Interlined in this place, Lady Delacour had written these words: “My daughter is nobly provided for; and lest any doubt or difficulty should arise from the omission, I think it necessary to mention that the said cabinet contains the valuable jewels left to me by my late uncle, and that it is my intention that the said jewels should be part of my bequest to the said Belinda Portman. — If she marry a man of good fortune, she will wear them for my sake: if she do not marry an opulent husband, I hope she will sell the jewels without scruple, as they are intended for her convenience, and not as an ostentatious bequest. It is fit that she should be as independent in her circumstances as she is in her mind.”
Lord Delacour with much emotion looked over this paper, and assured her ladyship that she should be obeyed, if — He could say no more.
“Farewell, then, my lord!” said she: “keep up your spirits, for I intend to live many years yet to try them.”
CHAPTER XXII. — A SPECTRE.
The surgeon who was to attend Lady Delacour was prevented from going to her on the day appointed; he was one of the surgeons of the queen’s household, and his attendance was required at the palace. This delay was extremely irksome to Lady Delacour, who had worked up her courage to the highest point, but who had not prepared herself to endure suspense. She spent nearly a week at Twickenham in this anxious state, and Belinda observed that she every day became more and more thoughtful and reserved. She seemed as if she had some secret subject of meditation, from which she could not bear to be distracted. When Helena was present, she exerted herself to converse in her usual sprightly strain; but as soon as she could escape, as she thought, unobserved, she would shut herself up in her own apartment, and remain there for hours.
“I wish to Heaven, Miss Portman,” said Marriott, coming one morning into her room with a portentous face, “I wish to Heaven, ma’am, that you could any way persuade my lady not to spend so many hours of the day and night as she does in reading those methodistical books that she keeps to herself! — I’m sure that they do her no good, but a great deal of harm, especially now when her spirits should be kept up as much as possible. I am sensible, ma’am, that ’tis those books that have made my lady melancholy of a sudden. Ma’am, my lady has let drop very odd hints within these two or three days, and she speaks in a strange disconnected sort of style, and at times I do not think she is quite right in her head.”
When Belinda questioned Marriott more particularly about the strange hints which her lady had let fall, she with looks of embarrassment and horror declined repeating the words that had been said to her; yet persisted in asserting that Lady Delacour had been very strange for these two or three days. “And I’m sure, ma’am, you’d be shocked if you were to see my lady in a morning, when she wakens, or rather when I first go into the room — for, as to wakening, that’s out of the question. I am certain she does not sleep during the whole night. You’ll find, ma’am, it is as I tell you, those books will quite turn her poor head, and I wish they were burnt. I know the mischief that the same sort of things did to a poor cousin of my own, who was driven melancholy mad by a methodist preacher, and came to an untimely end. Oh, ma’am! if you knew as much as I do, you’d be as much alarmed for my lady as I am.”
It was impossible to prevail upon Marriott to explain herself more distinctly. The only circumstances that could be drawn from her seemed to Belinda so trifling as to be scarcely worth mentioning. For instance, that Lady Delacour, contrary to Marriott’s advice, had insisted on sleeping in a bedchamber upon the ground floor, and had refused to let a curtain be put up before a glass door that was at the foot of her bed. “When I offered to put up the curtain, ma’am,” said Marriott, “my lady said she liked the moonlight, and that she would not have it put up till the fine nights were over. Now, Miss Portman, to hear my lady talk of the moon, and moonlights, and liking the moon, is rather extraordinary and unaccountable; for I never heard her say any thing of the sort in her life before; I question whether she ever knew there was a moon or not from one year’s end to another. But they say the moon has a great deal to do with mad people; and, from my own experience, I’m perfectly sensible, ma’am, it had in my own cousin’s case; for, before he came to the worst, he took a prodigious fancy to the moon, and was always for walking by moonlight, and talking to one of the beauty of the moon, and such melancholy nonsense, ma’am.”
Belinda could not forbear smiling at this melancholy nonsense; though she was inclined to be of Marriott’s opinion about the methodistical books, and she determined to talk to Lady Delacour on the subject. The moment that she made the attempt, her ladyship, commanding her countenance, with her usual ability, replied only by cautious, cold monosyllables, and changed the conversation as soon as she could.
