THE INVITATION COMES IN SPITE OF ALL OBSTACLES.
Cattarina Diabelli had arranged her plan very well, but she was not
aware of the dogged determination and cleverness of English
coachmen--how they often contrive when drunk not only to sit upon a
hammercloth without falling off, but manage to guide their horses with
extraordinary precision amid the densest crowd. She climbed up to the
summit of the hill to see that the carriage took the turn in a contrary
direction from The Grange village; but if she had remained there a few
minutes longer she would have seen the carriage lamps suddenly turn the
other way; for in spite of the deaf man’s remonstrance, the coachman
declared that he had been told to “turn to the right close agin that
’ere windmill,” and doggedly pursued his way till he arrived at the old
Manor House, with the Duchess’s note safe in his pocket. Joe Naylor
inquired whether he should take in the Duchess’s note, but not liking to
trust the man who had tried to mislead him so strangely, the coachman
determined to give it into the servant’s hands.
But now that the note has reached the door of the house where I was
staying, I will resume the narrative in my own person.
It was only in the afternoon of that very day I heard that the foreign
gentleman, whose name was coupled so suspiciously with that of the
Countess, was really Carlo Spinola. We had before heard the sad rumour
that the Count and Cunigunda intended to separate; that he only remained
at Castle Hall till after the fête, in order not to create more
sensation in the county. Other reports were to the effect that she was
much compromised by the presence of a foreign gentleman with whom she
was constantly seen.
I found afterwards that Aunt Jane had all the time a strong suspicion
that this foreigner was Carlo, but at last she was determined to
ascertain the truth. This she only succeeded in doing the very day of
the fête, when she immediately informed me of it, and at the same time
suggested that I should write to Carlo. She asked me to begin by
releasing him from any engagement he might consider I might imagine
could still exist, but to express the greatest interest for his
happiness; to inform him of the rumours which had reached us, and to
endeavour to show him the horror of poor Cunigunda’s position--the loss
of reputation, the loss of friendship, which his presence, if prolonged,
entailed upon her with all the best people in every country;--all this,
and a great deal more, she implored me to write.
I feared it would have no effect, but still I did not like to take upon
myself the responsibility of rejecting her advice. So I sat down and
wrote several letters, but destroyed them one after another; and at
last, as the time began to press, I begged Aunt Jane to write and I
would copy it, and addressed the letter to Castle Hall. She wrote a very
good and most persuasive letter, and as soon as I copied it we
despatched it by a trusty servant, who was told to ask for the Marchese
Spinola, and give it into his own hands.
It was strange that in this letter Aunt Jane had contrived to describe
so vividly the old feeling Carlo and I had for each other in childhood
and early youth, that it seemed to awaken in me a most extraordinary
interest in his fate. An intense longing to know how he would receive
this missive, whether it would only excite anger and disgust towards
me, or whether it---- So absorbed was I with these thoughts, and the
re-awakened recollection of old, old times, that hours passed as I sat
at the window of my own room. Aunt Jane would not disturb me, so she
left me quite alone till dinner was announced, and I started up in
surprise at the length of time that must have passed since the messenger
went; and yet, when I looked back on those hours, I seemed to have lived
years during their progress.
Seven o’clock, and the messenger had not returned, so he had probably
not succeeded in seeing Carlo, and Aunt Jane told him not to return
without bringing some kind of answer, even if he waited until the next
morning.
Dinner, which I scarcely tasted, was over, and I tried to read and
work. Still no answer; but about nine o’clock we were startled to hear a
carriage drive up to the door, and the loud old hall-bell was violently
rung. Aunt Jane rushed out to see what it could be, but I seemed rooted
to the spot. I did not think it could be Carlo, but--
“Here, my dear child,” exclaimed Aunt Jane, as she ran back into the
room with the Duchess’s note in her hand; “the Duke of Dromoland has
sent his carriage to take you to the ball, and here is a note from the
Duchess--a long note,” she added, as she saw it covered four sides. “You
must and shall go there,” added Aunt Jane. “I shall never forgive you if
you refuse.”
It was a most kind letter, and the Duchess had thoughtfully anticipated
every objection I could make about dress and everything else.
“You will, of course, have no costume ready,” she said at the end of her
letter, “but never mind; come just as you are, for it so happened I
brought two costumes, for the Duke is so particular and fanciful that I
am obliged to have a variety, for he says one kind of dress suits me one
day, and quite a different one the next. I have also a spare domino, and
a variety of masks.”
“I could furnish them also,” said Aunt Jane, as I read the note aloud to
her. “There’s my old aunt’s theatrical wardrobe upstairs--domino, masks,
everything; so put on your plain tarlatane dress with the camellias, and
I’ll look for the costume at once. That will be much better; and you
need not give any name, and I’ll go with you, and, if possible, we will
get in without letting anybody know who we are, and we shall see how the
coast stands.”
I could make no further objections, particularly as I saw the state of
joyful excitement into which the idea of our going disguised to the ball
had thrown Aunt Jane; and I had such confidence in her judgment that I
resolved to follow implicitly her advice. But I would have given
anything to know whether Carlo had received my letter or not; and now
that I might possibly have an opportunity of speaking to him, I could
not help regretting that it had been sent. Aunt Jane, however, was quite
satisfied, and endeavoured to persuade me that it was much better to
have sent it, so I tried to be content. I put on my white tarlatane to
please Aunt Jane, but I firmly resolved that nothing should induce me to
put off the mask and domino which she so providentially had found.
“And now as to our coming home. I’ll order the pony-carriage to be at
Castle Hall at one o’clock; and it can wait, in case we should not be
ready.”
So off we set in the Duke’s carriage, and were much surprised, at being
handed into it by our old friend the mysterious deaf man, who told us,
in answer to Aunt Jane’s inquiry, that he was engaged to be helper in
the stables while so much company was at the Castle Hall.