"Yes, my lady, it is for the departure of a dear friend, for Lady R--is
dead."
"Mercy, you don't say so; and what are these gentlemen who have been
calling upon you?"
"One is her solicitor, madam," replied I, "and the other is a relative
of hers."
"A relation; but what has the solicitor called upon you for? if it is
not an intrusive question."
"No, my lady; Lady R--has appointed me her executrix."
"Executrix! well, I now do believe that Lady R--was mad!" exclaimed Lady
M--. "I wanted you to come up to my boudoir to consult you about the
pink satin dress, but I fear your important avocation will not allow you
at present, so I will leave you till you are a little recovered."
"I thank you, my lady," said I, "I will be more myself to-morrow, and
will then be at your disposal."
Her ladyship then left the room. I was not pleased at her manner, which
was very different from her usual courtesy towards me, but I was not in
a state of mind to weigh well all that she said, or how she said it. I
hastened to my room to look for the paper which Lady R--had enclosed to
me previous to her departure. I will give the whole contents to my
readers.
"My dear Valerie,
"I will not attempt to account for the extreme predilection which I, an
old woman in comparison, immediately imbibed for you before we had been
an hour in company. Some feelings are unaccountable and inexplicable,
but I felt a sympathy, a mesmeric attraction, if I may use the term,
which was uncontrollable at our first meeting, and which increased every
day during our residence together. It was not the feeling of a mother
towards a child--at least I think not, for it was mingled with a certain
degree of awe and presentiment of evil if ever we parted again. I felt
as if you were my _fate_, and never has this feeling departed from me.
On the contrary, now that we separate, it has become stronger than ever.
How little do we know of the mysteries of the mind as well as of the
body! We know that we are fearfully and wonderfully made, and that is
all. That there are influences and attractions uncontrollable and
unexplained I feel certain. Often have I reflected and wondered on this
as I have lain in bed and meditated `even to madness,' but have been
unable to remove the veil. (Alas, poor Lady R--, thought I, I doubt it
not, you were madder than I thought you were.) Imagine, then, my grief
and horror when I found that you were determined to leave me, dear
Valerie. It was to me as the sentence of death; but I felt that I could
not resist; it was my fate, and who can oppose its decrees? It would
indeed have pained your young and generous heart if you knew how I
suffered, and still suffer from your desertion; but I considered it as a
judgment on me--a visitation upon me for the crimes of my early years,
and which I am now about to confide to you, as the only person in whom I
feel confidence, and that justice may be done to one whom I have greatly
injured. I would not die without reparation, and that reparation I
entrust to you, as from my own pen I can explain that without which,
with all my good intentions towards the party, reparation might be
difficult. But I must first make you acquainted with the cause of
crime, and to do this you must hear the events of my early life.
"My father, Sir Alexander Moystyn, had four children, two sons and two
daughters. I was the first-born, then my two brothers, and afterwards,
at an interval, my sister, so that there was a difference of eight years
between me and my sister, Ellen. Our mother died in giving birth to
Ellen; we grew up, my brothers went to Eton and college. I remained the
sole mistress of my father's establishment. Haughty by nature, and my
position, the power it gave me, the respect I received--and if you will
look at the miniature I enclose with this, I may, without vanity, add,
my beauty, made me imperious and tyrannical. I had many advantageous
offers, which I rejected, before I was twenty years of age. My power
with my father was unbounded, his infirmities kept him for a long time a
prisoner in his room, and my word was law to him, as well as to the
whole household. My sister Ellen, still a child, I treated with
harshness--first, I believe, because she promised to rival me in good
looks; and secondly, because my father showed greater affection towards
her than I liked. She was meek in temper, and never complained. Time
past--I refused many offers of marriage. I did not like to resign my
position for the authority of a husband, and I had reached my
twenty-fifth year, and my sister, Ellen, was a lovely girl of seventeen,
when it was fated that all should be changed.
