Silent and gloomy was the ride homewards. St. Aubyn, bridling with
difficulty the jealous rage which consumed him, sat leaning against one
side of the carriage, veiling his eyes with his hand, that they might
not for an instant fall on Ellen, who, hardly supporting herself with
Jane's help, shed no tears, though grief and vexation heaved her bosom
with sighs, which almost burst it; for now her recollection was
restored, the dreadful words in which St. Aubyn first addressed her rung
in her ears, and swelled her heart with anguish.
At length they reached Cavendish-Square, and were met in the hall by
Lady Juliana, whose pride, at first, wounded by Ellen's being from home
when she arrived, had, at length, given way to feelings of alarm at her
long absence; but when she saw her lifted from the carriage, pale,
trembling, and half-dead, terrified and astonished, she vainly demanded
an explanation alternately from St. Aubyn and the frightened Jane; her
nephew passing her hastily, and in silence, went into his study, and
instantly shut and fastened the door. There he meant to consider with
himself what part it became him to take, and how to elucidate this
extraordinary event.
Ellen, throwing herself into Lady Juliana's arms, exclaimed, "Oh! my
dearest madam, let me die at once, for my Lord is angry with me!"
"Die!" cried Lady Juliana, struggling with a thousand terrors;
"Nonsense! for what? Do you suppose no man was ever angry with his wife
before? You are so unused to it, it seems strange to you, but you may
assure yourself few wives would think it so extraordinary."
By this time they had reached Ellen's dressing-room, where, having
placed her on a sofa, and given her some restoratives, Lady Juliana
said, "But what is all this about--what offence have you committed?"
"Oh! madam, I know not; but it is too true, St. Aubyn has said such
words to me, such words as I never thought to hear from him!"
"What is the meaning of all this?" said Lady Juliana, turning to Jane.
"Speak, girl, if you have not quite lost your senses, or do not wish
that I should lose mine, and tell me where your lady has been, and what
has happened."
Jane, now, as well as the confusion she was in would let her, repeated
the adventures of the morning to Lady Juliana, the visit to the
officer's widow, and the old blind lady; and lastly, why they went to
Mrs. Birtley's: "And it was I," she said, "that persuaded her Ladyship
to go to that disagreeable Mrs. Birtley's--out of pride, I own it--it
was out of pride, that she might see what a grand place I had got, and
that _my_ lady was not the sort of person that cross old woman fancied
she was; and her Ladyship would not even have alighted or gone into her
trumpery parlour, if the horses had not been so frightful, and the
coachman said, says he, "my Lady had better alight, for the horses--"
"Grant me patience!" said Lady Juliana: "this girl's tongue is enough to
distract me! Well, and when you were in her trumpery parlour, as you
call it, what happened then? Was Lord St. Aubyn angry that you went
there?"
"Oh! no, my Lady, not for that; but the instant after we went in, and
while Mrs. Birtley was chattering about the book, and about her lodger
(and to be sure there never was such another chattering woman in the
world, and looking at my lady from head to foot, so saucy-like, I was
quite in a passion with her), I saw my lady turn pale, and thinking she
was going to faint, I made Mrs. Birtley go for some water, for I knew
well enough how your Ladyship would scold if _my_ Lady was to be ill,
and so I told Mrs. Birtley."
"Will this tale ever have an end?" cried the impatient Lady Juliana.
"Well, my Lady, and so just as Mrs. Birtley was gone for the water, and
we were got up to go away, in came a young man: I believe, for my part,
he was quite mad, not indeed that I am any particular judge of mad
people, for I remember the first day your Ladyship came here I
thought--but I believe I had better not tell _that_;--however, this
young man _was_ mad for certain, for the moment he saw my Lady, he ran
to her, and seemed as if he was going to catch her in his arms. I
screamed, and when her Ladyship said she was terrified, he quite raved,
and called her names, and said something about her shame, and her being
ruined, and her jewels, last night, and I don't know what."
"And who, for Heaven's sake, was this man?" asked the astonished Lady
Juliana.
"Oh, it was Ross! Charles Ross!" sobbed Ellen; "and St. Aubyn came in
while he was speaking to me, and said I came there to meet him, to his
very lodgings; and then I fainted quite away."
"So, so, so!" repeated Lady Juliana; "a pretty piece of work! I see what
this mistake will end in! But stay; surely it is not too late: I will go
to St. Aubyn."
