And soon they spied the merry-men green,
And eke the coach and four.
Duke upon Duke.
Craigengelt set forth on his mission so soon as his equipage was
complete, prosecuted his journey with all diligence, and accomplished
his commission with all the dexterity for which bucklaw had given him
credit. As he arrived with credentials from Mr. Hayston of Bucklaw, he
was extremely welcome to both ladies; and those who are prejudiced in
favour of a new acquaintance can, for a time at least, discover
excellencies in his very faults and perfections in his deficiencies.
Although both ladies were accustomed to good society, yet, being
pre-determined to find out an agreeable and well-behaved gentleman in
Mr. Hayston’s friend, they succeeded wonderfully in imposing on
themselves. It is true that Craigengelt was now handsomely dressed, and
that was a point of no small consequence. But, independent of outward
show, his blackguard impudence of address was construed into honourable
bluntness becoming his supposed military profession; his hectoring
passed for courage, and his sauciness for wit. Lest, however, any one
should think this a violation of probability, we must add, in fairness
to the two ladies, that their discernment was greatly blinded, and
their favour propitiated, by the opportune arrival of Captain
Craigengelt in the moment when they were longing for a third hand to
make a party at tredrille, in which, as in all games, whether of chance
or skill, that worthy person was a great proficient.
When he found himself established in favour, his next point was how
best to use it for the furtherance of his patron’s views. He found Lady
Ashton prepossessed strongly in favour of the motion which Lady
Blenkensop, partly from regard to her kinswoman, partly from the spirit
of match-making, had not hesitated to propose to her; so that his task
was an easy one. Bucklaw, reformed from his prodigality, was just the
sort of husband which she desired to have for her Shepherdess of
Lammermoor; and while the marriage gave her an easy fortune, and a
respectable country gentleman for her husband, Lady Ashton was of
opinion that her destinies would be fully and most favourably
accomplished. It so chanced, also, that Bucklaw, among his new
acquisitions, had gained the management of a little political interest
in a neighbouring county where the Douglas family originally held large
possessions. It was one of the bosom-hopes of Lady Ashton that her
eldest son, Sholto, should represent this county in the British
Parliament, and she saw this alliance with Bucklaw as a circumstance
which might be highly favourable to her wishes.
Craigengelt, who, in his way, by no means wanted sagacity, no sooner
discovered in what quarter the wind of Lady Ashton’s wishes sate, than
he trimmed his course accordingly. “There was little to prevent Bucklaw
himself from sitting for the county; he must carry the heat—must walk
the course. Two cousins-german, six more distant kinsmen, his factor
and his chamberlain, were all hollow votes; and the Girnington interest
had always carried, betwixt love and fear, about as many more. But
Bucklaw cared no more about riding the first horse, and that sort of
thing, than he, Craigengelt, did about a game at birkie: it was a pity
his interest was not in good guidance.”
All this Lady Ashton drank in with willing and attentive ears,
resolving internally to be herself the person who should take the
management of the political influence of her destined son-in-law, for
the benefit of her eldest-born, Sholto, and all other parties
concerned.
When he found her ladyship thus favourably disposed, the Captain
proceeded, to use his employer’s phrase, to set spurs to her
resolution, by hinting at the situation of matters at Ravenswood
Castle, the long residence which the heir of that family had made with
the Lord Keeper, and the reports which—though he would be d—d ere he
gave credit to any of them—had been idly circulated in the
neighbourhood. It was not the Captain’s cue to appear himself to be
uneasy on the subject of these rumours; but he easily saw from Lady
Ashton’s flushed cheek, hesitating voice, and flashing eye, that she
had caught the alarm which he intended to communicate. She had not
heard from her husband so often or so regularly as she thought him
bound in duty to have written, and of this very interesting
intelligence concerning his visit to the Tower of Wolf’s Crag, and the
guest whom, with such cordiality, he had received at Ravenswood Castle,
he had suffered his lady to remain altogether ignorant, until she now
learned it by the chance information of a stranger. Such concealment
approached, in her apprehension, to a misprision, at last, of treason,
if not to actual rebellion against her matrimonial authority; and in
her inward soul she did vow to take vengeance on the Lord Keeper, as on
a subject detected in meditating revolt. Her indignation burned the
more fiercely as she found herself obliged to suppress it in presence
of Lady Blenkensop, the kinswoman, and of Craigengelt, the confidential
friend, of Bucklaw, of whose alliance she now became trebly desirous,
since it occurred to her alarmed imagination that her husband might, in
his policy or timidity, prefer that of Ravenswood.
