When the usual civilities had been exchanged between the two noblemen, the Earl of Warrington said, “I have called, my lord, upon a matter which, I hope from the knowledge I have of your lordship’s character, will be considered by you as one of importance to the whole nation.”
“The estimate your lordship forms of any business can be no mean guide to my own opinion,” answered the Minister.
“I am not quite aware whether I am acting in accordance with official etiquette, to bring the matter alluded to under the notice of your lordship, or whether it would have been more regular in me to have addressed myself direct to the Postmaster-General or the Prime Minister; but as I have the honour of being better acquainted with your lordship than with any of your colleagues in the administration, I made up my mind to come hither.”
“I shall be most happy to serve your lordship in any way in my power,” said the Minister.
“Then I shall at once come to the point,” continued the Earl of Warrington. “A friend of mine—a lady who resides in London—has corresponded for some months past with a lady living in the state of Castelcicala; and there is every reason to believe that the letters addressed to my friend in London have been opened during the transit.”
“Indeed,” said the Minister, not a muscle of whose countenance moved as he heard this communication. “May I ask what is the nature of the proofs that such is the fact?”
“I believe,” returned the Earl of Warrington, “that the letters have been opened at the English Post-office.”
“The English Post-office!” ejaculated the Minister, with an air of great surprise—whether real or affected, we must leave our readers to determine.
“Yes, my lord—the English Post-office,” said the Earl of Warrington, firmly. “The proofs are these;”—and, extracting the letters from his pocket, he pointed out to the Minister the same appearances which he had ere now explained to Mrs. Arlington.
“On this last letter,” said the Minister, “I perceive the ducal arms of Castelcicala.”
“The present Grand Duchess of that State is the correspondent of Mrs. Arlington, to whom, your lordship may perceive, these letters are addressed.”
“And her Serene Highness is a relative of your lordship, I believe?” observed the Minister inquiringly.
“Which circumstance, united with my friendship for Mrs. Arlington, has determined me to inquire into this matter—nay, to sift it to the very bottom.”
“Your lordship can scarcely suppose that the contents of letters are violated by the sanction of the Post-Master General?” said the Minister, darting a keen glance upon the earl.
“I will not take upon myself to accuse any individual directly,” was the answer.
“Nor is it worth while to scrutinise a matter which will probably terminate in the discovery that the impertinent curiosity of some clerk has led to the evil complained of,” said the Minister.
“No, my lord—this violation of private correspondence has been conducted too systematically to be the work of a clerk surrounded by prying eyes and hurried with the fear of detection every moment. Here are two distinct coats of wax on several of the letters; and yet the impressions of the original seals are retained. Those impressions were not taken by official process in an instant, nor without previous preparation.”
“Then whom does your lordship suspect?” inquired the Minister, with a trifling uneasiness of manner.
“I come to ask your lordship to furnish me with a clue to this mystery, and not to supply one. Were I acquainted with the real truth, I should know what course to pursue.”
“And what course would that be?”
“In the next session of Parliament, I would rise in my place in the House of Lords, and proclaim to the whole nation—nay, to the entire world—the disgraceful fact, that England, the land of vaunted freedom, possesses an institution where the most sacred ties of honour are basely violated and trampled under foot.”
“But suppose, my lord—I only say suppose,” cried the Minister, “that her Majesty’s government should consider it vitally important to English interests to be acquainted with the contents of certain letters,—suppose, I say, my lord, that such were the case,—would you then think it necessary to publish your discovery,—presuming that your lordship has made such discovery,—of that necessary proceeding on the part of her Majesty’s government?”
“I am afraid that your lordship has now afforded me a clue to the mystery which has perplexed me,” said the Earl of Warrington coldly.
“And as a nobleman devoted to your country, your lordship must recognise the imperious necessity of adopting such a course, at times, as the one now made known to you.”
“As a nobleman devoted to my country,” exclaimed the Earl of Warrington proudly, “I abhor and detest all underhand means of obtaining information which serves as a guide for diplomatic intrigue, but which in nowise affects the sterling interests of the state.”
“Your lordship speaks warmly,” said the Minister.
“And were I in my place in Parliament, I should speak more warmly—far more warmly still. I am, however, here in your lordship’s apartment, and the laws of courtesy do not permit me to express my feelings as I elsewhere should do—and as I elsewhere shall do.”
“Your lordship will reflect,” said the Minister, now really alarmed,—“your lordship will reflect—maturely—seriously——”
“It requires no reflection to teach me my duty.”
“But, my dear earl——”
“My lord?”
“The peace of the country frequently depends upon the information which we acquire in this manner.”
“Then had the peace of the country better be occasionally menaced, than that the sacred envelope of a letter should be violated?”
“Your lordship is too severe,” said the Minister.
“No—my lord: I am not, under the circumstances, severe enough. Behold the gross injustice of the system. The law forbids us to transmit sealed letters through any other medium than the Post-office; and yet that very Post-office is made the scene of the violation of those sacred missives. My lord, it is impossible to defend so atrocious a proceeding. Now, my lord, I have spoken as warmly as I feel.”
