The next morning, Ellen, who felt a little fatigued from the various
circumstances of the day before, some of which had considerably agitated
her spirits, declined going out; and after breakfast retired to her own
dressing-room; Laura, at the same time, going to her's, having letters
to write to her father and some other friends.
Lady St. Aubyn was soon surrounded by her favourite books, some maps, a
drawing she was finishing, and all those resources with which she now
knew so well how to fill up her time. In one corner stood an elegant
harp, on which Ellen had been taking lessons, and had made a
considerable proficiency; in another sat her faithful Jane busy at her
needle, at which she was very expert; and Ellen detesting to see any one
idle, kept her generally employed either in fine work, or making linen
for the poor, to seek out, and relieve whom, was one branch of Jane's
business. A simple, though graceful taste, regulated the ornaments and
furniture of this favourite retirement; no velvet cushions, no
overwhelming perfumes, were met with here; all was elegant, but all was
modest, and generally useful: a small bookcase, a porte-feuille, a
netting box, shewed that its inhabitant loved to be employed.
By a cheerful fire this fair inhabitant was now seated: the modesty of
her demeanor, the delicacy of her dress, were such as suited one, who,
though young, and even girlish, was a wife, and likely to be a mother;
the tout-ensemble, in short, was a perfect contrast to the figure,
dress, and apartment of the luxurious Lady Meredith. A complete silence
prevailed (for Jane had learned when her lady chose, which as now was
sometimes the case, to have her in her apartment, to be quiet), and had
lasted at least half an hour, when a step was heard in the anti-room;
and a footman knocking at the door, Jane opened it, and the servant
requested her to tell her lady that----A voice behind interrupted him,
by saying, "You need not trouble yourself, Sir; I know my way, and shall
announce myself." Ellen rose, and looked surprised, for visitors were
never shewn to this room: still more was she amazed when she saw the
sharp countenance and stiff figure of the old lady she now supposed to
be Lady Juliana Mordaunt, who, pushing by the man, gave him one of her
express nods, and said, "You may go, Sir."--She then advanced, and
seeing Jane, who rose and stared at this extraordinary visitant, she
said, with another nod to Ellen, "So, you make your maid work at her
needle: I am glad of it; but send her away now, for I want to talk to
you." Ellen seeing that Jane hesitated to leave her with this stranger,
whom the poor girl began to believe was deranged, told her to go to her
own room, and she, gathering up her work, very readily obeyed; though
she went to the housekeeper and told her she thought they had better
both go and stay in the anti-room, for she really believed a mad-woman
was gone into her Lady's dressing-room. "Nonsense!" said the
housekeeper: "I saw the lady go up: it is my Lord's aunt, Lady Juliana."
This intelligence quieted Jane, who really was under some fears for
Ellen, to whom she was become tenderly attached.
In the meantime, Lady Juliana seeing that Ellen continued standing,
said--"Sit down, child, and don't be frightened." Ellen gladly obeyed,
for she could not help feeling a little agitated by Lady Juliana's
strange mode of visiting.
The old lady looked round the room, and after a moment's pause,
said--"Why, you are an unfashionable young woman, I see; work, books,
maps, and the furniture remaining nearly as it was seven years ago!
What, has nobody told you, child, the whole house ought to be new
furnished?"
"Indeed, Ma'am, if they had, I should have paid no attention to them,"
said Ellen. "I must, indeed, be a strange ungrateful creature, if the
magnificent furniture of this house was not more than equal to my
wishes."
"So much the better, I am glad of it," returned Lady Juliana.--"Do you
know me?" she added, turning in her usual abrupt manner to Ellen.
"I believe--I think I can guess."
"Oh, I suppose you told St. Aubyn you had met with a cross,
disagreeable old woman at Lady Meredith's, and he told you it must have
been his aunt, Lady Juliana Mordaunt."
"Indeed, Madam," said Ellen, blushing a little at a statement so near
the truth.
"Nay, don't tell lies, child," bluntly replied the old lady. "I hate
flattery; besides, your countenance won't let you. I know what I am,
which is more than every body can say. And do you generally spend your
mornings in this manner?"
"Generally, unless my Lord wishes me to go any where with him."
"And what do you do in the evening?"
"Lord St. Aubyn, Miss Cecil, and myself, sit together: we net or work,
while he reads to us, unless Miss Cecil is sufficiently in spirits to
give us some music."
"And have you no idea, child, how ridiculous the fashionable people
think all this?"
"I am sorry for it."
"But will you persist in the same plan?" Ellen smiled.
"And do you mean to go on in this way all the time you are in town?"
"Not exactly perhaps. I am to see a little more of the public places;
but my Lord wished me to wait till----"
"Till what? You may as well tell me, for I see you have an old-fashioned
way of speaking your thoughts."
