"Calumny is the pastime of little minds, and the venomed shaft of
base ones."
The first week of the count's confinement was rendered in some degree
tolerable by the daily visits of Mrs. Robson, who, having brought his
drawing materials, enabled him, through the means of the always
punctual printseller, to purchase some civility from the brutal and
hardened people who were his keepers. After the good woman had
performed her diurnal kindness, Thaddeus did not suffer his eyes to
turn one moment on the dismal loneliness of his abject prison, but
took up his pencil to accomplish its daily task, and when done, he
opened some one of his books, which had also been brought to him, and
so sought to beguile his almost hopeless hours,--hopeless with regard
to any human hope of ever re-passing those incarcerating walls. For
who was there but those who had put him there who could now know even
of his existence?
The elasticity and pressing enterprise of soul inherent in worth
renders; no calamity so difficult to be borne as that which betters
its best years and most active virtues under the lock of any
captivity. Thaddeus felt this benumbing effect in every pulse of his
ardent and energetic heart. He retraced all that he had been. He
looked on what he was. Though he had reaped glory when a boy, his
"noon of manhood," his evening sun, was to waste its light and set in
an English prison.
At short and distant intervals such melancholy reveries gave place to
the pitying image of Mary Beaufort. It sometimes visited him in the
day--it always was his companion during the night. He courted her
lovely ideal as a spell that for a while stole him from painful
reflections. With an entranced soul he recalled every lineament of
her angel--like face, every tender sympathy of that gentle voice
which had hurried him into the rashness of touching her hand. One
moment he pressed her gold chain closer to his heart, almost
believing what Lady Tinemouth had insinuated; the next, he would sigh
over his credulity, and return with despondent though equally intense
love to the contemplation of her virtues, independent of himself.
The more he meditated on the purity of her manners, the elevated
principles to which he could trace her actions, and, above all, on
the benevolent confidence with which she had ever treated him (a man
contemned by one part of her acquaintance, and merely received on
trust by the remainder), the more he found reasons to regard that
character with his grateful admiration. When he drew a comparison
between Miss Beaufort and most women of the same quality whom he had
seen in England and in other countries, he contemplated with
delighted wonder that spotless mind which, having passed through the
various ordeals annexed to wealth and fashion, still bore itself
uncontaminated. She was beautiful, and she did not regard it; she was
accomplished, but she did not attempt a display; what she acquired
from education, the graces had so incorporated with her native
intelligence, that the perfection of her character seemed to have
been stamped at once by the beneficent hand of Providence.
Never were her numberless attractions so fascinating to Thaddeus as
when he witnessed the generous eagerness with which, forgetful of her
own almost unparalleled talents, she pointed out merit and dispensed
applause to the deserving. Miss Beaufort's nature was gentle and
benevolent; but it was likewise distinguishing and animated. Whilst
the count saw that the urbanity of her disposition made her
politeness universal, he perceived that neither rank, riches nor
splendor, when alone, could extract from her bosom one spark of that
lambet flame which streamed from her heart, like fire to the sun,
towards the united glory of genius and virtue.
He dwelt on her lovely, unsophisticated character with an enthusiasm
bordering on idolatry. He recollected that she had been educated by
the mother of Pembroke Somerset; and turning from the double
remembrance with a sigh fraught with all the bitterness and sweetness
of love, he acknowledged how much wisdom (which includes virtue)
gives spirit and immortality to beauty. "Yes," cried he, "it is the
fragrance of the flower, which lives after the bloom is withered."
From such reflections of various hues Thaddeus was one evening
awakened by the entrance of the chief jailer into his cell. His was
an unusual visit. He presented a sealed packet to his prisoner,
saying he brought it from a stranger, who, having paid the debts and
costs for which he was confined, and all the prison dues, had
immediately gone away, leaving that packet to be instantly delivered
into the hand of Mr. Constantine.
While Thaddeus, scarcely crediting the information, was hastily
opening the packet, hoping it might throw some light on his
benefactor, the jailer civilly withdrew. But the breaking of the seal
discovered a blank cover only, save these words, in a handwriting
unknown to him--"You are free!"--and bank of England notes to the
amount of fifty pounds.
Overwhelmed with surprise, gratitude to Heaven, and to this generous
unknown, he sank down into his solitary chair, and tried to
conjecture who could have acted the part of such a friend, and yet be
so careful to conceal that act of friendship.
He had seen sufficient proofs of a heedless want of benevolence in
Miss Euphemia Dundas to lead him to suppose that she could not be so
munificent, and solicitous of secrecy. Besides, how could she have
learned his situation? He thought it was impossible; and that
impossibility compelled an erratic hope of his present liberty having
sprung from the goodness of Miss Beaufort to pass by him with a
painful swiftness.
