A MYSTERIOUS OCCURRENCE.--THE JOURNEY CONTINUED.
Our travellers rose early in the morning; for the French mail steamer,
_Le Courier_, was to start for Calais at nine o’clock.
Breakfast over, Charles Hatfield and Perdita walked down to the pier at
twenty minutes to nine--Mrs. Fitzhardinge, who was determined to make
herself as busy and also as necessary as possible, remaining behind to
see that the baggage was safely consigned to the porter in readiness to
convey it.
The weather was delightful; and the fresh sea breeze, with its saline
flavour, seemed to waft invigorating influences upon its wing. Charles
and his beloved were in high spirits; although Perdita threw ever and
anon an anxious glance around, to assure herself that the dreaded
officers, who had caused her so much alarm on the preceding evening,
were not near to renew that terror. Every thing was satisfactory in
this respect; and never had the heart of the young woman been more
elate, than when she stepped upon the deck of the gallant steamer,
which was already puffing off its fleecy vapour with a snorting noise,
as if it were a steed impatient of delay.
Seating themselves upon a bench, Charles and Perdita were soon absorbed
in a conversation of a tender nature; and, forgetful of every thing
save the topic of their discourse, they noticed not the lapse of time
until they happened to perceive the captain standing on one of the
paddle-boxes, and heard the orders which he gave to the busy French
sailors.
These symptoms of immediate departure instantaneously aroused the
attention of Charles and Perdita to the fact that Mrs. Fitzhardinge had
not joined them.
“Where is my mother?” demanded the latter, embracing with a rapid
glance the entire range of the deck, and unable to discover the object
of her search amongst the passengers scattered about the vessel.
“Wait here one moment, dearest--and I will see,” said Charles; and he
hastened forward, thinking that perhaps the funnel might conceal the
old woman from their view.
But she was not to be found; although a glance at the piles of baggage
in the immediate vicinity of the chimney showed him his companions’
boxes, together with a portmanteau of necessaries which he had
purchased for himself on the preceding evening.
Yes: there was the baggage--but where was Mrs. Fitzhardinge?
What could have become of her?
Perhaps she had descended to the cabin.
This idea seemed probable; and Charles was about to hurry back to the
bench where he had left Perdita, when she joined him, saying, “I have
been into the cabin; and my mother is not there.”
Before Charles had time to make any reply, a porter in his white frock
approached him, and, touching his hat, said, “Please, sir, are these
your things?”--pointing to the boxes.
“Yes,” answered Hatfield: “but where is the lady who was giving you
instructions about them when we left the hotel?”
“Please, sir, she came after me as far as the beginning of the pier,”
returned the porter; “and there, as I happened to look round, I saw
her speaking to two men. I went on--looked round again, and could see
nothing more of her.”
“This is most extraordinary!” exclaimed Hatfield.
“I cannot comprehend it,” observed Perdita: then, suddenly struck by
the idea that Charles might propose to land and search after the old
woman, she added hastily, “But we need not alarm ourselves: if any
thing has happened to detain my mother a short time, she will doubtless
follow us by the next boat.”
At this moment the huge paddle-wheels began to turn--Charles hastily
tossed the porter half-a-crown--and the man leapt on the pier in
company with several others of his own calling,--while the steamer
moved away with stately steadiness of pace.
Perdita and Charles Hatfield paced the deck, arm in arm, and conversing
on the unaccountable disappearance of Mrs. Fitzhardinge. The latter
could conjecture no possible key to the mystery: nor did Perdita offer
any suggestive clue--although she thought it probable that her mother,
having lost her despotic authority, had withdrawn, in a moment of
ill-temper, from the company of those whom she could not hope to reduce
to the condition of slaves. But the young woman said to herself, “She
will soon repent of her folly and rejoin us;”--while to Charles she
expressed an uneasiness and an apprehension lest any accident should
have befallen her mother.
On sped the steamer: the harbour is cleared--and now she enters upon
the expanse of green water, over which she walks “like a thing of
life,”--the huge paddles raising a swell, which, covered with foam,
marks the pathway of the gallant vessel.