"Yes, go to him, Madam, for Heaven's sake go to him, and explain it to
him. Assure him I could not have an idea that Charles Ross lodged at
Mrs. Birtley's. Oh! how cruel to be obliged to make this explanation:
can St. Aubyn really think so ill of me? Yet, surely, surely he will be
undeceived--this is only a momentary start of passion!"
Lady Juliana shook her head, for she knew St. Aubyn's temper; and how
hardly he would endure to hear even her on such a subject; yet, if he
would but condescend to hear what the servants, who attended the
Countess in this unfortunate excursion, what this Mrs. Birtley would
say, their stories would doubtless confirm that of Ellen; for of the
truth of that story Lady Juliana had not the smallest doubt; but she
knew how St. Aubyn's pride would revolt, and his delicacy be hurt, by
the necessity of interrogating such people on the conduct of his wife.
She felt herself indeed angry with Ellen for the childish impatience
which had taken her out in the morning, after the fright of the night
before had rendered repose so desirable, and for going to Mrs.
Birtley's at all; but she could easily forgive a folly apparently of so
little importance, since it was quite impossible for Ellen to have
foreseen the chain of circumstances which followed, and involved her in
so much distress.
How St. Aubyn happened to go to the same place, no one could guess; it
appeared, indeed, extremely unlikely that he should have done so; but,
as singular coincidences no less singular do sometimes occur, though
their rarity makes us call them improbable, unless they arise within our
own immediate knowledge.
The real truth was this: St. Aubyn, recollecting that Charles Ross had
said the night before, "_the woman where you lodged found you out_," had
determined to ascertain, from this woman herself, what she had told
Ross, and how she had dared to speak of him and Ellen in such terms; and
to explain who her Mr. and Mrs. Mordaunt really were, that no farther
slander, even in Mrs. Birtley's narrow circle, might attach to the
purity of Lady St. Aubyn's character, had walked thither from Sir Edward
Leicester's, with whom he had sat some time, arranging the particulars
of their intended meeting with Charles Ross the next morning; there, to
his utter astonishment, he found Lady St. Aubyn's carriage in waiting;
and inquiring of the servants where she was, was answered, in that
house, meaning Mrs. Birtley's.
"And Miss Cecil?"
"No, my Lord; Miss Cecil did not come out with my Lady, only Mrs. Jane."
St. Aubyn recollected Ellen's apparent agitation in the morning; the
letter he had found her reading, and which she so hastily concealed; her
having said Laura would go with her; yet she had come with only her
maid, a young ignorant girl, come to the very house where he believed
Ross was residing; that Ross, of whom, though almost unknown to
himself, some secret jealousy had always lurked in his heart.
All these circumstances rose at once to his memory; and, without waiting
to knock or ring, the door standing open, he rushed hastily into the
parlour, where the first object that struck his sight was his wife, his
beloved, his adored Ellen, while her hand was held by the man on earth
he most detested, the man who but the night before had insulted her and
outraged him! What could he think? Was it wonderful that the fury which
swelled his heart broke into words of reproach and anger? Was it not
rather wonderful he could so far command himself, so far reflect, as to
return with her apparently calm, and that he did not at once cast from
him a woman who must have appeared so ungrateful and insincere?
Lady Juliana having with the aid of Miss Cecil and Jane put Ellen to
bed, would have retired to seek her nephew, leaving Laura shocked,
astonished, and grieved, remaining with her friend; but seeing the flush
of fever on her cheek, and an unusual brilliancy in her eyes, they sent
without delay to the family physician, who, after asking a few
questions, and learning the Countess had been alarmed, and was then
under the influence of terror for her lord, who, Laura whispered to him,
they feared was meditating a duel with a gentleman who had insulted Lady
St. Aubyn, the doctor shook his head, and said if her mind were not
quieted immediately, he would not be answerable for the consequences:
she had, he said, every symptom of an alarming fever, and that if she
were not soothed, and kept quiet, the worst event might be expected both
to herself and the unborn babe.
Alarmed beyond measure, Lady Juliana now ran to seek St. Aubyn. With
some difficulty she prevailed on him to grant her admittance, and with
still greater, to hear what she had to say. She repeated the whole story
Jane had told her: he shook his head, was silent, but not convinced. She
saw his incredulity, and with some hesitation proposed to interrogate
the men servants who went out with their lady as to the real cause of
her alighting at Mrs. Birtley's. He started indignantly from the idea;
but Lady Juliana assuring him she could ask in such a way as should give
them no suspicion why they were questioned, he at last consented, and
ringing the bell, she ordered the coachman to be sent to her.
"John," said she, "your lady has been frightened at something or other
this morning during her absence from home. Were the horses restive?"
