knowing what I said or did, "What! leave me! Leave the kingdom for my
sake! Oh! my God! what advantage can accrue to me by losing"--I could
not proceed; my voice failed me, and I remained the petrified statue of
despair.
"Lady Stanley," said he with an assumed calmness, "be composed, and hear
me. In an age like this, where the examples of vice are so many and so
prevalent, though a woman is chaste as the icicle that hangs on Diana's
temple, still she will be suspected; and, was the sun never to look upon
her, yet she would be tainted by the envenomed breath of slander. Lady
Anne Parker has dared in a public company to say, that the most virtuous
and lovely of her sex will speedily find consolation for the infidelity
of her husband, by making reprisals; her malevolence has farther induced
her to point her finger to one, who adores all the virtues with which
Heaven first endued woman in your form. A voluntary banishment on my
side may wipe off this transient eclipse of the fairest and most amiable
character in the world, and the beauties of it shine forth with greater
lustre, like the diamond, which can only be sullied by the breath, and
which evaporates in an instant, and beams with fresh brilliancy. I would
not wish you to look into my heart," added he with a softened voice,
"lest your compassion might affect you too much; yet you know not, you
never can know, what I have suffered, and must for ever suffer.
"Condemn'd, alas! whole ages to deplore,
And image charms I must behold no more."
I sat motionless during his speech; but, finding him silent, and, I
believe, from his emotions, unable to proceed, "Behold," cried I, "with
what a composed resignation I submit to my fate. I hoped I had been too
inconsiderable to have excited the tongue of slander, or fix its sting
in my bosom. But may you, my friend, regain your peace and happiness in
your native country!"
"My native country!" exclaimed he, "What is my native country, what the
whole globe itself, to that spot which contains all? But I will say no
more. I dare not trust myself, I must not. Oh Julia! forgive me! Adieu,
for ever!" I had no voice to detain him; I suffered him to quit the
room, and my eyes lost sight of him--for ever!
I remained with my eyes stupidly fixed on the door. Oh! Louisa, dare I
tell you? my soul seemed to follow him; and all my sufferings have been
trivial to this. To be esteemed by him, to be worthy his regard, and
read his approbation in his speaking eyes; this was my support, this
sustained me, nor suffered my feet to strike against a stone in this
disfigured path of destruction. He was my polar star. But he is gone,
and knows not how much I loved him. I knew it not myself; else how could
I promise never to speak, never to think of him again? But whence these
wild expressions? Oh! pardon the effusions of phrenetic fancy. I know
not what I have said. I am lost, lost!
J.S.
LETTER XL.
TO Colonel MONTAGUE.
Congratulate me, my dear Jack, on having beat the Baron out of the pit.
He is off, my boy! and now I may play a safer game; for, between
ourselves, I have as much inclination to sleep in a whole skin, as
somebody else you and I know of. I have really been more successful than
I could have flattered myself I should be; but the devil still stands my
friend, which is but grateful to be sure, as the devil is in it if one
good turn does not deserve another; and I have helped his sable divinity
to many a good job in my day. The summit of my wishes was to remove this
troublesome fellow; but he has taken himself clean out of the kingdom,
lest the fame of his Dulcinea should suffer in the _Morning Post_. He,
if any man could, would not scruple drubbing that _Hydra_ of scandal;
but then the stain would still remain where the blot had been made. I
think you will be glad that he is punished at any rate for his
impertinent interference in your late affair with the recruit's
sweetheart. These delicate minds are ever contriving their own misery;
and, from their exquisite sensibility, find out the method of refining
on torture. Thus, in a fit of heroics, he has banished himself from the
only woman he loves; and who in a short time, unless my ammunition
fails, or my mine springs, too soon he might have a chance of being
happy with, was he cast in mortal mould.--But I take it, he is one of
that sort which Madame Sevigne calls "a pumkin fried in snow," or
engendered between a Lapland sailor and a mermaid on the icy plains of
Greenland. Even the charms of Julia can but just warm him. He does not
burn like me. The consuming fire of Etna riots not in his veins, or he
would have lost all consideration, but that of the completion of his
whims. Mine have become ten times more eager from the resistance I have
met with. Fool that I was! not to be able to keep a rein over my
transports, till I had extinguished the lights! but to see her before
me, my pulse beating with tumultuous passion, and my villainous fancy
anticipating the tempting scene, all conspired to give such spirit to my
caresses, as ill suited with the character I assumed of an indifferent
husband. Like _Calista_ of old, she soon discovered the God under the
semblance of Diana. Heavens! how she fired up, and like the leopard,
appeared more beauteous when heightened by anger? But in vain, my pretty
trembler, in vain you struggle in the toils; thy price is paid, and thou
wilt soon be mine. Stanley has lost every thing to me but his property
in his wife's person; and though perhaps he may make a few wry faces, he
must digest that bitter pill. He has obliged her to give up all her
jointure, so she has now no dependance. What a fool he is! but he has
ever been so; the most palpable cheat passes on him; and though he is
morally certain, that to _play_ and to _lose_ is one and the same thing,
yet nothing can cure his cursed itch of gaming. Notwithstanding all the
_remonstrances_ I have made, and the _dissuasives_ I have daily used, he
is bent upon his own destruction; and, since that is plainly the case,
why may not I, and a few clever fellows like myself, take advantage of
his egregious folly?