At night, when they were retiring to rest, Marriott, as she lighted them to their rooms, observed that she was afraid her lady would suffer from sleeping in so cold a bedchamber, and Belinda pressed her friend to change her apartment.
“No, my dear,” replied Lady Delacour, calmly. “I have chosen this for my bedchamber, because it is at a distance from the servants’ rooms; and when the operation, which I have to go through, shall be performed, my cries, if I should utter any, will not be overheard. The surgeon will be here in a few days, and it is not worth while to make any change.”
The next day, towards evening, the surgeon and Dr. X —— arrived. Belinda’s blood ran cold at the sight of them.
“Will you be so kind, Miss Portman,” said Marriott, “as to let my lady know that they are come? for I am not well able to go, and you can speak more composed to her than I can.”
Miss Portman went to Lady Delacour’s bedchamber. The door was bolted. As Lady Delacour opened it, she fixed her eyes upon Belinda, and said to her with a mild voice, “You are come to tell me that the surgeon is arrived. I knew that by the manner in which you knocked at the door. I will see him this moment,” continued she, in a firm tone; and she deliberately put a mark in the book which she had been reading, walked leisurely to the other end of the room, and locked it up in her book-case. There was an air of determined dignity in all her motions. “Shall we go? I am ready,” said she, holding out her hand to Belinda, who had sunk upon a chair.
“One would think that you were the person that was going to suffer. But drink this water, my dear, and do not tremble for me; you see that I do not tremble for myself. Listen to me, dearest Belinda! I owe it to your friendship not to torment you with unnecessary apprehensions. Your humanity shall be spared this dreadful scene.”
“No,” said Belinda, “Marriott is incapable of attending you. I must — I will — I am ready now. Forgive me one moment’s weakness. I admire, and will imitate, your courage. I will keep my promise.”
“Your promise was to be with me in my dying moments, and to let me breathe my last in your arms.”
“I hope that I shall never be called upon to perform that promise.”
Lady Delacour made no answer, but walked on before her with steady steps into the room where Dr. X —— and the surgeon were waiting. Without adverting in the least to the object of their visit, she paid her compliments to them, as if they came on a visit of mere civility. Without seeming to notice the serious countenances of her companions, she talked of indifferent subjects with the most perfect ease, occupying herself all the time with cleaning a seal, which she unhooked from her watch-chain. “This seal,” said she, turning to Dr. X —— , “is a fine onyx — it is a head of Esculapius. I have a great value for it. It was given to me by your friend, Clarence Hervey; and I have left it in my will, doctor,” continued she, smiling, “to you, as no slight token of my regard. He is an excellent young man; and I request,” said she, drawing Dr. X —— to a window, and lowering her voice, “I request, when you see him again, and when I am out of the way, that you will tell him such were my sentiments to the hour of my death. Here is a letter which you will have the goodness to put into his hands, sealed with my favourite seal. You need have no scruple to take
charge of it; it relates not to myself. It expresses only my opinion concerning a lady who stands almost as high in your esteem, I believe, as she does in mine. My affection and my gratitude have not biassed my judgment in the advice which I have ventured to give to Mr. Hervey.”
“But he will soon be here,” interrupted Dr. X —— , “and then—”
“And then I shall be gone,” said Lady Delacour, coolly,
“‘To that undiscover’d country,
From whose bourn no traveller returns.’”
Dr. X —— was going to interrupt her, but she continued rapidly, “And now, my dear doctor, tell me candidly, have you seen any symptoms of cowardice in my manner this evening?”
“None,” replied he. “On the contrary, I have admired your calm self-possession.”
“Then do not suspect me of want of fortitude, when I request that this operation may not be performed to-day. I have changed my mind within these few hours. I have determined, for a reason which I am sure that you would feel to be sufficient, to postpone this affair till to-morrow. Believe me, I do not act from caprice.”
She saw that Dr. X —— did not yield assent to her last assertion, and that he looked displeased.