"A Colonel Dempster came down with my eldest brother, who was a captain
in the same regiment of guards--a more prepossessing person I never
beheld, and for the first time I felt that I would with pleasure give up
being at the head of my father's establishment to follow the fortunes of
another man. If my predilection was so strong, I had no reason to
complain of want of attention on his part. He courted me in the most
obsequious manner, the style more suited to my haughty disposition, and
I at once gave way to the feelings with which he had inspired me. I
became fervently in love with him, and valued one of his smiles more
than an earthly crown. Two months passed, his original invitation had
been for one week, and he still remained. The affair was considered as
arranged, not only by myself, but by everybody else. My father,
satisfied that he was a gentleman by birth, and being able to support
himself by his own means in so expensive a regiment, made no inquiries,
leaving the matter to take its own course. But, although two months had
passed away, and his attentions to me were unremitting, Colonel Dempster
had made no proposal, which I ascribed to his awe of me, and his
diffidence as to his success. This rather pleased me than otherwise;
but my own feelings now made me wish for the affair to be decided, and I
gave him every opportunity that modesty and discretion would permit. I
saw little of him during the mornings, as he went out with his gun with
the other gentlemen, but in the evenings he was my constant and devoted
attendant. I received many congratulations from female acquaintances
(friends I had none) upon my having conquered one who was supposed to be
invulnerable to the charms of our sex, and made no disclaimer when
spoken to on the subject. Every hour I expected the declaration to be
made, when, imagine my indignation and astonishment, at being informed
one morning when I arose, that Colonel Dempster and my sister Ellen had
disappeared, and it was reported that they had been seen in a carriage
driving at furious speed.
"It was but too true. It appeared that Colonel Dempster, who had been
informed by my brother of my temper and disposition, and who was aware
that without paying court to me, his visit would not be extended, and
who had fallen in love with Ellen almost as soon as he saw her, had
practised this dissimulation towards me to enable him, without my
knowledge, to gain my sister's affections; that his mornings were not
spent in shooting with my brother, as was supposed, but in my sister
Ellen's company; my brother, to whom he had acknowledged his attachment,
conniving with him to deceive me. A letter from the colonel to my
father, excusing himself for the step he had taken, and requesting him
to pardon his daughter, was brought in the same morning and read by me.
`Very foolish of him,' said my father; `what is the use of stealing what
you may have for asking. He might have had Ellen if he had spoken to
me; but I always thought that he was courting you, Barbara.'
"This letter, proving the truth of the report, was too much for me; I
fell down at my father's feet in a violent fit, and was carried to my
bed. The next day I was seized with a brain fever, and it was doubtful
if ever my reason would return. But it did gradually, and, after a
confinement to my room of three months, I recovered both health and
reason; partially, I may say, for I doubt not but that the shock I then
received has had a lasting effect upon me, and that it has caused me to
be the unsettled, restless, wandering thing that I now am, only content
when in motion, and using my pen to create an artificial excitement. I
believe most people are a little cracked before they begin to write. I
will not assert that it is a proof of madness, but it is a proof that a
very little more would make them mad. Shakespeare says `the lover, the
lunatic, and the poet, are of an imagination all compact.' It matters
little whether it is prose or poetry; there is often more imagination
and more poetry in prose than in rhyme. But to proceed--
"I arose with but one feeling--that of revenge; I say but one feeling,
alas! I had forgotten to mention hatred, the parent of that revenge. I
felt myself mortified and humiliated, cruelly deceived and mocked. My
love for him was now turned to abhorrence, and my sister was an
aversion. I felt that I never could forgive her. My father had not
replied to the colonel's letter; indeed, the gout in his hand prevented
him, or he would probably have done so long before I left my room. Now
that I was once more at his side, he said to me,
"`Barbara, I think it is high time to forgive and forget. I would have
answered the colonel's letter before, but I could not. Now we must
write and ask them to come and pay us a visit.'
"I sat down and wrote the letter, not according to his dictation, which
was all kindness, but stating that my father would never forgive him or
my sister, and requested all correspondence might cease, as it would be
useless.
"`Read what you have said, Barbara.'
"I read the letter as if it was written according to his wishes.