It was but yesterday I met him. "I am most consumedly in the flat key,
Biddulph," said he; "I know not what to do with myself. For God's sake!
let us have a little touch at billiards, picquet, or something, to drive
the devil melancholy out of my citadel (touching his bosom), for, by my
soul, I believe I shall make away with myself, if left to my own
_agreeable_ meditations." As usual, I advised him to reflect how much
luck had run against him, and begged him to be cautious; that I
positively had no pleasure in playing with one who never turned a game;
that I should look out for some one who understood billiards well enough
to be my conqueror. "What the devil!" cried he, "you think me a novice?
come, come, I will convince you, to your sorrow, I know something of the
game; I'll bet you five hundred, Biddulph, that I pocket your ball in
five minutes."
"You can't beat me," said I, "and I will give you three."
"I'll be damned if I accept three; no, no, let us play on the square."
So to it we went; and as usual it ended. The more he loses, the more
impetuous and eager he is to play.
There will be a confounded bustle soon; his uncle, old Stanley, is
coming up to town. In disposing of his wife's jointure, part of which
was connected with an estate of Squaretoes, the affair has consequently
reached his ears, and he is all fury upon the occasion. I believe there
has been a little chicanery practised between Sir William and his
lawyer, which will prove but an ugly business. However, thanks to my
foresight in these matters, I am out of the scrape; but I can see the
Baronet is cursedly off the hooks, from the idea of its transpiring, and
had rather see the Devil than the Don. He has burnt his fingers, and
smarts till he roars again. Adieu! dear Jack:
Remember thy old friend,
BIDDULPH.
LETTER XLI.
TO Miss GRENVILLE.
My storm of grief is now a little appeased; and I think I ought to
apologize to my dearest Louisa, for making her so free a participator of
my phrenzy; yet I doubt not of your forgiveness on this, as well as many
occasions, reflecting with the liveliest gratitude on the extreme
tenderness you have ever shewn me.
The morning after I had written that incoherent letter to you, Miss
Finch paid me a visit. She took no notice of the dejection of my
countenance, which I am convinced was but too visible; but, putting on a
chearful air, though I thought she too looked melancholy when she first
came in, "I am come to tell you, my dear Lady Stanley," said she, "that
you must go to Lady D--'s route this evening; you know you are engaged,
and I design you for my _chaperon_." "Excuse me, my dear," returned I, "I
cannot think of going thither, and was just going to send a card to that
purpose."
"Lady Stanley," she replied, "you must go indeed. I have a very
particular reason for urging you to make your appearance there." "And I
have as particular a reason," said I, turning away my head to conceal a
tear that would unbidden start in my eye, "to prevent my going there or
any where else at present."
Her eyes were moistened; when, taking my hand in her's, and looking up
in my face with the utmost friendliness, "My amiable Lady Stanley, it
grieves my soul, to think any of the licentious wretches in this town
should dare asperse such excellence as your's; but that infamous
creature, Lady Anne, said last night, in the coffee-room at the opera,
that she had heard Lady Stanley took to heart (was her expression) the
departure of Baron Ton-hausen; and that she and Miss Finch had
quarrelled about their gallant. Believe me, I could sooner have lost the
power of speech, than have communicated so disagreeable a piece of
intelligence to you, but that I think it highly incumbent on you, by
appearing with chearfulness in public with me, to frustrate the
malevolence of that spightful woman as much as we both can."