On--on she went;--and now the white cliffs of Albion diminish and grow
dim in the distance,--while, still far ahead, the coast of France, like
a long brown streak in the horizon, appears in view!
And, oh! may that green sea never waft a hostile navy from one shore
to the other;--may the peace which now subsists between the two
greatest nations in the universe, remain undisturbed! Let France and
England continue rivals,--not in the art of war,--but in the means
of developing every element of civilisation and progress. Such a
striving--such a race between the two, will be glorious indeed; and the
whole world will experience the benefit.
Shame, then, to those alarmists who are now endeavouring to spread
terror and dismay throughout the British Islands, by their calculations
of the facility with which the French may invade us, and by their
predictions of the consequences of such an invasion.
Well aware are we that were France to entertain the project, its
realization would be easy;--for with our navy dispersed over the world,
our coast-defences so few and far-between, and our totally insufficient
army, we have no means of resisting an invading force of eighty or a
hundred thousand men so admirably disciplined as the soldiers of France.
But neither Louis-Philippe nor his Government entertains the remotest
idea of disturbing the peace of the world;--and it is madness--it in
wickedness on the part of the public journals and of pamphleteers to
write for the very purpose of creating an impression that an invasion
by the French is imminent.
A terrible panic has been raised throughout the length and breadth
of the land;--and with sorrow do we record the fact that the DUKE OF
WELLINGTON has placed himself at the head of the alarmists!
To consummate the folly, all that is now required is--what?
_To give Prince Albert the command of the Army!_
----Or rather, O Englishmen! does not the apprehension of danger from
an invasion by a foreign power lay bare, in all its nakedness, the
monstrous folly--the astounding absurdity of suddenly elevating that
young and inexperienced man to the rank of a Field-Marshal?
A Field-Marshal, who has never smelt powder save in the heartless,
inhuman cruelty of a _battue_ of game,--and who has never in his life
seen a shot fired in anger!
England does not require such a Drawing-Room Field-Marshal: she wants a
Captain-General who, if need be, can compete with such a man as Bugeaud.
But where will Royal Folly stop?--and when will any statesman have the
courage to resist the childish caprices of the Queen?
In the same newspapers which are constantly telling us that the French
meditate an invasion--that if the Cuirassiers enter London on the east,
the best thing the Horse-Guards can do, will be to march out on the
west--that the conquerors will be sure to levy contributions upon us,
demand the settlement of old scores, strip us of our colonies, and
humiliate us in every way,--in the very same journals which tell us all
this, we read that _the Queen it anxious for Prince Albert to become
Commander-in-Chief, the Duke of Wellington retiring to make room for
him_!
Merciful heavens! is such a monstrous absurdity to be consummated?
Is that grey-headed veteran, who won the field of Waterloo, to be
superseded by a mere boy? Much as we have disliked the Duke of
Wellington as a politician, yet we have felt proud of him as our
national hero;--and no words can convey an idea of the disgust with
which we perused the paragraph intimating that this mighty warrior was
to be put upon the shelf, to make way for a Prince who knows no more of
military matters than he does of the hieroglyphics on the Pyramids of
Egypt.
If the Duke be desirous of withdrawing into private life, let him be
succeeded by some great Captain who knows what hard blows in the field
are--let his place be supplied by one of his own companions-in-arms.
Have we none of the heroes of the Peninsular battles still alive?--have
we no names rendered glorious by victories achieved on the banks of the
Sutlej?
It would be an insult the most glaring--the most flagrant, to all the
illustrious chieftains alluded to, were a young man who never saw an
angry shot fired, to be placed in authority over their heads! Already
have the great warriors of England been sufficiently humiliated by
the elevation of that young man to the rank of Field-Marshal:--but
really if the English Court be allowed to “play at soldiers” in this
disgraceful manner, it is no wonder that such men as the Duke of
Wellington should look with apprehension at the consequences of a
French invasion.
Prince Albert may be very resolute and very determined in worrying a
poor otter with his dogs,--or he may be desperately brave in firing
vollies of small shot upon harmless birds: but as for his capacity or
his courage to lead an army----the idea is ridiculous!
