AN AWKWARD DILEMMA.
The _fête_ at Avington Priory afforded a theme of conversation, if
such a term is not inapplicable to such a subject, of much longer
duration than was usual; for in the existence of those who were actors
in the scene, or participators in its pleasures, one folly generally
succeeded another so quickly as to chase away all remembrance of its
immediate predecessor. Perhaps, too, in this instance, more interest
was experienced in the discussion of the entertainment, from the zest
which some signal _esclandres_ gave to it, and which were generally
whispered about; particularly that in which Lady Glenmore's and Mr.
Leslie Winyard's names were involved.
Of this report, Lord Baskerville and Lord Gascoigne were the active
propagators; and which, corroborated by the condemning facts they
themselves had witnessed, led those who listened to the conclusion
that the matter was _une affaire decidée_. The only question then was,
whether it was well or ill arranged; for in all things the creed of
these parties taught them to estimate the _manner_ of an action without
any reference to its morality. Opinions were given respecting the good
or bad taste of the thing; and speculation ran high how Glenmore would
take it. However far from the truth, or unjust, these conclusions and
opinions might in reality be, it cannot be denied that Lady Glenmore
had in some measure afforded subject of conversation to the licentious
and censorious tongues of these traducers, by permitting the very
marked and exclusive attentions of Mr. Leslie Winyard in society; and,
in doing so, justified an apprehension which the most candid and the
most kind observer (if any such had been there as witness) could not
but feel, that she must inevitably fall a victim to a man of Leslie
Winyard's character, unless some powerful hand snatched her from the
peril.
In the example of Lady Glenmore's present danger, the mischiefs arising
out of the system of the society in which she lived are painfully
apparent; and although they have more than once been dwelt upon, yet,
with the object of unmasking a disguised evil, they cannot be too
frequently alluded to or minutely detailed. Nor can the observation
be too often repeated, that such dangers must unavoidably accrue to
the young and inexperienced while receiving none of those salutary
checks which are afforded them in a society differently organized, and
where the ties of families, and the counsel and protection of sincere
friends, are _not_ sacrificed to the laws and rules of exclusive
fashion.
Lady Glenmore's absence, it might almost be called alienation, from
Lord and Lady Melcombe and the bosom of her own family, had been so
gradual as scarcely to be perceptible. Had it been otherwise, she
would have recoiled from the idea, and her excellent heart would have
sufficed to guard her from so unnatural a fault; but the evil grew out
of the circumstances in which she was placed, and increased without any
appearance which could awaken a suspicion of its real tendency. She did
not go to-day to Lady Melcombe, because Lady Tenderden, or Lady Tilney,
or some other of her friends, had prevented her at the very moment she
was stepping into her carriage; but she would go to-morrow: and when
to-morrow came, fatigued with the ball or the assembly of the preceding
evening, she did not rise till at so late an hour, that Lady Melcombe
would be out, and it was in vain for her to go. When the evening in
its turn came round, then some ceremonious diplomatic dinner, followed
by the _soirées_ of the different members of her _coterie_, equally
precluded her from fulfilling this duty.
Thus one day passed on after another, and the rare and short visit to
her parents, when it was paid, afforded no real communion of heart
or thought. Yet all this happened not wilfully, not in positive
indifference, or forgetfulness of natural affection, but arose, as it
were, unavoidably, out of the life she led. Let it not excite surprise
that this alienation had been productive of no alarm in the tender and
affectionate hearts of Lord and Lady Melcombe. They, indeed, saw less
of their daughter than they wished; but though they sometimes sighed
over the "angel visits, few and far between," of their estranged child,
still, in the indulgent fondness of their hearts, perhaps too in a
mistaken pride, they found an excuse for her constantly living in a
round of dissipation, partly from the pomp and circumstance attendant
on the public situation which her husband held, and partly from
thinking it natural that one so young, and gifted with external graces,
should indulge in the pleasures that courted her on all sides.
