CHAPTER XIII.
HOW DURDANS WAS ILLUMINATED.
While these things were proceeding, Lord Chudleigh being still absentfrom Durdans, I received a second letter from the Doctor.
After the usual compliments to Mrs. Esther, he proceeded to theimportant part of his communication--
"_For your private eye only._
"I have to tell you that yesterday I saw and conversed with Lord Chudleigh. He sought me in order to find out, if possible, the name, character, and condition of a certain person. I refused to grant him that information; I also assured him that he would find it impossible to break the alliance with which I had provided him. This I did with the greater pleasure, having heard from a sure source that he hath lately paid addresses to you of so particular a kind as to make the whole company at Epsom Wells believe that they mean honourable proposals. I presume, therefore, that could he destroy the evidence of his former marriage he would be prepared to offer his hand. This is every way better than I could expect or wish, because when the moment arrives for informing him of the truth, I can point out to his lordship that his opinion and mine of what a wife should be exactly agree. Our triumph will then be complete."
Our triumph! This was what he called it. I was to be the consentingparty to inflict shame and humiliation upon my lord. This was too much.Humiliation for him? Why, it was for myself, and my whole thoughts werehow to save him, how to set him free. The Doctor expected me to triumphover him. Why, what did he know of a woman in love? To triumph over aman for whose dear sake she would lay down her life to save him fromhumiliation!
It was certain to my heart that my lord already felt for me that warmthof affection which impels a man to make a woman his wife. I was sure ofthis. I was so sure that I already gave myself in imagination entirelyto him, and placed his interests above my own.
In short, before I ventured to confess the fact to myself, and beforehe spoke to me--for as yet he had said no word except in compliment andcommon gallantry--I loved him. There was, for me, but one thing wantingto make me happy; there was, for me, nothing to think of, to hope for,to pray for, but the welfare of that one man. And to such a woman didthe Doctor send such a letter, proposing that I should join him incovering him with shame and indignation. Would I thus let him choosethe moment to confess my shameful sin? Would I assist in covering theman I loved with confusion, who would have clothed him in purple andplaced a chain about his neck, and helped him to ride forth in braveryand triumph? Forbid the thought, kind Heaven! Oh, that a man shouldhave such a mind, so thick and cloudy as not to perceive that no womanbut the basest and worst could join a conspiracy so hateful! Unhappygirl, to be made the victim of a plot in which the punishment wouldfall upon herself, while the wickedness would rest with the man whodevised it, and he against whom the plot was designed would be its soleavenger!
I resolved to be beforehand with the Doctor. I would myself choose thetime: I would tell him all: I would assure him that, innocent as I hadbeen in intention, I would never, never seek to assert any rights overhim; that he was free, and could go seek a wife where he pleased. Ah!should he please to go elsewhere, it were better had I never been born.
Then, whatever moment I might choose for the confession, I could thinkof none which could be chosen as favourable to myself. I might writeto him. That would be best; I would write: for how could a girl bearto see that face, which had always looked upon her with kindness andaffection, suddenly grow hard and stern, and reproach her for her greatwickedness with looks of horror and indignation? It seemed better towrite. But, for reasons which will presently appear, that letter wasnever written.
My lord returned. He called upon us next forenoon, and informed us,looking grave and downcast, that he proposed to hold his garden-partyin Durdans Park on the next day. People had come from Vauxhall todecorate the trees, and there would be fireworks, with supper, andconcert of horns.
I asked him, deceitfully, if his business in London had prospered. Hereplied that it had not turned out so favourably as he hoped: and thenhe checked himself and added that, to be sure, his affairs were of nointerest to us.
Said Mrs. Esther--
"Your lordship will not, I hope, believe that anything whichcontributes to your happiness is so indifferent to us."
He bowed, and we began to talk again about his _fete_.
