As arranged by Lady M--, the next day we went to Harking Castle, the
family seat, in Dorsetshire, and I was not sorry to be again quiet,
after the noise and bustle of a London season. As Lady M--had observed,
the young ladies were sadly jaded with continual late hours and hot
rooms, but they had not been a week in the country before they were
improved in appearance and complexion. They certainly were amiable,
nice girls; clever, and without pride, and I soon became attached to
them. I attended to their music, and they made great progress. I also
taught them the art of making flowers in wax, which I had so lately
learned myself. This was all I could do, except mildly remonstrating
with them when I saw what did not appear to me to be quite correct, in
their conduct and deportment. Lady M--appeared quite satisfied, and
treated me with great consideration, and I was in a short time very
happy in my new position.
For the first month, there were no visitors in the house; after that,
invitations were sent out. Lady M--had said that she would have a
month's quiet to recover herself from the fatigues of the season, and I
had no doubt but that she also thought her daughters would be much
benefited, as they really were, by a similar retirement. It was on the
Monday that company was expected, and on Friday Lady M--desired Augusta,
the eldest daughter, to put on a new dress which had just been made by
the two lady's-maids, and come down in it that she might see it on.
When Augusta made her appearance, and her mother had surveyed the dress,
she said, "I do not quite like it, Augusta, and yet I do not exactly
know where it's wrong; but something requires to be altered: it does not
hang gracefully."
As she said this, I was reading a book, and I naturally looked up, and
immediately perceived the alteration which the dress required. I
pointed it out, and with a few pins made the dress sit well.
"Why this is a new talent, my dear Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, one that
I had no idea that you possessed; although I admit that no one dresses
more elegantly than you do," said Lady M--. "How much I am obliged to
you for taking so much trouble."
"I am most happy to be of any service, Lady M--, and you may always
command me," replied I. "I have the credit of being a very good
milliner."
"I believe you can do anything," replied Lady M--.
"Augusta, go up to Benson and show her the alterations that are
required, and tell her to make them directly.
"After all," continued Lady M--, to me, "it is bad economy making
dresses at home, but I really cannot afford to pay the extravagant
prices charged by Madame Desbelli. My bills are monstrous, and my
poverty, but not my will, consents. Still it does make such a
difference in the appearance, being well-dressed, that if I could, I
never would have a dress made at home; but the saving is astonishing--
nearly two-thirds, I assure you."
"If you will allow me to interfere a little, my lady," replied I, "I
think you can have them as well made at home as by Madame Desbelli. I
think I can be useful."
"You are very kind, Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, but it will be taxing
you too much."
"Not at all, Lady M--, if I have your sanction."
"You shall do just as you please, my dear," replied Lady M--; "I give
you full authority over the whole household, if you wish it; but indeed
I think Benson will be much obliged to you for any slight hint that you
may give her, and I am sure that I shall; but the carriage is at the
door--do you drive to-day?"
"Not to-day, I thank you, Lady M--," replied I.
"Well, then, I will take Hortense and Amy with me, and leave Augusta
with you."
After Lady M--'s departure, I went up to the room where the maids were
at work. I altered the arrangement of Augusta's dress so as to suit her
figure, and cut out the two others for Hortense and Amy. Wishing to
please Lady M--, I worked myself at Augusta's dress, and had it
completed before Lady M--had returned from her drive. It certainly was
now a very different affair, and Augusta looked remarkably well in it.
She was delighted herself, and hastened down to her mother to show it to
her. When I came down to dinner, Lady M--was profuse in her
acknowledgments; the two other dresses, when finished, gave equal
satisfaction, and from that time till the period of my quitting Lady
M--, all the dresses, not only of the young ladies, but those of Lady
M--, were made at home, and my taste and judgment invariably appealed to
and most cheerfully given. I felt it my duty to be of all the use that
I could be, and perhaps was not a little gratified by the compliments I
received upon my exquisite taste. Time passed on; during the shooting
season, Augusta, the eldest daughter, received a very good offer, which
was accepted; and at the Christmas festivities, Hortense, the second
girl, accepted another proposal, which was also very favourable. Lady
M--was delighted at such success.
"Is it not strange, my dear Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, that I have been
fagging two seasons, night and day, to get husbands for those girls, and
now alone here, in solitude and retirement almost, they have both
obtained excellent establishments. I do really declare that I believe
it is all owing to you, and the delightful manner in which you have
dressed them."
"I should rather think that it is owing, in the first place, to their
having so much improved in personal appearance since they have been down
in the country," replied I; "and further, to the gentlemen having now an
opportunity of discovering their truly estimable qualities, which they
were not likely to do at Almack's or other parties during a London
season."
