Things went on worse and worse at Badminton, and I am now delighted that
they did so, being altogether most miserably tired of the Beaufort story.
The Duke of Beaufort at last sent a notorious swindler of his
acquaintance, who has since been confined in chains for forgery, one
Mr. Robinson, who, as I have heard, had long been in the habit of doing
dirty jobs for noblemen. Robinson declared that I had it in my power,
considerably to relieve the anxiety and distress of mind to which I had
reduced the Beaufort family, by returning all letters in my possession
containing promises of marriage made by the Marquis of Worcester to
myself.
"In short," said Robinson, "if you will take an oath at Westminster
Hall, that you have delivered into mine, or His Grace of Beaufort's
hands, every letter, or copy of a letter, from Worcester, now in your
possession, you may make your own terms with His Grace."
Though I never cared for myself, and I am afraid I never shall, yet,
when one is dealing with a notorious rogue it seems silly to become his
dupe: I therefore requested to have a week allowed me to decide. This
time being granted me, because I would have it so, I consulted a most
respectable counsellor, Thomas Treslove, Esq., of Old Square, Lincoln's
Inn, who had been acquainted with my family when I was quite a child and
living with my parents.
Mr. Treslove, after reading Lord Worcester's letters containing his
repeated and solemn promises of marriage, at my particular request,
declared, what I have no doubt he is ready this day to repeat, merely
that he conceived the letters, if brought into a court of law, to be
worth twenty thousand pounds to me, and, when I afterwards consulted
Henry Brougham, Esq., M.P., of the same place, he entirely agreed in
opinion with Mr. Treslove.
I inquired whether my situation, previous to my having been under the
protection of Lord Worcester, made any difference?
"The court would not discuss that point, nor take it into the smallest
consideration for or against you," said Mr. Treslove. "You have, for
anything which can be proved to the contrary, in all probability been
prevented from establishing yourself eligibly or comfortably in life, by
having received the most solemn promises of marriage from the Marquis
of Worcester. If, from the extreme generosity of your disposition, you,
instead of hurrying the thing forward, wished his lordship to take time
for consideration, you have the stronger claim on that family, supposing
them to be people of honour. The duke has no witness of your having ever
refused the marquis, on the contrary, you tell me, His Grace will not
believe a single syllable of the matter.
"Lord Worcester has, by the dates of these letters, been pledging his
faith to you for the space of two years; and, I conceive the damages, if
he should now declare off, would be rated at least at twenty thousand
pounds!"
The next day I had a second interview with Mr. Robinson, to whom I
repeated the opinion of Counsellor Treslove, and assured him that
gentleman was ready to put it in writing if necessary.
Robinson said that it would not be required; for the duke expected all
this, and indeed he thought that I might make better terms without
exposing the secrets of a noble family in a public Court of Justice.
I promised Mr. Robinson that His Grace should receive my decided answer
by the next day's post.
Robinson said this would not be regular, and it had better pass through
his hands.
I begged to be excused, declaring that I must and would manage matters
in my own way; and Mr. Robinson was at length compelled to leave me,
although in a very ill-humour.
The following morning Worcester arrived in town, with the Duke and
Duchess of Beaufort. Those worthy parents had again adopted the
pathetics, finding it impossible to manage Worcester in any other way.
"My poor father is very wretched," said Worcester, "and my mother, when
I left the house this morning, was almost in hysterics, because I will
not consent to go abroad without you: and I never can nor will attempt
it."
"Do you think they would feel happier if they were in possession of your
promises of marriage?" I inquired.
"Certainly," answered Worcester. "His Grace would, in fact, make any
sacrifice to obtain them, though in the end they could not serve his
wishes, since I will never give up the hope and full expectation of
becoming your husband."
"Poor duke!" said I, musing to myself after Worcester had left me on
the pomps and vanities of this wicked world. "I have perhaps, though
very innocently, been the cause of much uneasiness to him. Not that
this matter is quite certain either; for Worcester might have, by this
time, completely involved his father's estate. It had indeed been his
wish to do this, but that I laboured to prevent him, and he is now only
a few thousands in debt, owing to the very small allowance his father
makes him. I have never done the duke or his family any real injury,
and I never will; nay, I should like to prove myself anxious for their
happiness, only their all being so severe upon me, and so very abusive,
is such a damper. I will make the Duke of Beaufort like me, and regret
his former severity," continued I, opening my writing desk, and after
five minutes more deliberation, I addressed a letter to His Grace of
Beaufort, as nearly as I can recollect in these words.