Another cause, too, existed, to render their separation an apparent
consequence of her marriage. Lord and Lady Melcombe had not lived at
any time on terms of intimacy with that circle which now exclusively
formed their daughter's and Lord Glenmore's society; and a further
barrier by this means stood between their meeting; but it was one
which, if natural feelings had been allowed their proper influence,
and had any advance been made to Lord and Lady Melcombe, on the part
of those persons, towards their acquaintance, might easily have been
removed.
In this case, for their daughter's sake, they would readily have met
any advance, and in order to do so, have stepped out of their own
habitual line of society; a society founded on the dignified principles
of high rank, and the rational grounds of real social happiness: but
they were the last persons to court an intimacy where a mutual desire
was not expressed for its formation; and the question, however painful
as it affected their natural intercourse with their child, was not,
however, one which gave rise to any seriously uneasy feelings. When
they did see her, they saw her so fondly attached to her husband, and
so happy, what could they fear for her? It would almost have seemed
like a selfish apprehension, to have indulged any doubts regarding her
future welfare.
Their own course through life had been one perpetual gleam of
sunshine, a circumstance which is apt to render us more blind to
the possibility of evil, than when we have been exercised in the
school of adversity; that school by which we are alone perfected, and
without whose salutary discipline the false security is indulged, that
"_to-morrow will be as to-day, and even more abundant_," and we dread
no check to our earthly career.
How fearful is this species of happiness, which, resting on itself,
forgets the hand by which it is alone upheld! Could Lord and Lady
Melcombe have seen through this delusion--could they have guessed that
their child stood at the moral point where the two paths separate
which lead to virtue or to vice, and where the traveller in the road
of life, according as he makes his choice, will be admitted in the
end to misery or happiness--they would have performed their duty as
parents unhesitatingly; they would have pointed out to their child the
excellence of the one course, and have warned her of the inevitable
ruin and degradation attendant on the other. As to the current reports
of the day, they were the last to hear them, as is usually the case
with those most concerned; and in this respect Lord Glenmore was
removed still further from a knowledge of the truth. Lady Glenmore,
deprived of her natural and true guides, surrounded by persons whose
lives were, generally speaking, characterized by the same errors,
on the brink of which she now hung, and who, if they looked on such
conduct as error, held it in a very venial light even when detected,
and as nothing, if it evaded open discovery, had little chance of
receiving any counsel in time to save her.
Speaking thus of Lady Glenmore, it must not be supposed that she viewed
her own conduct and career in its true light, or that she erred from
any determination to err, or even from being led away by any impulse of
passion; far from it. The innocence of her nature, her domestic habits
and education, as well as her attachment to her husband, had in the
first instance rendered her present mode of life distasteful. But it
is the very property of the subtle poison of that atmosphere in which
she lived and breathed to pollute the healthful springs of being, till
the moral taste becomes less and less acute, and is at length wholly
corrupted, leaving the mind totally unable to discriminate between
right and wrong.
Although, with the young men who lived in the same society, the event
of the downfall of her reputation was looked upon as a thing of
course, and hailed, in their licentiousness of spirit, as a matter of
congratulation, since it would level another victim to their standard,
still there were others of the _coterie_, who, from motives of policy,
were anxious that no further _esclandre_ should take place, than
that which had already arisen on the subject, to call forth the loud
reprehension of a public whom they at once feared and despised, and
whose opinions, though they set them at defiance, they in reality
wished not to brave unnecessarily: for in the instance of Lady
Glenmore, the destruction of so much happiness as was supposed to have
centred in her union would be likely to create proportionate abhorrence
and condemnation of a system of society which had been the occasion of
it, and lead to a sifting and exposure of the principle and motives on
which that system was based.
