“No, not form an acquaintance — I’m quite aware of that,” and eagerly she pleaded that she had no intention of doing anything; “but just one morning visit paid and returned, you know, leads to nothing. Probably we shall neither of us be at home, and never meet; and really it would be such a marked thing not to pay this visit to the Beltravers family on their return to the country. Formerly there was such a good understanding between the Forresters and your father; and really hospitality requires it. Altogether this one visit really must be paid, it cannot be helped, so I will order the carriage.”
“It must not be done!” the general said; “it is a question of right, not of expediency.”
“Right, but there is nothing really wrong, surely; I believe all that has been said of her is scandal. Nobody is safe against reports — the public papers are so scandalous! While a woman lives with her husband, it is but charitable to suppose all is right. That’s the rule. Besides, we should not throw the first stone.” Then Lady Cecilia pleaded, lady this and lady that, and the whole county, without the least scruple would visit Madame de St. Cymon.
“Lady this and lady that may do as they please, or as their husbands think proper or improper, that is no rule for Lady Cecilia Clarendon; and as to the whole county, or the whole world, what is that to me, when I have formed my own determination?”
The fact was, that at this very time Madame de St. Cymon was about to be separated from her husband. A terrible discovery had just been made. Lord Beltravers had brought his sister to Old Forest to bide her from London disgrace; there he intended to leave her to rusticate, while he should follow her husband to Paris immediately, to settle the terms of separation or divorce.
“Beauclerc, no doubt, will go to Paris with him,” said the general.
“To Paris! when will he set out?”
“To-day — directly, if Helen has decidedly rejected him; but you say he did not declare himself. Pray tell me all at once.”
And if she had done so, all might have been well; but she was afraid. Her husband was as exact about some things as her mother; he would certainly be displeased at the deception she had practised on Helen; she could not tell him that, not at this moment, for she had just fooled him to the top of his bent about this visit; she would find a better time; she so dreaded the instant change of his smile — the look of disapprobation; she was so cowardly; in short, the present pain of displeasing — the consequences even of her own folly, she never could endure, and to avoid it she had always recourse to some new evasion; and now, when Helen — her dear Helen’s happiness, was at stake, she faltered — she paltered — she would not for the world do her any wrong; but still she thought she could manage without telling the whole — she would tell nothing but the truth. So, after a moment’s hesitation, while all these thoughts went through her mind, when the general repeated his question, and begged to know at once what was passing in her little head; she smiled in return for that smile which played on her husband’s face while he fondly looked upon her, and she answered, “I am thinking of poor Helen. She has made a sad mistake — and has a horrid headache at this moment — in short she has offended Beauclerc past endurance — past his endurance — and he went off in a passion before she found out her mistake. In short, we must have him back again; could you go, my dear love — or write directly?”
“First let me understand,” said the general. “Miss Stanley has made a mistake — what mistake?”
“She thought Beauclerc was engaged to Lady Blanche.”
“How could she think so? What reason had she?”
“She had been told so by somebody.”
“Somebody! — that eternal scandal-monger Lady Katrine, I suppose.”
“No — not Lady Katrine,” said Cecilia; “but I am not at liberty to tell you whom.”
“No matter; but Miss Stanley is not a fool; she could not believe somebody or anybody, contrary to common sense.”
“No, but Beauclerc did not come quite to proposing — and you know she had been blamed for refusing Mr. Churchill before she was asked — and in short — in love, people do not always know what they are about.”
“I do not understand one word of it,” said the general; “nor I am sure do you, my dear Cecilia.”
“Yes, I really do, but — —”
“My dear Cecilia, I assure you it is always best to let people settle their love affairs their own way.”
“Yes, certainly — I would not interfere in the least — only to get Granville back again — and then let them settle it their own way. Cannot you call at Old Forest?”
“No.”
“Could you not write?”
“No — not unless I know the whole. I will do nothing in the dark. Always tell your confessor, your lawyer, your physician, your friend, your whole case, or they are fools or rogues if they act for you; go back and repeat this to Helen Stanley from me.”
“But, my dear, she will think it so unkind.”
“Let her show me how I can serve her, and I will do it.”
“Only write a line to Beauclerc — say, ‘Beauclerc come back, — here has been a mistake.’” She would have put a pen into his hand, and held paper to him.
“Let me know the whole, and then, and not till then, can I judge whether I should be doing right for her or not.” The difficulty of telling the whole had increased to Lady Cecilia, even from the hesitation and prevarication she had now made. “Let me see Helen, — let me speak to her myself, and learn what this strange nonsensical mystery is.” He was getting impatient. “Cannot I see Miss Stanley?”