His invitations included all the visitors of respectability at Epsom.Nancy, out of pure kindness, had gone about inquiring of every one ifhe was invited; and, if not, she got him an invitation at once. We didnot, indeed, include the tallow-chandlers and hosiers of London, whofrequented Epsom that year in great numbers, but took up their own endof the Assembly Rooms, and mostly walked on the New Parade. But weincluded all who could claim to belong to the polite world, becausenothing is more humiliating than to be omitted from such a festivity ata watering-place. I have known a lady of fashion retire from Bath inmortification, being forgotten at a public tea, and never again showher face at that modish but giddy town.
The company were to assemble at five o'clock, the place of meetingbeing fixed in that part of Durdans Park most remote from the mansion,where the great trees of birch and elm make such an agreeablewilderness that one might fancy one's self in some vast forest. Wewere escorted by Sir Miles Lackington, who came because all hisbrother gamblers had deserted the card-room for the day; and Mr.Stallabras--Solomon--was dressed in another new coat (of purple), andwore a sword with a surprisingly fine hilt. He also had a pair ofshoe-buckles in gold, given him by his female Maecenas, the widow of thebrewer, in return for a copy of verses. He was greatly elated, neverbefore having received an invitation from a person of such exalted rank.
"Now, indeed," he said, "I feel the full sweetness of fame. This itis, Miss Kitty, to be a poet. His society is eagerly sought by theGreat: he stands serene upon the giddy height of fashion, ennobled bythe Muses (who possess, like our own august sovereign, the right ofconferring rank): he takes his place as an equal among those who areennobled by birth. No longer do I deplore that obscurity of originwhich once seemed to shut me out of the circles of the polite. FetterLane may not be concealed in my biography: it should rather be held upto fame as the place in which the sunshine of Apollo's favour (Apollo,Miss Kitty, was the sun-god as well as the god of poets, which makesthe image appropriate)--the sunshine of Apollo has once rested duringthe birth of an humble child. It was at number forty-one in the secondpair back, a commodious garret, that the child destined to immortalityfirst saw the light. No bees (so far as I can learn) played about hiscradle, nor did any miracles of precocious genius foreshadow his futuregreatness. But, with maternal prescience, his mother named him Solomon."
All this because Nancy made Lord Chudleigh send him an invitation! YetI doubt whether his lordship had ever read one of his poems.
"It is a great blessing for a man to be a poet," said Sir Miles,smiling. "If I were a poet I dare say I should believe that my acreswere my own again. If I were a poet I should believe that luck wouldlast."
"Does the name of Kitty cease to charm?" I asked.
Yes, it was true: Sir Miles had lost his five hundred guineas, wonof the nabob, and was now reduced to punt at a guinea a night. Thishardship made him melancholy.
"Yet," he said, plucking up, "if I cannot play, I can drink. Why, myjolly poet," slapping Solomon on the shoulder, "we will presently toastMiss Kitty as long as his lordship's champagne lasts."
Mrs. Esther said that she saw no reason why, because one vice was nolonger possible, another should take its place.
"Madam," said the baronet, "it is not that I love one more than theother. When the purse is full, Hazard is my only queen. When the purseis empty, I call for the bowl."
In such converse we entered the park, and followed in the procession ofvisitors, who flocked to the place of meeting, where, under the trees,like another Robin Hood, Lord Chudleigh stood to receive his guests.
Kind fortune has taken me to many feasts an
d rejoicings since thatday, but there are none to which my memory more fondly and tenderlyreverts; for here, amid the sweet scent of woodland flowers, underthe umbrageous trees, while the air of the Downs, fragrant and fresh,fanned our cheeks, my lord became my lover, and I knew that he was minefor ever, in that sweet bond of union which shall only be exchangedby death for another of more perfect love, through God's sweet grace.Ah, day of days! whose every moment lives eternally in our hearts!Sometimes I think that there will hereafter be no past at all, but thatthe sinner shall be punished by the ever-present shame of his sins,and the saints rewarded by the continual presence of great and noblethoughts.
Horns were stationed at various parts of the park, and while we dranktea, served to us at rustic tables beneath the trees, these answeredone another in lively or plaintive strains. The tea finished, wedanced to the music of violins, on a natural lawn, as level as abowling-green, which seemed made for the feet of fairies. After an hourof minuets, the country dances began, and were carried on until sunset.Then for a while we roamed beneath the trees, and watched the twilightgrow darker, and presently rose the great yellow harvest moon.