"Alas!" cried he, starting from his chair, "it is the indefatigable
spirit of Lady Sara Ross that I recognize in this deed! The generous
but unhappy interest which she yet takes in my fate has discovered my
last misfortune, and thus she seeks to relieve me!"
The moment he conceived this idea, he believed it; and taking up a
pen, with a grateful though disturbed soul he addressed to her the
following guarded note:--
"TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE LADY SARA ROSS.
"An unfortunate exile, who is already overpowered by a sense of not
having deserved the notice which Lady Sara Ross has deigned to take
of his misfortunes, was this day liberated from prison in a manner so
generous and delicate, that he can ascribe the act to no other than
the noble heart of her ladyship.
"The object of this bounty, bending under a weight of obligations
which he cannot repay, begs permission to re-enclose the bills which
Lady Sara's agent transmitted to him; but as the deed which procures
his freedom cannot be recalled, with the most grateful emotions he
accepts that new instance of her ladyship's goodness."
Thaddeus was on the point of asking one of the turnkeys to send him
some trusty person to take this letter to St. James Place, when,
recollecting the impropriety of making any inmate of Newgate his
messenger to Lady Sara, he was determining to remove immediately to
St. Martin's Lane, and thence dispatch his packet to his generous
friend, when Mrs. Robson herself was announced by his turnkey, who,
as customary, disappeared the moment he had let her in. She hastened
forward to him with an animated countenance, and exclaimed, before he
had time to speak, "Dear sir, I have seen a dear, sweet lady, who has
promised me not to sleep till you are out of this horrid place!"
The suspicions of the count, that his benefactress was indeed Lady
Sara Ross, were now confirmed. Seating his warmhearted landlady in
the only chair his apartment contained, to satisfy her humility, he
took his station on the table, and then said: "The lady has already
fulfilled her engagement. I am free, and I only wait for a hackney-
coach--which I shall send for immediately--to take me back to your
kind home."
At this assurance the delighted Mrs. Robson, crying and laughing by
turns, did not cease her ejaculations of joy until the turnkey, whom
he had recalled to give the order for the coach, returned to say that
it was in readiness.
He took up his late prisoner's small portmanteau, with the drawing-
materials, &c., which had been brought to him during his
incarceration; and Thaddeus, with a feeling as if a band of iron had
been taken from his soul, passed through the door of his cell; and
when he reached the greater portal of Newgate, where the coach stood,
he gave the turnkey a liberal _douceur_, and handing Mrs. Robson
into the vehicle, stepped in after her, full of thankfulness to
Heaven for again being permitted to taste the wholesome breeze of a
free atmosphere.
They drove quickly on, and from the fullness of his thoughts, little
passed between the count and his happy companion till they alighted
at her door and he had re-entered his humble apartment. But so true
is it that advantages are only appreciated by comparison, when he
looked around, he considered it a palace of luxury, compared to the
stifling dungeon he had left. "Ah!" cried Mrs. Robson, pointing to a
chair, "there is the seat in which that dear lady sat--sweet
creature! I If I had known I durst believe all she promised, I would
have fallen on my knees and kissed her feet for bringing back your
dear self!"
"I thank you, my revered friend!" replied Thaddeus, with a grateful
smile and a tear at so ardent a demonstration of her maternal
affection. "But where is little Nanny, that I may shake hands with
her?" It being yet early in the evening, he was also anxious, before
the probable retiring time of Lady Sara into her dressing-room to
prepare for dinner should elapse, to dispatch his letter to her; and
he inquired of his still rejoicing landlady "whether she could find
him a safe porter to take a small packet of importance to St. James's
Place, and wait for an answer?"
The good woman instantly replied that "Mrs. Watts, her neighbor, had
a nephew at present lodging with her, a steady man, recently made one
of the grooms in the King's Mews, and as this was the customary hour
of his return from the stables, she was sure he would be glad to do
the service." While the count was sealing his letter, Mrs Robson had
executed her commission, and reentered with young Watts. He
respectfully received his instructions from Thaddeus, and withdrew to
perform the duty.
Nanny had also appeared, and welcomed her grandmother's beloved
lodger with all those artless and animated expressions of joy which
are inseparable from a good and unsophisticated heart.
