CONCLUSION.
Sleep came on me, without my feeling it, and amid all the distracting
cares and pressing thoughts that embarrassed me, I only awoke when the
roll of the caleche sounded beneath my window, and warned me that I
must be stirring and ready for the road.
Since it is to be thus, thought I, it is much better that this
opportunity should occur of my getting away at once, and thus obviate
all the unpleasantness of my future meeting with Lady Jane; and the
thousand conjectures that my departure, so sudden and unannounced might
give rise to. So be it, and I have now only one hope more—that the
terms we last parted on, may prevent her appearing at the breakfast
table; with these words I entered the room, where the Callonbys were
assembled, all save Lady Jane.
“This is too provoking; really, Mr. Lorrequer,” said Lady Callonby,
with her sweetest smile, and most civil manner, “quite too bad to lose
you now, that you have just joined us.”
“Come, no tampering with our party,” said Lord Callonby, “my friend
here must not be seduced by honied words and soft speeches, from the
high road that leads to honours and distinctions—now for your
instructions.” Here his lordship entered into a very deep discussion as
to the conditions upon which his support might be expected, and relied
upon, which Kilkee from time to time interrupted by certain quizzing
allusions to the low price he put upon his services, and suggested that
a mission for myself should certainly enter into the compact.
At length breakfast was over, and Lord Callonby said, “now make your
adieux, and let me see you for a moment in Sir Guy’s room, we have a
little discussion there, in which your assistance is wanting.” I
accordingly took my farewell of Lady Callonby, and approached to do so
to Lady Jane, but much to my surprise, she made me a very distant
salute, and said in her coldest tone, “I hope you may have a pleasant
journey.” Before I had recovered my surprise at this movement, Kilkee
came forward and offered to accompany me a few miles of the road. I
accepted readily the kind offer, and once more bowing to the ladies,
withdrew. And thus it is, thought I, that I leave all my long dreamed
of happiness, and such is the end of many a long day’s ardent
expectation. When I entered my uncle’s room, my temper was certainly
not in the mood most fit for further trials, though it was doomed to
meet them.
“Harry, my boy, we are in great want of you here, and as time presses,
we must state our case very briefly. You are aware, Sir Guy tells me,
that your cousin Guy has been received among us as the suitor of my
eldest daughter. It has been an old compact between us to unite our
families by ties still stronger than our very ancient friendship, and
this match has been accordingly looked to, by us both with much
anxiety. Now, although on our parts I think no obstacle intervenes, yet
I am sorry to say, there appear difficulties in other quarters. In
fact, certain stories have reached Lady Jane’s ears concerning your
cousin, which have greatly prejudiced her against him, and we have
reason to think most unfairly; for we have succeeded in tracing some of
the offences in question, not to Guy, but to a Mr. Morewood, who it
seems has personated your cousin upon more than one occasion, and not a
little to his disadvantage. Now we wish you to sift these matters to
the bottom, by your going to Paris as soon as you can venture to leave
London—find out this man, and if possible, make all straight; if money
is wanting, he must of course have it; but bear one thing in mind, that
any possible step which may remove this unhappy impression from my
daughter’s mind, will be of infinite service, and never forgotten by
us. Kilkee too has taken some dislike to Guy. You have only, however,
to talk to him on the matter, and he is sure to pay attention to you.”
“And, Harry,” said my uncle, “tell Guy, I am much displeased that he is
not here, I expected him to leave Paris with me, but some absurd wager
at the Jockey Club detained him.”
“Another thing, Harry, you may as well mention to your cousin, that Sir
Guy has complied with every suggestion that he formerly threw out—he
will understand the allusion.”
“Oh yes,” said my uncle, “tell him roundly, he shall have Elton Hall; I
have fitted up Marsden for myself; so no difficulty lies in that
quarter.”
“You may add, if you like, that my present position with the government
enables me to offer him a speedy prospect of a Regiment, and that I
think he had better not leave the army.”
“And say that by next post Hamercloth’s bond for the six thousand shall
be paid off, and let him send me a note of any other large sum he
owes.”
“And above all things, no more delays. I must leave this for England
inevitably, and as the ladies will probably prefer wintering in Italy—”
“Oh certainly,” said my uncle, “the wedding must take place.”
“I scarcely can ask you to come to us on the occasion, though I need
not say how greatly we should all feel gratified if you could do so,”
said my Lord.
While this cross fire went on from both sides, I looked from one to the
other of the speakers. My first impression being, that having perceived
and disliked my attention to Lady Jane, they adopted this “mauvaise
plaisanterie” as a kind of smart lesson for my future guidance. My next
impression was that they were really in earnest, but about the very
stupidest pair of old gentlemen that ever wore hair powder.