Lady Tilney was the first person whose acuteness and vigilance descried
the danger; and was impelled to attempt an arrangement of the business,
as well from her general love of managing every body and every thing,
as from the more weighty reason attached to it. Being perfectly aware
of Lady Glenmore's character, she dreaded lest an affair which, in
the hands of a woman of tact, might have been managed without any
_éclat_, would with her be precipitated to a point which must end in
an exposure. She felt, however, that to speak to Lady Glenmore openly
would be to commit herself with a person whose want of discretion was
the chief ground of her apprehensions respecting her; and therefore,
after much reflection, she determined to seek the assistance of Lady
Tenderden in the business, and employ her in its management, as being
more intimate with the parties than she herself was.
It was not the first time that Lady Tilney had availed herself of an
intermediate hand to work out a favourite undertaking. With this view,
some ten days after the _fête_ at Avington Priory, and when the whole
affair was openly spoken of throughout their circle, Lady Tilney sought
an opportunity of communicating her views to Lady Tenderden; and having
denied herself to every one else, they were soon in deep conference in
the _boudoir_.
"Dear Lady Tenderden," said the former, addressing her, "I am sure that
I may speak to you in confidence on a subject in which you will feel
an equal if not greater interest than myself: I allude to our _élève_,
_la petite_ Georgina. This is a very silly affair of hers with Leslie
Winyard, and is going too far: don't you think so?" Lady Tenderden
gave no direct answer.
"Surely you must allow that she is not the _sort_ of person to risk any
hazards, or to manage this kind of affair well or with prudence. If
allowed to go on by herself, she will run headlong down the precipice,
and no earthly power can save her. Besides, it would be such a terrible
thing _for us_, if there was any public scandal to ensue. Consider, my
dear Lady Tenderden, we should all incur some portion of blame, and
_she_ would be pitied; while we should have all those persons whom we
have banished without the pale of our society raving against _us_, and
our system, as though it were a _lazaretto_ in which all the plagues of
Egypt were assembled. Now, though _we_ know how false this is, still we
ought to provide against it."
Lady Tenderden nodded assent as Lady Tilney went on:--"_You_ agree with
me, I am sure; for the curious and the disappointed will not judge
_coolly_, and we must try to shelter ourselves from their imputations,
however groundless. We ought to move on in a sphere out of the general
nature of things; but, in order to do this _impunément_, it is
necessary to be vigilant and prudent; and I assure you I am never off
the watch."
"_Peut-être_; but den _how_ would you do in this instance?"
"Ah! there lies the delicacy; in that _how_ consists the difficulty
of the business; for you know, as to _la petite personne_ herself, we
cannot with any safety _compromettez_ ourselves by speaking to her on
this subject. She is one of those innocent persons who would, I am
sure, either start off at the bare mention of any _liaison_, and would
make a great fuss, and a scene which might be very unpleasant to us
all in a thousand ways; or else she might give _tête baissé_ into the
thing, so much the more from being warned against it, as your meek
people always do; and, though not discreet, she has cunning enough
to keep it strictly secret till the moment when she steps into the
carriage which is to take her from her disconsolate husband."
"_Peut-être_," was again Lady Tenderden's brief reply.
Lady Tilney proceeded. "Now, I think there is one, and only one, way in
which it can be managed; and your assistance will be vitally important
for its success."
"Oh _de graces_! do not involve me in any of dese troublesome _rôles_:
I am not at all de _personne_ to play dem well; and _l'inconduite de la
petite en question_ makes me quite _frissonné_ to think of any thing
of the kind."
"Oh! but, my dear Lady Tenderden, for Glenmore's sake, you know, for
all our sakes, you will not let this affair terminate as it must do if
something is not done to put it on a right footing? You will not surely
let the _scandale_ of such a common-place _dénouement_ attach to our
society, as the infallible issue of the affair must cause, unless we
attempt to save appearances, and settle the _marche du jeu_ in _better
taste_ at least?"
