The idea of Clarence Hervey was so intimately connected with that of his friend, that Miss Portman could seldom separate them in her imagination; and she was just beginning to reflect upon the manner in which Clarence looked, whilst he declared to Sir Philip Baddely, that he would never give up Dr. X —— , when she was startled by the entrance of Marriott.
“Oh, Miss Portman, what shall we do? what shall we do?-My lady! my poor lady!” cried she.
“What is the matter?” said Belinda.
“The horses — the young horses! — Oh, I wish my lady had never seen them. Oh, my lady, my poor lady, what will become of her?”
It was some minutes before Belinda could obtain from Marriott any intelligible account of what had happened.
“All I know, ma’am, is what James has just told me,” said Marriott. “My lady gave the coachman orders upon no account to let Mrs. Luttridge’s carriage get before hers. Mrs. Luttridge’s coachman would not give up the point either. My lady’s horses were young and ill broke, they tell me, and there was no managing of them no ways. The carriages got somehow across one another, and my lady was overturned, and all smashed to atoms. Oh, ma’am,” continued Marriott, “if it had not been for Mr. Hervey, they say, my lady would never have been got out of the crowd alive. He’s bringing her home in his own carriage, God bless him!”
“But is Lady Delacour hurt?” cried Belinda.
“She must, — to be sure, she must, ma’am,” cried Marriott, putting her hand upon her bosom. “But let her be ever so much hurt, my lady will keep it to herself: the footmen swear she did not give a scream, not a single scream; so it’s their opinion she was no ways hurt — but that, I know, can’t be — and, indeed, they are thinking so much about the carriage, that they can’t give one any rational account of any thing; and, as for myself, I’m sure I’m in such a flutter. Lord knows, I advised my lady not to go with the young horses, no later than—”
“Hark!” cried Belinda, “here they are.” She ran down stairs instantly. The first object that she saw was Lady Delacour in convulsions — the street-door was open — the hall was crowded with servants. Belinda made her way through them, and, in a calm voice, requested that Lady Delacour might immediately be brought to her own dressing-room, and that she should there be left to Marriott’s care and hers. Mr. Hervey assisted in carrying Lady Delacour — she came to her senses as they were taking her up stairs. “Set me down, set me down,” she exclaimed: “I am not hurt — I am quite well, — Where’s Marriott? Where’s Miss Portman?”
“Here we are — you shall be carried quite safely — trust to me,” said Belinda, in a firm tone, “and do not struggle.”
Lady Delacour submitted: she was in agonizing pain, but her fortitude was so great that she never uttered a groan. It was the constraint which she had put upon herself, by endeavouring not to scream, which threw her into convulsions. “She is hurt — I am sure she is hurt, though she will not acknowledge it,” cried Clarence Hervey. “My ankle is sprained, that’s all,” said Lady Delacour—”lay me on this sofa, and leave me to Belinda.”
“What’s all this?” cried Lord Delacour, staggering into the room: he was much intoxicated, and in this condition had just come home, as they were carrying Lady Delacour up stairs: he could not be made to understand the truth, but as soon as he heard Clarence Hervey’s voice, he insisted upon going up to his wife’s dressing-room. It was a very unusual thing, but neither Champfort nor any one else could restrain him, the moment that he had formed this idea; he forced his way into the room.
“What’s all this? — Colonel Lawless!” said he, addressing himself to Clarence Hervey, whom, in the confusion of his mind, he mistook for the colonel, the first object of his jealousy. “Colonel Lawless,” cried his lordship, “you are a villain. I always knew it.”
“Softly! — she’s in great pain, my lord,” said Belinda, catching Lord Delacour’s arm, just as he was going to strike Clarence Hervey. She led him to the sofa where Lady Delacour lay, and uncovering her ankle, which was much swelled, showed it to him. His lordship, who was a humane man, was somewhat moved by this appeal to his remaining senses, and he began roaring as loud as he possibly could for arquebusade.