"`That will do, dearest--they'll come back fast enough. I long to have
Ellen in my arms again--she was very precious to me that child, for she
cost the life of your dear mother. I want to ask her why she ran away.
I really believe that it was more from fear of your anger than of mine,
Barbara.'
"I made no reply, but folded the letter and sealed it. As I always
opened the post-bag, I prevented my father from ever receiving the many
letters written by my poor sister, imploring his forgiveness, and did
all I could to excite his anger against her. At last I found out from
her letters, that they had gone to the continent. Months passed. My
poor father fretted sadly at the silence of Ellen, and the supposed
rejection of his kind overtures. His unhappy state of mind had
evidently an effect upon his body; he grew weaker and more querulous
every day. At last a letter arrived from Ellen, which I now blush to
say, gave me inexpressible joy. It announced the death of her husband--
a trifling wound on the thumb having terminated in locked-jaw and death.
"`He is dead, then,' thought I; `if I lost him, she has no longer
possession of him.'
"Alas! what a demon had taken possession of me! The letter further
said, that she was coming over directly, and that she expected to be
shortly confined. This letter was addressed to me, and not to my
father. The death of her husband did not diminish my hatred against my
sister; on the contrary, I felt as if I had her now in my power, and
that my revenge upon her was about to be accomplished. After meditating
upon what course I should pursue, I determined to write to her. I did
so, stating that my father's anger was not to be appeased; that I had
tried all I could to soften his wrath, but in vain; that he was growing
weaker every day, and I thought her rash conduct had been the cause of
it; that I did not think that he could last much longer, and I would
make another appeal to him in her favour, which the death of her husband
would probably occasion to be more successful.
"In a fortnight I had a reply, in which my poor sister invoked blessings
on my head for my supposed kindness, and told me that she was in
England, and expected every hour to be confined; that she was ill in
body and in spirits, and did not think that she could get over it. She
begged me, by the remembrance of our mother, who died giving her birth,
that I would come to her. Surely I might have forgiven my enmity after
all that the poor girl had suffered; but my heart was steeled.
"On consideration, I now thought proper to tell my father that Colonel
Dempster was dead, and my sister returned to England,--adding her
request that I would attend her in her confinement, and my willingness
so to do. My poor father was much shocked, and begged me in a tremulous
voice to set off immediately. I promised so to do, but requested that
he would not say a word to anyone as to the cause of my absence until he
heard from me, as it would occasion much talk among the servants, and
perhaps ill-natured remarks might be made. He promised, and I departed,
with a maid who had been my nurse, and upon whose secrecy I thought I
could rely. What my intentions were, I can hardly say; all I knew was,
that my revenge was not satiated, and I would leave no opportunity of
wreaking it that offered.
"I found my sister in the very pangs of labour, heartbroken at the
supposed resentment of my father, and his refusal of his forgiveness. I
did not alleviate her misery by telling her the truth, which I might
have done. I was indeed a demon, or possessed by one.
"She died giving birth to a boy. I then felt sorrow, until I looked at
the child, and saw that it was the image of the colonel--the man who had
caused me such misery. Again my passions were roused, and I vowed that
the child should never know his father. I made my maid believe that the
lady I visited was an old school-fellow, and never mentioned my sister's
name, at least I thought so at the time, but I afterwards found that I
had not deceived her. I persuaded her to take the child to her
father's, saying that I had promised my friend on her death-bed that I
would take care of it, but that it must be a secret, or invidious
remarks would be made. I then returned to Culverwood Hall, dropping my
nurse and the child on my way, and reported to my father my sister's
death, of course concealing that the child was living. Sir Alexander
was much affected, and wept bitterly; indeed, from that day he rapidly
declined.
"I had now satiated my revenge, and was sorry when I had done so. Until
then I had been kept up by excitement, now all excitement was over, and
I had time for reflection; I was miserable, and in a state of constant
warfare with my conscience; but, in vain, the more I reflected, the more
I was dissatisfied with myself, and would have given worlds that I could
recall what I had done.