Lady Tenderden's countenance relaxed, as if she was pleased at the
idea of holding an influence over Lord Glenmore; and Lady Tilney was
satisfied that she had done wisely in condescending to flatter her
_amour-propre_, by confessing herself secondary in influence; a point
which she was never very willing to yield: but she felt it was the
surest way of securing Lady Tenderden's co-operation, and proceeded to
say,
"Now listen, I entreat you, to what I have to propose; and if you do
not approve my idea, then suggest something better. The only thing
that remains to be done, in my opinion, then," continued Lady Tilney,
"is to get Georgina out of England. You know Glenmore cannot move; but
that is no reason why _she_ may not be absent for a few months. The
advantage of your company, her health, a thousand excuses may be found:
and if she is not as deeply involved as we suspect with Winyard, _this_
will break off the affair; while, if she is, absence, and distance, and
the chances of time and place, _que sais-je enfin_----a million things
may turn away the tide of observation from _us_: at all events, the
_éclat_ will be less offensive abroad than at home. Now, could you not
propose to her a little tour to Spa, or _Les Eaux de Barèges_, when the
season comes round for leaving London?"
Lady Tenderden seemed half inclined to acquiesce, but, like most people
who make sudden changes of opinion, she did not know exactly how to
give as ready an assent as she was willing in her heart to do; while,
at the same time, there was a little demur at the idea of being made
the tool of Lady Tilney, as well as of being mixed up in an affair in
which, if it ended wrong, she would regret to have been implicated.
Lady Tilney's flattery and persuasive reasonings, however, as was
generally the case when she had a favourite point to carry, prevailed;
and the conversation ended with an arrangement, that Lady Tenderden
should, in the course of a few days, open the subject to Lady
Glenmore, and put it _en train_.
Although the solicitude of the polite Lady Tilney for the fate of her
young _élève_ might have been premature as to the precise degree of her
_liaison_ with Mr. Leslie Winyard, still, if it had been entertained
on a better principle than that of mere expediency, it would have
been amiable and justifiable; for when a married woman's name is once
connected with that of any man in particular, there is an immediate
taint on her character, which, while it is degrading to herself,
attaches to her husband the character of dupe, or something worse, and
affords an example to others, productive of almost as much evil as
would accrue from actual guilt.
There are very few women on whom this stain is cast, who could, like
the youthful Lady Glenmore, plead perfect innocence of intention; but
she had been, almost at the outset of her marriage, thrown alone in
the midst of the most dangerous class of the most dangerous society
of London. She had not certainly to complain that Lord Glenmore had
wilfully deserted or neglected her: his absence was a necessary
consequence of the duties he had taken upon himself in his public
career.
While, however, she acknowledged this, she could not but feel and mourn
over his absence with childish simplicity of tenderness: and when at
last, partly from necessity, and partly from the various arts used
to wean her from this innocent love, she felt, as it was natural she
should feel, considering that no very strong principle of religion had
been instilled into her mind, or given stability to her character, that
there could be no impropriety in having recourse to the pleasures and
pursuits of fashion--pleasures which pertained to her situation, and
were not only sanctioned, but encouraged, by her husband--still, in
doing this, it was not in her nature to aspire to any leading part, or
to take any particular station, in the circle in which she moved. Had
it been so,--had she been, in short, more worldly,--her conduct would
have been more measured, more under the control of appearances; and
though she would not have had so much real virtue, she would better
have known how to preserve its semblance. But as it was, the object
sought by her in the maze of pleasure was simply an indemnification
for her husband's absence: and not possessing a mind stored by solid
instruction, or gifted with strong judgment, amiable, pliant, and fond,
she entered on this perilous career without one of those qualities
which might have enabled her to steer her course with safety.
Thus exposed, she risked becoming the victim of any designing persons
who found it their amusement or their interest to render her the
subject of licentious animadversion. Where almost every event, as in
the kind of life described, bears some analogy, little variety occurs
to mark the progress of time. One intrigue resembles another; one
slander is like its neighbour; one _soirée_ is a specimen of all: and
unless, indeed, some defiance of morality more glaring than usual, some
solecism in a marriage or a ball, a death or a breakfast, take place,
there is little for the chronicler of the system to register in his
page.
