CHAPTER XXXIX. Harry to the Rescue
"My dear Lord March" (wrote Mr. Warrington from Tunbridge Wells, onSaturday morning, the 25th August, 1756): "This is to inform you (withsatisfaction) that I have one all our three betts. I was at Bromley twominutes within the hour; my new horses kep a-going at a capital rate. Idrove them myself, having the postilion by me to show me the way, andmy black man inside with Mrs. Betty. Hope they found the drive verypleasant. We were not stopped on Blackheath, though two fellows onhorseback rode up to us, but not liking the looks of our countenantses,rode off again; and we got into Tunbridge Wells (where I transacted mybusiness) at forty-five minutes after eleven. This makes me quitts withyour lordship after yesterday's piquet, which I shall be very happy togive your revenge, and am--Your most obliged, faithful servant, H. ESMOND WARRINGTON."
And now, perhaps, the reader will understand by what means Lady MariaEsmond was enabled to surprise her dear aunt in her bed on Saturdaymorning, and walk out of the house of captivity. Having despatched Mrs.Betty to London, she scarcely expected that her emissary would returnon the day of her departure; and she and the chaplain were playing theircards at midnight, after a small refection which the bailiff's wifehad provided for them, when the rapid whirling of wheels was heardapproaching their house, and caused the lady to lay her trumps down,and her heart to beat with more than ordinary emotion. Whirr came thewheels--the carriage stopped at the very door: there was a parley at thegate: then appeared Mrs. Betty, with a face radiant with joy, though hereyes were full of tears; and next, who is that tall young gentleman whoenters? Can any of my readers guess? Will they be very angry if I saythat the chaplain slapped down his cards with a huzzay, whilst LadyMaria, turning as white as a sheet, rose up from her chair, totteredforward a step or two, and, with an hysterical shriek, flung herself inher cousin's arms? How many kisses did he give her? If they were mille,deinde centum, dein mille altera, dein secunda centum, and so on, I amnot going to cry out. He had come to rescue her. She knew he would; hewas her champion, her preserver from bondage and ignominy. She wept agenuine flood of tears upon his shoulder, and as she reclines there,giving way to a hearty emotion, I protest I think she looks handsomerthan she has looked during the whole course of this history. She did notfaint this time; she went home, leaning lovingly on her cousin's arm,and may have had one or two hysterical outbreaks in the night; butMadame Bernstein slept soundly, and did not hear her.
"You are both free to go home," were the first words Harry said. "Getmy lady's hat and cardinal, Betty, and, Chaplain, we'll smoke a pipetogether at our lodgings, it will refresh me after my ride." Thechaplain, who, too, had a great deal of available sensibility, was verymuch overcome; he burst into tears as he seized Harry's hand, andkissed it, and prayed God to bless his dear, generous, young patron. Mr.Warrington felt a glow of pleasure thrill through his frame. It is goodto be able to help the suffering and the poor; it is good to be ableto turn sorrow into joy. Not a little proud and elated was our youngchampion, as, with his hat cocked, he marched by the side of his rescuedprincess. His feelings came out to meet him, as it were, and beautifulhappinesses with kind eyes and smiles danced before him, and clad him ina robe of honour, and scattered flowers on his path, and blew trumpetsand shawms of sweet gratulation, calling, "Here comes the conqueror!Make way for the champion!" And so they led him up to the king's house,and seated him in the hall of complacency, upon the cushions of comfort.And yet it was not much he had done. Only a kindness. He had but to puthis hand in his pocket, and with an easy talisman, drive off the dragonwhich kept the gate, and cause the tyrant to lay down his axe, who hadgot Lady Maria in execution. Never mind if his vanity is puffed up; heis very good-natured; he has rescued two unfortunate people, and pumpedtears of goodwill and happiness out of their eyes:--and if he brags alittle to-night, and swaggers somewhat to the chaplain, and talks aboutLondon, and Lord March, and White's, and Almack's, with the air of amacaroni, I don't think we need like him much the less.