“And this is all,” said I, drawing a long breath, and inwardly uttering
a short prayer for patience.
“Why, I believe, I have mentioned everything,” said Lord Callonby,
“except that if anything occurs to yourself that offers a prospect of
forwarding this affair, we leave you a carte blanche to adopt it.”
“Of course, then,” said I, “I am to understand that as no other
difficulties lie in the way than those your Lordship has mentioned, the
feelings of the parties, their affections are mutual.”
“Oh, of course, your cousin, I suppose, has made himself agreeable; he
is a good looking fellow, and in fact, I am not aware, why they should
not like each other, eh Sir Guy?”
“To be sure, and the Elton estates run half the shire with your
Gloucester property; never was there a more suitable match.”
“Then only one point remains, and that being complied with, you may
reckon upon my services; nay, more, I promise you success. Lady Jane’s
own consent must be previously assured to me, without this, I most
positively decline moving a step in the matter; that once obtained,
freely and without constraint, I pledge myself to do all you require.”
“Quite fair, Harry, I perfectly approve of your scruples,” so saying,
his Lordship rose and left the room.
“Well, Harry, and yourself, what is to be done for you, has Callonby
offered you anything yet?”
“Yes sir, his Lordship has most kindly offered me the under
secretaryship in Ireland, but I have resolved on declining it, though I
shall not at present say so, lest he should feel any delicacy in
employing me upon the present occasion.”
“Why, is the boy deranged—decline it—what have you got in the world,
that you should refuse such an appointment.”
The colour mounted to my cheeks, my temples burned, and what I should
have replied to this taunt, I know not, for passion had completely
mastered me. When Lord Callonby again entered the room, his usually
calm and pale face was agitated and flushed; and his manner tremulous
and hurried; for an instant he was silent, then turning towards my
uncle, he took his hand affectionately, and said,
“My good old friend, I am deeply, deeply grieved; but we must abandon
this scheme. I have just seen my daughter, and from the few words which
we have had together, I find that her dislike to the match is
invincible, and in fact, she has obtained my promise never again to
allude to it. If I were willing to constrain the feelings of my child,
you yourself would not permit it. So here let us forget that we ever
hoped for, ever calculated on a plan in which both our hearts were so
deeply interested.”
These words, few as they were, were spoken with deep feeling, and for
the first time, I looked upon the speaker with sincere regard. They
were both silent for some minutes; Sir Guy, who was himself much
agitated, spoke first.
“So be it then, Callonby, and thus do I relinquish one—perhaps the only
cheering prospect my advanced age held out to me. I have long wished to
have your daughter for my niece, and since I have known her, the wish
has increased tenfold.”
“It was the chosen dream of all my anticipations,” said Lord Callonby,
“and now Jane’s affections only—but let it pass.”
“And is there then really no remedy, can nothing be struck out?”
“Nothing.”
“I am not quite so sure, my Lord,” said I tremulously.
“No, no, Lorrequer, you are a ready witted fellow I know, but this
passes even your ingenuity, besides I have given her my word.”
“Even so.”
“Why, what do you mean, speak out man,” said Sir Guy, “I’ll give you
ten thousand pounds on the spot if you suggest a means of overcoming
this difficulty.”
“Perhaps you might not accede afterwards.”
“I pledge myself to it.”
“And I too,” said Lord Callonby, “if no unfair stratagem be resorted to
towards my daughter. If she only give her free and willing consent, I
agree.”
“Then you must bid higher, uncle, ten thousand won’t do, for the
bargain is well worth the money.”
“Name your price, boy, and keep your word.”
“Agreed then,” holding my uncle to his promise, “I pledge myself that
his nephew shall be husband of Lady Jane Callonby, and now, my Lord,
read Harry vice Guy in the contract, and I am certain my uncle is too
faithful to his plighted word, and too true to his promise not to say
it shall be.”
The suddenness of this rash declaration absolutely stunned them both,
and then recovering at the same moment, their eyes met.
“Fairly caught, Guy” said Lord Callonby, “a bold stroke if it only
succeeds.”
“And it shall, by G—,” said my uncle, “Elton is yours, Harry, and with
seven thousand a year, and my nephew to boot, Callonby won’t refuse
you.”
There are moments in life in which conviction will follow a bold “coup
de main,” that never would have ensued from the slow process of
reasoning. Luckily for me, this was one of those happy intervals. Lord
Callonby catching my uncle’s enthusiasm, seized me by the hand and
said,
“With her consent, Lorrequer, you may count upon mine, and faith if
truth must be told, I always preferred you to the other.”