"What have I done to that vile woman?" said I, giving a loose to my
tears; "In what have I injured her, that she should thus seek to blacken
my name?"
"Dared to be virtuous, while she is infamous," answered Miss
Finch;--"but, however, my dear Lady Stanley, you perceive the necessity
of contradicting her assertion of our having quarrelled on any account;
and nothing can so effectually do it as our appearing together in good
spirits."
"Mine," cried I, "are broken entirely. I have no wish to wear the
semblance of pleasure, while my heart is bowed down with woe."
"But we must do disagreeable things sometimes to keep up appearances.
That vile woman, as you justly call her, would be happy to have it in
her power to spread her calumny; we may in part prevent it: besides, I
promised the Baron I would not let you sit moping at home, but draw you
out into company, at the same time giving you as much of mine as I
could, and as I found agreeable to you."
"I beg you to be assured, my dear, that the company of no one can be
more so than your's. And, as I have no doubts of your sincere wish for
my welfare, I will readily submit myself to your discretion. But how
shall I be able to confront that infamous Lady Anne, who will most
probably be there?" "Never mind her; let conscious merit support you.
Reflect on your own worth, nor cast one thought on such a wretch. I will
dine with you; and in the evening we will prepare for this visit."
I made no enquiry why the Baron recommended me so strongly to Miss
Finch. I thought such enquiry might lead us farther than was prudent;
besides, I knew Miss Finch had a _tendre_ for him, and therefore,
through the course of the day, I never mentioned his name. Miss Finch
was equally delicate as myself; our discourse then naturally fell on
indifferent subjects; and I found I grew towards the evening much more
composed than I had been for some time. The party was large; but, to
avoid conversation as much as possible, I sat down to a quadrille-table
with Miss Finch; and, encouraged by her looks and smiles, which I
believe the good girl forced into her countenance to give me spirits, I
got through the evening tolerably well. The next morning, I walked with
my friend into the Park. I never dine out, as I would wish always to be
at home at meal-times, lest Sir William should chuse to give me his
company, but that is very seldom the case; and as to the evenings, I
never see him, as he does not come home till three or four in the
morning, and often stays out the whole night. We have of course separate
apartments. Adieu, my beloved! Would to God I could fly into your arms,
and there forget my sorrows!
Your's, most affectionately,
J.S.
LETTER XLII.
TO Lord BIDDULPH.
For Heaven's sake, my dear Lord, let me see you instantly; or on second
thoughts (though I am too much perplexed to be able to arrange them
properly) I will lay before you the accursed difficulties with which I
am surrounded, and then I shall beg the favour of you to go to Sir
George Brudenel, and see what you can do with him. Sure the devil owes
me some heavy grudge; every thing goes against me. Old Stanley has
rubbed through a damned fit of the gout. Oh! that I could kill him with
a wish! I then should be a free man again.
You see I make no scruple of applying to you, relying firmly on your
professions of friendship; and assure yourself I shall be most happy in
subscribing to any terms that you may propose for your own security; for
fourteen thousand six hundred pounds I must have by Friday, if I pawn my
soul twenty times for the sum. If you don't assist me, I have but one
other method (you understand me), though I should be unwilling to be
driven to such a procedure. But I am (except my hopes in you) all
despair.
Adieu!
W. STANLEY.
LETTER XLIII.
Enclosed in the foregoing.
TO Sir WILLIAM STANLEY.
Sir,
I am extremely concerned, and as equally surprized, to find by my
lawyer, that the Pemberton estate was not your's to dispose of. He tells
me it is, after the death of your wife, the sole property of your uncle;
Mr. Dawson (who is Mr. Stanley's lawyer) having clearly proved it to him
by the deeds, which he swears he is possessed of. How then, Sir William,
am I to reconcile this intelligence with the transactions between us? I
have paid into your hands the sum of fourteen thousand six hundred
pounds; and (I am sorry to write so harshly) have received a forged deed
of conveyance. Mr. Dawson has assured Stevens, my lawyer, that his
client never signed that conveyance. I should be very unwilling to bring
you, or any gentleman, into such a dilemma; but you may suppose I should
be as sorry to lose such a sum for nothing; nor, indeed, could I consent
to injure my heirs by such a negligence. I hope it will suit you to
replace the above sum in the hands of my banker, and I will not hesitate
to conceal the writings now in my possession; but the money must be paid
by Friday next. You will reflect on this maturely, as you must know in
what a predicament you at present stand, and what must be the
consequence of such an affair coming under the cognizance of the law.