Sampson continued to be prodigiously affected. This man had a naturemost easily worked upon, and extraordinarily quick to receive painand pleasure, to tears, gratitude, laughter, hatred, liking. In hispreaching profession he had educated and trained his sensibilities sothat they were of great use to him; he was for the moment what he acted.He wept quite genuine tears, finding that he could produce them freely.He loved you whilst he was with you; he had a real pang of grief as hemingled his sorrow with the widow or orphan; and, meeting Jack as hecame out of the door, went to the tavern opposite, and laughed androared over the bottle. He gave money very readily, but never repaidwhen he borrowed. He was on this night in a rapture of gratitude andflattery towards Harry Warrington. In all London, perhaps, the unluckyFortunate Youth could not have found a more dangerous companion.
To-night he was in his grateful mood, and full of enthusiasm for thebenefactor who had released him from durance. With each bumper hisadmiration grew stronger. He exalted Harry as the best and noblest ofmen, and the complacent young simpleton, as we have said, was disposedto take these praises as very well deserved. "The younger branch of ourfamily," said Mr. Harry, with a superb air, "have treated you scurvily;but, by Jove, Sampson my boy, I'll stand by you!" At a certain period ofBurgundian excitement Mr. Warrington was always very eloquent respectingthe splendour of his family. "I am very glad I was enabled to help youin your strait. Count on me whenever you want me, Sampson. Did you notsay you had a sister at boarding-school? You will want money for her,sir. Here is a little bill which may help to pay her schooling." And theliberal young fellow passed a bank-note across to the chaplain.
Again the man was affected to tears. Harry's generosity smote him.
"Mr. Warrington," he said, putting the bank-note a short distance fromhim, "I--I don't deserve your kindness--by George, I don't!" and heswore an oath to corroborate his passionate assertion.
"Psha!" says Harry. "I have plenty more of 'em. There was no money inthat confounded pocket-book which I lost last week."
"No, sir. There was no money!" says Mr. Sampson, dropping his head.
"Hallo! How do you know, Mr. Chaplain?" asks the young gentleman.
"I know because I am a villain, sir. I am not worthy of your kindness.I told you so. I found the book, sir, that night, when you had too muchwine at Barbeau's."
"And read the letters?" asked Mr. Warrington, starting up and turningvery red.
"They told me nothing I did not know, sir," said the chaplain "You havehad spies about you whom you little suspect--from whom you are much tooyoung and simple to be able to keep your secret."
"Are those stories about Lady Fanny, and my cousin Will and his doings,true then?" inquired Harry.
"Yes, they are true," sighed the chaplain. "The house of Castlewood hasnot been fortunate, sir, since your honour's branch, the elder branch,left it."
"Sir, you don't dare for to breathe a word against my Lady Maria?" Harrycried out.
"Oh, not for worlds!" says Mr. Sampson, with a queer look at his youngfriend. "I may think she is too old for your honour, and that 'tis apity you should not have a wife better suited to your age, thoughI admit she looks very young for hers, and hath every virtue andaccomplishment."
"She is too old, Sampson, I know she is," says Mr. Warrington, with muchmajesty; "but she has my word, and you see, sir, how fond she is ofme. Go bring me the letters, sir, which you found, and let me try andforgive you for having seized upon them."
"My benefactor, let me try and forgive myself!" cries Mr. Sampson, anddeparted towards his chamber, leaving his young patron alone over hiswine.
Sampson returned presently, looking very pale. "What has happened, sir?"says Harry, with an imperious air.
The chaplain held out a pocket-book. "With your name in it, sir," hesaid.
"My brother's name in it," says Harry; "it was George who gave it tome."
"I kept it in a locked chest, sir, in which I left it this morningbefore I was taken by thos
e people. Here is the book, sir, but theletters are gone. My trunk and valise have also been tampered with. AndI am a miserable, guilty man, unable to make you the restitution whichI owe you." Sampson looked the picture of woe as he uttered thesesentiments. He clasped his hands together, and almost knelt before Harryin an attitude the most pathetic.