“Really, my dear earl, you must not permit this little business to go any further. You shall have for your friends every satisfaction they require: their correspondence shall be strictly inviolate in future. And now, my lord,” continued the Minister, with a smile whose deceptive blandness Mr. Greenwood would have envied, “let me request attention to another point. The Premier has placed your lordship’s name on the list of peers who are to be raised to a more elevated rank ere the opening of the next session; and your lordship may exchange your coronet of an earldom against that of a marquisate.”
“Her Majesty’s government,” replied the earl with chilling—freezing hauteur, “would do well to reserve that honour in respect to me, until it may choose to reward me when I shall have performed a duty that I owe my country, and exposed a system to express my full sense of which I dare not now trust my tongue with epithets. Good morning, my lord.”
And the Earl of Warrington walked proudly from the room.
On the following day a cabinet council was held at the Home Office.
CHAPTER XCV.
THE FORGER AND THE ADULTERESS.
IT was evening; and Lady Cecilia Harborough was seated alone in the drawing-room of the house which she and her husband occupied in Tavistock Square.
A cheerful fire blazed in the grate: the lamp upon the table diffused a soft and mellow lustre through the apartment.
Lady Cecilia’s manner was pensive: a deep shade of melancholy overspread her countenance; and at times her lips quivered, and her bosom heaved convulsively.
She was evidently attempting to st
ruggle with feelings of a very painful nature.
“Slighted—neglected—perhaps despised!” she at length murmured. “Oh! what an indignity! To have yielded myself up entirely to that man—and now to be cast aside in this manner! For months past have I observed that his conduct grew more and more cool towards me;—his visits became less frequent;—he made appointments with me and did not keep them;—he remonstrated with me for what he called my extravagance, when I asked him for money! Ah! how I endeavoured to close my eyes to the truth:—I forced myself to put faith in his excuses for absence—I compelled myself to be satisfied with his apologies for not keeping his engagements. Fool that I have been! Had I reproached—wept—stormed—and quarrelled, as other women would have done, he would yet be my slave: but I was too pliant—too easy—too docile—and he has ended by contemning me! I wanted spirit—I was deficient in courage—I practised no artifice. I should have refused him my favours when he was most impassioned; I should have tantalised him—acted with caprice—set a high value upon the pleasures which he enjoyed in my arms. Oh! it is cruel—cruel! I have been the pensioned harlot of that man! He commanded the use of my person as he would that of the lowest prostitute in the street. I was too cheap—too willing—too ready to meet him half way in the dalliance of love! I caught a fine bird—and by leaving his cage open, have allowed him an opportunity to fly away! The indignity is insufferable! For weeks I had not asked him for a shilling—for weeks I had not spoken to him on the subject of money. And now—to-day—when I require a hundred guineas for urgent matters, to be refused! to be denied that paltry sum! Oh! it is monstrous! And not to come himself to explain,—but to send a cool note, expressing a regret that the numerous demands he has had upon him lately render it impossible for him to comply with my request! A worn-out excuse—a wretched apology! And for him, too, who absolutely rolls in riches! I never could have believed it. Even now it appears a dream! Ah! the ungrateful monster! It is true that he has supplied me at times in the most generous manner,—that he redeemed my jewels for me a second time, some months ago, when Rupert played me that vile trick by plundering me during my absence;—but, alas! the jewels have returned to their old place—and who is to redeem them now?”
Lady Cecilia paused, and compressed her lips together.
She felt herself slighted—perhaps for some rival: and whose sufferings are more acute than those of a neglected woman? who experiences mental pangs more poignant?
Lady Cecilia felt herself degraded. She now comprehended that she had been made the instrument of a heartless libertine’s pleasures; and that he coolly thrust her aside when literally satiated with her charms.
This was a most debasing conviction—debasing beyond all others, for a patrician lady!
Never did she seem so little in her own estimation: she felt polluted;—she saw that she had sold herself for gold: she remembered how willingly, how easily she surrendered herself on the first occasion of her criminality; and she despised herself, because she felt that Greenwood despised her also!
She had no virtue—but she had pride.
The highest bidder might enjoy her person, so voluptuous was she by nature—so ready also was she to make any sacrifice to obtain the means of gratifying her extravagance.
Love with her was not a refinement—it was a sensuality.
Still she had her pride—her woman’s pride; for even the most degraded courtesan has that; and it was her pride that was now so deeply wounded.
She knew not what course to pursue.
Should she endeavour to bring Greenwood back to her arms?
Or should she be revenged?
If she resolved upon the former, what wiles was she to adopt—what artifices to employ?
If she decided upon the latter, what point in her neglectful lover was vulnerable—what weapon could she use?
A woman does not like to choose the alternative of vengeance, because such a proceeding implies the absence of all hope and of all power of recalling the faithless one.
And yet what was Lady Cecilia to do? That refusal of the money which she had requested, appeared expressive of Mr. Greenwood’s determination to break off the connexion.