I remain, Sir,
Your humble servant,
GEORGE BRUDENEL.
LETTER XLIV.
TO Miss GRENVILLE.
I write to you, my dearest Louisa, under the greatest agitation of
spirits; and know no other method of quieting them, than communicating
my griefs to you. But alas! how can you remedy the evils of which I
complain? or how shall I describe them to you? How many times I have
repeated, _how hard is my fate_! Yes, Louisa! and I must still repeat
the same. In short, what have I to trust to? I see nothing before me but
the effects of deep despair. I tremble at every sound, and every
footstep seems to be the harbinger of some disaster.
Sir William breakfasted with me this morning, the first time these three
weeks, I believe. A letter was brought him. He changed countenance on
the perusal of it; and, starting up, traversed the room in great
disorder. "Any ill news, Sir William?" I asked. He heeded me not, but
rang the bell with violence. "Get the chariot ready directly--No, give
me my hat and sword." Before they could be brought, he again changed his
mind. He would then write a note. He took the standish, folded some
paper, wrote, blotted, and tore many sheets, bit his lips, struck his
forehead, and acted a thousand extravagances. I could contain myself no
longer. "Whatever may be the consequence of your anger, Sir William,"
said I, "I must insist on knowing what sudden turn of affairs has
occasioned this present distress. For Heaven's sake! do not refuse to
communicate your trouble. I cannot support the agony your agitation has
thrown me into."
"And you would be less able to support it, were I to communicate it."
"If you have any pity for me," cried I, rising, and going up to him, "I
conjure you by that pity to disclose the cause of your disorder. Were I
certain of being unable to bear the shock, yet I would meet it with
calmness, rather than be thus kept in the most dreadful suspence."
"Suffice it then," cried he, throwing out his arm, "I am ruined for
ever."
"Ruined!" I repeated with a faint voice.
"Yes!" he answered, starting on his feet, and muttering curses between
his teeth. Then, after a fearful pause, "There is but one way, but one
way to escape this impending evil."
"oh!" cried I, "may you fall on the right way! but, perhaps, things may
not be so bad as you apprehend; you know I have valuable jewels; let me
fetch them for you; the sale of them will produce a great deal of
money."
"Jewels! O God! they are gone, you have no jewels."
"Indeed, my dear Sir William," I replied, shocked to death at seeing the
deplorable way he was in; and fearing, from his saying they were gone,
that his head was hurt--"Indeed, my dear Sir William, I have them in my
own cabinet," and immediately fetched them to him. He snatched them out
of my hand, and, dashing them on the floor, "Why do you bring me these
damned baubles; your diamonds are gone; these are only paste."
"What do you mean?" I cried, all astonishment, "I am sure they are such
as I received them from you."
"I know it very well; but I sold them when you thought them new-set; and
now I am more pushed than ever."
"They were your's, Sir William," said I, stifling my resentment, as I
thought he was now sufficiently punished, "you had therefore a right to
dispose of them whenever you chose; and, had you made me the
_confidante_ of your intention, I should not have opposed it; I am only
sorry you should have been so distressed as to have yielded to such a
necessity, for though my confidence in you, and my ignorance in jewels,
might prevent _my_ knowing them to be counterfeits, yet, no doubt, every
body who has seen me in them must have discovered their fallacy. How
contemptible then have you made us appear!"
"oh! for God's sake, let me hear no more about them; let them all go to
the devil; I have things of more consequence to attend to." At this
moment a Mr. Brooksbank was announced. "By heaven," cried Sir William,
"we are all undone! Brooksbank! blown to the devil! Lady Stanley, you
may retire to your own room; I have some business of a private nature
with this gentleman."
I obeyed, leaving my husband with this _gentleman_, whom I think the
worst-looking fellow I ever saw in my life, and retired to my own
apartment to give vent to the sorrow which flowed in on every side. "Oh!
good God!" I cried, bursting into floods of tears, "what a change
eighteen months has made! A princely fortune dissipated, and a man of
honour, at least one who appeared as such, reduced to the poor
subterfuge of stealing his wife's jewels, to pay gaming debts, and
support kept mistresses!" These were my sad and solitary reflections.