Lady Delacour rested her head upon the back of the sofa, her hands moved with convulsive twitches — she was perfectly silent. Marriott was in a great bustle, running backwards and forwards for she knew not what, and continually repeating, “I wish nobody would come in here but Miss Portman and me. My lady says nobody must come in. Lord bless me! my lord here too!”
“Have you any arquebusade, Marriott? Arquebusade, for your lady, directly!” cried his lordship, following her to the door of the boudoir, where she was going for some drops.
“Oh, my lord, you can’t come in, I assure you, my lord, there’s nothing here, my lord, nothing of the sort,” said Marriott, setting her back against the door. Her terror and embarrassment instantly recalled all the jealous suspicions of Lord Delacour. “Woman!” cried he, “I will see whom you have in this room! — You have some one concealed there, and I will go in.” Then with brutal oaths he dragged Marriott from the door, and snatched the key from her struggling hand.
Lady Delacour started up, and gave a scream of agony. “My lord! — Lord Delacour,” cried Belinda, springing forward, “hear me.”
Lord Delacour stopped short. “Tell me, then,” cried Lord Delacour, “is not a lover of Lady Delacour’s concealed there?” “No! — No! — No!” answered Belinda. “Then a lover of Miss Portman?” said Lord Delacour. “Gad! we have hit it now, I believe.”
“Believe whatever you please, my lord,” said Belinda, hastily, “but give me the key.”
Clarence Hervey drew the key from Lord Delacour’s hand, gave it to Miss Portman without looking at her, and immediately withdrew. Lord Delacour followed him with a sort of drunken laugh; and no one remained in the room but Marriott, Belinda, and Lady Delacour. Marriott was so much fluttered, as she said, that she could do nothing. Miss Portman locked the room door, and began to undress Lady Delacour, who lay motionless. “Are we by ourselves?” said Lady Delacour, opening her eyes.
“Yes — are you much hurt?” said Belinda. “Oh, you are a charming girl!” said Lady Delacour. “Who would have thought you had so much presence of mind and courage — have you the key safe?” “Here it is,” said Belinda, producing it; and she repeated her question, “Are you much hurt?” “I am not in pain now,” said Lady Delacour, “but I have suffered terribly. If I could get rid of all this finery, if you could put me to bed, I could sleep perhaps.”
Whilst Belinda was undressing Lady Delacour, she shrieked several times; but between every interval of pain she repeated, “I shall be better to-morrow.” As soon as she was in bed, she desired Marriott to give her double her usual quantity of laudanum; for that all the inclination which she had felt to sleep was gone, and that she could not endure the shooting pains that she felt in her breast.
“Leave me alone with your lady, Marriott,” said Miss Portman, taking the bottle of laudanum from her trembling hand, “and go to bed; for I am sure you are not able to sit up any longer.”
As she spoke, she took Marriott into the adjoining dressing-room. “Oh, dear Miss Portman,” said Marriott, who was sincerely attached to her lady, and who at this instant forgot all her jealousies, and all her love of power, “I’ll do any thing you ask me; but pray let me stay in the room, though I know I’m quite helpless. It will be too much for you to be here all night by yourself. The convulsions may take my lady. What shrieks she gives every now and then! — and nobody knows what’s the matter but ourselves; and every body in the house is asking me why a surgeon is not sent for, if my lady is so much hurt. Oh, I can’t answer for it to my conscience, to have kept the matter secret so long; for to be sure a physician, if had in time, might have saved my lady — but now nothing can save her!” And here Marriott burst into tears.
“Why don t you give me the laudanum?” cried Lady Delacour, in a loud pere
mptory voice; “Give it to me instantly.”—”No,” said Miss Portman, firmly.—”Hear me, Lady Delacour — you must allow me to judge, for you know that you are not in a condition to judge for yourself, or rather you must allow me to send for a physician, who may judge for us both.”
“A physician!” cried Lady Delacour, “Never — never. I charge you let no physician be sent for. Remember your promise: you cannot betray me — you will not betray me.”