"You may think so," replied Lady M--, "but it is my conviction that all
is owing to their being so tastefully-dressed. Why every one admires
the elegance of their costume, and requests patterns. Well, now I have
only Amy on my hands, and I think that her sister's high connections
will assist in getting her off."
"She is a sweet girl, Amy," replied I, "and were I you Lady M--, I
should be in no hurry to part with her."
"Indeed, but I am," replied Lady M--, "you don't know the expense of
girls, and my jointure is not so very large; however, I must not
complain. Don't you think Amy looks better in lilac than any other
colour?"
"She looks well in almost any colour," replied I.
"Yes, with your taste, I grant," replied Lady M--. "Are you aware that
we go to town in a fortnight? We must look after the _trousseaux_. It
was arranged last night that both marriages shall take place in
February. Amy will, of course be one of the brides'-maids, and I trust
to you, my dear Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, to invent something very
_distingue_ for her on that occasion. Who knows but that it may get her
off? but it's late, so good-night."
I could not admire Lady M--'s apparent hurry to get rid of her
daughters, but it certainly was the one thing needful which had occupied
all her thoughts and attention during the time that I had been with her.
That it was natural she should wish that her children were well
established, I granted, but all that she appeared to consider was good
connection, and the means of living in good style, every other point as
to the character of the husbands being totally overlooked.
A fortnight after Christmas we all went to London, and were, as Lady M--
had observed, very busy with the _trousseaux_, when one day the butler
came to say that a young gentleman wished to see me, and was waiting in
the breakfast parlour below. I went down, wondering who it could be,
when to my surprise, I found Lionel, the page of Lady R--, dressed in
plain clothes, and certainly looking very much like a gentleman. He
bowed very respectfully to me when he entered, much more so than he had
ever done when he was a page with Lady R--, and said, "Miss Valerie, I
have ventured to call upon you, as I thought when we parted, that you
did me the honour to feel some little interest about me, and I thought
you would like to know what has taken place. I have been in England now
four months, and have not been idle during that time."
"I am certainly glad to see you, Lionel, although I am sorry you have
left Lady R--, and I hope you have been satisfied with the result of
your inquiries."
"It is rather a long story, Miss Valerie, and, if you wish to hear it,
you will oblige me by sitting down while I narrate it to you."
"I hope it will not be too long, Lionel, as I shall be wanted in an hour
or so, to go out with Lady M--, but I am ready to hear you," continued
I, sitting down as he requested.
Lionel stood by me, and then commenced--"We arrived at Dover the evening
of the day that we left, Miss Valerie; and Lady R--, who had been in a
state of great agitation during the journey, was so unwell, that she
remained there four or five days. As soon as she was better, I thought
it was advisable that she should settle my book, and pay me my wages
before we left England, and I brought it to her, stating my wish, as the
sum was then very large.
"`And what do you want money for?' said she, rather angrily.
"`I want to place it in safety, my lady,' replied I.
"`That's as much as to say that it is not safe with me.'
"`No, my lady,' replied I. `But suppose any accident were to happen to
you abroad, would your executors ever believe that you owed more than 25
pounds, besides a year's wages to a page like me; they would say that it
could not be, and would not pay me my money; neither would they believe
that you gave me such wages.'
"`Well,' she replied, `there is some truth in that, and it will,
perhaps, be better that I do pay you at once, but where will you put the
money, Lionel?'
"`I will keep the check, my lady, if you please.'
"`Then I will write it to order and not to bearer,' replied she, `and
then if you lose it, it will not be paid, for it will require your own
signature.'
"`Thank you, my lady,' replied I.
"Having examined my accounts and my wages due, she gave me a check for
the full amount. The next morning, the packet was to sail at nine
o'clock. We were in good time, and as soon as Lady R--was on board she
went down into the cabin. Her maid asked me for the bottle of salts
which I had purposely left under the sofa pillow at the Ship Hotel. I
told her that I had left it, and as there was plenty of time would run
and fetch it. I did so, but contrived not to be back until the steamer
had moved away from the pier, and her paddles were in motion. I called
out `Stop, stop,' knowing of course that they would not, although they
were not twenty yards away. I saw Lady R--'s maid run to the captain
and speak to him, but it was of no use, and thus I was left behind,
without Lady R--having any suspicion that it was intentional on my part.