What a wretched hand has he made of it! and how deplorable is my
situation! Alas! to what resource can he next fly? What is to become of
us! I have no claim to any farther bounty from my own family: like the
prodigal son, I have received my portion; and although I have not been
the squanderer, yet it is all gone, and I may be reduced to feed on the
husks of acorns; at least, I am sure I eat bitter herbs. Surely, I am
visited with these calamities for the sins of my grandfather! May they
soon be expiated!
* * * * *
That wretch Lord Biddulph has been here, and, after some conversation,
he has taken Sir William out in his chariot. Thank heaven, I saw him
not; but Win brought me this intelligence. I would send for Miss Finch,
to afford me a little consolation; but she is confined at home by a
feverish complaint. I cannot think of going out while things are in this
state; so I literally seem a prisoner in my own house. Oh! that I had
never, never seen it! Adieu! Adieu!
J.S.
LETTER XLV.
TO Col. MONTAGUE.
I acquainted you, some time since, of Stanley's affairs being quite
_derangé_, and that he had practised an unsuccessful _manœuvre_ on
Brudenel. A pretty piece of business he has made of it, and his worship
stands a fair chance of swinging for forgery, unless I contribute my
assistance to extricate him, by enabling him to replace the money. As to
raising any in the ordinary way, it is not in his power, as all his
estates are settled on old Stanley, he (Sir William) having no children;
and he is inexorable. There may be something to be said in the old
fellow's favour too; he has advanced thousand after thousand, till he is
tired out, for giving him money is really only throwing water into a
sieve.
In consequence of a hasty letter written by the Baronet, begging me to
use all my interest with Brudenel, I thought it the better way to wait
on Stanley myself, and talk the affair over with him, and, as he had
promised to subscribe to any terms for my security, to make these terms
most pleasing to myself. Besides, I confess, I was unwilling to meet Sir
George about such a black piece of business, not chusing likewise to
subject myself to the censures of that puritanic mortal, for having
drawn Stanley into a love of play. I found Sir William under the
greatest disorder of spirits; Brooksbank was with him; that fellow
carries his conscience in his face; he is the portrait of villainy and
turpitude. "For God's sake! my lord," cried Sir William (this you know
being his usual exclamation), "what is to be done in this cursed
affair? All my hopes are fixed on the assistance you have promised me."
"Why, faith, Sir William," I answered, "it is, as you say, a most cursed
unlucky affair. I think Brooksbank has not acted with his accustomed
caution. As to what assistance I can afford you, you may firmly rely on,
but I had a confounded tumble last night after you left us; by the bye,
you was out of luck in absenting yourself; there was a great deal done;
I lost upwards of seventeen thousand to the young _Cub_ in less than an
hour, and nine to the Count; so that I am a little out of elbows, which
happens very unfortunate at this critical time."
"Then I am ruined for ever!" "No, no, not so bad neither, I dare say.
What say you to Lady Stanley's diamonds, they are valuable."
"O Christ! they are gone long ago. I told her, I thought they wanted
new-setting, and supplied her with paste, which she knew nothing of till
this morning, that she offered them to me." (All this I knew very well,
for D-- the jeweller told me so, but I did not chuse to inform his
worship so much.) "You have a large quantity of plate." "All melted, my
lord, but one service, and that I have borrowed money on." "Well, I have
something more to offer; but, if you please, we will dismiss Mr.
Brooksbank. I dare say he has other business." He took the hint, and
left us to ourselves.
When we were alone, I drew my chair close to him; he was leaning his
head on his hand, which rested on the table, in a most melancholy
posture. "Stanley," said I, "what I am now going to say is a matter
entirely between ourselves. You are no stranger to the passion I have
long entertained for your wife, and from your shewing no resentment for
what I termed a frolic on the night of the masquerade, I have reason to
believe, you will not be mortally offended at this my open avowal of my
attachment. Hear me (for he changed his position, and seemed going to
speak): I adore Lady Stanley, I have repeatedly assured her of the
violence of my flame, but have ever met with the utmost coldness on her
side; let me, however, have your permission, I will yet insure myself
success." "What, Biddulph! consent to my own dishonour! What do you take
me for?" "What do I take you for?" cried I, with a smile, in which I
infused a proper degree of contempt. "What will Sir George Brudenel take
you for, you mean." "Curses, everlasting curses, blast me for my damned
love of play! that has been my bane." "And I offer you your cure."
"The remedy is worse than the disease."