The Captain was engineer enough to discover that the train was fired;
and therefore heard, in the course of the same day, without the least
surprise, that Lady Ashton had resolved to abridge her visit to Lady
Blenkensop, and set forth with the peep of morning on her return to
Scotland, using all the despatch which the state of the roads and the
mode of travelling would possibly permit.
Unhappy Lord Keeper! little was he aware what a storm was travelling
towards him in all the speed with which an old-fashioned coach and six
could possibly achieve its journey. He, like Don Gayferos, “forgot his
lady fair and true,” and was only anxious about the expected visit of
the Marquis of A——. Soothfast tidings had assured him that this
nobleman was at length, and without fail, to honour his castle at one
in the afternoon, being a late dinner-hour; and much was the bustle in
consequence of the annunciation. The Lord Keeper traversed the
chambers, held consultation with the butler in the cellars, and even
ventured, at the risk of a _démêlé_ with a cook of a spirit lofty
enough to scorn the admonitions of Lady Ashton herself, to peep into
the kitchen. Satisfied, at length, that everything was in as active a
train of preparation as was possible, he summoned Ravenswood and his
daughter to walk upon the terrace, for the purpose of watching, from
that commanding position, the earliest symptoms of his lordship’s
approach. For this purpose, with slow and idle step, he paraded the
terrace, which, flanked with a heavy stone battlement, stretched in
front of the castle upon a level with the first story; while visitors
found access to the court by a projecting gateway, the bartizan or
flat-leaded roof of which was accessible from the terrace by an easy
flight of low and broad steps. The whole bore a resemblance partly to a
castle, partly to a nobleman’s seat; and though calculated, in some
respects, for defence, evinced that it had been constructed under a
sense of the power and security of the ancient Lords of Ravenswood.
This pleasant walk commanded a beautiful and extensive view. But what
was most to our present purpose, there were seen from the terrace two
roads, one leading from the east, and one from the westward, which,
crossing a ridge opposed to the eminence on which the castle stood, at
different angles, gradually approached each other, until they joined
not far from the gate of the avenue. It was to the westward approach
that the Lord Keeper, from a sort of fidgeting anxiety, his daughter,
from complaisance to him, and Ravenswood, though feeling some symptoms
of internal impatience, out of complaisance to his daughter, directed
their eyes to see the precursors of the Marquis’s approach.
These were not long of presenting themselves. Two running footmen,
dressed in white, with black jockey-caps, and long staffs in their
hands, headed the train; and such was their agility, that they found no
difficulty in keeping the necessary advance, which the etiquette of
their station required, before the carriage and horsemen. Onward they
came at a long swinging trot, arguing unwearied speed in their
long-breathed calling. Such running footmen are often alluded to in old
plays (I would particularly instance Middleton’s Mad World, my
Masters), and perhaps may be still remembered by some old persons in
Scotland, as part of the retinue of the ancient nobility when
travelling in full ceremony. Behind these glancing meteors, who footed
it as if the Avenger of Blood had been behind them, came a cloud of
dust, raised by riders who preceded, attended, or followed the
state-carriage of the Marquis.
