It was useless to ask who could it be? It could only be one person; and
yet how could it have been managed? So completely and so promptly! Her
lord, too, away; the only being, it would seem, who could have effected
for her such a purpose, and he the last individual to whom, perhaps, she
would have applied. Was it a dream? The long twilight was dying away,
and it dies away in the Albany a little sooner than it does in Park
Lane; and so he lit the candles on his mantel-piece, and then again
unfolded the document carefully, and read it and re-read it. It was not
a dream. He held in his hand firmly, and read with his eyes clearly,
the evidence that he was the uncontrolled master of no slight amount of
capital, and which, if treated with prudence, secured to him for life an
absolute and becoming independence. His heart beat and his cheek glowed.
What a woman! And how true were Myra’s last words at Hurstley, that
women would be his best friends in life! He ceased to think; and,
dropping into his chair, fell into a reverie, in which the past and
the future seemed to blend, with some mingling of a vague and almost
ecstatic present. It was a dream of fair women, and even fairer
thoughts, domestic tenderness and romantic love, mixed up with strange
vicissitudes of lofty and fiery action, and passionate passages of
eloquence and power. The clock struck and roused him from his musing.
He fell from the clouds. Could he accept this boon? Was his doing so
consistent with that principle of independence on which he had resolved
to build up his life? The boon thus conferred might be recalled and
returned; not legally indeed, but by a stronger influence than any
law--the consciousness on his part that the feeling of interest in his
life which had prompted it might change--would, must change. It was the
romantic impulse of a young and fascinating woman, who had been to him
invariably kind, but who had a reputation for caprice, which was not
unknown to him. It was a wild and beautiful adventure; but only that.
He walked up and down his rooms for a long time, sometimes thinking,
sometimes merely musing; sometimes in a pleased but gently agitated
state of almost unconsciousness. At last he sate down at his
writing-table, and wrote for some time; and then directing the letter
to the Countess of Montfort, he resolved to change the current of his
thoughts, and went to a club.
Morning is not romantic. Romance is the twilight spell; but morn is
bright and joyous, prompt with action, and full of sanguine hope. Life
has few difficulties in the morning, at least, none which we cannot
conquer; and a private secretary to a minister, young and prosperous, at
his first meal, surrounded by dry toast, all the newspapers, and piles
of correspondence, asking and promising everything, feels with pride and
delight the sense of powerful and responsible existence. Endymion had
glanced at all the leading articles, had sorted in the correspondence
the grain from the chaff, and had settled in his mind those who must be
answered and those who must be seen. The strange incident of last
night was of course not forgotten, but removed, as it were, from his
consciousness in the bustle and pressure of active life, when his
servant brought him a letter in a handwriting he knew right well. He
would not open it till he was alone, and then it was with a beating
heart and a burning cheek.
LADY MONTFORT’S LETTER
“What is it all about? and what does it all mean? I should have thought
some great calamity had occurred if, however distressing, it did not
appear in some sense to be gratifying. What is gratifying? You deal in
conundrums, which I never could find out. Of course I shall be at home
to you at any time, if you wish to see me. Pray come on at once, as I
detest mysteries. I went to the play last night with your sister. We
both of us rather expected to see you, but it seems neither of us had
mentioned to you we were going. I did not, for I was too low-spirited
about your affairs. You lost nothing. The piece was stupid beyond
expression. We laughed heartily, at least I did, to show we were not
afraid. My lord came home last night suddenly. Odo is going to stand for
the county, and his borough is vacant. What an opportunity it would have
been for you! a certain seat. But I care for no boroughs now. My lord
will want you to dine with him to-day; I hope you can come. Perhaps he
will not be able to see you this morning, as his agent will be with him
about these elections. Adieu!”
If Lady Montfort did not like conundrums, she had succeeded, however,
in sending one sufficiently perplexing to Endymion. Could it be possible
that the writer of this letter was the unknown benefactress of the
preceding eve? Lady Montfort was not a mystifier. Her nature was
singularly frank and fearless, and when Endymion told her everything
that had occurred, and gave her the document which originally he had
meant to bring with him in order to return it, her amazement and her joy
were equal.
“I wish I had sent it,” said Lady Montfort, “but that was impossible.
I do not care who did send it; I have no female curiosity except about
matters which, by knowledge, I may influence. This is finished. You are
free. You cannot hesitate as to your course. I never could speak to you
again if you did hesitate. Stop here, and I will go to my lord. This
is a great day. If we can settle only to-day that you shall be the
candidate for our borough, I really shall not much care for the change
of ministry.”