"I waited at the pier till the packet was about two miles off, and then
walked away from the crowd of people who were bothering me with advice
how to proceed, so that I might join my mistress at Calais. I returned
to the hotel for a portion of my clothes which I had not sent on board
of the packet, but had left in charge of the boots, and then sat down in
the tap to reflect upon what I should do. My first object was to get
rid of my sugar-loaf buttons, for I hated livery, Miss Valerie; perhaps
it was pride, but I could not help it. I walked out till I came to a
slop-seller's, as they call them at seaports, and went in; there was
nothing hanging up but seamen's clothes, and on reflection, I thought I
could not do better than to dress as a sailor; so I told the man that I
wanted a suit of sailor's clothes.
"`You want to go to sea, I suppose,' said the man, not guessing exactly
right, considering that I just refused to embark.
"However, I bargained first for a complete suit, and then sold him my
liveries, exchanging my dress in the back parlour. I then returned to
the tap, obtained my other clothes, and as soon as the coach started,
got outside and arrived in London. I called upon you at this house, and
found that you were in the country, and then I resolved that I would go
down to Culverwood Hall."
"And now you must leave off, Lionel, for the present," said I, "for I
must go out with Lady M--. Come to-morrow, early, and I shall have
leisure to hear the rest of your story."
The following morning Lionel returned and resumed his history.
"Miss Valerie, little things often give you more trouble than greater;
and I had more difficulty to find out where Culverwood Hall was than you
may imagine. I asked many at the inn where I put up, but no one could
tell me, and at such places I was not likely to find any book which I
could refer to. I went to the coach offices and asked what coaches
started for Essex, and the reply was, `Where did I want to go?' and,
when I said Culverwood Hall, no one could tell me by which coach I was
to go, or which town it was near. At last, I did find out from the
porter of the Saracen's Head, who had taken in parcels with that
address, and who went to the coachman, who said that his coach passed
within a mile of Sir Alexander Moystyn's, who lived there. I never knew
her ladyship's maiden name before. I took my place by the coach, for I
had gone to the banker's in Fleet Street, and received the money for my
check, and started the next morning at three o'clock.
"I was put down at a village called Westgate, at an inn called the
Moystyn Arms. I kept to the dress of a sailor, and when the people
spoke to me on the coach, kept up the character as well as I could,
which is very easy to do when you have to do with people who know
nothing about it. I shivered my timbers, and all that sort of thing,
and hitched up my trousers, as they do at the theatres. The coachman
told me that the inn was the nearest place I could stop at, if I wanted
to go to the hall, and taking my bundle, I got down and he drove off. A
sailor-boy is a sort of curiosity in a country village, Miss Valerie,
and I had many questions put to me, but I answered them by putting
others. I said that my friends were formerly living at the hall in the
old baronet's time, but that I knew little about them, as it was a long
while ago; and I asked if there were any of the old servants still
living at the place. The woman who kept the inn told me that there was
one, Old Roberts, who still lived in the village, and been _bedridden_
for some years. This of course was the person I wanted, and I inquired
what had become of his family. The reply was, that his daughter, who
had married Green, was somewhere in London, and his son, who had married
Kitty Wilson of the village, had gone to reside as gamekeeper somewhere
near Portsmouth, and had a large family of children.
"`You're right enough,' replied I, laughing, `we are a large family.'
"`What, are you old Roberts' grandson?' exclaimed the woman. `Well, we
did hear that one of them, Harry, I think, did go to sea.'
"`Well, now, perhaps you'll tell me where I am to find the old
gentleman?' replied I.
"`Come with me,' said she, `he lives hard-by, and glad enough he'll be,
poor man, to have any one to talk with him a bit, for it's a lonesome
life he leads in bed there.'
"I followed the woman, and when about a hundred yards from the inn, she
stopped at the door of a small house, and called to Mrs Meshin, to `go
up and tell old Roberts that one of his grandsons is here.' A snuffy
old woman made her appearance, peered at me through her spectacles, and
then stumped up a pair of stairs which faced the door. Shortly
afterwards I was desired to come up, and did so. I found an old man
with silver hair lying in bed, and the said Mrs Meshin, with her
spectacles, smoothing down the bed-clothes, and making the place tidy.
"`What cheer, old boy?' said I, after T.P. Cooke's style.
"`What do you say? I'm hard of hearing, rather,' replied the old man.
"`How do you find yourself, sir?' said I.
"`Oh, pretty well for an old man; and so you're my grandson, Harry; glad
to see you.--You may go, Mrs Meshin, and shut the door, and do you
hear, don't listen at the key-hole.'
"The stately lady, Mrs Meshin, growled, and then left the room,
slamming the door.
"`She is very cross, grandson,' said the old man, `and I see nobody but
her. It's a sad thing to be bedridden this way, and not to get out in
the fresh air, and sadder still to be tended by a cross old woman, who
won't talk when I want her, and won't hold her tongue when I want her.
