THE COUNTESS OF TINEMOUTH'S STORY.
Meanwhile the count, having seen Dr. Cavendish, and received a
favorable opinion of his friend, wrote the following note to Miss
Euphemia:--
"TO MISS EUPHEMIA DUNDAS.
"Mr. Constantine very much admires the taste of Miss Euphemia Dundas
in her choice of the verses which she did him the honor of requesting
he would translate into the most expressive language, and to the
utmost of his abilities he has obeyed her commands in Italian,
thinking that language the best adapted to the versification of the
original.
"Mr. Constantine equally admires the style of the medallion which
Miss E. Dundas has condescended to enclose for his inspection, and
assures her the letters are correct."
Having sealed his note, and seen the general in bed, with little
Nanny seated by him to watch his slumbers, Thaddeus pursued his way
to Grosvenor Place.
When he entered Lady Tinemouth's drawing-room, he saw that his young
_inamorata_ had already arrived, and was in close conversation
with the countess. Lady Sara, seated alone on a sofa, inwardly
upbraided Constantine for what she thought an absolute assignation
with Euphemia.
Her half-resentful eyes, yet dewed with the tears which her discourse
with Lady Tinemouth had occasioned, sought his averted face, while he
looked at Miss Dundas with evident surprise and disgust. This pleased
her; and the more so as he only bowed to her rival, shook the
countess by the hand, and then turning, took his station beside
herself on the sofa.
She would not trust her triumphant eyes towards Lady Tinemouth, but
immediately asked him some trifling question. At the same moment
Euphemia tapped him on the arm with her fan, and inquired how it
happened that she had arrived first.
He was answering Lady Sara. Euphemia impatiently repeated her demand,
"How did it happen that I arrived first?"
"I suppose, madam," replied he, smiling, "because you were so
fortunate as to set out first. But had I been so happy as to have
preceded you, the message and present with which I was honored would
have been faithfully delivered, and I hope your ladyship will permit
me to do it now," said he, rising, and taking Euphemia's rose from
his button, as he approached the countess; "Miss Euphemia Dundas had
done me the honor to make me the bearer of sweets to the sweet; and
thus I surrender my trust." He bowed, and put the flower into Lady
Tinemouth's hand, who smiled and thanked Euphemia. But the little
beauty blushed like her own rose; and murmuring within herself at the
literal apprehension of her favorite, whom she thought as handsome as
Cimon, and as stupid too, she flirted her fan, and asked Miss Egerton
whether she had read Charlotte Smith's last delightful novel.
The evening passed off more agreeably to Thaddeus than he had augured
on his entrance. Lady Sara always embarrassed and pained him; Miss
Euphemia teased him to death; but to-night the storm which had
agitated the breast of her ladyship having subsided into
thoughtfulness, it imparted so abstracted an air to her ever-lovely
countenance, that, merely to elude communication with Euphemia, he
remained near her, and by paying those attentions which, so situated,
he could not avoid, he so deluded the wretched Lady Sara, as to
subdue her melancholy into an enchanting softness which to any other
man might have rendered her the most captivating woman on earth.
The only person present who did not approve this change was Lady
Tinemouth. At every dissolving smile of her Circean ladyship, she
thought she beheld the intoxicating cup at the lips of Thaddeus, and
dreaded its effect. Euphemia was too busily employed repeating some
new poems, and too intensely dreaming of what her tutor might say on
the verses and medallion in his possession, to observe the dangerous
ascendency which the superior charms of Lady Sara might acquire over
his heart. Indeed, she had no suspicion of finding a rival in her
ladyship; and when a servant announced the arrival of her mother's
coach, and she saw by her watch that it was twelve o'clock, she arose
reluctantly, exclaiming, "I dare say some plaguing people have
arrived who are to stay with us, else mamma would not have sent for
me so soon."
"I call it late," said Lady Sara, who would not lose an opportunity
of contradicting her; "so I will thank you, Mr. Constantine."
addressing herself to him, "to hand me to my coach at the same time."
Euphemia bit her lip at this movement of her ladyship, and followed
her down stairs, reddening with anger. Her carriage being first, she
was obliged to get into it, but would not suffer the servant to close
the door until she had seen Lady Sara seated in hers; and then she
called to Mr. Constantine to speak with her.
Lady Sara leaned her head out of the window. While she saw the man
she loved approach Lady Dundas's carriage, she, in her turn, bit her
lips with vexation.
"Home, my lady?" asked the servant, touching his hat.
"No; not till Miss Dundas's coach drives on."
Miss Euphemia desired Thaddeus to step in for a moment, and he
reluctantly obeyed.