The privilege of nobility, in those days, had something in it
impressive on the imagination. The dresses and liveries and number of
their attendants, their style of travelling, the imposing, and almost
warlike, air of the armed men who surrounded them, place them far above
the laird, who travelled with his brace of footmen; and as to rivalry
from the mercantile part of the community, these would as soon have
thought of imitating the state equipage of the Sovereign. At present it
is different; and I myself, Peter Pattieson, in a late journey to
Edinburgh, had the honour, in the mail-coach phrase to “change a leg”
with a peer of the realm. It was not so in the days of which I write;
and the Marquis’s approach, so long expected in vain, now took place in
the full pomp of ancient aristocracy. Sir William Ashton was so much
interested in what he beheld, and in considering the ceremonial of
reception, in case any circumstance had been omitted, that he scarce
heard his son Henry exclaim: “There is another coach and six coming
down the east road, papa; can they both belong to the Marquis of A——?”
At length, when the youngster had fairly compelled his attention by
pulling his sleeve,
He turned his eyes, and, as he turned, survey’d
An awful vision.
Sure enough, another coach and six, with four servants or outriders in
attendance, was descending the hill from the eastward, at such a pace
as made it doubtful which of the carriages thus approaching from
different quarters would first reach the gate at the extremity of the
avenue. The one coach was green, the other blue; and not the green and
blue chariots in the circus of Rome or Constantinople excited more
turmoil among the citizens than the double apparition occasioned in the
mind of the Lord Keeper.
We all remember the terrible exclamation of the dying profligate, when
a friend, to destroy what he supposed the hypochondriac idea of a
spectre appearing in a certain shape at a given hour, placed before him
a person dressed up in the manner he described. “_Mon Dieu!_” said the
expiring sinner, who, it seems, saw both the real and polygraphic
apparition, “_il y en a deux!_”
The surprise of the Lord Keeper was scarcely less unpleasing at the
duplication of the expected arrival; his mind misgave him strangely.
There was no neighbour who would have approached so unceremoniously, at
a time when ceremony was held in such respect. It must be Lady Ashton,
said his conscience, and followed up the hint with an anxious
anticipation of the purpose of her sudden and unannounced return. He
felt that he was caught “in the manner.” That the company in which she
had so unluckily surprised him was likely to be highly distasteful to
her, there was no question; and the only hope which remained for him
was her high sense of dignified propriety, which, he trusted, might
prevent a public explosion. But so active were his doubts and fears as
altogether to derange his purposed ceremonial for the reception of the
Marquis.
These feelings of apprehension were not confined to Sir William Ashton.
“It is my mother—it is my mother!” said Lucy, turning as pale as ashes,
and clasping her hands together as she looked at Ravenswood.
“And if it be Lady Ashton,” said her lover to her in a low tone, “what
can be the occasion of such alarm? Surely the return of a lady to the
family from which she has been so long absent should excite other
sensations than those of fear and dismay.”
“You do not know my mother,” said Miss Ashton, in a tone almost
breathless with terror; “what will she say when she sees you in this
place!”
“My stay has been too long,” said Ravenswood, somewhat haughtily, “if
her displeasure at my presence is likely to be so formidable. My dear
Lucy,” he resumed, in a tone of soothing encouragement, “you are too
childishly afraid of Lady Ashton; she is a woman of family—a lady of
fashion—a person who must know the world, and what is due to her
husband and her husband’s guests.” Lucy shook her head; and, as if her
mother, still at the distance of half a mile, could have seen and
scrutinised her deportment, she withdrew herself from beside
Ravenswood, and, taking her brother Henry’s arm, led him to a different
part of the terrace. The Keeper also shuffled down towards the portal
of the great gate, without inviting Ravenswood to accompany him; and
thus he remained standing alone on the terrace, deserted and shunned,
as it were, by the inhabitants of the mansion. This suited not the mood
of one who was proud in proportion to his poverty, and who thought
that, in sacrificing his deep-rooted resentments so far as to become
Sir William Ashton’s guest, he conferred a favour, and received none.