I'm glad to see you, boy. I hope you won't go away directly, as your
brother Tom did. I want somebody to talk to me, sadly; and how do you
like being at sea?'
"`I like the shore, better, sir.'
"`Ay, so all sailors say, I believe; and yet I would rather go to sea
than lie here all day long. It's all owing to my being out as I used to
do, night after night, watching for poachers. I had too little bed
then, and now I've too much of it. But the sea must be grand. As the
Bible says, "They who go upon the great waters, they see the wonders of
the deep."'
"I was glad to find that the old man was so perfect in all his mental
faculties, and after having listened to, rather than replied to,
observations about his son and my supposed brothers and sisters, by
which I obtained a pretty accurate knowledge of them, I wished him
good-bye, and promised to call and have a long talk in the morning.
"On my return to the inn, I was able to reply to all the interrogatories
which were put to me relative to my supposed relations, thanks to the
garrulity of old Roberts, and put many questions relative to the family
residing at the hall, which were freely answered. As the evening
advanced, many people came in, and the noise and smoking were so
disagreeable to me, that I asked for a bed, and retired. The next
morning I repaired to old Roberts, who appeared delighted to see me.
"`You are a good boy,' said he, `to come and see a poor bedridden old
man, who has not a soul that comes near him perhaps in a week. And now
tell me what took place during your last voyage.'
"`The last vessel I was on board of,' replied I, `was a packet from
Dover to Calais.'
"`Well, that must be pleasant; so many passengers.'
"`Yes, sir; and who do you think I saw on board of the packet the other
day--somebody that you know.'
"`Ay, who?'
"`Why Lady R--,' replied I, `and that young gentleman who, I heard say,
once lived with her as her servant.'
"`Ay!' said the old man, `indeed! then she has done justice at last.
I'm glad on it, Harry, glad on it, for it's a relief to my mind. I was
bound to the secret, and have kept it; but when a man is on the brink of
the grave, he does not like to have a secret like that upon his mind,
and I've more than once talked to my daughter about--'
"`What, aunt Green?'
"`Yes, your aunt Green; but she would never listen to me. We both took
our oath, and she said it was binding; besides, we were paid for it.
Well, well, I thank God, for it's a great load off my mind.'
"`Yes, sir,' replied I, `you need not keep the secret any longer now.'
"`And how has he grown up?' said the old man; `is he good-looking?'
"`Very much so, sir,' replied I, `and looks very much like a
gentleman.'"
I could not help laughing at this part of Lionel's story, although I
could not but admit the truth. Lionel observed it, and said, "You
cannot be surprised at my giving myself a good character, Miss Valerie,
for, as they say in the kitchen, it's all that a poor servant has to
depend upon."
"Go on," replied I.
"`He was a very fine child while he lived with us; but he was taken away
at six years old, and I have never seen him since.'
"`Some people say that he is very like Lady R--.'
"`Well, why should he not be? ay, she was once a very beautiful young
person.'
"`Well, grandfather, I have never heard the rights of that story,' said
I, `and now that you are at liberty to tell it, perhaps you will let me
have the whole history.'
"`Well,' said the old man, `as there is no longer a secret, I do not
know but that I may. Your aunt Green, you know, was nurse to Lady R--,
and remained in the family for years afterwards; for old Sir Alexander
Moystyn was confined to his room for years with gout and other
complaints, and your aunt Green attended him. It was just as Sir
Alexander had recovered from a very bad fit, that Miss Ellen, who was
Lady R--'s sister, and years younger than she was, made her runaway
match with Colonel Dempster, a very fashionable, gay young man, who had
come down here to shoot with the present baronet. Everyone was much
surprised at this, for all the talk was that the match would be with the
eldest sister, Lady R--, and not the youngest. They went off somewhere
abroad. Old Sir Alexander was in a terrible huff about it, and was
taken ill again; and Lady R--, who was then Miss Barbara, appeared also
much distressed at her sister's conduct. Well, a year or more passed
away, when, one day, Miss Barbara told your aunt Green that she wished
her to go with her on a journey, and she set off in the evening with
four post-horses, and travelled all night till she arrived at
Southampton. There she stopped at a lodging, and got out, spoke to the
landlady, and calling my daughter out of the chaise, desired her to
remain below while she went upstairs. My daughter was tired of staying
so long, for she remained there for five hours, and Miss Barbara did not
make her appearance, but they appeared to be very busy in the house,
running up and downstairs. At last a grave person, who appeared to be a
doctor, came into the parlour, followed by the landlady--in the parlour
in which my daughter was sitting.'