"Mr. Constantine!" cried the pretty simpleton, trembling with
expectation, as she made room for him beside her, "have you opened
the paper I gave you?"
"Yes, madam," returned he, holding the door open, and widening it
with one hand, whilst with the other he presented his note, "and I
have the honor, in that paper, to have executed your commands."
Euphemia caught it eagerly; and Thaddeus immediately leaping out,
wished her a good-night, and hurried back into the house. Whilst the
carriages drove away, he ascended to the drawing-room, to take leave
of the countess.
Lady Tinemouth, seated on the sofa, was leaning thoughtfully against
one of its arms when he re-entered. He approached her.
"I wish you a good-night, Lady Tinemouth."
She turned her head.
"Mr. Constantine, I wish you would stay a little longer with me! My
spirits are disturbed, and I am afraid it will be near morning before
Sophia returns from Richmond. These rural balls are sad, dissipated
amusements!"
Thaddeus laid down his hat and took a seat by her side.
"I am happy, dear Lady Tinemouth, at all times to be with you; but I
am sorry to hear that you have met with any thing to discompose you.
I was afraid when I came in that something disagreeable had happened;
your eyes----"
"Alas! if my eyes were always to show when I have been weeping, they
might ever be telling tales!" Her ladyship passed her hand across
them, while she added, "We may think on our sorrows with an outward
air of tranquillity, but we cannot always speak of them without some
agitation."
"Ah, Lady Tinemouth!" exclaimed the count, drawing closer to her;
"could not even your generous sympathizing heart escape calamity?"
"To cherish a sympathizing heart, my young friend," replied she, "is
not a very effectual way to avoid the pressure of affliction. On the
reverse, such a temper extracts unhappiness from causes which would
fail to extort even a sigh from dispositions of less susceptibility.
Ideas of sensibility and sympathy are pretty toys for a novice to
play with; but change those wooden swords into weapons of real metal,
and you will find the points through your heart before you are aware
of the danger--at least, I find it so. Mr. Constantine, I have
frequently promised to explain to you the reason of the sadness which
so often tinges my conversation; and I know not when I shall be in a
fitter humor to indulge myself at your expense, for I never was more
wretched, never stood more in need of the consolations of a friend."
She covered her face with her handkerchief, and remained so for some
time. Thaddeus pressed her hand several times, and waited in
respectful silence until she recommenced.
"Forgive me, my dear sir; I am very low to-night--very nervous.
Having encountered two or three distressing circumstances to-day,
these tears relieve me. You have heard me speak of my son, and of my
lord; yet I never collected resolution to recount how we were
separated. This morning I saw my son pass my window; he looked up;
but the moment I appeared, he turned away and hastened down the
street. Though I have received many stronger proofs of dislike, both
from his father and himself, yet slight as this offence may seem, it
pierced me to the soul. O, Mr. Constantine, to know that the child to
whom I gave life regards me with abhorrence, is dreadful--is beyond
even the anxious partiality of a mother either to excuse or to
palliate!"
"Perhaps, dear Lady Tinemouth, you misjudge Lord Harwold; he may be
under the commands of his father, and yet yearn to show you his
affection and duty."
"No, Mr, Constantine; your heart is too good even to guess what may
be the guilt of another. Gracious Heaven! am I obliged to speak so of
my son!--he who was my darling!--he who once loved me so dearly! But
hear me, my dear sir; you shall judge for yourself, and you will
wonder that I am now alive to endure more. I have suffered by him, by
his father, and by a dreadful woman, who not only tore my husband and
children from me, but stood by till I was beaten to the ground. Yes,
Mr. Constantine, any humane man would shudder as you do at such an
assertion; but it is too true. Soon after Lady Olivia Lovel became
the mistress of my lord, and persuaded him to take my son from me, I
heard that the poor boy had fallen ill through grief, and lay sick at
his lordship's house in Hampshire. I heard he was dying. Imagine my
agonies. Wild with distress, I flew to the park lodge, and, forgetful
of anything but my child, was hastening across the park, when I saw
this woman, this Lady Olivia, approaching me, followed by two female
servants. One of them carried my daughter, then an infant, in her
arms; and the other, a child of which this unnatural wretch had
recently become the mother. I was flying towards my little Albina, to
clasp her to my heart, when Lady Olivia caught hold of my arm. Her
voice now rings in my ears. 'Woman!' cried she, 'leave this place;
there are none here to whom you are not an object of abhorrence.'