"In such a scene," said Solomon, who was discoursing to a bevy ofladies, "man shrinks from speaking; he is mute: his tongue cleavesto his palate"--at all events, the poet was not mute--"here natureproclaims the handiwork of the Creator." He tapped his foreheadreflectively.
"Great Nature speaks: confused the sceptic flies; Rocks, woods, and stars sing truth to all the skies."
All the while the concert of the horns charmed the ear, while theromantic aspect of the woods by night elevated the soul. When wereturned to our lawn we were delighted and surprised to find colouredlamps hanging from the trees, already lit, imparting a look mostmagical and wonderful, so that we cried aloud for joy. Nor was thisall: the tables were laid for supper with every delicacy that our noblehost could think of or provide.
Everybody was happy that evening. I think that even Peggy Baker forgother jealousies, and forgave me for the moment when Lord Chudleigh gaveas a toast "The Queen of the Wells," and all the gentlemen drained abumper in honour of Kitty Pleydell.
While the supper went on, a choir of voices sang glees and madrigals.Never was party more enchanting: never was an evening more balmy: neverwere guests more pleased or host more careful for them.
After supper more lamps were lit and hung upon the trees: the violinsbegan again, and country dances set in.
Now while I looked on, being more delighted to see than todance--besides, my heart was strangely moved with what I now know wasa presentiment of happiness--Lord Chudleigh joined me, and we began totalk, not indifferently, but, from the first, gravely and seriously.
"You will not dance, Miss Kitty?" he asked.
"No, my lord," I replied; "I would rather watch the scene, which ismore beautiful than anything I have ever dreamed of."
"Come with me," he said, offering me his hand, "to a place moreretired, whence we can see the gaiety, without hearing too much thelaughter."
They should have been happy without laughing: the cries of merrimentconsorted not with the scene around us.
Outside the circle of the lamps the woods were quite dark, but forthe light of the solemn moon. We wandered away from the noise of thedancers, and presently came to a rustic bench beneath a tree, where mylord invited me to rest.
It was not so dark but that I could see his face, which was grave andunlike the face of an eager lover. There was sadness in it and shame,as belongs to one who has a thing to confess. Alas! what ought to havebeen the shame and sadness of my face?
"While they are dancing and laughing," he said, "let us talk seriously,you and I, Miss Kitty."
"Pray go on, my lord," I said, trembling.
He began, not speaking of love, but of general things: of the ambitionwhich is becoming to a man of rank: of the serious charge and duties ofhis life: of the plans which he had formed in his own mind worthily topass through the years allotted to him, and to prepare for the eternitywhich waits us all beyond.
"But," he said sadly, "we wander in the dark, not knowing which way toturn: and if we take a wrong step, whether from inadvertence or design,the fairest plan may be ruined, the most careful schemes destroyed."
"But we have a guide," I said, "and a light."
"We follow not our leader, and we hide the light. Addison hathrepresented life under the image of a bridge, over which men areperpetually passing. But the bridge is set everywhere with hidden holesand pitfalls, so that he who steps into one straightway falls throughand is drowned. We are not always drowned by the pitfalls of life, but,which is as bad, we are maimed and broken, so that for the rest of ourcourse we go halt."
"I pray, my lord," I said, "that you may escape these pitfalls, andpress on with the light before you to the goal of your most honourableambition."
"It is too late," he said sadly. "Miss Kitty, you see in me the mostwretched of mortals, who might, I would sometimes venture to think,have become the most happy."
"You wretched, Lord Chudleigh?"--oh, beating heart!--"you wretched? Ofall men you should be the most happy."
"I have tried," he said, "to escape from the consequences of afolly--nay, a crime. But it is impossible. I am fast bound and tied."He took my hand and held it, while he added: "I may not say what Iwould: I may not even think, or hope, or dream of what might have been."
"Might have been, my lord?"