“I can forgive Lucy,” he said to himself; “she is young, timid, and
conscious of an important engagement assumed without her mother’s
sanction; yet she should remember with whom it has been assumed, and
leave me no reason to suspect that she is ashamed of her choice. For
the Keeper, sense, spirit, and expression seem to have left his face
and manner since he had the first glimpse of Lady Ashton’s carriage. I
must watch how this is to end; and, if they give me reason to think
myself an unwelcome guest, my visit is soon abridged.”
With these suspicions floating on his mind, he left the terrace, and
walking towards the stables of the castle, gave directions that his
horse should be kept in readiness, in case he should have occasion to
ride abroad.
In the mean while, the drivers of the two carriages, the approach of
which had occasioned so much dismay at the castle, had become aware of
each other’s presence, as they approached upon different lines to the
head of the avenue, as a common centre. Lady Ashton’s driver and
postilions instantly received orders to get foremost, if possible, her
ladyship being desirous of despatching her first interview with her
husband before the arrival of these guests, whoever they might happen
to be. On the other hand, the coachman of the Marquis, conscious of his
own dignity and that of his master, and observing the rival charioteer
was mending his pace, resolved, like a true brother of the whip,
whether ancient or modern, to vindicate his right of precedence. So
that, to increase the confusion of the Lord Keeper’s understanding, he
saw the short time which remained for consideration abridged by the
haste of the contending coachmen, who, fixing their eyes sternly on
each other, and applying the lash smartly to their horses, began to
thunder down the descent with emulous rapidity, while the horsemen who
attended them were forced to put on to a hand-gallop.
Sir William’s only chance now remaining was the possibility of an
overturn, and that his lady or visitor might break their necks. I am
not aware that he formed any distinct wish on the subject, but I have
no reason to think that his grief in either case would have been
altogether inconsolable. This chance, however, also disappeared; for
Lady Ashton, though insensible to fear, began to see the ridicule of
running a race with a visitor of distinction, the goal being the portal
of her own castle, and commanded her coachman, as they approached the
avenue, to slacken his pace, and allow precedence to the stranger’s
equipage; a command which he gladly obeyed, as coming in time to save
his honour, the horses of the Marquis’s carriage being better, or, at
least, fresher than his own. He restrained his pace, therefore, and
suffered the green coach to enter the avenue, with all its retinue,
which pass it occupied with the speed of a whirlwind. The Marquis’s
laced charioteer no sooner found the _pas d’avance_ was granted to him
than he resumed a more deliberate pace, at which he advanced under the
embowering shade of the lofty elms, surrounded by all the attendants;
while the carriage of Lady Ashton followed, still more slowly, at some
distance.
In the front of the castle, and beneath the portal which admitted
guests into the inner court, stood Sir William Ashton, much perplexed
in mind, his younger son and daughter beside him, and in their rear a
train of attendants of various ranks, in and out of livery. The
nobility and gentry of Scotland, at this period, were remarkable even
to extravagance for the number of their servants, whose services were
easily purchased in a country where men were numerous beyond proportion
to the means of employing them.
The manners of a man trained like Sir William Ashton are too much at
his command to remain long disconcerted with the most adverse
concurrence of circumstances. He received the Marquis, as he alighted
from his equipage, with the usual compliments of welcome; and, as he
ushered him into the great hall, expressed his hope that his journey
had been pleasant. The Marquis was a tall, well-made man, with a
thoughtful and intelligent countenance, and an eye in which the fire of
ambition had for some years replaced the vivacity of youth; a bold,
proud expression of countenance, yet chastened by habitual caution, and
the desire which, as the head of a party, he necessarily entertained of
acquiring popularity. He answered with courtesy the courteous inquiries
of the Lord Keeper, and was formally presented to Miss Ashton, in the
course of which ceremony the Lord Keeper gave the first symptom of what
was chiefly occupying his mind, by introducing his daughter as “his
wife, Lady Ashton.”