"It is true, your Ladyship sees in me one so little accustomed to the
habits of the great world, that I have not yet learned to dissemble:
will you permit me to say, and not be displeased, that Lord St. Aubyn
anxiously wished to procure a chaperon, whose sanction should be
unexceptionable--in short, Lady Juliana Mordaunt."
"I believe you are a little flatterer after all," said Lady Juliana,
relaxing into a smile. "With all your talk of sincerity, I hardly
believe St. Aubyn thought of me at all; and how, if he did, he could
fancy I should ever get the better of the shock he gave my pride, call
it prejudice if you will, by marrying _you_--for I love plain-dealing,
child. I don't know but it is all over now--I like you; and if you will
continue as modest and unaffected as you are now, keep your neck and
arms covered, and bring your Lord an heir, that these de Montforts may
not succeed to his title, I will love you, and do all I can to assist
and support you."
Seeing that Ellen blushed at the last hint, she added,--"Nay, you need
not blush, though I like to see you can: for I promise you, it was
observing the probability of such an event that did more to reconcile me
to you than all your beauty and merit could have done; so take care of
yourself, and don't disappoint me; and now, my dear, kiss me, and call
me _aunt_ whenever you please."
Ellen modestly and gracefully bent to receive the old Lady's embrace,
and at that instant St. Aubyn opened the dressing-room door, and found
the two people he loved best in the world in each other's arms, with
tears of tenderness on the cheeks of both.
"What do I see!" he exclaimed.--"Is it possible!"
"Yes," said Lady Juliana, "it is very possible you see a foolish old
woman, who loves you too well not to love one so dear to you, and so
worthy of being loved."
St. Aubyn respectfully and affectionately kissed the hand she gave him,
and clasping Ellen in his arms, exclaimed, "My dearest Ellen, how happy
has all this made me!"
"Come, don't hurry her spirits with your raptures," said Lady Juliana.
"She is a good girl, and we shall be very happy together, I dare say.
But I find, Sir, you have been waiting for me, of all people, to
chaperon your Lady about to all the fine places: I have had enough of
them, and at my time of life I do not know any business I have at
operas, balls, and plays: however, to oblige you and _my niece_, I will
go wherever you wish me. I do not think she is one who will tire me to
death: I shall dine with you to-day, and if you choose to let one of
your people go to Drury-lane, and inquire if there are places, we may
hear the oratorio to-night."
Charmed with this speech, for St. Aubyn knew his aunt well enough to be
sure if she had not been thoroughly pleased with Ellen, she would
neither have called her niece, nor have staid to dine with them, he most
readily accepted the kind offer.
They dined rather earlier than usual, that they might be in time for the
opening of the oratorio, which Ellen was anxious to hear. Laura Cecil,
in compliment to Lady Juliana, dined with them, and was quite delighted
to see the affection, and even respect, with which she treated Lady St.
Aubyn: for Lady Juliana was not a person to do things by halves; and
having once conquered her own prejudices, was determined to give her
niece all the consequence in her power with every other person, and
would have been extremely angry with any one, who had dared to treat her
with half the contempt she herself had done the day before. Once a
friend, she was a friend for life, unless the object of her affections
proved really undeserving, and then she hated with as much warmth as she
had loved.
Miss Cecil could not be persuaded to go with them to the theatre; and
indeed Ellen was afterwards glad of it, for many of the songs were those
which the sainted Juliet used to sing with so much sweetness and
expression: and exquisitely as they were now performed, yet Ellen still
felt something wanting. The soul that used to animate the eyes of
Juliet, while she sung, was not there. The lips that had breathed those
sacred strains, were so pure, so hallowed, that all the wonders of voice
and science, now lavished for her entertainment, could not compensate to
Ellen's mind for the pang she felt in recollecting that those eyes,
those lips, were closed for ever.
"Mute was the music of her tuneful breath,
And quenched the radiance of her sparkling eyes."
After this evening, Ellen's engagements became more frequent; but she
was never seen in public, except with Lady Juliana, and seldom without
her Lord. In vain did fashion dictate, or ridicule assail: the sly
glance, the pointed sarcasm, alike were vain: she knew herself safe, her
reputation secure, with protectors so respectable; yet there was nothing
obtrusive or formal in St. Aubyn's attention to his lovely wife: he was
neither inseparable from her side, or incapable of attention to any
other lady, or expecting Ellen never to speak to any other gentleman.
But it was obvious, without being intrusive, that each was the first
object of the other, and that their mutual honour and happiness were the
most interesting care of both.
Hence no bold and disgusting flattery assailed the ears of Ellen; no
forward flirting woman dared dispute with her the heart of St. Aubyn; so
pure, so spotless was her character, that, raised as she had suddenly
been to a rank which might easily excite the envy of those who thought
they had a better claim to it, not even the bold license of the age we
live in had dared to breathe one syllable against her.