"Struggling to break from her, I implored to be permitted to embrace
my child; but she held me fast, and, regardless of my cries, ordered
both the women to return into the house. Driven to despair, I dropped
on my knees, conjuring her, by her feelings as a mother, to allow me
for one moment to see my dying son, and that I would promise, by my
hopes of everlasting happiness, to cherish her child as my own should
it ever stand in need of a friend. The horrid woman only laughed at
my prayers, and left me in a swoon. When I recovered, the first
objects I beheld were my lord and Lady Olivia standing near me, and
myself in the arms of a man-servant, whom they had commanded to carry
me outside the gate. At the sight of my husband, I sprang to his
feet, when with one dreadful blow of his hand he struck me to the
ground. Merciful Providence! how did I retain my senses! I besought
this cruel husband to give me a second blow, that I might suffer no
more.
"'Take her out of my sight,' cried he; 'she is mad.'
"I was taken out of his sight, more dead than alive, and led by his
pitying servants to an inn, where I was afterwards confined for three
weeks with a brain fever. From that hour I have never had a day of
health."
Thaddeus was shocked beyond utterance at this relation. The paleness
of his countenance being the only reply he made, the anguished
narrator resumed.
"I have gone out of order. I proposed to inform you clearly of my
situation, but the principal outrage of my heart rose immediately to
my lips. I will commence regularly, if I can methodize my
recollection.
"The Earl of Tinemouth married me from passion: I will not sanctify
his emotions by the name of affection; though," added she, forcing a
smile, "these faded features too plainly show that of all mankind, I
loved but him alone. I was just fifteen when he came to visit my
father, who lived in Berkshire. My father, Mr. Cumnor, and his
father, Lord Harwold, had been friends at college. My lord, then Mr.
Stanhope, was young, handsome, and captivating. He remained the
autumn with us, and at the end of that period declared an affection
for me which my heart too readily answered. About this time he
received a summons from his father, and we parted. Like most girls of
my age, I cherished an unconquerable bashfulness against admitting
any confidant to my attachment; hence my parents knew nothing of the
affair until it burst upon them in the cruelest shape.
"About two months after Mr. Stanhope's departure, a letter arrived
from him, urging me to fly with him to Scotland. He alleged as a
reason for such a step that his grandfather, the Earl of Tinemouth,
insisted on his forming a union with Lady Olivia Lovel, who was then
a young widow, and the favorite niece of the most powerful nobleman
in the kingdom. Upon this demand, he confessed to the earl that his
affections were engaged. His lordship, whose passions were those of a
madman, broke into such horrible execrations of myself and my family,
that Mr. Stanhope, himself, alas! enraged, intemperately swore that
no power on earth should compel him to marry so notorious a woman as
Lady Olivia Lovel, nor to give me up. After communicating these
particulars, he concluded with repeating his entreaties that I would
consent to marry him in Scotland. The whole of this letter so alarmed
me, that I showed it to my parents. My father answered it in a manner
befitting his own character; but that only irritated the impetuous
passions of my lover. In the paroxysm of his rage, he flew to the
earl his grandfather, upbraided him with the ruin of his happiness,
and so exasperated the old man, that he drew his sword upon him; and
had it not been for the interference of his father, Lord Harwold, who
happened to enter at the moment, a most fatal catastrophe might have
ensued. To end the affair at once, the latter, whose gentle nature
embraced the mildest measures, obtained the earl's permission to send
Mr. Stanhope abroad.
"Meanwhile I was upheld by my revered parent, who is now no more, in
firmly rejecting my lover's entreaties for a private marriage. And as
his grandfather continued resolutely deaf to his prayers or threats,
he was at length persuaded by his excellent father to accompany some
friends to France.
"At the end of a few weeks Mr. Stanhope began to regard them as spies
on him; and after a violent quarrel, they parted, no one knowing to
what quarter my lover directed his steps. I believe I was the first
who heard any tidings of him. I remember well; it was in 1773, about
four-and-twenty years ago, that I received a letter from him. Oh! how
legibly are these circumstances written on my memory! It was dated
from Italy, where, he told me, he resided in complete retirement,
under the assumed name of Sackville."
At this name, with every feature fixed in dismay, Thaddeus fell back
on the sofa.
The countess caught his hand.
"What is the matter? You are ill? What is the matter?"
The bolt of indelible disgrace had struck to his heart. It was some
minutes before he could recover; but when he did speak, he said,
"Pray go on, madam; I am subject to this. Pray forgive me, and go on;
I shall become better as you proceed."
"No, my dear friend; I will quit my dismal story at present, and
resume it some other time."
"Pray continue it now," rejoined Thaddeus; "I shall never be more fit
to listen. Do, I entreat you."
"Are you sincere in your request? I fear I have already affected you
too much."
"No; I am sincere: let me hear it all. Do not hold back anything
which relates to that stain to the name of Englishman, who completed
his crimes by rendering you wretched!"
