CHAPTER XV.
HOW NANCY HAD A QUICK TONGUE.
This was at once a sad and yet most joyful confession. For while thegirl who read it was full of shame and terror in thinking of hisrighteous wrath and loathing, yet the tender love which filled thepages and fired her soul with wonder and rejoicing forbade her tobelieve that love was not stronger than wrath. She was so ignorant andinexperienced, the girl who joined in this treacherous deed; she wasso dominated by the will of that masterful man, her uncle; she wasso taken by surprise--surely, when he learned these things, he wouldforgive the past.
But should she tell him at once?
It would be better to tell him than that he should find it out. Therewere many ways in which he could find it out. Oh, the shame of beingfound out, the meanness of taking all his secrets and giving none!Roger, the Doctor's man, might for a bribe, were the bribe heavyenough to outweigh his fear of the Doctor, tell the name of the bride;the Doctor might think the time had come when he should step forwardand reveal the secret; even there was danger that his lordship mightremember the name which he had seen but once, and ask me sternly ifthere were upon the earth two Kitty Pleydells, of the same age, thesame height, and the same face. And what should I say then?
Stimulated by this thought, as by the touch of a sharp spur, I procuredan inkstand and paper, and began to write a letter of confession.
"MY LORD,"
What to say next?
"MY LORD,"
In what words to clothe a most shameful story?
We cheat ourselves; we do one thing and call it another; we stop thevoice of conscience by misrepresenting our actions; and whereas weought to be weighed down by the burden of our sins, we carry ourselvesconfidently, with light hearts, as if we had done nothing to be ashamedof. It is only when our crimes are set forth in plain English that weknow them for the shameful things they are. What was I to tell my lord?
A girl, brought up in the fear of God and His commandments, can be soweak as to obey a man who ordered her to do a wicked thing. Could shebe, afterwards, so cowardly as not to tell the man whom she had thusinjured, even when she knew that he loved her? A wicked crime and acourse of deceit! How could I frame the words so as to disarm thatrighteous wrath!
"MY LORD,--It has been for a long time upon my conscience to tell you a thing which you ought to know before you waste one more thought upon the unworthy person to whom you addressed a confession. That confession, indeed, depicted your lordship with such fidelity as to make me the more ashamed to unburden my conscience. Know, then, that----"
Here I stopped, with trembling fingers, which refused to move.
"Know that"--what? That I was his wicked and unworthy wife, thecreature whom most of all he must hate and despise.
I could not tell him--not then. No; it must be told by word of mouth,with such extenuating phrases and softening of details as might presentthemselves to my troubled mind.
I tore the letter into a thousand fragments. Was girl ever so bested?That sacred bond of union which brings happy lovers together, the crownof courtship, the end of wooing, the marriage service itself, was thething which kept us asunder.
I would tell him--later on. There would come an opportunity. I wouldmake the opportunity, somewhere, at some time. Yes; the best way wouldbe to wait till we were alone; and it should be in the evening, when myface and his would be partly veiled by the night; then I could whisperthe story, and ask his forgiveness.
But that opportunity never came, as will be presently seen.
After morning prayers, that day, we walked upon the Terrace, wherethe company were, as usual, assembled, and all talking together belowthe trees. I held in my hand the manuscript of my lord's confession.Presently we saw him slowly advancing to meet us, wearing a grave andmelancholy look. But then he was never one of those who think that theduties of life are to be met with a reckless laugh.
"Even in laughter," said the Wise Man, "the heart is sorrowful: and theend of that mirth is heaviness."
"Dear Miss Pleydell," whispered Peggy Baker, as he appeared, "can hislordship have repented already of what he said beneath the trees lastnight? The poor young gentleman wears a heavy countenance this morning."
It was best to make no answer to this raillery. Let her say what shewould; I cared nothing, and was too heavy myself to made reply. I wouldneither help nor hinder. Then, leaving Mrs. Esther with the party, Iadvanced boldly and met my lord, returning him his manuscripts beforethe eyes of all.
Everybody stared, wondering what could be in the packet I placed in hishands; he, however, received it with a low bow, and accompanied me tomy party, saying nothing for the moment.
The music was playing its loudest, and as we walked, my lord beside me,and Mrs. Esther with Lady Levett--Nancy remaining behind to exchangeinsinuations and pert speeches (in which the saucy damsel took greatdelight) with Peggy Baker. I looked back and saw their heads wagging,while the bystanders smiled, and presently Peggy fanned herself, withagitation in her face, by which it was easy to conclude that Nancy hadsaid something more than usually biting, to which her opponent had, forthe moment, no reply ready.
"You have read these papers?" asked my lord, and that in as careless atone as if they contained nothing of importance.
"Yes," I said, "I have read the sad story. But I pity the poor womanwho was persuaded to do your lordship this grievous wrong."
"I think she needs and deserves little of our pity," he replied. "Andas for persuasion, it could have wanted but little with a woman sodesigning as to join in such a plot."
A designing woman! Poor Kitty!
Then I tried, beating about the bush, to bring his mind round to seethe possibility of a more charitable view.
"Remember, my lord, two things. This Doctor Shovel could not haveknown of your coming. The plot, therefore, was swiftly conceived, andas quickly carried into execution. You have told me in your paper--Ientreat you, my lord, burn it with all speed--that this man's influenceover you was so great as to coerce you (because your brain was notin its natural clearness) into doing and suffering what, at ordinarytimes, you would have rejected with scorn. Bethink you, then, withcharity, that this Doctor Shovel, this so-called Chaplain of the Fleet,may have found some poor girl, over whom he had authority, and in likemanner coerced and forced her to join with him in this most wickedplot."
"You would make excuses," he said, "for the greatest of sinners. Idoubt not that. But this story is too improbable. I cannot think thatany woman could be so coerced against her will."
I sighed.
"My lord, I beg you to remember your promise to me. You will not leaveEpsom without first telling me: you will not seek out this man, thisDoctor Shovel, or quarrel with him, or do aught to increase his malice.Meantime, I am feeble, being only a woman, and bound in obedience andduty to my guardian and protectress. Yet I bethink me of an old fable.The lion was one day caught in the coils of a net, and released by theteeth of a----"
He started.
"What does this mean! O Kitty! what can you do?"
"I do not know. Yet, perhaps I may be able to release you from thecoils of this net. Have patience, my lord."
"Kitty!"
"Let us speak no more about it for the moment," I replied. "Perhaps, mylord, if my inquiries lead to the result you desire--it is Christian toforgive your enemies----"
"I cannot understand you," he replied. "How should you--how should anyone--release me? Truly, if deliverance came, forgiveness were a smallthing to give."
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