"`It's all over, Mrs Wilson,' said he, `nothing could save her; but the
child will do well, I have no doubt.'
"`What's to be done, sir?'
"`Oh,' replied the doctor, `the lady above stairs told me that she was
her sister, so of course we must look to her for all future
arrangements.'
"After giving a few directions about the infant, the doctor left the
house, and soon after that Miss Barbara came downstairs.
"`I'm quite worn out, Martha,' said she, `let us go to the hotel as fast
as we can. You sent away the carriage, of course. I would it had
remained, for I shall hardly be able to walk so far.'
"She took her arm, and as the landlady opened the door, she said, `I
will call to-morrow, and give directions about the infant, and
everything which is necessary.'--`I never went through such a trying
scene,' said Miss Barbara; `she was an old school-fellow of mine, who
entreated me to come to her in her distress. She died giving birth to
her infant, and it was, I presume, with that presentiment, that she sent
for me and entreated me, on her death-bed, to protect the unfortunate
child, for she has been cast away by her relations in consequence of her
misconduct. You have never had the small-pox, Martha, have you?'
"`No, miss,' she replied, `you know I never have.'
"`Well, it was having the small-pox at the same time that she was
confined, that has caused her death, and that was the reason why I did
not send for you to come up and assist.'
"`My daughter made no answer, for Miss Barbara was of a haughty temper,
and she was afraid of her; but she did not forget that the doctor had
told the landlady that Miss Barbara had stated the lady to be her
sister. My daughter had thought it very odd that Miss Barbara had not
told her, during their journey, where she was going, and who she was
going to see, for Miss Barbara had wrapped herself up in her cloak, and
pretended to be asleep during the whole time, only waking up to pay the
post-boys; but Miss Barbara was of a very violent temper, and had, since
her sister's marriage, been much worse than before; indeed, some said
that she was a little mad, and used to walk at moonlights.
"`When they arrived at the hotel, Miss Barbara went to bed, and insisted
upon my daughter sleeping in the same room, as she was afraid of being
alone in an hotel. My daughter thought over the business as she lay in
bed, and at last resolved to ascertain the truth; so she got up early
the next morning, and walked to the lodging-house, and when the door was
opened by the landlady, pretended to come from her mistress to inquire
how the infant was. The reply was that it was doing well; and then a
conversation took place, in which my daughter found out that the lady
did not die of the small-pox, as Miss Barbara had stated. The landlady
asked my daughter if she would not like to come up and look at the
corpse. My daughter consented, as it was what she was about to request,
and when she went up, sure enough it was poor Mrs Dempster, Miss Ellen
that was, who had run away with the colonel.
"`An't it a pity, ma'am,' said the landlady, `her husband died only two
months ago, and they say he was so handsome a man; indeed, he must have
been, for here's his picture, which the poor lady wore round her neck.'
"`When your aunt had satisfied herself, and cried a little over the
body, for she was very fond of Miss Ellen, she went back to the hotel as
fast as she could, and getting a jug of warm water from the kitchen, she
went into Miss Barbara's room, and had just time to throw off her bonnet
and shawl, when Miss Barbara woke up and asked who was there.
"`It's me, miss,' replied my daughter, `I've just gone down for some
warm water for you, for it's past nine o'clock, and I thought you would
like to be up early.'
"`Yes, I must get up, Martha, for I intend to return home to-day. It's
no use waiting here. I will have breakfast, and then walk to the
lodgings and give directions. You may pack up in the meantime, for I
suppose you do not wish to go with me.'
"`Oh, no, miss,' replied your aunt, `I am frightened out of my wits at
having been in the house already, now that I know that the lady died of
the small-pox.'
"Well, Miss Barbara went away after breakfast and remained for two or
three hours, when she returned, a servant bringing the baby with her.
My daughter had packed up everything, and in half-an-hour they were on
the road back, the baby with them in my daughter's arms. Now, you see,
if it had not been for the accidental remark of the doctor's in your
aunt's presence, she would have been completely deceived by Miss
Barbara, and never would have known whose child it was; but your aunt
kept her own counsel; indeed, she was afraid to do otherwise.
"`As they went home, Miss Barbara talked a great deal to your aunt,
telling her that this Mrs Bedingfield was a great friend of hers, with
whom she had corresponded for years after they had left school; that her
husband had been killed in a duel a short time before, that he was a
gambler, and a man of very bad character, nevertheless she had promised
Mrs Bedingfield before she died, that she would take care of the child,
and that she would do so. She then said, "Martha, I should like your
mother to take charge of it, do you think that she would? but it must be
a secret, for my father would be very angry with me, and besides, there
might be unpleasant reports." Your aunt replied, "that she thought that
her mother would," and then Miss Barbara proposed that your aunt should
get out of the chaise when they stopped to change horses at the last
stage, when it was dark, and no one could perceive it, and walk with the
infant until she could find some conveyance to my house.