The English people have not gone stark, staring mad--even if some
few of their rulers have: and most sincerely do we hope that, if the
attempt to raise Prince Albert to the post of Commander-in-Chief
be persisted in, the country will oppose it by all moral and legal
means,--by memorial, petition, and remonstrance,--by public meetings
and the omnipotent voice of the public press,--in fine, by an universal
agitation such as that which knocked down the Corn-Laws!
_For the consummation of so astounding an absurdity will prove the ruin
of the British Army!_
Surely it is not in civilised England, and in the middle of the
nineteenth century, that Royalty is to play its fantastic tricks, and
use all our grandest institutions as playthings? If so, we shall have
the Prince of Wales created on Admiral very shortly, and Dr. Howley may
resign the Archbishopric of Canterbury to little Prince Ernest Alfred.
And why not? Such appointments would be quite as rational as that of
Prince Albert to the post of Commander-in-Chief.
Let not our readers suppose that we seek to bring Princes into
ridicule: they have a right to be Princes, if the people are foolish
enough to let them; but when they make themselves ridiculous by
grasping at offices for which they are totally unfitted, it is time for
us to speak out.
We are inspired by no awe and entertain no solemn terror in dealing
with Royalty: for, after all, royal persons are only human creatures,
as well as we--and they seldom possess the good feelings and sterling
qualities which are to be found in honest, hard-working, enlightened
mechanics.
* * * * *
After a most agreeable voyage of two hours and a half, the French
steam-packet entered Calais harbour.
Charles and Perdita proceeded to Dessin’s Hotel; and there they
determined to wait at least a few hours until the arrival of an English
steamer which was to leave Dover about a couple of hours later than
_Le Courier_.
During this interval Charles bethought himself that, should Mrs.
Fitzhardinge not join them in the course of the day, Perdita and
himself would be compelled to continue their journey to Paris; and,
with a due sense of delicacy towards her who was to become his
wife, he saw the impropriety of their travelling alone together. He
accordingly intimated to Perdita the necessity of procuring for her a
lady’s-maid without delay; and though she would have much preferred
that herself and lover should be the sole occupants of the interior of
the post-chaise, she nevertheless comprehended that the expression of
such a wish on her part would give him but a poor idea of her modesty.
She therefore assented to his proposal with apparent cheerfulness, and
thanked him for his kind consideration.
By the agency of Madame Dessin, the landlady of the hotel, a French
lady’s-maid, who understood English, was speedily obtained and engaged;
and Perdita was now by no means displeased to find herself elevated to
the position of a woman of some consequence. She, who but a short time
before had entered London in a butcher’s cart and clad in the meanest
apparel, was now provided with a special attendant and could choose
dresses of the latest fashion and the costliest material.
The lady’s-maid was a pretty young woman of about three and twenty,
with fine hair and eyes, good teeth, and a beautiful figure; and
her attire was of the most tasteful, though quiet and unassuming,
description. Her manners were very agreeable, and would be termed
lady-like in this country: but, beneath a modest and innocent-looking
exterior, she concealed a disposition for intrigue and no small amount
of subtlety. At the same time, Rosalie--for that was her name--would
not for the world seek to lead a virtuous mistress astray; and to such
virtuous mistress she would doubtless prove an excellent, faithful, and
trust-worthy servant. But should she have to deal with a mistress given
to gallantry, then Rosalie would cheerfully exercise all her arts of
duplicity--all her little cunning machinations--and all her aptitude
for the management of an intrigue, and would take delight in enabling
her lady to deceive a husband or a lover.
Such was the young person who now became Perdita’s attendant: but it
must be observed that the character of Rosalie, as far as it was known
to the landlady of the hotel, was unimpeachable:--that is to say, she
bore the reputation of honesty, cleanliness, a perfect knowledge of her
duties--in fine, all those qualifications which are sought and required
in an upper servant of her description.
Having waited until the arrival of the English packet, and finding
that Mrs. Fitzhardinge did not make her appearance, Charles, to whom
her absence was unaccountable and bewildering to a degree, ordered
the post-chaise to be got ready; and, while this was being done, he
proceeded with Perdita to the British Consul’s to obtain passports.