Lucy blushed; the Marquis looked surprised at the extremely juvenile
appearance of his hostess, and the Lord Keeper with difficulty rallied
himself so far as to explain. “I should have said my daughter, my lord;
but the truth is, that I saw Lady Ashton’s carriage enter the avenue
shortly after your lordship’s, and——”
“Make no apology, my lord,” replied his noble guest; “let me entreat
you will wait on your lady, and leave me to cultivate Miss Ashton’s
acquaintance. I am shocked my people should have taken precedence of
our hostess at her own gate; but your lordship is aware that I supposed
Lady Ashton was still in the south. Permit me to beseech you will waive
ceremony, and hasten to welcome her.”
This was precisely what the Lord Keeper longed to do; and he instantly
profited by his lordship’s obliging permission. To see Lady Ashton, and
encounter the first burst of her displeasure in private, might prepare
her, in some degree, to receive her unwelcome guests with due decorum.
As her carriage, therefore, stopped, the arm of the attentive husband
was ready to assist Lady Ashton in dismounting. Looking as if she saw
him not, she put his arm aside, and requested that of Captain
Craigengelt, who stood by the coach with his laced hat under his arm,
having acted as _cavaliere servente_, or squire in attendance, during
the journey. Taking hold of this respectable person’s arm as if to
support her, Lady Ashton traversed the court, uttering a word or two by
way of direction to the servants, but not one to Sir William, who in
vain endeavoured to attract her attention, as he rather followed than
accompanied her into the hall, in which they found the Marquis in close
conversation with the Master of Ravenswood. Lucy had taken the first
opportunity of escaping. There was embarrassment on every countenance
except that of the Marquis of A——; for even Craigengelt’s impudence was
hardly able to veil his fear of Ravenswood, and the rest felt the
awkwardness of the position in which they were thus unexpectedly
placed.
After waiting a moment to be presented by Sir William Ashton, the
Marquis resolved to introduce himself. “The Lord Keeper,” he said,
bowing to Lady Ashton, “has just introduced to me his daughter as his
wife; he might very easily present Lady Ashton as his daughter, so
little does she differ from what I remember her some years since. Will
she permit an old acquaintance the privilege of a guest?”
[Illustration]
He saluted the lady with too good a grace to apprehend a repulse, and
then proceeded: “This, Lady Ashton, is a peacemaking visit, and
therefore I presume to introduce my cousin, the young Master of
Ravenswood, to your favourable notice.”
Lady Ashton could not choose but courtesy; but there was in her
obeisance an air of haughtiness approaching to contemptuous repulse.
Ravenswood could not choose but bow; but his manner returned the scorn
with which he had been greeted.
“Allow me,” she said, “to present to your lordship _my_ friend.”
Craigengelt, with the forward impudence which men of his cast mistake
for ease, made a sliding bow to the Marquis, which he graced by a
flourish of his gold-laced hat. The lady turned to her husband. “You
and I, Sir William,” she said, and these were the first words she had
addressed to him, “have acquired new acquaintances since we parted; let
me introduce the acquisition I have made to mine—Captain Craigengelt.”
Another bow, and another flourish of the gold-laced hat, which was
returned by the Lord Keeper without intimation of former recognition,
and with that sort of anxious readiness which intimated his wish that
peace and amnesty should take place betwixt the contending parties,
including the auxiliaries on both sides. “Let me introduce you to the
Master of Ravenswood,” said he to Captain Craigengelt, following up the
same amicable system.
But the Master drew up his tall form to the full extent of his height,
and without so much as looking towards the person thus introduced to
him, he said, in a marked tone: “Captain Craigengelt and I are already
perfectly well acquainted with each other.”
“Perfectly—perfectly,” replied the Captain, in a mumbling tone, like
that of a double echo, and with a flourish of his hat, the
circumference of which was greatly abridged, compared with those which
had so cordially graced his introduction to the Marquis and the Lord
Keeper.