"`This was done, the child was brought to your grandmother, who is now
in heaven, and then your aunt made known to us what she had discovered,
and whose child it was. I was very angry, and if I had not been laid up
at the time with the rheumatism, would have gone right into Sir
Alexander's room, and told him who the infant was, but I was over-ruled
by your grandmother and your aunt, who then went away and walked to the
hall. So we agreed that we would say exactly what Miss Barbara said to
us when she came over to us on the next day.'"
"Well, then, Lionel, I have to congratulate you on being the son of a
gentleman, and the nephew of Lady R--. I wish you joy with all my
heart," said I, extending my hand.
"Thank you, Miss Valerie. It is true that I am so, but proofs are still
to be given; but of that hereafter."
"Lionel, you have been standing all this while. I think it would be
most uncourteous if I did not request you to take a chair." Lionel did
so, and then proceeded with the old man's narrative.
"`About a month after this, Sir Richard R--came down, and after three
weeks was accepted by Miss Barbara. It was a hasty match everyone
thought, especially as the news of Mrs Dempster's death had, as it was
reported, been received by letter, and all the family had gone into
mourning. Poor old Sir Alexander never held up his head afterwards, and
in two months more he was carried to the family vault. Your aunt then
came home to us, and as you have heard, married poor Green, who was
killed in a poaching business about three months after his marriage.
Then came your poor grandmother's death of a quinsy, and so I was left
alone with your aunt Green, who then took charge of the child, who had
been christened by the name of Lionel Bedingfield. There was some talk
about the child, and some wonders whose it could be; but after the death
of Sir Alexander, and Miss Barbara had gone away with her husband,
nothing more was thought or said about it. And now, boy, I've talked
enough for to-day, to-morrow I'll tell you the rest of the history.
"Perhaps, Miss Valerie, you think the same of me, and are tired with
listening," observed Lionel.
"Not at all; and I have leisure now which I may not have another time;
besides your visits, if so frequent, may cause inquiries, and I shall
not know what to say."
"Well, then, I'll finish my story this morning, Miss Valerie. The next
day, old Roberts continued: `It was about three months after Sir
Alexander's death, when her brother, the new baronet, came down to
Culverwood Hall, that Miss Barbara made her appearance again as Lady
R--. Your grandmother was just buried, and poor Green had not been dead
more than a month. Your aunt, who was much afflicted at the loss of her
husband, and was of course very grave and serious, began to agree with
me that it would be very wicked of us, knowing whose child it was, to
keep the secret. Moreover, you aunt had become very fond of the infant,
for it in a manner consoled her for the loss of her husband. Lady R--
came to the cottage to see us, and we then both told her that we did not
like to keep secret the child's parentage, as it was doing a great
injustice, if injustice had not been done already. Lady R--was very
much frightened at what we said, and begged very hard that we would not
expose her. She would be ruined, she said, in the opinion of her
husband, and also of her own relations. She begged and prayed so hard,
and made a solemn promise to us, that she would do justice to the child
as soon as she could with prudence, that she overcame our scruples, and
we agreed to say nothing at present. She also put a bank-note for 50
pounds into my daughter's hands to defray expenses and pay for trouble,
and told her that the same amount would be paid every year until the
child was taken away.
"`I believe this did more to satisfy our scruples than anything else.
It ought not to have done so, but we were poor, and money is a great
temptation. At all events, we were satisfied with Lady R--'s promise,
and with her liberality; and from that time till the child was seven
years old we received the money, and had charge of the boy. He was then
taken away and sent to school, but where we did not know for some time.
Lady R--was still very liberal to us, always stating her intention of
acknowledging the child to be her nephew. At last my daughter was
summoned to London, and sent to the school for the boy; Lady R--stating
it to be her intention of keeping him at her own house, now that her
husband was dead. This rejoiced us very much; but we had no idea that
it was as a servant that he was to be employed, as your aunt afterwards
found out, when she went up to London and called unexpectedly upon Lady
R--. However, Lady R--said that what she was doing was for the best,
and was more liberal than usual; and that stopped our tongues.
"`Three years back your aunt left this place to find employment in
London, and has resided there ever since as a clear-starcher and
getter-up of lace; but she often sends me down money, quite sufficient
to pay for all the few comforts and expenses required by a bedridden old
man. There, Harry, now I've told you the whole story; and I am glad
that I am able to do so, and that at last she has done justice to the
lad, and there is no further a load upon my conscience, which often
caused me to lay down my Bible, when I was reading, and sigh.'