“No,” said Belinda, “of that I have given sufficient proof — but you will betray yourself: it is already known by your servants that you have been hurt by the overturn of your carriage; if you do not let either a surgeon or physician see you it will excite surprise and suspicion. It is not in your power, when violent pain seizes you, to refrain from —— — —”
“It is,” interrupted Lady Delacour; “not another scream shall you hear — only do not, do not, my dear Belinda, send for a physician.”
“You will throw yourself again into convulsions,” said Belinda. “Marriott, you see, has lost all command of herself — I shall not have strength to manage you — perhaps I may lose my presence of mind — I cannot answer for myself — your husband may desire to see you.”
“No danger of that,” said Lady Delacour: “tell him my ankle is sprained — tell him I am bruised all over — tell him any thing you will — he will not trouble himself any more about me — he will forget all that passed to-night by the time he is sober. Oh! give me the laudanum, dearest Belinda, and say no more about physicians.”
It was in vain to reason with Lady Delacour. Belinda attempted to persuade her: “For my sake, dear Lady Delacour,” said she, “let me send for Dr. X —— ; he is a man of honour, your secret will be perfectly safe with him.”
“He will tell it to Clarence Hervey,” said Lady Delacour: “of all men living, I would not send for Dr. X —— ; I will not see him if he comes.”
“Then,” said Belinda, calmly, but with a fixed determination of countenance, “I must leave you to-morrow morning — I must return to Bath.”
“Leave me! remember your promise.”
“Circumstances have occurred, about which I have made no promise,” said Belinda; “I must leave you, unless you will now give me your permission to send for Dr. X —— .”
Lady Delacour hesitated. “You see,” continued Belinda, “that I am in earnest: when I am gone, you will have no friend left; when I am gone, your secret will inevitably be discovered; for without me, Marriott will not have sufficient strength of mind to keep it.”
“Do you think we might trust Dr. X —— ?” said Lady Delacour.
“I am sure you may trust him,” said Belinda, with energy; “I will pledge my life upon his honour.”
“Then send for him, since it must be so,” said Lady Delacour.
No sooner had the words passed Lady Delacour’s lips than Belinda flew to execute her orders. Marriott recovered her senses when she heard that her ladyship had consented to send for a physician; but she declared that she could not conceive how any thing less than the power of magic could have brought her lady to such a determination.
Belinda had scarcely despatched a servant for Dr. X —— , when Lady Delacour repented of the permission she had given, and all that could be said to pacify only irritated her temper. She became delirious; Belinda’s presence of mind never forsook her, she remained quietly beside the bed waiting for the arrival of Dr. X —— , and she absolutely refused admittance to the servants, who, drawn by their lady’s outrageous cries, continually came to her door with offers of assistance.
About four o’clock the doctor arrived, and Miss Portman was relieved from some of her anxiety. He assured her that there was no immediate danger, and he promised that the secret which she had entrusted to him should be faithfully kept. He remained with her some hours, till Lady Delacour became more quiet and fell asleep, exhausted with delirious exertions.—”I think I may now leave you,” said Dr. X —— ; but as he was going through the dressing-room, Belinda stopped him.—”Now that I have time to think of myself,” said she, “let me consult you as my friend: I am not used to act entirely for myself, and I shall be most grateful if you will assist me with your advice. I hate all mysteries, but I feel myself bound in honour to keep the secret with which Lady Delacour has entrusted me. Last night I was so circumstanced, that I could not extricate her ladyship without exposing myself to — to suspicion.”
Miss Portman then related all that had passed about the mysterious door, which Lord Delacour, in his fit of drunken jealousy, had insisted upon breaking open.
“Mr. Hervey,” continued Belinda, “was present when all this happened — he seemed much surprised: I should be sorry that he should remain in an error which might be fatal to my reputation — you know a woman ought not even to be suspected; yet how to remove this suspicion I know not, because I cannot enter into any explanation, without betraying Lady Delacour — she has, I know, a peculiar dread of Mr. Hervey’s discovering the truth.”
“And is it possible,” cried Dr. X —— , “that any woman should be so meanly selfish, as thus to expose the reputation of her friend merely to preserve her own vanity from mortification?”