“I will tell you my reason,” said she; “and then you will have no right to be displeased if I persist, as I shall inflexibly, in my determination. It is my belief that I shall die this night. To submit to a painful operation to-day would be only to sacrifice the last moments of my existence to no purpose. If I survive this night, manage me as you please! But I am the best judge of my own feelings — I shall die to-night.”
Dr. X —— looked at her with a mixture of astonishment and Compassion. Her pulse was high, she was extremely feverish, and he thought that the best thing which he could do was to stay with her till the next day, and to endeavour to divert her mind from this fancy, which he considered as an insane idea. He prevailed upon the surgeon to stay with her till the next morning; and he communicated his intentions to Belinda, who joined with him in doing all that was possible to entertain and interest her by conversation during the remainder of the day. She had sufficient penetration to perceive that they gave not the least faith to her prognostic, and she never said one word more upon the subject; but appeared willing to be amused by their attempts to divert her, and resolute to support her courage to the last moment. She did not affect trifling gaiety: on the contrary, there was in all she said more strength and less point than usual.
The evening passed away, and Lady Delacour seemed totally to have forgotten her own prophecy respecting the event of the ensuing night; so much so, that she spoke of several things that she intended to do the next day. Helena knew nothing of what had passed, and Belinda imagined that her friend put this constraint upon herself to avoid alarming her daughter. Yet, after Helena retired, her mother’s manner continued to be so much the same, that Dr. X —— began to believe that her ladyship was actuated merely by caprice. In this opinion she confirmed him by bursting out a laughing when he proposed that some one should sit up with her during the night.
“My sage sir,” said she, “have you lived to this time without ever having been duped by a woman before? I wanted a day’s reprieve, and I have gained it — gained a day, spent in most agreeable conversation, for which I thank you. To-morrow,” said she, turning to the surgeon, “I must invent some new excuse for my cowardice; and though I give you notice of it beforehand, as Harrington did when he picked the man’s pocket, yet, nevertheless, I shall succeed. Good night!”
She hurried to her own apartment, leaving them all in astonishment and perplexity. Belinda was persuaded that she only affected this gaiety to prevent Dr. X —— from insisting upon sitting up in her room, as he had proposed. Doctor X —— , judging, as he said, from her ladyship’s general character, attributed the whole to caprice; and the surgeon, judging, as he said, from human nature in general, was decided in his belief that she had been influenced, as she herself declared, by cowardice. After having all expressed their opinions, without making any impression upon one another, they retired to rest.
Belinda’s bedchamber was next to Helena’s; and after she had been in bed about an hour, she fancied that she heard some one walking softly in the next room. She rose, and found Lady Delacour standing beside her daughter’s bed. She started at the sight of Belinda, but only said in a low voice, as she pointed to her child, “Don’t waken her.” She then looked at her for some moments in silence. The moon shone full upon her face. She stooped over Helena, parted the ringlets of hair upon her forehead, and kissed her gently.
“You will be good to this poor girl when I am gone, Belinda!” said she, turning away from her as she spoke: “I only came to look at her for the last time.”
“Are you then serious, my dear Lady Delacour?”
“Hush! Don’t waken her,” said Lady Delacour, putting her finger on her lips; and walking slowly out of the room, she forbade Belinda to follow.
“If my fears be vain,” said she, “why should I disturb you with them? If they be just, you will hear my bell ring, and then come to me.”
For some time afterward all was perfectly silent in the house. Belinda did not go to bed, but sat waiting and listening anxiously. The clock struck two; and as she heard no other sound, she began to hope that she had suffered herself to be falsely alarmed by a foolish imagination, and she lay down upon her bed, resolving to compose herself to rest. She was just sinking to sleep, when she thought she heard the faint sound of a bell. She was not sure whether she was dreaming or awake. She started up and listened. All was silent. But in a few-minutes Lady Delacour’s bell rang violently. Belinda flew to her room. The surgeon was already there; he had been sitting up in the next room to write letters, and he had heard the first sound of the bell. Lady Delacour was senseless, supported in the surgeon’s arms. Belinda, by his directions, ran immediately for Doctor X —— , who was at the other end of the house. Before she returned, Lady Delacour had recovered her senses. She begged that the surgeon would leave the room, and that neither Dr. X —— nor Marriott might be yet admitted, as she had something of importance to communicate to Miss Portman. The surgeon withdrew, and she beckoned to Belinda, who sat down upon the side of her bed. Lady Delacour held out her hand to her; it was covered with a cold dew.