"`But,' said I, `are you sure that she has acknowledged him as her
nephew?'
"`Am I sure! Why, did not you say so?'
"`No; I only said that he was with her, travelling in her company.'
"`Well, but--I understood you that it was all right.'
"`It may be all right,' replied I, `but how can I tell? I only saw them
together. Lady R--may still keep her secret, for all I can say to the
contrary. I don't wonder at its being a load on your mind. I shouldn't
be able to sleep at nights; and, as for my reading my Bible, I should
think it wicked to do so, with the recollection always before me, that I
had been a party in defrauding a poor boy of his name, and, perhaps
fortune.'
"`Dear me! dear me! I've often thought as much, Harry.'
"`Yes, grandfather, and, as you say, on the brink of the grave. Who
knows but you may be called away this very night?'
"`Yes, yes, who knows, boy,' replied the old man, looking rather
terrified; `but what shall I do?'
"`I know what I would do,' replied I. `I'd make a clean breast of it at
once. I'd send for the minister and a magistrate, and state the whole
story upon affidavit. Then you will feel happy again, and ease your
mind, and not before.'
"`Well, boy, I believe you are right, I'll think about it. Leave me
now.'
"`Think about your own soul, sir--think of your own danger, and do not
mind Lady R--. There can be but a bad reason for doing such an act of
injustice. I will come again in an hour, sir, and then you will let me
know your decision. Think about what the Bible says about those who
defraud the widow and _orphan_. Good-bye for the present.'
"`No, stop, boy, I've made up my mind. You may go to Mr Sewell, the
clergyman, he often calls to see me, and I can speak to him. I'll tell
him.'
"I did not wait for the old man to alter his mind, but hastened as fast
as I could to the parsonage-house, which was not four hundred yards
distant. I went to the door and asked for Mr Sewell, who came out to
me. I told him that old Roberts wanted to see him immediately, as he
had an important confession to make.
"`Is the old man going, then? I did not hear that he was any way
dangerously ill?'
"`No, sir, he is in his usual health, but he has something very heavy on
his conscience, and he begs your presence immediately that he may reveal
an important secret.'
"`Well, my lad, go back to him and say that I will be there in two
hours. You are his grandson, I believe?'
"`I will go and tell him, sir,' replied I, evading the last question.
"I returned to old Roberts, and informed him that the clergyman would be
with him in an hour or two, but I found the old man already hesitating
and doubting again:--
"`You didn't tell him what it was for, did you? for perhaps--'
"`Yes, I did. I told him you had an important secret to communicate
that lay heavy on your conscience.'
"`I'm sadly puzzled,' said the old man, musing.
"`Well,' replied I, `I'm not puzzled; and if you don't confess, I must.
I won't have my conscience loaded, poor fellow that I am; and if you
choose to die with the sin upon you of depriving the orphan, I will
not.'
"`I'll tell--tell it all--it's the best way,' replied old Roberts, after
a pause.
"`There now,' said I, `the best thing to be done is for me to get paper
and pen, and write it all down for Mr Sewell to read when he comes;
then you need not have to repeat it all again.'
"`Yes, that will be best, for I couldn't face the clergyman.'
"`Then how can you expect to face the Almighty?' replied I.
"`True--very true: get the paper,' said he.
"I went to the inn and procured writing materials, and then returned and
took down his confession of what I have now told you, Miss Valerie.
When Mr Sewell came, I had just finished it, and I then told him that I
had written it down, and handed it to him to read. Mr Sewell was much
surprised and shocked, and said to Roberts, `You have done right to make
this confession, Roberts, for it may be most important; but you must now
swear to it in the presence of a magistrate and me. Of course, you have
no objection?'
"`No, sir; I'm ready to swear to the truth of every word.'
"`Well, then, let me see. Why, there is no magistrate near us just now
but Sir Thomas Moystyn; and as it concerns his own nephew, there cannot
be a more proper person. I will go up to the Hall immediately, and ask
him to come with me to-morrow morning.'
"Mr Sewell did so; and the next day, he and Sir Thomas Moystyn came
down in a phaeton, and went up to old Roberts. I rather turned away,
that my uncle, as he now proves to be, might not, when I was regularly
introduced to him, as I hope to be, as his nephew, recognise me as the
sailor lad who passed off as the grandson of old Roberts."
"Then, you admit that you have been playing a very deceitful game?"
"Yes, Miss Valerie. I have a conscience; and I admit that I have been
playing what may be called an unworthy game; but when it is considered
how much I have at stake, and how long I have been defrauded of my
rights by the duplicity of others, I think I may be excused if I have
beat them at their own weapons."
