
was Helen herself.
“You will oblige me with her direction,” said he. There was a strange
expression, which was meant for propriety, on the shopwoman’s
countenance, as she replied, “that indeed she knew nothing at all about
her--that her goods were brought there for sale, and she paid honestly
for them; but, as to any thing further than in the way of business, she
knew nothing about her, nor she didn’t desire.”
“But I have to order another bracelet similar to this,” said Oakley,
restraining himself: “when are you likely to see her again, as there is
some hurry about it?”
“Oh, if it’s for that, sir,” said the woman, “I expected her here this
morning; but I’m afraid she may have been a bit idle. Perhaps some
other gentleman has been asking after her,” added she, meaning to look
sly; but she checked herself, on seeing nothing in Oakley’s face which
made it, on any account, expedient for her to do so.
“I think it is impossible that she should miss coming to-morrow
morning; and she’s very early when she does come.”
Having, at length, extracted this piece of information, Oakley
departed; and the shopwoman muttered, as he went out: “I should have
guessed as much: it is always your demure-looking ones who are the
worst.”