Who had been in the rooms in Mr. Sampson's and Mr. Warrington's absence?The landlady was ready to go on her knees, and declare that nobodyhad come in: nor, indeed, was Mr. Warrington's chamber in the leastdisturbed, nor anything abstracted from Mr. Sampson's scanty wardrobeand possessions, except those papers of which he deplored the absence.
Whose interest was it to seize them? Lady Maria's? The poor womanhad been a prisoner all day, and during the time when the capture waseffected.
She certainly was guiltless of the rape of the letters. The suddenseizure of the two--Case, the house-steward's secret journey toLondon,--Case, who knew the shoemaker at whose house Sampson lodged inLondon, and all the secret affairs of the Esmond family,--these points,considered together and separately, might make Mr. Sampson think thatthe Baroness Bernstein was at the bottom of this mischief. But whyarrest Lady Maria? The chaplain knew nothing as yet about that letterwhich her ladyship had lost; for poor Maria had not thought it necessaryto confide her secret to him.
As for the pocket-book and its contents, Mr. Harry was so swollen upwith self-satisfaction that evening, at winning his three bets, atrescuing his two friends, at the capital premature cold supper ofpartridges and ancient Burgundy which obsequious Monsieur Barbeau hadsent over to the young gentleman's lodgings, that he accepted Sampson'svows of contrition, and solemn promises of future fidelity, and reachedhis gracious hand to the chaplain, and condoned his offence. When thelatter swore his great gods, that henceforth he would be Harry's truest,humblest friend and follower, and at any moment would be ready to diefor Mr. Warrington, Harry said, majestically, "I think, Sampson, youwould; I hope you would. My family--the Esmond family--has always beenaccustomed to have faithful friends round about 'em--and to reward 'emtoo. The wine's with you, Chaplain. What toast do you call, sir?"
"I call a blessing on the house of Esmond-Warrington!" cries thechaplain, with real tears in his eyes.
"We are the elder branch, sir. My grandfather was the Marquis ofEsmond," says Mr. Harry, in a voice noble but somewhat indistinct."Here's to you, Chaplain--and I forgive you, sir--and God bless you,sir--and if you had been took for three times as much, I'd have paidit. Why, what's that I see through the shutters? I am blest if the sunhasn't risen again! We have no need of candles to go to bed, ha, ha!"And once more extending his blessing to his chaplain, the young fellowwent off to sleep.
About noon Madame de Bernstein sent over a servant to say that she wouldbe glad if her nephew would come over and drink a dish of chocolate withher, whereupon our young friend rose and walked to his aunt's lodgings.She remarked, not without pleasure, some alteration in his toilette: inhis brief sojourn in London he had visited a tailor or two, and hadbeen introduced by my Lord March to some of his lordship's purveyors andtradesmen.
Aunt Bernstein called him "my dearest child," and thanked him for hisnoble, his generous behaviour to dear Maria. What a shock that seizurein church had been to her! A still greater shock that she had lost threehundred only on the Wednesday night to Lady Yarmouth, and was quite asec. "Why," said the Baroness, "I had to send Case to London to my agentto get me money to pay--I could not leave Tunbridge in her debt."
"So Case did go to London?" says Mr. Harry.
"Of course he did: the Baroness de Bernstein can't afford to say she iscourt d'argent. Canst thou lend me some, child?"
"I can give your ladyship twenty-two pounds," said Harry, blushing veryred: "I have but forty-four left till I get my Virginian remittances. Ihave bought horses and clothes, and been very extravagant, aunt."
"And rescued your poor relations in distress, you prodigal good boy.No, child, I do not want thy money. I can give thee some. Here is a noteupon my agent for fifty pounds, vaurien! Go and spend it, and be merry!I dare say thy mother will repay me, though she does not love me." Andshe looked quite affectionate, and held out a pretty hand, which theyouth kissed.
"Your mother did not love me, but your mother's father did once. Mind,sir, you always come to me when you have need of me."