"Your Grace has been very severe on me and my errors; but, if
you imagine they are of a nature to destroy your domestic comfort,
I can easily forgive all the very harsh expressions which yourself
as well as Her Grace, in letters I have seen of her own writing,
made use of on my subject. I will venture to remind Your Grace
that I was very far from seeking the acquaintance of your son. In
short, but for such perseverance as I have seldom witnessed, I
had never placed myself under his protection. I knew not that in
doing so I was likely to destroy the peace of any human being. In
short, if I had not respected yours, I had long since become your
daughter-in-law. Having now inspired Lord Worcester with a very
strong affection, something is surely due to him from gratitude,
neither would my conscience acquit me if, out of respect for the
parent I never saw, I were to act with inhumanity towards the son
who would sacrifice all for me. I have pledged myself solemnly
not to desert him at present; but what I can do, in perfect good
faith to Worcester, I am very anxious to perform for the relief
of his noble father's mind. I will not sell the proofs of respect
and affection which have been generously tendered to me; but as
I conceive they cannot be put to better account than that of
relieving the anxiety of a father's mind, I have the greatest
pleasure in forwarding them to your Grace, and am ready to take any
oath that you may require, as to my now having enclosed you the
whole of Lord Worcester's correspondence in my possession or power.
All I ask, in return, is to be considered by your Grace, with
something less of ill-will, and that, for for your own sake, as
well as that of the duchess, you will feel some confidence in the
goodness of my heart, and in the sincere wish I do in truth feel,
that your son may turn out all and everything you can desire.
"Only point out what I can do more, for the tranquillity of
Lord Worcester's parents, which shall not become a breach of faith
and humanity towards himself, and I declare to your Grace that you
shall never see me hesitate from anything like a selfish motive. I
have the honour to remain, with sincere wishes for the happiness of
Lord Worcester's parents,
"Your Grace's most obedient,
"and very humble servant,
"HARRIETTE WILSON."
His Grace of Beaufort never in any way condescended to acknowledge the
receipt of this letter, which I carried myself and left with his porter
in Grosvenor Square; yet the Beauforts were ever a high-bred race! But
I conclude high-bred and well-bred must be two things, for it never
could be well-bred of His Grace to refuse to acknowledge the above, to
say nothing of the extreme selfishness and want of feeling of the noble
duke, who, having obtained what he wished for the present, returned to
Badminton, to which place he insisted on Worcester again accompanying
him.
During another month, Worcester declared to me that his parents,
relatives, and his father's friends, persecuted and tormented him
beyond his patience; and that young Meyler had begged him to leave
me, as though he had been begging for his life, humbly entreating him
to forgive the liberty he took with him, which alone arose out of his
brotherly affection and respect for the duchess, &c.
Worcester generally contrived to get over to London every two or three
days, though but for a few hours; and, when that was impossible, I went
to meet him at a village ten miles on this side of Brighton.
One morning I received a letter from Worcester, so blotted over from one
end to the other, that it was scarcely legible, and some parts appeared
actually to have been defaced by tears. Such an incoherent scrawl I
never had known him nor anybody else write before! It was all over wives
and angels, and eternal constancy, and eternal despair; with miseries
and tortures without end. In short, it was out of all compass miserable,
and out of all rules, or direct right angles, or parallel lines. All
I could make out of this scrawl, as certain, was that Wellington, at
the request of Worcester's father, who had made it without his son's
knowledge, had appointed him his aide-de-camp, and that go he must; for
there was no remedy, or it would be called cowardice if he hesitated.
Nevertheless, he had sworn not to leave London unless he had been
allowed to pass a whole fortnight entirely with me. This had been
granted, and I was to expect him in two days after the receipt of his
letter, which ended with earnest entreaties that I would promise to
accompany him to the continent, and, lastly, his lordship informed me,
that his father would arrive in London on the same morning with his
letter, for the express purpose of attending a _levée,_ and demanding a
private audience of his present majesty, to beg permission for Worcester
to leave his regiment and join the Duke of Wellington in Spain.