"Alas! he did," resumed her ladyship; "for when he returned, which
was in consequence of the Earl of Tinemouth's death, my father was
also dead, who might have stood between me and my inclinations, and
so preserved me from many succeeding sorrows. I sealed my fate, and
became Stanhope's wife.
"The father of my husband was then Earl of Tinemouth; and as he had
never been averse to our union, he presented me with a cottage on the
banks of the Wye, where I passed three delightful years, the happiest
of womankind. My husband, my mother, and my infant son formed my
felicity; and greatly I prize it--too greatly to be allowed a long
continuance!
"At the end of this period, some gay friends paid us a visit. When
they returned to town, they persuaded my lord to be of the party. He
went; and from that fatal day all my sufferings arose.
"Lord Harwold, instead of being with me in a fortnight, as he had
promised, procrastinated his absence under various excuses from week
to week, during which interval my Albina was born. Day after day I
anticipated the delight of putting her into the arms of her father;
but, what a chasm! she was three months old before he appeared; and
ah! how changed. He was gloomy to me, uncivil to my mother, and
hardly looked at the child."
Lady Tinemouth stopped at this part of her narrative to wipe away her
tears. Thaddeus was sitting forward to the table, leaning on his arm,
with his hand covering his face. The countess was grateful for an
excess of sympathy she did not expect; and taking his other hand, as
it lay motionless on his knee, "What a consolation would it be to
me," exclaimed she, "durst I entertain a hope that I may one day
behold but half such pity from my own son!"
Thaddeus pressed her hand. He did not venture to reply; he could not
tell her that she deceived herself even here; that it was not her
sorrows only which so affected him, but the remembered agonies of his
own mother, whom he did not doubt the capricious villany of this very
earl, under the name of Sackville (a name that had struck like a
death-bolt to the heart of Thaddeus when he first heard his mother
utter it), had devoted to a life of uncomplaining but ceaseless self-
reproach. And had he derived his existence from such a man--the
reprobate husband of Lady Tinemouth! The conviction humbled him,
crushed him, and trod him to the earth. He did not look up, and the
countess resumed:
"It would be impossible, my dear sir, to describe to you the gradual
changes which assured me that I had lost the heart of my husband.
Before the end of the winter he left me again, and I saw him no more
until that frightful hour in which he struck me to the ground.
"The good earl came into Monmouthshire about six weeks after I parted
with my lord. I was surprised and rejoiced to see my kind father-in-
law; but how soon were my emotions driven into a different course! He
revealed to me that during Lord Harwold's first visit to town he had
been in the habit of spending entire evenings with Lady Olivia Lovel."
'This woman,' added he, 'is the most artful of her sex. In spite of
her acknowledged dishonor, you well know my deceased father would
gladly have married her to my son; and now it seems, actuated by
revenge, she resents Lord Harwold's refusal of her hand by seducing
him from his wife. Alas! I am too well convinced that the errors of
my son bear too strict a resemblance to those of his grandfather.
Vain of his superior abilities, and impatient of contradiction,
flattery can mould him to what it pleases. Lady Olivia had discovered
these weak points in his character; and, I am informed, she soon
persuaded him that you impose on his affection by detaining him from
the world; and, seconded by other fascinations, my deluded son has
accompanied her into Spain.'
"You may imagine, Mr. Constantine, my distraction at this
intelligence. I was like one lost; and the venerable earl, fearing to
trust me in such despair out of his sight, brought me and my children
with him to London. In less than four months afterwards, I was
deprived of this inestimable friend by a paralytic stroke. His death
summoned the new earl to England. Whilst I lay on a sick bed, into
which I had been thrown by the shock of my protector's death, my lord
and his mistress arrived in London.
"They immediately assumed the command of my lamented father-in-law's
house, and ordered my mother to clear it directly of me. My heart-
broken parent obeyed, and I was carried in a senseless state to a
lodging in the nearest street. But when this dear mother returned for
my children, neither of them were permitted to see her. The malignant
Lady Olivia, actuated by an insatiable hatred of me, easily wrought
on my frantic husband (for I must believe him mad) to detain them
entirely. A short time after this, that dreadful scene happened which
I have before described.
"Year succeeded year, during which time I received many cruel insults
from my husband, many horrible ones from my son; for I had been
advised to institute a suit against my lord, in which I only pleaded
for the return of my children. I lost my cause, owing, I hope, to bad
counsel, not the laws of my country. I was adjudged to be separated
from the earl, with a maintenance of six hundred a-year, which he
hardly pays. I was tied down never to speak to him, nor to his son
nor his daughter. Though this sentence was passed, I never
acknowledged its justice, but wrote several times to my children.