When bent on exhibiting them, nothing could exceed Beatrix Bernstein'sgrace or good-humour. "I can't help loving you, child," she continued,"and yet I am so angry with you that I have scarce the patience to speakto you. So you have actually engaged yourself to poor Maria, who isas old as your mother? What will Madam Esmond say? She may live threehundred years, and you will not have wherewithal to support yourselves."
"I have ten thousand pounds from my father, of my own, now my poorbrother is gone," said Harry, "that will go some way."
"Why, the interest will not keep you in card-money."
"We must give up cards," says Harry.
"It is more than Maria is capable of. She will pawn the coat off yourback to play. The rage for it runs in all my brother's family--in metoo, I own it. I warned you. I prayed you not to play with them, andnow a lad of twenty to engage himself to a woman of forty-two!--to writeletters on his knees and signed with his heart's blood (which he spellslike hartshorn), and say that he will marry no other woman than hisadorable cousin, Lady Maria Esmond. Oh! it's cruel--cruel!"
"Great heavens! madam, who showed you my letter?" asked Harry, burningwith a blush again.
"An accident. She fainted when she was taken by those bailiffs. Brettcut her laces for her; and when she was carried off, poor thing, wefound a little sachet on the floor, which I opened, not knowing in theleast what it contained. And in it was Mr. Harry Warrington's preciousletter. And here, sir, is the case."
A pang shot through Harry's heart. "Great heavens! why didn't shedestroy it?" he thought.
"I--I will give it back to Maria," he said, stretching out his hand forthe little locket.
"My dear, I have burned the foolish letter," said the old lady.
"If you choose to betray me I must take the consequence. If you chooseto write another, I cannot help thee. But, in that case, Harry Esmond,I had rather never see thee again. Will you keep my secret? Will youbelieve an old woman who loves you and knows the world better than youdo? I tell you, if you keep that foolish promise, misery and ruin aresurely in store for you. What is a lad like you in the hands of a wilywoman of the world, who makes a toy of you? She has entrapped you into apromise, and your old aunt has cut the strings and set you free. Go backagain! Betray me if you will, Harry."
"I am not angry with you, aunt--I wish I were," said Mr. Warrington,with very great emotion. "I--I shall not repeat what you told me."
"Maria never will, child--mark my words!" cried the old lady, eagerly."She will never own that she has lost that paper. She will tell you thatshe has it."
"But I am sure she--she is very fond of me; you should have seen herlast night," faltered Harry.
"Must I tell more stories against my own flesh and blood?" sobs out theBaroness. "Child, you do not know her past life!"
"And I must not, and I will not!" cries Harry, starting up. "Written orsaid--it does not matter which! But my word is given; they may play withsuch things in England, but we gentlemen of Virginia don't break 'em.If she holds me to my word, she shall have me. If we are miserable, asI dare say we shall be, I'll take a firelock, and go join the King ofPrussia, or let a ball put an end to me."
"I--I have no more to say. Will you be pleased to ring that bell? I--Iwish you a good morning, Mr. Warrington," and dropping a very statelycurtsey, the old lady rose on her tortoiseshell stick, and turnedtowards the door. But, as she made her first step, she put her handto her heart, sank on the sofa again, an shed the first tears that haddropped for long years from Beatrix Esmond's eyes.
Harry was greatly moved, too. He knelt down by her. He seized her coldhand, and kissed it. He told her, in his artless way, how very keenly heha
d felt her love for him, and how, with all his heart, he returned it."Ah, aunt!" said he, "you don't know what a villain I feel myself. Whenyou told me, just now how that paper was burned--oh! I was ashamed tothink how glad I was." He bowed his comely head over her hand. She felthot drops from his eyes raining on it. She had loved this boy. For halfa century past--never, perhaps, in the course of her whole worldlylife, had she felt a sensation so tender and so pure. The hard heart waswounded now, softened, overcome. She put her two hands on his shoulders,and lightly kissed his forehead.
"You will not tell her what I have done, child?" she said.
He declared never! never! And demure Mrs. Brett, entering at hermistress's summons, found the nephew and aunt in this sentimentalattitude.
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