“My dear friend,” said she, “my prophecy is accomplishing — I know I must die.”
“The surgeon said that you were not in the least danger, my dear Lady Delacour; that it was merely a fainting fit. Do not suffer a vain imagination thus to overpower your reason.”
“It is no vain imagination — I must die,” said Lady Delacour.
‘I hear a voice you cannot hear,
Which says I must not stay;
I see a hand you cannot see,
Which beckons me away.’
“You perceive that I am in my perfect senses, my dear, or I could not quote poetry. I am not insane — I am not delirious.”
She paused—”I am ashamed to tell you what I know will expose me to your ridicule.”
“Ridicule!” cried Belinda: “can you think me so cruel as to consider your sufferings a subject for ridicule?”
Lady Delacour was overcome by the tenderness with which Belinda spoke.
“I will then speak to you,” said she, “without reserve. Inconsistent as it is with the strength of mind which you might expect from me, I cannot resist the impression which has been made on my mind by — a vision.”
“A vision!”
“Three times,” continued Lady Delacour, “it has appeared to me about this hour. The first night after we came here I saw it; last night it returned; and to-night I have beheld it for the third time. I consider it as a warning to prepare for death. You are surprised — you are incredulous. I know that this must appear to you extravagant; but depend upon it that what I tell you is true. It is scarcely a quarter of an hour since I beheld the figure of —— , that man for whose untimely death I am answerable. Whenever I close my
eyes the same form appears before me.”
“These visions,” said Belinda, “are certainly the effects of opium.”
“The forms that flit before my eyes when I am between sleeping and waking,” said Lady Delacour, “I am willing to believe, are the effects of opium; but, Belinda, it is impossible I should be convinced that my senses have deceived me with respect to what I have beheld when I have been as broad awake, and in as perfect possession of my understanding as I am at this instant. The habits of my life, and the natural gaiety, not to say levity, of my temper, have always inclined me rather to incredulity than to superstition. But there are things which no strength of mind, no temerity can resist. I repeat it — this is a warning to me to prepare for death. No human means, no human power can save me!”
Here they were interrupted by Marriott, who could no longer be restrained from bursting into the room. Dr. X —— followed, and going calmly to the side of Lady Delacour’s bed, took her hand to feel her pulse.
“Mrs. Marriott, you need not alarm yourself in this manner,” said he: “your lady is at this instant in as little danger as I am.”
“You think she’ll live! Oh, my lady! why did you terrify us in this manner?”
Lady Delacour smiled, and calmly said, as Doctor X —— still continued to count her pulse, “The pulse may deceive you, doctor, but I do not. Marriott, you may—”
Belinda heard no more; for at this instant, as she was standing alone, near the glass-door that was opposite to the bed, she saw at a distance in the garden the figure which Lady Delacour had described. Lady Delacour was now so intent upon speaking to Dr. X —— , that she saw nothing but him. Belinda had the presence of mind to be perfectly silent. The figure stood still for some moments. She advanced a few steps nearer to the window, and the figure vanished. She kept her eye steadily fixed upon the spot where it had disappeared, and she saw it rise again and glide quickly behind some bushes. Belinda beckoned to Dr. X —— , who perceived by the eagerness of her manner, that she wished to speak to him immediately. He resigned his patient to Marriott, and followed Miss Portman out of the room. She told him what she had just seen, said it was of the utmost consequence to Lady Delacour to have the truth ascertained, and requested that Dr. X —— would go with some of the men-servants and search the garden, to discover whether any one was there concealed, or whether any footsteps could be traced. The doctor did not search long before he perceived footsteps in the borders opposite to the glass-door of Lady Delacour’s bedchamber; he was carefully following their track, when he heard a loud cry, which seemed to come from the other side of the garden wall. There was a breach in the wall over which he scrambled with some difficulty. The screams continued with redoubled violence. As he was making his way to the spot from which they proceeded, he was met by the old gardener, who was crossing one of the walks with a lantern in his hand.
Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth Page 48