Ministers had looked forward to rest after the burthen of the session;
the nobles had gone to their country seats to enjoy the beauties of the
"sere and yellow leaf," there to renew the dissipations of the town.
Hither, too, the invited _intrigant_ had followed the object of his
present pursuit, to tell in shady bowers the tale, so often told before
to others, of treacherous love; while the sportsman, with more open
and more honest if not nobler aim, hied him to moors and highlands in
pursuit of his ruling passion.
If, during the last moments of the waning season, nothing of stronger
character had occurred, on Lady Glenmore's and Mr. Leslie Winyard's
part, to attract the particular notice of the circle in which their
_liaison_ was matter of conversation, still there was no relaxation
of _his_ attentions, or of _her_ apparent preference, to justify the
belief that he had relinquished his pursuit, or that she had discarded
him.
Lady Tilney, therefore, continually urged Lady Tenderden to the
necessity of adopting the measures she had proposed; and the latter,
having satisfied herself that no unpleasant responsibility was likely
to attach to her, consented to fill her allotted part in the measure,
and propose to Lady Glenmore to accompany her on a tour.
"What do you do with yourself this summer?" said Lady Tenderden to the
latter, as she was sitting _tête-à-tête_ with her one morning.
"Indeed I do not in the least know what are Glenmore's plans; but I
should hope we shall go to the country somewhere, for I begin to feel
that my health suffers from the racket of a town life. But whatever
_he_ chooses I shall like best, for nothing would do me any good if he
were not to be of the party."
"_Oh! quelle enfantillage!_ Well! I hoped you had chased away that bad
habit of being always in de leading-string. What! _you_ a minister's
wife, and suppose that he is to follow you up _stair_ and down _stair
en nourrisson_ all your life! My dear, how would de state be taken care
of after this fashion?"
"True," said Lady Glenmore, sighing, "and I am now used to be alone."
In fact Lady Tenderden knew that these words were uttered more from
habit than from feeling them in the painful degree in which they would
once have been spoken; and she replied,
"Well then, my dear ladi, _il faut prendre son partie_; and since it
is impossible you should have him always _à vos trousses_, what think
you of making a little excursion with me to _Les Eaux de Barèges_, or
to Spa, for two or three months in the _belle saison_? This would, I
should think, exactly suit you: it will refresh your beauty, refit your
_toilette, et vous reviendrez entièrement renouvellée. On se ressent
de la fumée de Londres._ It is quite necessary to go away; and a
_villegiatura_ in England is so dull!"
"What, go abroad!" said Lady Glenmore with unfeigned surprise.
"_Vous êtes impayable_," rejoined Lady Tenderden, "_comme j'ai souvent
eu l'honneur de vous dire_. One would imagine you lived a hundred years
ago, when people talked of going abroad as they would of going to the
moon;--but, now, abroad is at home. _Allons!_ I will not allow you to
hesitate. Leave me to settle the matter with Glenmore. I will arrange
every thing; and he shall come and meet you, and bring you home, in
case I choose to pass the winter at Paris."
Lady Glenmore had not the least idea that her husband would think of
consenting to this proposal, but gave a sort of half acquiescence, more
to escape from Lady Tenderden's persecuting entreaties, than from any
wish to realize the scheme; and she was quite astonished, some days
afterwards, to find Lord Glenmore of opinion that this plan would be
the pleasantest thing in the world for her, the best adapted to recruit
her health, and in all ways the most eligible. Half grieved at the
thoughts of absence from him, half gratified at his eager desire to
procure her a pleasure, and persuaded at length by his solicitations
to try the remedy of change of air for the languor which had of late
appeared to have affected her naturally good constitution,--the wish
too of yielding implicit obedience to his will,--all combined to
determine to consent; and she finally agreed to the proposed excursion,
which was soon followed by preparations and arrangements for their
departure to Barèges.