"I admit that there is great truth in your observations, Lionel; and
that is all the answer I shall give."
"I remained outside the door while old Roberts signed the paper, and the
oath was administered. Sir Thomas put many questions afterwards. He
inquired the residence of his daughter, Mrs Green, and then they both
went away. As soon as they were gone, I went in to old Roberts, and
said, `Well now, sir, do you not feel happier that you have made the
confession?'
"`Yes,' replied he, `I do, boy; but still I am scared when I think of
Lady R--and your aunt Green; they'll be so angry.'
"`I've been thinking that I had better go up to Mrs Green,' I said,
`and prepare her for it. I can pacify her, I'm sure, when I explain
matters. I must have gone away the day after to-morrow, and I'll go up
to London to-morrow.'
"`Well, perhaps it will be as well,' replied old Roberts, `and yet I
wish you could stay and talk to me--I've no one to talk to me now.'
"Thinks I, I have made you talk to some purpose, and have no inclination
to sit by your bed-side any longer; however, I kept up the appearance to
the last, and the next morning set off for London. I arrived three days
before I saw you first, which gave me time to change my sailor's dress
for the suit I now wear. I have not yet been to Mrs Green, for I
thought I would just see you, and ask your advice. And now, Miss
Valerie, you have my whole history."
"I once more congratulate you, with all my heart," replied I, offering
my hand to Lionel. He kissed it respectfully, and as he was in the act,
one of the maids opened the door, and told me that Lady M--had been some
time waiting to see me. I believe I coloured up, although I had no
cause for blushing; and wishing Lionel good-bye, I desired him to call
on Sunday afternoon, and I would remain at home to see him.
It was on Thursday that this interview took place with Lionel, and on
the Saturday I received a letter from Lady R--'s solicitor, by which I
was shocked by the information of her ladyship having died at Caudebec,
a small town on the river Seine; and begging to know whether I could
receive him that afternoon, as he was anxious to communicate with me. I
answered by the person who brought the letter, that I would receive him
at three o'clock; and he made his appearance at the hour appointed.
He informed me that Lady R--had left Havre in a fishing boat, with the
resolution of going up to Paris by that strange conveyance; and having
no protection from the weather, she had been wet for a whole day,
without changing her clothes; and, on her arrival at Caudebec, had been
taken with a fever, which, from the ignorance of the faculty in that
sequestered place, had proved fatal. Her maid had just written the
intelligence, enclosing the documents from the authorities
substantiating the fact.
"You are not, perhaps, aware, miss, that you are left her executrix."
"I her executrix!" exclaimed I, with astonishment.
"Yes," replied Mr Selwyn. "Before she left town, she made an
alteration in her will; and stated to me that you would be able to find
the party most interested in it, and that you had a document in your
hands which would explain everything."
"I have a sealed paper which she enclosed to me, desiring I would not
open it, unless I heard of her death, or had her permission."
"It must be that to which she refers, I presume," replied he. "I have
the will in my pocket: it will be as well to read it to you, as you are
her executrix."
Mr Selwyn then produced the will, by which Lionel Dempster, her nephew,
was left her sole heir; and by a codicil, she had, for the love she bore
me, as she stated in her own handwriting, left me 500 pounds as her
executrix, and all her jewels and wearing apparel.
"I congratulate you on your legacy, Miss de Chatenoeuf," said he; "and
now, perhaps, you can tell me where I can find this nephew; for I must
say it is the first that I ever heard of him."
"I believe that I can point him out, sir," replied I; "but the most
important proofs, I suspect, are to be found in the paper which I have
not yet read."
"I will then, if you please, no longer trespass on you," said Mr
Selwyn, "when you wish me to call again, you will oblige me by sending
word, or writing by post."
The departure of Mr Selwyn was quite a relief to me. I longed to be
alone, that I might be left to my own reflections, and also that I might
peruse the document which had been confided to me by poor Lady R--. I
could not help feeling much shocked at her death--more so, when I
considered her liberality towards me, and the confidence she reposed in
one with whom she had but a short acquaintance. It was like her,
nevertheless; who but Lady R--would ever have thought of making a young
person so unprotected and so unacquainted as I was with business--a
foreigner to boot--the executrix of her will; and her death occasioned
by such a mad freak--and Lionel now restored to his position and his
fortune--altogether it was overwhelming, and after a time I relieved
myself with tears. I was still with my handkerchief to my eyes when
Lady M--came into the room.
"Crying, Miss Chatenoeuf," said her ladyship, "it is at the departure of
a very dear friend."