"No, my Lady: the horses went as quiet as lambs to ---- Street, where we
stopped while my Lady went into a house, I believe to see a poor family,
as her Ladyship does sometimes; and then we went to the poor old blind
lady's, that Mrs. Jane says her Lady maintains; and after that we went
to another house, where my Lady said she would not alight, and told Mrs.
Jane to make haste and get the book, for she would not stop an instant;
but I was afraid to turn the carriage with her Ladyship in it, the
street being very narrow just there, and a dray standing at the house
opposite, for fear the horses should prance a little, which my Lady is
always afraid of; and so I begged her just to alight a minute while I
turned, which she seemed not to like to do, but the old lady of the
house coming out and persuading her, she said she would get out for a
minute, and the people staring at her as she stood on the pavement, she
went into the house, and I believe something or somebody frightened her,
for as I drew up to the door, which was not directly, for the horses
were a little unruly, I saw a young man go into the parlour where my
Lady was waiting, and a minute after, I heard Mrs. Jane scream; and I
was going in, and so was James, but just as I was getting off my box,
and Richard was standing at the head of the horses, my Lord came up, and
afterwards I found my Lady had fainted away."
"Then your Lady had only been there a short time?"
"Not above ten minutes I am sure, Madam, and as Mrs. Jane screamed when
the gentleman went into the parlour, I think he must have frightened
her."
"Very well, John: I was afraid it was the horses, and if so, Lady St.
Aubyn should never have gone with them again."
"Oh, no, my Lady, the horses are quiet enough, poor things, only that
narrow street made me think my Lady had better alight."
The man then retired, and Lady Juliana said:--"Well, St. Aubyn, are you
now satisfied?"
"Not quite; all this might have been contrivance and art."
"How is it possible you can think so! Did you ever see the slightest
trace of either in Ellen?"
"Yes, to-day. Why did she tell me Laura was going with her? Why conceal
where she was going?"
"Laura lamented just now not having gone out with Ellen, as she
requested on account of a bad head-ache: as to Ellen's not telling you
where she was going, that arose from a fear lest you should prevent,
what, with the natural impatience of youth, she had set her heart upon.
But if you still doubt, let us inquire of this woman, this
Mrs.----what's her name?--the mistress of the house where you lodged:
she can tell what Lady St. Aubyn's errand was there, and why she
alighted."
"Good God! Madam," said St. Aubyn, peevishly, "would you have me go
about collecting evidences whether I ought to believe my wife
blameless, or the most deceitful of women?"
"Yes I would," replied Lady Juliana, warmly, "if you can suspect her; if
such modesty, such guileless sincerity, and purity of words and manners
as I never before saw in woman, have no power to convince you: if you
can set against them all this one unlucky accident, for I am sure it is
no more, you ought to do every thing, seek every body who can give you
information. Good God! to what purpose is it, as to this world, that a
woman should lead the purest and most unspotted life, if one equivocal
appearance can drive all confidence, all reliance, from the heart which
ought to know her best!"
Touched by this generous warmth, St. Aubyn began to feel convinced he
had gone too far: he knew how penetrating Lady Juliana was, how much she
had been prejudiced against Ellen, and how cautiously she would have
observed, ere she had given to her an affection and confidence so
tender: he called to mind many "a proof of recollected love," of native
modesty, of the strictest principles in his wife, and began deeply to
repent his jealous rashness; but suddenly recollecting the note he had
seen in her hands, and the haste with which she had concealed it, he
hastily said:--"But the letter! What letter was that I found her
reading?"
"What letter?" asked Lady Juliana.
"One I found her reading this morning, just before she went out; she
seemed agitated, and had tears in her eyes, and as I entered, she put it
into the fold of her morning dress."
"And there," said Lady Juliana, eagerly, "I found it, when we undressed
her just now: I have not opened it; here it is." She drew it from her
pocket. St. Aubyn recollected it to be the same, and opened it with
trembling hands. It was, as has been stated, from the officer's widow
to Jane, entreating her good offices with her lady, and describing her
own distress, agreeing exactly with what Ellen and her maid had told
Lady Juliana, and she had repeated to St. Aubyn. Such a corroboration of
her story he could resist no longer; but shocked, alarmed, and ashamed,
he hastily said:
"I have injured her! Oh! can she ever forgive me!"
"It's well," said Lady Juliana with some asperity, for his jealous
obstinacy had vexed her--"it's well if you have not killed her and your
child too. God defend me from such rash, headstrong people, that can
make no distinction between a _Rosolia_ and an _Ellen_: poor girl, she
has paid dear I am afraid for her dream of happiness, and being "perched
up in a glittering greatness, wearing a golden sorrow!"