"At this time, Sir Richard R--came down on a visit. He admired me,
proposed, and was accepted, chiefly that I might remove from the hall,
than for any other cause. I thought that new scenes and change of place
would make me forget, but I was sadly mistaken. I went away with my
husband, and as soon as I was away, I was in a constant fright lest my
nurse should betray me to my father, and begged Sir Richard to shorten
his intended tour and allow me to return to the hall, as the accounts of
my father's health were alarming. My husband consented, and I had not
been at the hall more than a fortnight, when my father's death relieved
me from further anxiety on that score.
"Another fear now possessed me; I saw by my father's will that he had
left 5,000 pounds to me, and also to my sister, in case of one dying,
the survivor to have both sums, but the same cause of alarm was in my
great aunt's will. My great aunt had left 10,000 pounds to me, and
10,000 pounds to my sister Ellen, to be settled upon us at our marriage,
and in case of either dying without issue, the survivor to be legatee.
Thus in two instances, by concealing the birth of the child, I was
depriving it of its property, and obtaining it for myself. That I was
ignorant of these points is certain, and unfortunate it was that it was
so, for had I known it, I would not have dared to conceal the birth of
the child, lest I should have been accused of having done so for
pecuniary considerations, and I well knew, that if betrayed by my nurse,
such would be the accusation made against me. I would willingly even
now, have acknowledged the child as my nephew, but knew not how to do
so, as my husband had possession of the money, and I dared not confess
the crime that I had been guilty of. If ever retribution fell upon any
one, it fell upon me. My life was one of perfect misery, and when I
found that my nurse and her father objected to keeping the secret any
longer, I thought I should have gone distracted. I pointed out to them
the ruin they would entail upon me, and gave my solemn promise that I
would see justice done to the child. This satisfied them. For several
years I lived an unhappy life with my husband, until I was at last
relieved by his death. You may ask how it was that I did not
acknowledge the child at his death; the fact was, that I was afraid. I
had put him to school, and he was then twelve or thirteen years old. I
removed him to my own house, with the intention of so doing, and because
my nurse and her father reminded me of my promise; but when he was in my
house, I could not see my way, or how I could tell the story without
acknowledging my guilt, and this pride prevented.
"I remained thus irresolute, every day putting off the confession, till
the boy, from first being allowed to remain in the drawing-room, sank
down into the kitchen. Yes, Valerie, Lionel, the page, the lacquey, is
Lionel Dempster, my nephew. I said that I could not bear to make the
avowal, and such is the case. At last I satisfied myself that what I
did was for the boy's good. Alas! how easy we satisfy ourselves when it
suits our views. I had left him my property, I had educated him, and I
said, by being brought up in a humble position, he will be cured of
pride, and will make a better man. Bad reasoning, I acknowledge.
"Valerie, I have left you my executrix, for even after my death I would
as much as possible avoid exposure. I would not be the tale of the
town, even for a fortnight, and it certainly will not help Lionel, when
it is known to all the world that he has served as a footman. My
solicitor knows not who my nephew is, but is referred to you to produce
him. In a small tin box in the closet of my bedroom, you will find all
the papers necessary for his identification, and also the names and
residence of the parties who have been my accomplices in this deed; also
all the intercepted letters of my poor sister's. You must be aware that
Lionel is not only entitled to the property I have left him, but also to
his father's property, which, in default of heirs, passed away to
others. Consult with my solicitor to take such steps as are requisite,
without inculpating me more than is necessary; but if required, let all
be known to my shame, rather than the lad should not be put in
possession of his rights.
"You will, I am afraid, hate my memory after this sad disclosure; but in
my extenuation recall to mind how madly I loved, how cruelly I was
deceived. Remember, also, that if not insane, I was little better at
the time I was so criminal; and may it prove to you a lesson how
difficult it is, when once you have stepped aside into the path of error
ever to recover the right track.
"You now know all my sufferings, all my crimes. You now know why I have
been, not without truth, considered as a person eccentric to folly, and
occasionally on the verge of madness. Forgive me and pity me, for I
have indeed been sufficiently punished by an ever torturing conscience!
"Barbara R--."