Lord Harwold, who is too deeply infected with his father's cruelty,
has either returned my letters unopened or with insulting replies.
For my daughter, she keeps an undeviating silence; and I have not
even seen her since the moment in which she was hurried from my eyes
in Tinemouth Park.
"In vain her brother tries to convince me that she detests me. I will
not believe it; and the hope that, should I survive her father, I may
yet embrace my child, has been, and will be, my source of maternal
comfort until it be fulfilled, or I bury my disappointment in the
grave."
Lady Tinemouth put her handkerchief to her eyes, which were again
flowing with tears. Thaddeus thought he must speak, if he would not
betray an interest in her narrative, which he determined no
circumstance should ever humble him to reveal. Raising his head from
his hand, he unconsciously discovered to the countess his agonized
countenance.
"Kind, affectionate Constantine! surely such a heart as thine never
would bring sorrow to the breast of a virtuous husband! You could
never betray the self-deluded Lady Sara to any fatal error!"
Lady Tinemouth did not utter these thoughts. Thaddeus rose from his
seat. "Farewell, my honored friend!" said he; "may Heaven bless you
and pardon your husband!"
Then grasping her hand, with what he intended should be a pressure of
friendship, but which his internal tortures rendered almost
intolerable, he hastened down stairs, opened the outward door, and
got into the street.
Unknowing and heedless whither he went, with the steps of a man
driven by the furies, he traversed one street and then another. As he
went along, in vain the watchmen reminded him by their cries that it
was past three o'clock: he still wandered on, forgetting that it was
night, that he had any home, any destination.
His father was discovered!--that father of whom he had entertained a
latent hope, should they ever meet, that he might produce some excuse
for having been betrayed into an act disgraceful to a man of honor.
But when all these filial dreams were blasted by the conviction that
he owed his being to the husband of Lady Tinemouth, that his mother
was the victim of a profligate, that he had sprung from a man who was
not merely a villain, but the most wanton, the most despicable of
villains, he saw himself bereft of hope and overwhelmed with shame
and horror.
Full of reflections which none other than a son in such circumstances
can conceive, he was lost amidst the obscure alleys of Tottenham
Court Yard, when loud and frequent cries recalled his attention. A
quantity of smoke, with flashes of light, led him to suppose that
they were occasioned by a fire; and a few steps further the awful
spectacle burst upon his sight.
It was a house from the windows of which the flames were breaking out
in every direction, whilst a gathering concourse of people were
either standing in stupefied astonishment or uselessly shouting for
engines and assistance.
At the moment in which he arrived, two or three naked wretches just
escaped from their beds, were flying from side to side, making the
air echo with their shrieks.
"Will nobody save my children?" cried one of them, approaching
Thaddeus, and wringing her hands in agony; "will nobody take them
from the fire?"
"Where shall I seek them?" replied he.
"Oh! in that room," exclaimed she, pointing; "the flames are already
there; they will be burnt! they will be burnt!"
The poor woman was hurrying madly forward, when the count stopped
her, and giving her in charge of a bystander, cried: "Take care of
this woman, if possible, I will save her children." Darting through
the open door, in defiance of the smoke and danger, he made his way
to the children's room, where, almost suffocated by the sulphurous
cloud that surrounded him, he at last found the bed; but it contained
one child only. This he instantly caught up in his arms, and was
hastening down the stairs, when the cries of the other from a distant
part of the building made him hesitate; but thinking it better to
secure one than to hazard both by lingering, he rushed into the
street just as a post-chaise had stopped to inquire the particulars
of the accident. The carriage-door being open, Thaddeus, seeing
ladies in it, without saying a word, threw the sleeping infant into
their laps, and hastened back into the house, where he hoped to
rescue the other child before the fire could increase to warrant
despair. The flames having now made dreadful progress, his face,
hands, and clothes were scorched by their fury as he flew from the
room, following the shrieks of the child, who seemed to change its
situation with every exertion that he made to reach it. At length,
when every moment he expected the house would sink under his feet, as
a last attempt he directed his steps along a passage he had not
before observed, and to his great joy beheld the object of his search
flying down a back staircase. The boy sprung into his arms; and
Thaddeus, turning round, leaped from one landing-place to another,
until he found himself again in the street, surrounded by a crowd of
people.
He saw the poor mother clasp this second rescued child to her breast;
and whilst the spectators were loading her with congratulations, he
slipped away unseen, and proceeded homewards, with a warmth at his
heart which made him forget, in the joy of a benevolent action, that
petrifying shock which had been occasioned by the vices of one too
nearly allied to his being to be hated without horror.