Lockhard, followed by three menials, now entered with wine and
refreshments, which it was the fashion to offer as a whet before
dinner; and when they were placed before the guests, Lady Ashton made
an apology for withdrawing her husband from them for some minutes upon
business of special import. The Marquis, of course, requested her
ladyship would lay herself under no restraint; and Craigengelt, bolting
with speed a second glass of racy canary, hastened to leave the room,
feeling no great pleasure in the prospect of being left alone with the
Marquis of A—— and the Master of Ravenswood; the presence of the former
holding him in awe, and that of the latter in bodily terror.
Some arrangements about his horse and baggage formed the pretext for
his sudden retreat, in which he persevered, although Lady Ashton gave
Lockhard orders to be careful most particularly to accommodate Captain
Craigengelt with all the attendance which he could possibly require.
The Marquis and the Master of Ravenswood were thus left to communicate
to each other their remarks upon the reception which they had met with,
while Lady Ashton led the way, and her lord followed somewhat like a
condemned criminal, to her ladyship’s dressing-room.
So soon as the spouses had both entered, her ladyship gave way to that
fierce audacity of temper which she had with difficulty suppressed, out
of respect to appearances. She shut the door behind the alarmed Lord
Keeper, took the key out of the spring-lock, and with a countenance
which years had not bereft of its haughty charms, and eyes which spoke
at once resolution and resentment, she addressed her astounded husband
in these words: “My lord, I am not greatly surprised at the connexions
you have been pleased to form during my absence, they are entirely in
conformity with your birth and breeding; and if I did expect anything
else, I heartily own my error, and that I merit, by having done so, the
disappointment you had prepared for me.”
“My dear Lady Ashton—my dear Eleanor [Margaret],” said the Lord Keeper,
“listen to reason for a moment, and I will convince you I have acted
with all the regard due to the dignity, as well as the interest, of my
family.”
“To the interest of _your_ family I conceive you perfectly capable of
attending,” returned the indignant lady, “and even to the dignity of
your own family also, as far as it requires any looking after. But as
mine happens to be inextricably involved with it, you will excuse me if
I choose to give my own attention so far as that is concerned.”
“What would you have, Lady Ashton?” said the husband. “What is it that
displeases you? Why is it that, on your return after so long an
absence, I am arraigned in this manner?”
“Ask your own conscience, Sir William, what has prompted you to become
a renegade to your political party and opinions, and led you, for what
I know, to be on the point of marrying your only daughter to a beggarly
Jacobite bankrupt, the inveterate enemy of your family to the boot.”
“Why, what, in the name of common sense and common civility, would you
have me do, madam?” answered her husband. “Is it possible for me, with
ordinary decency, to turn a young gentleman out of my house, who saved
my daughter’s life and my own, but the other morning, as it were?”
“Saved your life! I have heard of that story,” said the lady. “The Lord
Keeper was scared by a dun cow, and he takes the young fellow who
killed her for Guy of Warwick: any butcher from Haddington may soon
have an equal claim on your hospitality.”
“Lady Ashton,” stammered the Keeper, “this is intolerable; and when I
am desirous, too, to make you easy by any sacrifice, if you would but
tell me what you would be at.”
“Go down to your guests,” said the imperious dame, “and make your
apology to Ravenswood, that the arrival of Captain Craigengelt and some
other friends renders it impossible for you to offer him lodgings at
the castle. I expect young Mr. Hayston of Bucklaw.”
“Good heavens, madam!” ejaculated her husband. “Ravenswood to give
place to Craigengelt, a common gambler and an informer! It was all I
could do to forbear desiring the fellow to get out of my house, and I
was much surprised to see him in your ladyship’s train.”
“Since you saw him there, you might be well assured,” answered this
meek helpmate, “that he was proper society. As to this Ravenswood, he
only meets with the treatment which, to my certain knowledge, he gave
to a much-valued friend of mine, who had the misfortune to be his guest
some time since. But take your resolution; for, if Ravenswood does not
quit the house, I will.”