I knew not nor had ever suspected how much Worcester's loss would affect
me until there was no remedy and my case desperate, for well I knew that
I should never be permitted to follow up the army in Spain, even had I
been disposed to make the attempt. I burst into a violent flood of tears.
It now struck me very forcibly that Worcester had deserved all my
devoted attachment, and that I had not been half grateful enough to him.
That he would lose his life in Spain I felt convinced, and that, since
his regiment remained in England, I should have his blood on my head.
What was to be done? My crimson velvet pelisse, trimmed with white fur,
and also my white beaver hat, with the charming plume of feathers, were
spread out in my dressing-room ready for Hyde Park, and conquests. And
poor Worcester perhaps might soon be numbered with the dead, food for
worms!
After a second flood of tears, on went the red pelisse and charming
white hat, and in half an hour behold me standing at the Duke of
Beaufort's street-door, awaiting the answer to my humble, single rap,
with a little note in my hand, containing these few words, addressed to
the duke.
"I earnestly entreat your Grace to permit me to speak a few
words to you before you attend the _levée_ this morning.
"Your most obedient, humble servant,
"HARRIETTE WILSON."
When his Grace's huge, fat porter opened the door I made a desperate
effort to conceal my tears, which had been flowing in abundance ever
since I had read poor Worcester's letter, just as if I had received his
dying speech; and I delivered my little note, requesting to be allowed
to wait for the duke's answer. The porter looked on me suspiciously: he
seemed to be considering His Grace of Beaufort's moral character, as
his eye glanced from my face downward, as though it had struck him as
just possible that I might have come thus unattended, for the purpose of
swearing a child against his noble master.
"Are you quite certain that it is the Duke himself you want to see, and
not the young marquis?"
I assured him that I wished much either to see the duke, or to receive
an answer to my note.
As the man again looked under my large beaver bonnet, I felt the tears
gush into my eyes.
"His Grace shall have the note directly," said the porter, in a tone of
compassion, observing how I was trembling, as I really half expected the
Duke of Beaufort would order one or two of his tall footmen to put me on
the other side of the door. I saw the porter give my note to a servant
in livery, desiring him to take it to His Grace's valet.
"The duke," said the porter, turning to me, "is dressing for the
_levée_; so you had better take a seat."
I did so, and, while I was almost choked with the efforts my pride
caused me to make in order to conceal my tears from a parcel of curious,
impudent servants, who for near twenty minutes, that I was suffered to
remain in the hall, were eyeing me with very impertinent curiosity, the
kind porter again addressed me, almost in a whisper, with, "Ma'am, your
note has been put into His Grace's own hands, and he is reading on it;
so I dare say he will ring his bell, and we shall hear if there is any
answer for you."
I waited another quarter of an hour in a very miserable state of
suspense, and in real, bodily fear of being kicked out of the house.
At last, as I sat with my handkerchief to my eyes and my face turned
towards the ground, I heard some one, in a mild gentlemanlike voice
call from the bottom of the stairs, to inquire if the person was
waiting who had brought the last note? I raised my head, and seeing a
handsome-looking man in a court dress, who appeared to be a very little
older than Worcester, I grew brave, as I always do from desperation,
conceiving everything was now lost, and that the duke had descended from
his usual dignity for the purpose of seeing justice done to the orders
he was about to issue for my being kicked into the street.
"Did you bring this note, pray?" asked the duke, addressing me, since
his first question had not, it seemed, reached the dull ear of the fat
porter.
"I did, your Grace," answered I, firmly.
"Then do me the favour to walk this way," continued the duke, opening
the parlour-door, and closing it after him.
"What can he be going to do to me?" thought I, and trembled from head to
foot.
"My bell was broken," said His Grace, "and, for the last ten minutes,
before I came down, I could not make any one hear: but I assure you that
I had no idea that you yourself were waiting in my hall. I conceived it
was your messenger."
The least sound of kindness to one already so very low and nervous is
enough to affect one. The tears I had made such efforts to conceal
from the servants, would be restrained no longer and I was not, like
the duchess on a former occasion, almost hysterical, but quite so; and
the more I laboured and prayed for calm, the more impossible it was to
obtain it; so, as I stood sobbing aloud, in the middle of the duke's
large dining-room, with my handkerchief held to my eyes, the Duke of
Beaufort and myself really cut two very pretty figures! and I much wish
Stockdale would get a print of it!