“Hush — don’t speak so loud,” said Belinda, “you will awaken her; and at present she is certainly more an object of pity than of indignation. — If you will have the goodness to come with me, I will take you by a back staircase up to the mysterious boudoir. I am not too proud to give positive proofs of my speaking truth; the key of that room now lies on Lady Delacour’s bed — it was that which she grasped in her hand during her delirium — she has now let it fall — it opens both the doors of the boudoir — you shall see,” added Miss Portman, with a smile, “that I am not afraid to let you unlock either of them.”
“As a polite man,” said Dr. X —— , “I believe that I should absolutely refuse to take any external evidence of a lady’s truth; but demonstration is unanswerable even by enemies, and I will not sacrifice your interests to the foppery of my politeness — so I am ready to follow you. The curiosity of the servants may have been excited by last night’s disturbance, and I see no method so certain as that which you propose of preventing busy rumour. That goddess (let Ovid say what he pleases) was born and bred in a kitchen, or a servants’ hall. — But,” continued Dr. X —— , “my dear Miss Portman, you will put a stop to a number of charming stories by this prudence of yours — a romance called the Mysterious Boudoir, of nine volumes at least, might be written on this subject, if you would only condescend to act like almost all other heroines, that is to say, without common sense.”
The doctor now followed Belinda, and satisfied himself by ocular demonstration, that this cabinet was the retirement of disease, and not of pleasure.
It was about eight o’clock in the morning when Dr. X —— got home; he found Clarence Hervey waiting for him. Clarence seemed to be in great agitation, though he endeavoured, with all the power which he possessed over himself, to suppress his emotion.
“You have been to see Lady Delacour,” said he, calmly: “is she much hurt? — It was a terrible accident.”
“She has been much hurt,” said Dr. X —— , “and she has been for some hours delirious; but ask me no more questions now, for I am asleep, and must go to bed, unless you have any thing to say that can waken me: you look as if some great misfortune had befallen you; what is the matter?”
“Oh, my dear friend,” said Hervey, taking his hand, “do not jest with me; I am not able to bear your raillery in my present temper — in one word, I fear that Belinda is unworthy of my esteem: I can tell you no more, except that I am more miserable than I thought any woman could make me.”
“You are in a prodigious hurry to be miserable,” said Dr. X —— . “Upon my word I think you would make a mighty pretty hero in a novel; you take things very properly for granted, and, stretched out upon that sofa, you act the distracted lover vastly well — and to complete the matter, you cannot tell me why you are mo
re miserable than ever man or hero was before. I must tell you, then, that you have still more cause for jealousy than you suspect. Ay, start — every jealous man starts at the sound of the word jealousy — a certain symptom this of the disease.”
“You mistake me,” cried Clarence Hervey; “no man is less disposed to jealousy than I am — but — —”
“But your mistress — no, not your mistress, for you have never yet declared to her your attachment — but the lady you admire will not let a drunken man unlock a door, and you immediately suppose—”
“She has mentioned the circumstance to you!” exclaimed Hervey, in a joyful tone: “then she must be innocent.”
“Admirable reasoning! — I was going to have told you just now, if you would have suffered me to speak connectedly, that you have more reason for jealousy than you suspect, for Miss Portman has actually unlocked for me — for me! look at me — the door, the mysterious door — and whilst I live, and whilst she lives, we can neither of us ever tell you the cause of the mystery. All I can tell you is, that no lover is in the case, upon my honour — and now, if you should ever mistake curiosity in your own mind for jealousy, expect no pity from me.”
“I should deserve none,” said Clarence Hervey; “you have made me the happiest of men.”
“The happiest of men! — No, no; keep that superlative exclamation for a future occasion. But now you behave like a reasonable creature, you deserve to hear the praises of your Belinda — I am so much charmed with her, that I wish—”
“When can I see her?” interrupted Hervey; “I’ll go to her this instant.”
“Gently,” said Dr. X —— , “you forget what time of the day it is — you forget that Miss Portman has been up all night — that Lady Delacour is extremely ill — and that this would be the most unseasonable opportunity you could possibly choose for your visit.”
Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth Page 28