Sir William Ashton paced up and down the apartment in the most
distressing agitation; fear, and shame, and anger contending against
the habitual deference he was in the use of rendering to his lady. At
length it ended, as is usual with timid minds placed in such
circumstances, in his adopting a _mezzo termine_, a middle measure.
“I tell you frankly, madam, I neither can nor will be guilty of the
incivility you propose to the Master of Ravenswood; he has not deserved
it at my hand. If you will be so unreasonable as to insult a man of
quality under your own roof, I cannot prevent you; but I will not at
least be the agent in such a preposterous proceeding.”
“You will not?” asked the lady.
“No, by heavens, madam!” her husband replied; “ask me anything
congruent with common decency, as to drop his acquaintance by degrees,
or the like; but to bid him leave my house is what I will not and
cannot consent to.”
“Then the task of supporting the honour of the family will fall on me,
as it has often done before,” said the lady.
She sat down, and hastily wrote a few lines. The Lord Keeper made
another effort to prevent her taking a step so decisive, just as she
opened the door to call her female attendant from the ante-room. “Think
what you are doing, Lady Ashton: you are making a mortal enemy of a
young man who is like to have the means of harming us——”
“Did you ever know a Douglas who feared an enemy?” answered the lady,
contemptuously.
“Ay, but he is as proud and vindictive as an hundred Douglasses, and an
hundred devils to boot. Think of it for a night only.”
“Not for another moment,” answered the lady. “Here, Mrs. Patullo, give
this billet to young Ravenswood.”
“To the Master, madam?” said Mrs. Patullo.
“Ay, to the Master, if you call him so.”
“I wash my hands of it entirely,” said the Keeper; “and I shall go down
into the garden, and see that Jardine gathers the winter fruit for the
dessert.”
“Do so,” said the lady, looking after him with glances of infinite
contempt; “and thank God that you leave one behind you as fit to
protect the honour of the family as you are to look after pippins and
pears.”
The Lord Keeper remained long enough in the garden to give her
ladyship’s mind time to explode, and to let, as he thought, at least
the first violence of Ravenswood’s displeasure blow over. When he
entered the hall, he found the Marquis of A—— giving orders to some of
his attendants. He seemed in high displeasure, and interrupted an
apology which Sir William had commenced for having left his lordship
alone.
“I presume, Sir William, you are no stranger to this singular billet
with which _my_ kinsman of Ravenswood (an emphasis on the word ‘my’)
has been favoured by your lady; and, of course, that you are prepared
to receive my adieus. My kinsman is already gone, having thought it
unnecessary to offer any on his part, since all former civilities had
been cancelled by this singular insult.”
“I protest, my lord,” said Sir William, holding the billet in his hand,
“I am not privy to the contents of this letter. I know Lady Ashton is a
warm-tempered and prejudiced woman, and I am sincerely sorry for any
offence that has been given or taken; but I hope your lordship will
consider that a lady——”
“Should bear herself towards persons of a certain rank with the
breeding of one,” said the Marquis, completing the half-uttered
sentence.
“True, my lord,” said the unfortunate Keeper; “but Lady Ashton is still
a woman——”
“And, as such, methinks,” said the Marquis, again interrupting him,
“should be taught the duties which correspond to her station. But here
she comes, and I will learn from her own mouth the reason of this
extraordinary and unexpected affront offered to my near relation, while
both he and I were her ladyship’s guests.”
Lady Ashton accordingly entered the apartment at this moment. Her
dispute with Sir William, and a subsequent interview with her daughter,
had not prevented her from attending to the duties of her toilette. She
appeared in full dress; and, from the character of her countenance and
manner, well became the splendour with which ladies of quality then
appeared on such occasions.