Lady Montfort was a long time away. Endymion would have liked to have
gone forth on his affairs, but she had impressed upon him so earnestly
to wait for her return that he felt he could not retire. The room was
one to which he was not unaccustomed, otherwise, its contents would not
have been uninteresting; her portrait by more than one great master, a
miniature of her husband in a Venetian dress upon her writing-table--a
table which wonderfully indicated alike the lady of fashion and the
lady of business, for there seemed to be no form in which paper could be
folded and emblazoned which was there wanting; quires of letter
paper, and note paper, and notelet paper, from despatches of state to
billet-doux, all were ready; great covers with arms and supporters, more
moderate ones with “Berengaria” in letters of glittering fancy, and the
destined shells of diminutive effusions marked only with a golden
bee. There was another table covered with trinkets and precious toys;
snuff-boxes and patch-boxes beautifully painted, exquisite miniatures,
rare fans, cups of agate, birds glittering with gems almost as radiant
as the tropic plumage they imitated, wild animals cut out of ivory,
or formed of fantastic pearls--all the spoils of queens and royal
mistresses.
Upon the walls were drawings of her various homes; that of her
childhood, as well as of the hearths she ruled and loved. There were
a few portraits on the walls also of those whom she ranked as her
particular friends. Lord Roehampton was one, another was the Count of
Ferroll.
Time went on; on a little table, by the side of evidently her favourite
chair, was a book she had been reading. It was a German tale of fame,
and Endymion, dropping into her seat, became interested in a volume
which hitherto he had never seen, but of which he had heard much.
Perhaps he had been reading for some time; there was a sound, he started
and looked up, and then, springing from his chair, he said, “Something
has happened!”
Lady Montfort was quite pale, and the expression of her countenance
distressed, but when he said these words she tried to smile, and said,
“No, no, nothing, nothing,--at least nothing to distress you. My lord
hopes you will be able to dine with him to-day, and tell him all the
news.” And then she threw herself into a chair and sighed. “I should
like to have a good cry, as the servants say--but I never could cry. I
will tell you all about it in a moment. You were very good not to go.”
It seems that Lady Montfort saw her lord before the agent, who was
waiting, had had his interview, and the opportunity being in every
way favourable, she felt the way about obtaining his cousin’s seat
for Endymion. Lord Montfort quite embraced this proposal. It had never
occurred to him. He had no idea that Ferrars contemplated parliament.
It was a capital idea. He could not bear reading the parliament reports,
and yet he liked to know a little of what was going on. Now, when
anything happened of interest, he should have it all from the
fountain-head. “And you must tell him, Berengaria,” he continued, “that
he can come and dine here whenever he likes, in boots. It is a settled
thing that M.P.’s may dine in boots. I think it a most capital plan.
Besides, I know it will please you. You will have your own member.”
Then he rang the bell, and begged Lady Montfort to remain and see the
agent. Nothing like the present time for business. They would make all
the arrangements at once, and he would ask the agent to dine with them
to-day, and so meet Mr. Ferrars.
So the agent entered, and it was all explained to him, calmly and
clearly, briefly by my lord, but with fervent amplification by his
charming wife. The agent several times attempted to make a remark, but
for some time he was unsuccessful; Lady Montfort was so anxious that he
should know all about Mr. Ferrars, the most rising young man of the day,
the son of the Right Honourable William Pitt Ferrars, who, had he not
died, would probably have been prime minister, and so on.
“Mr. Ferrars seems to be everything we could wish,” said the agent, “and
as you say, my lady, though he is young, so was Mr. Pitt, and I have
little doubt, after what you say, my lady, that it is very likely he
will in time become as eminent. But what I came up to town particularly
to impress upon my lord is, that if Mr. Odo will not stand again, we are
in a very great difficulty.”
“Difficulty about what?” said Lady Montfort impatiently.
“Well, my lady, if Mr. Odo stands, there is great respect for him. The
other side would not disturb him. He has been member for some years,
and my lord has been very liberal. But the truth is, if Mr. Odo does not
stand, we cannot command the seat.”
“Not command the seat! Then our interest must have been terribly
neglected.”
“I hope not, my lady,” said the agent. “The fact is, the property is
against us.”
“I thought it was all my lord’s.”
“No, my lady; the strong interest in the borough is my Lord Beaumaris.
It used to be about equal, but all the new buildings are in Lord
Beaumaris’ part of the borough. It would not have signified if things
had remained as in the old days. The grandfather of the present lord was
a Whig, and always supported the Montforts, but that’s all changed.
The present earl has gone over to the other side, and, I hear, is very
strong in his views.”
Lady Montfort had to communicate all this to Endymion. “You will meet
the agent at dinner, but he did not give me a ray of hope. Go now;
indeed, I have kept you too long. I am so stricken that I can scarcely
command my senses. Only think of our borough being stolen from us by
Lord Beaumaris! I have brought you no luck, Endymion; I have done you
nothing but mischief; I am miserable. If you had attached yourself to
Lady Beaumaris, you might have been a member of parliament.”