"For God's sake, Madam, no more reproaches," said St. Aubyn, angrily:
"she has not suffered alone; but let me go to her; let me implore her
to forgive me. Ah! can I ever forgive myself!"
"Indeed, nephew, I shall do no such thing, unless you will promise me
there shall be no fighting with that mad Ross, who I wish had been a
thousand miles off before he had come here to drive us all as mad as
himself."
"We will talk of that, hereafter: perhaps he will apologize; at any
rate, let us go now to Ellen, and try if I can sooth her spirits, and
calm her wounded mind."
But Ellen by the time he reached her was in no condition to hear him:
delirium had seized her, and the scene at the Opera dwelling on her
mind, on which it had made a powerful impression, connected, though
wildly, with the late untoward events, she exclaimed just as he entered
the room, "Remember, St. Aubyn, remember Arbace--_and I too am
innocent_?" then in low tones she imitated the recitative which had
taken such hold on her imagination; and sung in a sweet and plaintive
voice "Sono Innocente!" St. Aubyn, combining these words with all the
interesting ideas connected with them, with the generous assurances
Ellen had so often given him, that no appearances should ever shake her
faith in _his_ integrity and honour, assurances which he had so ill
repaid, was overwhelmed with grief and remorse: he put aside the
curtain, and kneeling by the bed-side, said in the tenderest accents:
"Ellen, my love, my injured Ellen, will you not hear, will you not
forgive me?"
"So you are come at last," said she, turning her head quickly towards
him: "go to your son, my good friend, and tell him he has cruelly
insulted me; that I am St. Aubyn's _wife_, not the wretch he calls me:
why, you know, Mr. Ross, you married us, and my father and Joanna were
present: then what does Charles mean by talking of my _shame_ and
_ruin_?"
"Oh, Heavens! she raves," exclaimed St. Aubyn; "my cruelty has
destroyed her!"
"Take away the bloody sword," screamed Ellen. "I tell you Arbace did
_not_ murder him; no, nor yet St. Aubyn: nothing shall ever make me
believe St. Aubyn guilty:--I promised him;--he says he is innocent;
enough, my love, enough, Ellen will _never doubt you_!" and again she
breathed in plaintive cadences the pathetic "Sono Innocente."
"She will die! she will die!" wildly exclaimed St. Aubyn, starting up:
"run for more help! fetch all the physicians in London. Oh! have I lived
to this!"
"You will kill her indeed," said Laura, "if you are not quiet: leave her
to us. Doctor B---- will again be here in a few minutes: he says if she
can but be quiet, can but be made to understand, all is well; she will
recover; but indeed, my Lord, you must leave her now."
"No, Laura, I will not go; I will sit here without speaking; but should
she recover her senses, if only for a minute, it will I know comfort
her to see me here."
This Laura could readily believe, and therefore made no further
objection; but Doctor B---- arriving soon after, comforted them all with
the assurance, that though the Countess's fever at present ran high, he
had great hopes that perfect quietude, and the medicines he had ordered,
would, in all probability, do much for her, especially, aided as they
were by youth and an excellent constitution, and that he saw no
immediate danger. He strictly enjoined, however, that her chamber might
be kept as still as possible, and that at most only two persons should
remain there: he entreated St. Aubyn and Lady Juliana to retire, and
having prevailed on them to do so, he told Miss Cecil he wished her to
be as much as possible one of Lady St. Aubyn's attendants.
"As to Lady Juliana," said he, "she is so very anxious and restless;
she will only disturb our fair patient: you, my dear Miss Cecil, I
perceive have that happy self-possession, joined with gentleness and
activity, which alone can make a good nurse; your voice too is
particularly calculated to sooth and persuade a sick person:--you may
smile, but believe me, few know how many qualifications are requisite to
form a good superintendent of a sick bed, and amongst them I have always
found a soft but distinct articulation one of the most considerable.
Think only how a nervous patient is what is emphatically called
_worried_ by a droning, discontented voice, or alarmed by too loud a
tone, or sudden question. I assure you I have often seen weak persons
thrown into a fever by these apparently trifling causes; let me,
therefore, beg Miss Cecil will take upon herself the task of replying to
any questions the Countess may ask, but in as few words as possible: the
moment reason returns, sooth her mind by every assurance that the
danger she so much feared is over. I shall see Lord St. Aubyn before I
quit the house, and place before him the evil to be dreaded, should he
pursue this unfortunate business any farther."