CHAPTER XIV.
HOW MRS. DEBORAH WAS RELEASED.
No one would be interested to read more of my shame and repentance atthat time; nor does it help to tell how the Doctor was asked by myladies if I was subject to any kind of illness for which I might besickening. The reply of the Doctor to them, and his private admonitionsto myself, may be partly passed over; it was true, no doubt, as he saidwhile I trembled before him, that a young girl, ignorant and untaught,would do well to trust her conscience into the spiritual direction ofa regularly-ordained clergyman of the Church of England like himself.As for the marriage, I was to remember that it was done and could notbe undone. He hung round my neck by a black ribbon the diamond ring, mywedding-ring, by which to keep my condition ever before myself; to besure it was not likely that I should forget it, without the glitter andsparkle of the brilliants, which I used to look at night and morning insecret. What did he think of me, this husband of mine, the young manwith the handsome face, the white hands, and the fixed, strange eyes?Did he, night and morning, every day curse his unknown wife?
"Let him curse," said the Doctor. "Words break no bones; curses go homeagain; deeds cannot be undone. Patience, Kitty! before long thou shaltbe confessed by all the world, the Lady Chudleigh. Come, cheer up,child!" he concluded kindly. "As for what is done, it is done. PartlyI did it to clear off an old score, whereof I may perhaps tell thee atanother time, and partly for thy honour and glory. Thy father, Kitty,was proud of his name and family, though he married my sister, thedaughter of a tenant farmer; but never a Pleydell yet has been liftedup so high as thou shalt be: while as to the Shovels, I am myself theonly great man they have yet sent into the world, and they are notlikely to go beyond the Chaplain of the Fleet."
Then he held up his great forefinger, as long and thick as a schoolruler, bent his shaggy eyebrows, and pushed out his lips.
"Remember, child, silence! And go no more moping and sorrowful,because thou shalt soon sit in thine own coach, with the world at thyfeet, singing the praises of the beautiful Lady Chudleigh. Such agirl as my Kitty for Sir Miles Lackington? Why, he hath eyes for thebeauty of a glass of Bordeaux--he hath sense to rejoice over a bowlof punch; but from Helen of Troy or Cleopatra of Egypt he would turnaway for a bottle of port. Or Stallabras, now--should such a creatureas he presume to think of such a woman? Let poets sing of women at adistance--the farther off the better they sing--that is right. Why,child, such curls as thine, such roses of red and white, such browneyes, such lips and cheek and chin, such a figure as thou canst show todazzle the eyes of foolish boys--Lord Chudleigh should go on his kneesbefore me in gratitude and transport. And, believe me, some day hewill."
We are all alike, we women. Call us beautiful, and you please us. Itwas almost the first time that any one had called me beautiful saveSir Miles Lackington when in his cups, or Solomon Stallabras in hispoetic way. Yet every pretty girl knows that she is pretty. There area thousand things to tell her: the whispers of the women, the sidelonglooks of the folk in the streets, the envy of envious girls, the praiseof kindly girls, her glass, the deference paid by men of all classesand all ages to beauty, the warnings of teachers, nurses, governesses,and matrons that beauty is but skin-deep, virtue is better than looks,handsome is as handsome does, 'tis better to be good than pretty,comeliness lasts but a year, while goodness lasts for ever, and soon--all these things make a girl on whom heaven has bestowed this mostexcellent gift of beauty know quite as well as other people what shepossesses, though she knows not yet the power of the gift.
"You are pretty, child," said Mrs. Esther to me on the very same day asthe Doctor. "You will be a beautiful woman."
"Which is no good to a girl in the Rules," said Mrs. Deborah, "butrather a snare and a danger."
"Nay, sister," said Mrs. Esther, "it is a consolation to be beautiful.You, dear, when we were thirty years younger, were beautiful enough tomelt the heart even of the monster Bambridge."
"A beautiful face and person," Mrs. Deborah added with a smile on herpoor face as she thought of the past, "should belong to a good andvirtuous soul. In the better world I have no doubt that the spirits ofthe just will arise in such beauty of face and form as shall be untothemselves and their friends an abiding joy."
Let us think so: when I die it may be a consolation to me that a returnto the beauty of my youth is nigh at hand. I am but a woman, andthere is nothing in the world--except the love of my husband and mychildren--that I think more precious than my past beauty.
Soothed, then, by my uncle's flatteries, comforted by his promises,and terrified by his admonitions, I fell in a very few days into thedreams by which youth beguiles the cares of the present. My husband,Lord Chudleigh, would go his own way and never ask after me; I shouldgo mine as if he did not exist; some time or other we should leave theLiberties of the Fleet, and go to live near Lady Levett and my dearNancy. As for the coronet and the rank, I was too ignorant to thinkmuch about them. They were so high above me, I knew so little whatthey meant, that I no more thought of getting them than of gettingDavid's harp and crown. I waited, therefore, being a wife and yet nowife, married and yet never seen by my husband; sacrificed to the wrathof the Doctor, as that poor Greek maiden in the story told me by myfather, murdered at Aulis to appease the wrath of a goddess.
Two events happened which, between them, quite drove the marriage outof my mind, and for awhile made me forget it altogether.
The first of these was the illness of Mrs. Deborah.