The distance between the royal precincts of St. James's and the
unostentatious environs of St. Martin's church being very short, in
less than half an hour the count's messenger returned with the
wished-for reply. It was with pain that he opened it, for he saw, by
the state of the paper, that it had been blotted with tears. He
hurriedly took out the re-enclosed bills, with a flushed cheek, and
read as follows:--
"I cannot be mistaken in recognizing the proud and high-minded
Constantine in the lines I hold in my hand. Could anything have
imparted to me more comfort than your generous belief that there is
indeed some virtue left in my wretched and repentant heart, it would
have arisen from the consciousness of having been the happy person
who succored you in your distress. But no: that enjoyment was beyond
my deserving. The bliss of being the lightener of your sorrows was
reserved by Heaven for a less criminal creature. I did not even know
that you were in prison. Since our dreadful parting, I have never
dared to inquire after you; and much as it might console me to serve
one so truly valued, I will not insult your nice honor by offering
any further instance of my friendship than what will evince my soul's
gratitude to your prayers and my acquiescence with the commands of
duty.
"My husband is here, without perceiving the ravages which misery and
remorse have made in my unhappy heart. Time, perhaps, may render me
less unworthy of his tenderness; at present, I detest myself.
"I return the bills; you may safely use them, for they never were
mine.
"S. R."
The noble heart of Thaddeus bled over every line of this letter. He
saw that it bore the stamp of truth which did not leave him a moment
in doubt that he owed his release to some other hand. Whilst he
folded it up, his grateful suspicions next lighted on Lady Tinemouth.
He had received one short letter from her since her departure,
mentioning Sophia's stay in town to meet Mr. Montresor, and Miss
Beaufort's detention there, on account of Miss Dorothy's accident,
and closing with the intelligence of her own arrival at the Wolds. He
was struck with the idea that, as he had delayed answering this
letter in consequence of his late embarrassment, she must have made
inquiries after him; that probably Miss Egerton was the lady who had
visited Mrs. Robson, and finding the information true had executed
the countess's commission to obtain his release.
According to these suppositions, he questioned his landlady about the
appearance of the lady who had called. Mrs. Rob-son replied, "She was
of an elegant height, but so wrapped up I could neither see her face
nor her figure, though I am certain from the softness of her voice,
she must be both young and handsome. Sweet creature! I am sure she
wept two or three times. Besides, she is the most charitable soul
alive, next to you, sir; for she gave me a purse with twenty guineas,
and she told me she knew your honor's English friends."
This narration substantiating his hope of Lady Tinemouth's being his
benefactress, that the kind Sophia was her agent, and the gentleman
who defrayed the debt Mr. Montresor, he felt easier under an
obligation which a mysterious liberation would have doubled. He knew
the countess's maternal love for him. To reject her present
benefaction, in any part, would be to sacrifice gratitude to an
excessive and haughty delicacy. Convinced that nothing can be great
that it is great to despise, he no longer hesitated to accept Lady
Tinemouth's bounty, but smothered in his breast the embers of a proud
and repulsive fire, which, having burst forth in the first hour of
his misfortunes, was ever ready to consume any attempt that might
oppress him with the weight of obligation.
Being exhausted by the events of the day, he retired at an early hour
to his grateful devotions and to his pillow, where he found that
repose which he had sought in vain within the gloomy and (he
supposed) ever-sealed walls of his prison.
In the morning he was awakened by the light footsteps of his pretty
waiting-maid entering the front room. His chamber-door being open, he
asked her what the hour was? She replied nine o'clock; adding that
she had brought a letter, which one of the waiters from Slaughter's
Coffee-house had just left, with information that he did so by the
orders of a footman in a rich livery.
Thaddeus desired that it might be given to him. The child obeyed, and
quitted the room. He saw that the superscription was in Miss Dundas's
hand; and opening it with pleasure,--because everything interested
him which came from the house which contained Mary Beaufort,--to his
amazement and consternation he read the following accusations:--
"To MR. CONSTANTINE.
"Sir,
"By a miraculous circumstance yesterday morning, your deep and daring
plan of villany has been discovered to Lady D---and myself. The
deluded victim, whom your arts and falsehoods would have seduced to
dishonor her family by connecting herself with a vagabond, has at
length seen through her error, and now detests you as much as ever
your insufferable presumption could have hoped she would distinguish
you with her regard. Thanks be to Heaven! you are completely exposed.
This young woman of fashion (whose name I will not trust in the same
page with yours) has made a full confession of your vile seductions,
of her own reprehensible weakness, in ever having deigned to listen
to so low a creature. She desires me to assure you that she hates
you, and commands you never again to attempt the insolence of
appearing in her sight. Indeed this is the language of every soul in
this house, Lady D----, Miss D----, S----, Miss B---, besides that of
"D----D----.
"HARLEY STREET."
Thaddeus read this ridiculous letter twice before he could perfectly
comprehend its meaning. In a paroxysm of indignation at the base
subterfuge under which he did not doubt Euphemia had screened some
accidental discovery of her absurd passion, he hastily threw on his
clothes, and determined, though in defiance of Miss Dundas's
mandates, to fly to Harley Street, and clear himself in the eyes of
Miss Beaufort and her venerable aunt.