What my uncle added, I waited not to listen to; but with one bound
sprung from the room—dashed up stairs to Lady Callonby’s
drawing-room—looked rapidly around to see if SHE were there, and then
without paying the slightest attention to the questions of Lady
Callonby and her younger daughter, was turning to leave the room, when
my eye caught the flutter of a Cachmere shawl in the garden beneath. In
an instant the window was torn open—I stood upon the sill, and though
the fall was some twenty feet, with one spring I took it, and before
the ladies had recovered from their first surprise at my unaccountable
conduct, put the finishing stroke to their amazement, by throwing my
arms around Lady Jane, and clasping her to my heart.
I cannot remember by what process I explained the change that had taken
place in my fortunes. I had some very vague recollection of vows of
eternal love being mingled with praises of my worthy uncle, and the
state of my affections and finances were jumbled up together, but still
sufficiently intelligible to satisfy my beloved Jane—that this time at
least, I made love with something more than my own consent to support
me. Before we had walked half round the garden, she had promised to be
mine; and Harry Lorrequer, who rose that morning with nothing but
despair and darkness before him, was now the happiest of men.
Dear reader, I have little more to confess. Lord Callonby’s politics
were fortunately deemed of more moment than maidenly scruples, and the
treasury benches more respected than the trousseau. Our wedding was
therefore settled for the following week. Meanwhile, every day seemed
to teem with its own meed of good fortune. My good uncle, under whose
patronage, forty odd years before, Colonel Kamworth had obtained his
commission, undertook to effect the reconciliation between him and the
Wallers, who now only waited for our wedding, before they set out for
Hydrabad cottage, that snug receptacle of Curry and Madeira, Jack
confessing that he had rather listen to the siege of Java, by that
fire-side, than hear an account of Waterloo from the lips of the great
Duke himself.
I wrote to Trevanion to invite him to Munich for the ceremony, and the
same post which informed me that he was en route to join us, brought
also a letter from my eccentric friend O’Leary, whose name having so
often occurred in these confessions, I am tempted to read aloud, the
more so as its contents are no secret, Kilkee having insisted upon
reading it to a committee of the whole family assembled after dinner.
“Dear Lorrequer,
“The trial is over, and I am acquitted, but still in St. Pelagie;
for as the government were determined to cut my head off if guilty,
so the mob resolved to murder me if innocent. A pleasant place
this: before the trial, I was the most popular man in Paris; my
face was in every print shop; plaster busts of me, with a great
organ behind the ear, in all the thoroughfares; my autograph
selling at six and twenty sous, and a lock of my hair at five
francs. Now that it is proved I did not murder the “minister at
war,” (who is in excellent health and spirits) the popular feeling
against me is very violent; and I am looked upon as an imposter,
who obtained his notoriety under false pretences; and Vernet, who
had begun my picture for a Judas, has left off in disgust. Your
friend Trevanion is a trump; he procured a Tipperary gentleman to
run away with Mrs. Ram, and they were married at Frankfort, on
Tuesday last. By the by, what an escape you had of Emily: she was
only quizzing you all the time. She is engaged to be married to Tom
O’Flaherty, who is here now. Emily’s imitation of you, with the hat
a little on one side, and a handkerchief flourishing away in one
hand, is capital; but when she kneels down and says, ‘dearest
Emily, &c.’ you’d swear it was yourself.”—[Here the laughter of the
auditory prevented Kilkee proceeding, who, to my utter confusion,
resumed after a little.]—“Don’t be losing your time making up to
Lord Callonby’s daughter”—[here came another burst of
laughter]—“they say here you have not a chance, and moreover she’s
a downright flirt.”—[“It is your turn now, Jane,” said Kilkee,
scarcely able to proceed.]—“Besides that, her father’s a pompous
old Tory, that won’t give a sixpence with her; and the old
curmudgeon, your uncle, has as much idea of providing for you, as
he has of dying.”—[This last sally absolutely convulsed all
parties.]—“To be sure Kilkee’s a fool, but he is no use to
you.”—[“Begad I thought I was going to escape,” said the individual
alluded to, “but your friend O’Leary cuts on every side of him.”]
The letter, after some very grave reflections upon the hopelessness
of my pursuit, concluded with a kind pledge to meet me soon, and
become my travelling companion. Meanwhile, added he, “I must cross
over to London, and look after my new work, which is to come out
soon, under the title of ‘the Loiterings of Arthur O’Leary.’”
This elegant epistle formed the subject of much laughter and
conversation amongst us long after it was concluded; and little triumph
could be claimed by any party, when nearly all were so roughly handled.
So passed the last evening I spent in Munich—the next morning I was
married.
THE END.