The Marquis of A—— bowed haughtily, and she returned the salute with
equal pride and distance of demeanour. He then took from the passive
hand of Sir William Ashton the billet he had given him the moment
before he approached the lady, and was about to speak, when she
interrupted him. “I perceive, my lord, you are about to enter upon an
unpleasant subject. I am sorry any such should have occurred at this
time, to interrupt in the slightest degree the respectful reception due
to your lordship; but so it is. Mr. Edgar Ravenswood, for whom I have
addressed the billet in your lordship’s hand, has abused the
hospitality of this family, and Sir William Ashton’s softness of
temper, in order to seduce a young person into engagements without her
parents’ consent, and of which they never can approve.”
Both gentlemen answered at once. “My kinsman is incapable——” said the
Lord Marquis.
“I am confident that my daughter Lucy is still more incapable——” said
the Lord Keeper.
Lady Ashton at once interrupted and replied to them both: “My Lord
Marquis, your kinsman, if Mr. Ravenswood has the honour to be so, has
made the attempt privately to secure the affections of this young and
inexperienced girl. Sir William Ashton, your daughter has been simple
enough to give more encouragement than she ought to have done to so
very improper a suitor.”
“And I think, madam,” said the Lord Keeper, losing his accustomed
temper and patience, “that if you had nothing better to tell us, you
had better have kept this family secret to yourself also.”
“You will pardon me, Sir William,” said the lady, calmly; “the noble
Marquis has a right to know the cause of the treatment I have found it
necessary to use to a gentleman whom he calls his blood-relation.”
“It is a cause,” muttered the Lord Keeper, “which has emerged since the
effect has taken place; for, if it exists at all, I am sure she knew
nothing of it when her letter to Ravenswood was written.”
“It is the first time that I have heard of this,” said the Marquis;
“but, since your ladyship has tabled a subject so delicate, permit me
to say, that my kinsman’s birth and connexions entitled him to a
patient hearing, and at least a civil refusal, even in case of his
being so ambitious as to raise his eyes to the daughter of Sir William
Ashton.”
“You will recollect, my lord, of what blood Miss Lucy Ashton is come by
the mother’s side,” said the lady.
“I do remember your descent—from a younger branch of the house of
Angus,” said the Marquis; “and your ladyship—forgive me, lady—ought not
to forget that the Ravenswoods have thrice intermarried with the main
stem. Come, madam, I know how matters stand—old and long-fostered
prejudices are difficult to get over, I make every allowance for them;
I ought not, and I would not, otherwise have suffered my kinsman to
depart alone, expelled, in a manner, from this house, but I had hopes
of being a mediator. I am still unwilling to leave you in anger, and
shall not set forward till after noon, as I rejoin the Master of
Ravenswood upon the road a few miles from hence. Let us talk over this
matter more coolly.”
“It is what I anxiously desire, my lord,” said Sir William Ashton,
eagerly. “Lady Ashton, we will not permit my Lord of A—— to leave us in
displeasure. We must compel him to tarry dinner at the castle.”
“The castle,” said the lady, “and all that it contains, are at the
command of the Marquis, so long as he chooses to honour it with his
residence; but touching the farther discussion of this disagreeable
topic——”
“Pardon me, good madam,” said the Marquis; “but I cannot allow you to
express any hasty resolution on a subject so important. I see that more
company is arriving; and, since I have the good fortune to renew my
former acquaintance with Lady Ashton, I hope she will give me leave to
avoid perilling what I prize so highly upon any disagreeable subject of
discussion—at least till we have talked over more pleasant topics.”
The lady smiled, courtesied, and gave her hand to the Marquis, by whom,
with all the formal gallantry of the time, which did not permit the
guest to tuck the lady of the house under the arm, as a rustic does his
sweetheart at a wake, she was ushered to the eating-room.
Here they were joined by Bucklaw, Craigengelt, and other neighbours,
whom the Lord Keeper had previously invited to meet the Marquis of A——.
An apology, founded upon a slight indisposition, was alleged as an
excuse for the absence of Miss Ashton, whose seat appeared unoccupied.
The entertainment was splendid to profusion, and was protracted till a
late hour.