Having flown rather than walked, he arrived in sight of Lady Dundas's
house just as a coachful of her ladyship's maids and packages drove
from the door. Hurrying up the step, he asked the porter if Miss
Dorothy Somerset were at home.
"No," replied the man; "she and Miss Beaufort, with Miss Dundas and
Mr. Somerset, went out of town this morning by eight o'clock; and my
lady and Miss Euphemia, about an hour ago, set off for Scotland,
where they mean to stay all the summer."
At this information, which seemed to be the sealing of his
condemnation with Mary, the heart of Thaddeus was pierced to the
core. Unacquainted until this moment with the torments attending the
knowledge of being calumniated, he could scarcely subdue the tempest
in his breast, when forced to receive the conviction that the woman
he loved above all the world now regarded him as not merely a
villain, but the meanest of villains.
He returned home indignant and agitated. The probability that
Pembroke Somerset had listened to the falsehood of Euphemia, without
suggesting one word in defence of him who once was his friend,
inflicted a pang more deadly than the rest. Shutting himself within
his apartment, tossed and tortured in soul, he traversed the room.
First one idea occurred and then another, until he resolved to seek
redress from the advice of Lady Tinemouth. With this determination he
descended the stairs, and telling Mrs. Robson he should leave London
the ensuing day for Lincolnshire, begged her not to be uneasy on his
account, as he went on business, and would return in a few days. The
good woman almost wept at this intelligence, and prayed Heaven to
guard him wherever he went.
Next morning, having risen at an early hour, he was collecting his
few articles of wardrobe to put into his cloak-bag for his meditated
short visit, when going to open one of the top drawers in his
chamber, he found it sealed, and observed on the black wax the
impress of an eagle. It was a large seal. Hardly crediting his eyes,
it appeared to be the armorial eagle of Poland, surmounted by its
regal crown. Nay, it seemed an impression of the very seal which had
belonged to his royal ancestor, John Sobieski, and which was appended
to the watch of his grandfather when he was robbed of it on his first
arrival in England.
Thaddeus, in a wondering surprise, immediately rang the bell, and
Mrs. Robson herself came up stairs. He hurriedly but gently inquired
"how the drawer became not only locked as he had left it, but
fastened with such a seal?"
Mrs. Robson did not perceive his agitation, and simply replied,
"While his honor was in that horrid place, and after the attempt of
Mr. Jackson to get possession of his property, she had considered it
right to so secure the drawer, which she believed contained his most
valuable pictures, and the like. So, having no impression of her own
big enough, she went and bought a bunch of tarnished copper-seals she
had seen hanging in the window of a huckster's shop at the corner of
an ally hard by, one of them appearing about the size she wanted. The
woman of the shop told her she had found them at the bottom of a tub
of old iron, sold to her a while ago by a dustman; and as, to be
sure, they were damaged and very dirty, she would not ask more than a
couple of shillings for the lot, and would be glad to get rid of
them!"
"So, sir," continued Mrs. Robson, with a pleased look, "I gave the
money, and hastened home as fast as I could, and with Mrs. Watts by
my side to witness it, you see I made all safe which I thought you
most cared for."
"You are very thoughtful for me, kindest of women!" returned
Thaddeus, with grateful energy; "but let me see the seals--for it is
possible I may recognize in the one of this impression, indeed, a
relic precious to my memory!"
Mrs. Robson put her hand into her pocket, and instantly gave them to
him. There were three, one large, two small, and strung together by a
leather thong. The former massive gold chain was no longer their
link, and the rust from the iron had clouded the setting; but a
glance told Sobieski they were his! He pressed them to his heart,
whilst with glistening eyes he turned away to conceal his emotion.
His sensible landlady comprehended there was something more than she
knew of in the recognition (he never having told her of the loss of
his watch, when he had saved her little grandchild from the plunging
horses in the King's Mews;) and from her native delicacy not to
intrude on his feelings, she gently withdrew unobserved, and left him
alone.
About half an hour afterwards, when she saw her beloved lodger depart
in the stage-coach that called to take him up, her eyes followed the
wheels down the lane with renewed blessings.
His long journey passed not more in melancholy reveries against the
disappointing characters he had met in revered England than in
affectionate anticipations of the moment in which he should pour out
his gratitude to the maternal tenderness of Lady Tinemouth, and learn
from her ingenuous lips how to efface from the minds of Miss Dorothy
Somerset and her angel-like niece the representations, so
dishonoring, torturing, and false, which had been heaped upon him by
the calumnies of the family in Harley Street.