“Faults past through love, flavour of its sweetness.”
About a week after Edmund’s hasty visit to Lodore, the postman’s knock
was heard, and no servant appearing with letters, inquiries were made.
A footman replied, that Mr. St. Aubin had been passing through the
hall, and had taken the letters from the man. Henry was applied to; but
disappointed the hopes of all by saying, there was but one, which was for
himself. “It’s from Edmund,” he added carelessly.
“And what does he say?” inquired every one, at the same moment. “An order
to join, I suppose?” added Frances.
“No,” he replied.
“You are very laconic, Henry!” observed Mrs. Montgomery.
“Why, really, ma’am—I—don’t know that it is quite fair to talk of young
men’s love concerns. However, my amiable cousins, I believe, know all
about it; whether they have thought fit to inform you, ma’am, or not.
Indeed, you saw something of it yourself. It was a foolish affair from
the first: I never thought it would answer.”
“What was a foolish affair?” asked Frances.
“Oh all that fudge about your nonsuch fancying that Lady Susan Morven
was to accept him, forsooth, because some people have blown him up with
conceit and impertinence, by choosing to make fools of themselves about
him. But it seems she is married to the Marquis of H⸺, and Edmund, of
course, is in great despair about it—that’s all!”
“I cannot believe that he ever loved Lady Susan!” said Frances.
“I have only his own word, and his own hand-writing for it,” replied
Henry.
“Will you shew me the letter?” asked Frances.
“Why, do you doubt what I assert?” said Henry, angrily, and at the same
time putting his hand in his pocket, to feign an intention of shewing a
letter he had never received. There was one in his pocket, however, which
he would have been very sorry to have shewn.
“I like the evidence of my own senses best,” replied Frances, holding
out her hand.
“On second thoughts,” said Henry, “I shall not shew the letter. Indeed, I
don’t think it would be honourable in me to do so. By the bye,” he added,
“I took a couple of papers from the man at the same time. I forgot them,
I believe, on the writing-table in the library. The marriage will be in
the ‘Morning-Post,’ of course.”
“My dear, what could you have been doing to forget the papers? I thought
the servants were airing them,” said Mrs. Montgomery.
Frances flew for them. Julia was, or seemed to be, very busily engaged
about something at her portfolio; and took wonderfully little interest
in the discussion, considering the regard (in the way of friendship, we
mean) which she had always professed to entertain for Edmund. Frances
returned with the papers. The marriage of Lady Susan Morven to the
Marquis of H. certainly did appear printed in legible characters. Frances
herself read it aloud. Various comments were made. Mrs. Montgomery
expressed herself certain that Lord L. would be much dissatisfied with
Julia for having refused so splendid a match.
“I never said I refused him, ma’am,” faltered out Julia, in a timid voice.
“He told your uncle you did, my dear,” said Mrs. Montgomery.
“Did I not tell you, ma’am, that my fair cousin here would choose for
herself?” observed Henry with emphasis: and going towards Julia, he
leaned on the back of her chair with well-feigned tenderness of manner.
Mrs. Montgomery looked with a surprised and inquiring expression at her
granddaughter, who coloured to excess; for she thought of Edmund, and
was also painfully aware of the false light in which Henry wished her
to appear. The blush of consciousness was deepened by indignation, not
the less strong that it was suppressed. She could not now say, as she
had done when a child, “No, I hate Henry, and I love Edmund!” He knew
she could not, and she knew that on this knowledge he presumed. A look,
indeed, of resentment, she attempted. Mrs. Montgomery saw it, thought it
one of intelligence, and felt alarmed.
Frances, who had turned over the paper two or three times, now exclaimed,
“Oh, here is something about Edmund’s friend, Lord Fitz-Ullin; and she
began to read aloud as follows:—
“It is with heartfelt grief, we perform the melancholy task of stating,
that the young Earl of Fitz-Ullin, whose late gallant conduct gave so
bright a promise of his following in the glorious track of his father,
has disappointed every hope, blighted his budding laurels, and ended his
short career, by that crime of which alone the perpetrator can never
repent: we mean, an act of suicide. The cause is said to be a love
affair, of at least doubtful character; the rank of the lady being much
beneath that of his Lordship. The female in question is, in fact, we
understand, the daughter of his Lordship’s nurse; but very beautiful,
and, unfortunately, brought up at a fashionable boarding school, with
accomplishments and ideas quite out of her sphere. We understand,
further, that his Lordship became acquainted with his fair enslaver at
first as one of the young ladies of a certain fashionable establishment,
without being aware of her birth, or even her name, till after many
rural, and, we believe, clandestine meetings had taken place; and that
the attachment existed even in the life-time of his Lordship’s father;
but was then, of course, kept a profound secret. The rival, whose later
success with the frail fair one has caused the dreadful catastrophe above
related, is no other than his Lordship’s particular friend, the——” Here
Frances suddenly stopped short, and exclaimed, “Nonsense!—Impossible!”
“Go on! go on!” cried Henry, (he had read it before.)
“What nonsense!” said Frances again pettishly, as she continued looking
over the paragraph to herself.