"I am not aware of your motive, Miss Wilson, for favouring me with this
visit," said the duke.
And, as I attempted to apologise, my tears fell still faster and faster,
till they quite choked my voice.
The duke seeing that mine was real agitation and not affectation,
condescended to unbend a little.
"Sit down," said His Grace, drawing an easy chair towards me. "I beg
you will sit down and compose yourself, and don't think it necessary to
speak till you are more calm. I hope you believe that I felt very much
shocked that you should have waited in my hall? Upon my honour, I had
not a conception of finding you there when I went downstairs, because I
could not make anybody hear."
At length I succeeded in recovering myself, so far as to state to His
Grace that, on the receipt of Lord Worcester's letter, I had felt so
very much shocked at the idea of being the sole cause of his lordship
being sent into danger, while his regiment remained quietly in England,
that really I found it impossible to resist making an effort to prevent
it, by proposing to His Grace to do all in my power to induce Lord
Worcester to consent to our separation; and even if I failed, rather to
agree to go abroad myself and keep my residence a secret from his son,
than that he should for my sake be exposed to danger.
The duke declared that even had he been inclined to comply with my
request, and he honestly confessed he was not, it was now too late; "and
really Miss Wilson," continued His Grace, "it was from the first folly
and madness in you, ever to have fancied Worcester could or would have
made you his wife."
"Your Grace still believes me desirous of the honour I might obtain by
forcing myself on you as your despised relative?" said I, indignation
drying up my tears at the idea of being misunderstood, "and further you
imagine that if I wished and would consent to marry your son I should
fail to accomplish my designs?"
"Certainly," answered His Grace, proudly.
"Duke!" said I, fixing my eyes mildly but firmly, on his face, "you
neither deceive me nor yourself by that assertion, for you know the
contrary. I am"--and I felt my heart swell with something between grief
and indignation--"I am," I continued, "naturally good, but you will,
among you, harden my heart till it becomes cold and vicious. Since
nothing generous, and no sacrifice on my part, is understood or felt,
even when I would serve others, and while I only think of them you will
not, or you cannot understand me. Allow me, then, to tell you, the fault
is in your own character; I will not say in your heart but in your want
of heart."
The duke being of gentlemanly manners, to give everybody their due,
sought to appease matters a little.
"I did not mean to hurt your feelings, I assure you," said His Grace,
"perhaps I expressed myself improperly. I only wanted to observe to you
that such unequal marriages are seldom if ever attended with happiness
to either party, as witness Lord Egremont, and several more I could
name."
"Do not trouble yourself, duke, since I am, and I always was determined
not to marry your son; upon my word, I am; and, if you again give
me the lie, or speak to me as though you entirely disbelieved this
positive assurance which has been repeated to your son so often, while
on his knees he has implored me to become his wife, I shall say you do
so because I am a woman, and cannot call you to account for it. Your
Grace would use more ceremony with a man; but my object for the great
presumption of thus intruding on you was the hope of being able to
suggest some plan, which would render it unnecessary for Lord Worcester
to join the Duke of Wellington's staff. You have answered me on that
subject, and I have now the honour to take my leave of your grace."
"Not yet," said the duke. "Pray stay till you are more tranquil. Shall I
get you a glass of water?"
I declared it was unnecessary; but he insisted on my waiting, while he
himself went into his dressing-room to procure one.
"Now I hope you are quite convinced that your being left in my hall was
contrary to my knowledge, and gives me real concern?" said the duke,
after I had swallowed the glass of water he presented to me.
I bowed in acknowledgment of this apology, "I have spoken to Lord
Worcester's father for the first, and in all human probability for
the last time in my life," said I, feelingly; because I really for
Worcester's sake felt a regard and respect towards his father at that
time.
"And if it should happen so?" inquired the Duke of Beaufort.
"Will your Grace shake hands with me?" said I timidly, and without
presuming to offer my hand.
"With great pleasure," answered the duke, and, after shaking hands
rather cordially, he himself conducted me into the hall, and called
loudly to the porter to attend and open the door for me.