Thus passed the time till the latter end of April, which was the period
fixed for Lady Meredith's famous fete, about which all the great world
was going mad. The persons who were invited were expected to wear
masquerade dresses, and the house appeared in masquerade, as well as
the company. The whole had been new furnished in a fanciful style, and
at an enormous expence, for this one evening; and her Ladyship's own
dress was literally covered with jewels: she wore the habits and
ornaments of an eastern beauty, and her attire was exactly copied from
that Lady M. W. Montague describes for the fair Fatima, only, if
possible, still more rich and splendid; and, if possible, still more
calculated to display as well as to adorn the figure. No words can do
justice to the magnificence and splendour of the whole entertainment:
the Bow-street officers at the door, and Mr. G---- and his men serving
ices and other refreshments in a room fitted up to represent a casino at
Naples, with a panorama view of its beautiful bay, &c. gave it all the
characteristics of a modern fete; and the number of gay dresses, shining
decorations, lights, and music, made the whole appear to Ellen more like
a palace in a fairy tale than any thing "which the earth owns." She
wore a black domino, but with a very fine set of diamonds, which Lady
Juliana had given her the night before: amongst them was a sort of
coronet, or chaplet, set to represent sprigs of jessamine and small vine
leaves, in commemoration of that which St. Aubyn had woven of those
simple materials the day he discovered to her his real rank; for Lady
Juliana had heard the whole story, and was much pleased with that little
incident.
Their party consisted of Lord and Lady St. Aubyn, Lady Juliana, and Sir
Edward Leicester, a particular friend of St. Aubyn's, a very amiable
young man, who appeared much charmed with Laura Cecil, and paid her
great attention, whenever he had an opportunity of being with her. They
spent a very agreeable evening: it concluded with a splendid supper, at
which all the company appeared unmasked, and the super-eminence of Lady
St. Aubyn's beauty was allowed by all.
A few nights after this, Lord and Lady St. Aubyn, Lady Juliana, Lady
Meredith, and her favourite beau, Colonel Lenox, went to the Opera: the
entertainment for the evening happened to be the beautiful opera of
Artaserse. Ellen, lost in delight at the superb stage decorations, the
exquisite beauty of the music, and the interest of the story, which, by
the help of the action, and having read it in English, she understood
very well, was scarcely sensible of any thing around her, till the scene
in which Arbace is accused of the murder of the king. Turning then to
speak to St. Aubyn, who sat behind her, she saw him pale, agitated, and
trembling: "What is the matter?" asked she, in a voice of alarm; but
pressing his hand on her arm, he said, in a low voice, "Be silent--do
not notice me."
At that moment the voice of the singer, who performed Arbace, in the
most pathetic tone, breathed out, "Sono Innocente," to which Artaserse
replies:
Ma l'apparenza O Arbace
T'accusa ti condanna!
A stifled sigh, almost amounting to a groan, from St. Aubyn, met the ear
of Ellen. Recovering himself a little, he whispered--"Remember, Ellen,
_and I too am innocent_!"
In spite of the precaution with which he spoke, Lady Meredith turned,
and asked him if he were unwell.
"I have a violent head-ache," he replied, forcing himself to appear more
composed.
"You look pale, indeed, my Lord," returned Lady Meredith: "and Lady St.
Aubyn seems quite overcome with this pathetic scene."
She spoke of the opera, but a crimson flush spread over St. Aubyn's
face, and complaining of the intolerable heat, he rose, and went out of
the box.
"Bless me!" said Lady Juliana: "what is the matter?"
"Only Lord St. Aubyn complains of the head-ache," said Lady Meredith.
"Oh, I know what it is," answered Lady Juliana: "my nephew hates to be
disturbed when he is attending to music; and I suppose you, Lady
Meredith, have been talking to him, as you always do at the Opera."
Lady Meredith only laughed; and St. Aubyn returning soon after, nothing
more passed. When the opera was over, and St. Aubyn and Ellen were alone
in the carriage, he still appeared so restless and agitated, that Ellen
could not resist addressing to him a few words, indicative of curiosity,
if not of alarm. For a time he evaded her tender inquiries; but, at
length, grasping her hands with an action expressive of the utmost
emotion, he again repeated his former words: "Remember, Ellen, oh,
remember that I too am innocent!"
"I know it, I am sure of it," she returned: "but why thus confide by
halves? Why torture yourself and me by these mysterious hints?"
"Ah, why indeed!" said he: "I ought to have more command of myself: but
that scene--that fatal instrument of a horrid deed!--Appearances how
false, yet how convincing!"
"To me," she replied, "appearances are not and never shall be any thing,
when opposed to your single assertion, to my confidence in your
integrity."
"A thousand thousand thanks," he replied, "for the sweet assurance!
Soon, too soon, perhaps, you will be tried!"
"Demanding so much reliance, so much implicit _confidence_ from his
wife, under such _mysterious_ conduct, was St. Aubyn willing, if called
upon, to grant an equal share to her?"