There was fever about the market, as I have said; one of the littlegirls of Mrs. Dunquerque, in our house, was laid down with it. Inautumn there was always fever in the place, caused, my ladies said, bythe chill and fog of the season, by the stench of the vegetables andfruit of the market, and perhaps by the proximity of Newgate, wheregaol fever was always cheating the gallows. One day, therefore, Mrs.Deborah lay down, and said she would rather not get up again any more.She would not eat, nor would she have any medicine except a littletar-water which seemed to do her no good. When she got very ill indeed,she consented to see an apothecary; he prescribed blood-letting, which,contrary to expectation, made her only weaker. Then we went to theold woman who kept a herb shop at the other end of Fleet Lane, andwas more skilful than any physician. She gave us feverfew, camomile,and dandelion, of which we made hot drinks. As the patient grewworse instead of better, she made an infusion of shepherd's-purse,pennycress, and pepperwort, to stimulate the system; she brought atansy-pudding, which poor Mrs. Deborah refused to eat; and when gentianwater failed, the old woman could do no more.
On the fifth day, Mrs. Deborah gave herself up, and contemplated herend in a becoming spirit of cheerfulness. She comforted her sisterwith the hope that she, too, would before long join her in a world"where there is no noise, my dear, no fighting, no profane swearing,no dirt, no confusion, no bawling, no starving, no humiliation. Thereshall we sit in peace and quiet, enjoying the dignity and respect whichwill be no doubt paid to two Christian gentlewomen."
"I might have known it," sighed poor Mrs. Esther in her tears. "Only aweek ago a strange dog howled all night below our window. I should haveknown it for a warning, sent for you, my dear, or me, or for Kitty. Itcannot have been meant for Sir Miles, for the poor gentleman, being inhis cups, would not notice it: nor to Mr. Stallabras, for he sets nostore by such warnings."
"It was for me," said Mrs. Deborah with resignation, while Mrs. Estherwent on recollecting omens.
"Last night I heard the death-watch. Then, indeed, sister, I gave youup."
"It was a message for me," said the sick woman, as if she had beenChristiana in the story.
"And this morning I heard a hen crow in the market--a hen in a basket.Alas! who can have any doubt?"
"It is but six weeks," said Mrs. Deborah, feebly, "since a hearse onits way to a funeral stopped before our door. I remember now, but welittle thought then, what _that_ meant."
"I saw, only a fortnight ago," continued Mrs. Esther, "a winding-sheetin the tallow. I thought it pointed
at Kitty, but would not frightenthe child. Sister, we are but purblind mortals."
Far be it from me to laugh at beliefs which have so deep a root inEnglishwomen's hearts: nor is it incredible to those who believe in thedivine interference, that signs and warnings of death should be sentbeforehand, if only to turn the thoughts heavenward and lead sinners torepent. But this I think, that if poor Mrs. Deborah had not acceptedthese warnings for herself, she might have lived on to a green old age,as did her sister. Being, therefore, convinced in her mind that hertime was come, she was only anxious to make due preparation. She wouldhave been disappointed at getting well, as one who has packed herboxes for a long journey, but is told at the last moment that she mustwait.
As she grew weaker, her brain began to wander. She talked of BagniggeWells, of Cupid's Garden, the entertainments of her father's company,and the childish days when everything was hopeful. While she talked,Mrs. Esther wept and whispered to me--
"She was so pretty and merry! Oh! child, if you could have seen us bothin our young days--if you could have seen my Deborah with her prettysaucy ways; her roguish smile, her ready wit made all to love her! Ah!me--me--those happy days! and now! My dear Deborah, it is well thatthou shouldst go."
This was on the morning of Mrs. Deborah's last day in life. In theafternoon her senses returned to her, and we propped her up, pale andweak, and listened while she spoke words of love and farewell to bekept sacred in the memory of those who had to go on living.
"For thirty years, dear sister," she murmured, while their two thinhands were held in each other's clasp--"for thirty years we have prayeddaily unto the Lord to have pity upon all prisoners and captives,meaning more especially, ourselves. Now, unto me hath He shown thismost excellent mercy, and calleth me away to a much better place thanwe can imagine or deserve. I had thought it would be well if He wouldlead us out of this ward to some place where, in green lanes andfields, we might meditate for a space in quiet before we died. I shouldlike to have heard the song of the lark and seen the daisies. But Godthinks otherwise."
"Oh, sister--sister!" cried Mrs. Esther.
"'There shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neithershall there be any more pain,'" said Mrs. Deborah. "Kitty, child," sheturned her pale face to me, "be kind to my sister."
We wept together. Outside there was the usual tumult of the market--menbuying and selling, with shouts and cries; within, three women weeping,and one dying.
"Go, dear," said she who was dying; "call the Doctor. He hath beenvery generous to us. Tell him I would receive the last offices from hishands."
The Doctor came. He read the appointed service in that deep voice ofhis, which was surely given him for the conversion of the wicked. Thetears streamed down his face as he bent over the bed, saying in thewords of the Epistle appointed--"'My daughter, despise not thou thechastening of the Lord, nor faint when thou art rebuked of Him. Forwhom the Lord loveth He chasteneth; and scourgeth every child whom Hereceiveth.'"
In the evening the poor lady died, being released from her longimprisonment by that Royal Mandate, the Will of God.
We buried her in the green and pleasant churchyard of Islington. It isa sweet spot, far removed from the noise of London; and though her poorremains feel nothing, nor can hear any more the tumult of crowds, it isgood to think that round her are no streets, only the few houses of thevillage. She lies surrounded by fields and trees; the daisies grow overher grave, the lark sings above the church; she is at rest and in peace.
The Chaplain of the Fleet Page 15