Henry snatched the paper, and after a moment’s search, went back upon
and finished the sentence in a loud and exulting tone, thus: “is
no other than his Lordship’s particular friend, the gallant Captain
Montgomery.”—“Well, faith,” he said, “it was too bad of Edmund to carry
on an amour of this kind at the very time when, I know, he had hopes
(however ill-founded) of being accepted, by Lady Susan.”
“It must be all false together,” said Frances.
“You are Edmund’s sponsor, it seems,” observed Henry. “You would not
allow that he loved Lady Susan, so perhaps it is this other lady, or
rather woman, he loves; and that he only wished to marry Lady Susan’s
fifty thousand. Or, perhaps, your ladyship knows best, or possibly has
the best right to know, among so many aspirants for the heart of this
gallant adventurer, which is the favoured fair one!”
“No! no!” said Mrs. Montgomery, replying to the part of Henry’s speech
which inferred that our hero designed to carry on an amour of inclination
with one woman, and marry the fortune of another. “That Edmund may have
a virtuous attachment to one or other lady, is very possible; indeed,
I always thought, and so, I believe, you all did, that he liked Lady
Susan. Or that he may have rivalled his friend, unintentionally, or been
mistaken in the character of the lady, is also not impossible: but, that
he has behaved dishonourably or unamiably, I will not, on any authority,
believe! Therefore, my dear, if you know that he did hope, so lately, to
be accepted by Lady Susan, there can be no sort of truth in the other
affair: it must be mere newspaper conjecture.”
Mr. Jackson had hitherto sat apart, affecting to read to himself the
other paper; to evince, by this seeming inattention to the conversation,
his contempt of the accusations brought against Edmund. He now arose,
and indignantly strode towards the fire-place. He stood with his back
to it, and, in visible emotion, pronounced the words, “Contemptible
falsehoods!—No;” he proceeded, after a tolerably long pause, during
which he compressed his lips, and planted his heels firmly in the
rug, “Licentious excitements (he would not condescend to a perverted
world, by miscalling such, pleasures) have no temptations for a mind
constituted like Edmund’s! His affections are of the heart: they borrow
not a deceptive glow, either from the passions, or from the temper; as
do those,” he added, “of but too many hot-headed, cold-hearted, selfish
rakes, who pass on a thoughtless world for good-natured fellows.”
“I know nothing about any body’s good-nature,” said Henry; “nor am I
editor of the ‘Morning Post,’ to be accountable for whose amours may
figure in its columns for the amusement of the public. All I assert of
my own knowledge is, that Edmund either was, or thought fit to say he
was, in love with Lady Susan Morven; that he was coxcomb enough to fancy
he would be accepted; and is fool enough to be in despair about her
Ladyship’s marrying a man of rank, suitable to her own.”
“Your statement, young gentleman,” said Mr. Jackson, “contains, to speak
mildly, many egregious errors! Edmund is neither fool nor coxcomb!
Neither was your observation, just now, more applicable: A brave
officer, in the regular service of his own king and country, is no
_adventurer_!”
Julia was endeavouring to leave the room unobserved. Henry, with an
unusually officious zeal of politeness, flew to assist her in opening the
door. While doing so, he contrived in spite of all her efforts to the
contrary, to look full in her face, with a hatefully offensive expression
of perfect intelligence. His unshrinking eye stood still, till it cost
Julia an effort to break the spell, and withdraw her’s. He knew what she
must have felt during the late discussion; and she felt that he did so.
He had often, in private, insolently taxed her with her preference of
Edmund; and, so taxed, though of course she had made no confessions, she
had been too proud to descend to falsehood, and deny the fact: and thus
she felt that the secret of her heart’s affections, which timid delicacy
induced her to conceal from those she loved and respected, was laid bare
to the view of him, with whom, of all the world, she had least sympathy!
Her sickening sensation, consequently, while now she endured his gaze,
somewhat resembled what we can imagine might be experienced by a modest
woman beneath the exulting eye of a libertine, were it possible for that
eye, by its audacious stare, to dissolve the personal screen of decent
clothing.
Julia was again present when the papers of the next day were read. They
said, that they were very happy to state, that Lord Fitz-Ullin was only
wounded, and that hopes were entertained of his Lordship’s recovery.
That, strange to relate, his rival was now in close attendance on the
couch of his injured friend: and that, still more strange, the fickle
fair one herself assisted her new lover in the task of nursing her old
one.
The next paper undertook to gratify the public with curious particulars
respecting a late interesting occurrence in high life. A certain young
nobleman, it was now confidently affirmed, had, in the first instance,
actually laid his title and fortune at the feet of a certain fickle fair
one; who had, notwithstanding, perversely preferred a certain gallant
captain, who, it is thought, though he had no objection to receive very
unequivocal proofs of the lady’s love, had no idea of marrying her; and
that the _eclaircissement_ had taken place at the altar.
Another paper asserted, that an old woman, calling herself the mother of
the lady, had rushed into the church, wrested the sacred volume from the
hands of the clergyman, and in the most frantic manner, put a stop to
the ceremony. And further, that the said old woman had proceeded to make
such confessions to the intended bridegroom respecting, it is supposed,
the lady’s late connexion with the gallant Captain, as had effectually
prevented the marriage. That the Earl had, in the handsomest manner, sent
for his rival, and resigned the lady to him; after which, in a paroxysm
of despairing love, he had gone home to his splendid residence in ⸺
Square, and shot himself.