"Which cannot, now, ever be. Kitty, I thought after I discovered thatit was impossible that I would not return any more to Epsom Wells; inthe country, or away on foreign travel, I might in time forget yourface, your voice, your eyes--the virtues and graces which sit so wellin a form so charming--the elevated soul----"
"My lord! my lord!" I cried, "spare me----Yet," I added, "tell me allthat is in your mind. If I cannot rid you of your burden, at least Imay soothe your sorrow."
"The matter," he replied, "lies in a few words, Kitty. I love you, andI may not ask you to be my wife."
I was silent for a while. He stood before me, his face bent over mine.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because I have been a fool--nay, worse than a fool, a knave; becauseI am tied by bonds which I cannot break: and I am unworthy of so muchgoodness and virtue."
"Oh!" I cried, "you know not. How can you know? I am none of the thingswhich you imagine in me. I am a poor and weak girl; if you knew me youwould surely think so too. I cannot bear that you should think me otherthan what I am."
"Why, my angel, your very modesty and your tears are the proof that youare all I think, and more."
"No," I cried. "If I told you all: if I could lay bare my very soul toyou, I think that you could"--I was going to add, "love me no longer,"but I caught myself up in time--"that you could no longer think of meas better, but rather as worse, than other girls."
"You know," he said, "that I love you, Kitty. You have known that forsome time--have you not?"
"Yes, my lord," I replied humbly; "I have known it, and have felt myown unworthiness. Oh, so unworthy, so unworthy am I that I have wepttears of shame."
"Nay--nay," he said. "It is I who am unworthy. My dear, there isnothing you could tell me which would make me love you less."
I shook my head. There was one thing which I had to tell. Could any manbe found to forgive that?
"I came back here resolved to tell you all. If I could not ask for yourlove, Kitty, I might, at the very least, win your pity."
"What have you to tell me, my lord?"
It was well that the night was so dark that my face could not be seen.Oh, telltale cheeks, aglow with fear and joy!
"What have you to tell me?" I repeated.
"It is a story which I trust to your eyes alone," he said. "I havewritten it down. Before we part to-night I will give it to you.Come"--he took my hand again, but his was cold--"come, we must not staylonger. Let me lead you from this slippery and dangerous place."
"One moment"--I would have lingered there all night to list
en to theaccents of his dear voice. "If you, my lord, have a secret to tell tome, I also have one to tell you."
"Nay," he replied. "I can hear none of your pretty secrets. My peace isalready destroyed. Besides," he added desperately, "when you have readwhat I have written you will see that it would be idle to waste anotherthought upon me."
"I will read it," I said, "to-night. But, my lord, on one promise."
"And that is?"
"That you will not leave Epsom without my knowledge. Let me speak withyou once more after I have read it, if it is only to weep with you andto say farewell."
"I promise."
"And--oh, my lord! if I may say it--since your lordship may not marryme, then I, for your sake, will never marry any other man."
"Kitty!"
"That is my promise, my lord. And perhaps--sometimes--you will give athought to your poor--fond Kitty."
He caught me in his arms and showered kisses upon my cheeks and lips,calling me his angel and a thousand other names, until I gently pushedhim from me and begged him to take me back to the company. He knelt atmy feet and took my hand in his, holding it in silence. I knew that hewas praying for the blessing of Heaven upon my unworthy head.
Then he led me back to the circle of lights, when the first person wemet was Miss Peggy Baker.
"Why, here," she cried, looking sharply from one to the other, "are mylord and Miss Pleydell. Strange that the two people we have most missedshould be found at the same time--and together, which is strangerstill."
Nancy left her swains and ran to greet me.
"My dear," she whispered, "you have been crying. Is all well?"
"I am the happiest woman and the most unhappy in the world," I said. "Iwish I were in my bed alone and crying on my pillow;" and she squeezedmy hand and ran back to her lovers.
My lord himself walked home with us. We left before the party broke up.At parting he placed in my hand a roll of paper.
"Remember," I whispered; "you have promised."
He made no answer, but stooped and kissed my fingers.
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