In that case nothing remained to her but vengeance.
Such were her thoughts.
Her reverie was interrupted by the sudden entrance of her husband Sir Rupert Harborough. His face was flushed with drinking—for he had dined, with his friend Chichester, at a tavern; and his cares had forced him to apply with even more than usual liberality to the bottle.
He threw himself into a chair opposite to his wife, and said, “Well, Cecilia, I have got very bad news to tell you.”
“Indeed, Sir Rupert?” she said, in a tone which signified that she also had her annoyances, and would rather not be troubled with his.
“I have, on my honour!” cried the baronet. “In fact, Cecilia, I must find a thousand pounds to-morrow by twelve o’clock.”
Lady Cecilia only laughed ironically.
“You make merry, madam, at my misfortunes,” said Sir Rupert; “but I can assure you that the present is no laughing matter.”
“And I unfortunately have no more diamonds and jewellery for you to rob me of,” returned the lady.
“No, Cecilia—but you are my wife; and the disgrace that falls upon your husband would redound on yourself.”
“Oh! if you be afraid of rusticating in the Queen’s Bench prison for a season, I would advise you to make yourself easy on that head; because—”
“Because what, Cecilia?”
“Because I can assure all your friends and acquaintances that you are merely passing the winter in Paris.”
“Ridiculous!” cried the baronet impatiently.
“Not so ridiculous as you imagine,” returned Lady Cecilia. “You are accustomed, you know, to leave home for weeks and months together.”
“Lady Cecilia, this is no time for either ill-feeling or sarcasm. If we have no love for one another, at least let us sit down and converse calmly upon the urgency of our present situation.”
“Our situation?” ejaculated Cecilia.
“Yes—ours,” repeated the baronet emphatically. “In one word, Cecilia, can you possibly raise a thousand pounds?”
To a person who had not the means of obtaining even the tenth part of that sum, and who had herself been disappointed that very evening in her endeavour to procure a hundred guineas, the question put by the baronet appeared in so ridiculous a light, that—in spite of her own annoyances—Lady Cecilia threw herself back in her chair, and burst into a loud and hearty laugh.
Sir Rupert rose and paced the room in an agitated manner; for he was totally at a loss what course to pursue. His only hope was in his wife; and yet he knew not how to break the fatal news to her.
“My God! Cecilia,” he exclaimed, after a pause, during which he resumed his seat, “you will drive me mad!”
“You have become very sensitive of late, Sir Rupert; and yet I was not aware that you were so weak-minded as to tremble upon the verge of insanity. Certainly your conduct has never led me to suppose that you were over sane.”
“My dear Cecilia, cease this raillery, in the name of every thing sacred,” cried the baronet. “I tell you that ruin hangs over me—ruin of the most fearful nature—ruin in which your own name, as that of my wife, will be compromised—”
“Then tell me at once what you dread, and I will tell you whether I can assist you; for I know perfectly well that you require me to do something.”
“Do not ask me what it is, Cecilia; but say—can you procure from any quarter—from any quarter, mind—a thousand pounds?”
“Absurd! Sir Rupert,” answered the lady. “I have no means of helping myself at this moment—much less of providing so large a sum to supply your extravagance. This is a debt of honour, I presume—
a debt contracted at the gambling table.”
“No—it is far more serious than that, Cecilia; and you must exert yourself. If I do not have that amount by twelve to-morrow, the consequences will be most fatal. I know you can borrow the money for me—you have resources, no matter where or how—I ask no questions—I do not wish to pry into your secrets—”
“You are really very considerate, Sir Rupert. You do not wish to pry into my secrets: but you would not hesitate to pry into my drawers and boxes, if you thought there was any thing in them worth taking.”
And as she uttered these words, a smile of superb contempt curled her vermilion lips.
Sir Rupert was maddened by this behaviour on the part of his wife; and with difficulty could he restrain his feelings of rage and hatred.
“Madam,” he exclaimed, “I ask you to throw aside your raillery, and converse with me—for once—in a serious manner.”
“I am willing to do so, Sir Rupert,” answered Cecilia; “but you really appear to be joking me yourself. You speak in enigmas about the ruin that hangs over you and will involve me,—you refuse to entrust me with more of your secret than is necessary to serve as a preface for your demand;—and that demand is a thousand pounds! A thousand pounds are required in a few hours of a person who has no diamonds to pledge—no friends to apply to—”
“Stay, Cecilia,” cried the baronet. “You cannot be without friends. For a year past you have been well supplied with funds—you have redeemed your diamonds twice—you have satisfied many of our creditors—the servants’ wages and the rent have been regularly paid—”
“And all this has been done without the contribution of one shilling on the part of my husband towards the household expenses,” added Lady Cecilia.
“I am glad you have mentioned that point,” exclaimed Sir Rupert: “it proves that you have friends—that perhaps your father and mother assist you in private,—in a word, that you have some resources. Now what those resources may be, I do not ask you: all I require is assistance—now—within a few hours—before twelve to-morrow.”
The Mysteries of London Volume 1 Page 98