Finally, at about five o’clock in the afternoon, our travellers took
their departure from Dessin’s Hotel in a chaise and four--Rosalie
occupying a seat inside, for the sake of appearances.
Oh! had Charles Hatfield known that the young woman--his intended
bride--for whose reputation he manifested so much delicate care,--had
he known that she was so thoroughly polluted in body and mind,--could
he have heard the history which the two officers at Dover might
have told of her, had they chosen--he would have been shocked and
horrified,--he would have spurned her from him--and all his ardent,
enthusiastic love, amounting to an adoration and a worship, would have
changed into feelings of abhorrence, loathing, and hate.
But he believed her to be pure and virtuous,--possessing some strange,
wayward, and eccentric notions, it is true,--and yet endowed with a
spirit so plastic and ductile as to yield willingly to good counsel and
to be ready to sacrifice any peculiarity of opinion to the man whom she
loved.
It is likewise true that he remembered how she had permitted him,
in moments of impassioned tenderness, to toy with her--to press her
glowing bosom--to glue his lips to hers, as if she herself would
on those occasions accord even more: but he likewise recollected
how invariably she started from his arms--withdrew herself from his
embrace--and manifested a suddenly resuscitated presence of mind, when
he had grown too bold and, maddened with desire, had sought the last
favour which a woman, in amorous dalliance, can bestow. He therefore
reasoned that, although her naturally warm temperament had led her
to bestow upon him such unequivocal proofs of her love, yet that a
virgin pride and a maiden’s prudence had enabled her in every instance
to triumph over temptation;--and this belief enhanced his profound
admiration of her character.
But from the moment that Charles had first beheld Perdita, his brain
had been in an incessant state of excitement,--an intoxication, an
elysian delirium which made Perdita on angel of beauty and almost of
excellence in his eyes:--and those fervent caresses which he had been
permitted to bestow upon her, and those slight foretastes of the most
voluptuous enjoyments which he had been allowed to snatch, had only
tended to sustain that excitement--increase the dreamy delights of that
intoxication--and enhance the bliss of that continuous delirium.
Then, in addition to the fascinating influence of the syren--in
addition to the enthralling witchery which her charms, her arts, her
conversation, and the silver sounds of her dulcet voice exercised over
him,--were his ambitious hopes, his soaring aspirations!
All these circumstances had combined to unsettle, if not altogether
change, in an incredibly short space, a disposition naturally good--a
mind naturally energetic and powerful: and then those unhappy scenes
with his father, when neither fully understood the meaning and drift of
the other’s observations, had aided to produce an excitement which was
thus hurrying the young man along apparently to his utter ruin!
Unless, indeed, some good angel should yet intervene, ere it be too
late----
But we must not anticipate.
On the contrary, let us return, from this partial though not
unnecessary digression, to the thread of our narrative,--so that
we may all the sooner be enabled to bring our readers back to that
metropolis--that mighty London, of which we have still so many
Mysteries to unfold!
The travellers pursued their journey all night, Charles being anxious
to reach the French capital with the least possible delay, and Perdita
seconding him fully in the wish.
Let us therefore succinctly state that in the morning they breakfasted
at Amiens--in the afternoon they dined at Beauvais--and at ten o’clock
in the evening they entered the splendid city of Paris.
Did our limits and the nature of the tale permit us, we would here
gladly pause for a few minutes to describe that peerless capital which
we know and love so well: but this may not be;--and we therefore hasten
to state that Charles and Perdita, attended by Rosalie, proceeded
to a respectable family hotel, where they hired a handsome suite of
apartments.
And now for an important event in this section of our narrative,--an
event which nevertheless may be related in a few words!
For, at eleven o’clock on the morning following their arrival in
Paris, _Charles Hatfield, claiming to be Viscount Marston, and Perdita
Fitzhardinge were united in the bonds of matrimony, at the British
Ambassador’s Chapel in the Rue Saint Honoré, and by the Chaplain to the
Embassy_.