“Why no, my dear love, not just now, she has such a headache! She is lying down. There is the breakfast-bell — after breakfast, if you please. But I am clear she would rather not speak to you herself on the subject.”
“Then come down to breakfast, my dear, and let her settle it her own way — that is much the best plan. Interference in love matters always does mischief. Come to breakfast, my dear — I have no time to lose — I must be off to a court-martial.”
He looked at his watch, and Cecilia went half down stairs with him, and then ran back to keep Helen quiet by the assurance that all would be settled — all would be right, and that she would send her up some breakfast — she must not think of coming down; and Cecilia lamented half breakfast-time — how subject to headaches poor Helen was; and through this and through all other conversation she settled what she would do for her. As the last resource, she would tell the whole truth — not to her husband, she loved him too well to face his displeasure for one moment — hut to Beauclerc; and writing would be so much easier than speaking — without being put to the blush she could explain it all to Beauclerc, and turn it playfully; and he would be so happy that he would be only too glad to forgive her, and to do anything she asked. She concocted and wrote a very pretty letter, in which she took all the blame fully on herself — did perfect justice to Helen; said she wrote without her knowledge, and depended entirely upon his discretion, so he must come back of his own accord, and keep her counsel. This letter, however, she could not despatch so soon as she had expected; she could not send a servant with it till the general should be off to his court-martial. Now had Cecilia gone the straight-forward way to work, her husband could in that interval, and would, have set all to rights; but this to Cecilia was impossible; she could only wait in an agony of impatience till the general and his officers were all out of the way, and then she despatched a groom with her letter to Old Forest, and desired him to return as fast as possible, while she went to Helen’s room, to while away the time of anxious suspense as well as she could; and she soon succeeded in talking herself into excellent spirits again. “Now, my dear Helen, if that unlucky mistake had not been made, — if you had not fancied that Granville was married already, — and if he had actually proposed for you, — what would you have said? — in short — would you have accepted him?”
“Oh! Cecilia, I do hope he will understand how it all was; I hope he will believe that I e
steem him as I always did: as to love—”
Helen paused, and Lady Cecilia went on: “As to love, nobody knows anything about it till it comes — and here it is coming, I do believe!” continued she, looking out of the window. — No! not Mr. Beauclerc, but the man she had sent with her letter, galloping towards the house. Disappointed not to see Beauclerc himself, she could only conclude that as he had not his horse with him, he was returning in the boat. The answer to her letter was brought in. At the first glance on the direction, her countenance changed. “Not Granville’s hand! — what can have happened?” She tore open the note, “He is gone! — gone with Lord Beltravers — set off! — gone to Paris!” Helen said not one word, and Cecilia, in despair, repeated, “Gone! — gone! — absolutely gone! Nothing more can be done. Oh, that I had done nothing about it! All has failed! Heaven knows what may happen now! Oh! if I could but have let it all alone! I never, never can forgive myself! My dear Helen, be angry with me — reproach me: pray — pray reproach me as I deserve!” But Helen could not blame one who so blamed herself — one who, however foolish and wrong she had been, had done it all from the kindest motives. In the agony of her penitence, she now told Helen all that had passed between her and the general; that, to avoid the shame of confessing to him her first deception, she had gone on another and another step in these foolish evasions, contrivances, and mysteries; how, thinking she could manage it, she had written without his knowledge; and now, to complete her punishment, not only had every thing which she had attempted failed, but a consequence which she could never have foreseen had happened.—”Here I am, with a note actually in my hand from this horrid Madame de St. Cymon, whom Clarendon absolutely would not hear of my even calling upon! Look what she writes to me. She just took advantage of this opportunity to begin a correspondence before an acquaintance: but I will never answer her. Here is what she says: —
“‘The Comtesse de St. Cymon exceedingly regrets that Lady Cecilia Clarendon’s servant did not arrive in time to deliver her ladyship’s letter into Mr. Beauclerc’s own hand. Mr. B. left Old Forest with Lord Beltravers early to-day for Paris. The Comtesse de St. Cymon, understanding that Lady Cecilia Clarendon is anxious that there should be as little delay as possible in forwarding her letter, and calculating that if returned by her ladyship’s servant it must be too late for this day’s post from Clarendon Park, has forwarded it immediately with her own letters to Paris, which cannot fail to meet Mr. Beauclerc directly on his arrival there.’
“Oh!” cried Lady Cecilia, “how angry the general would be if he knew of this!” She tore the note to the smallest bits as she spoke, and threw them away; and next she begged that Helen would never say a word about it. There was no use in telling the general what would only vex him, and what could not be helped; and what could lead to nothing, for she should never answer this note, nor have any further communication of any kind with Madame de St. Cymon.
Helen, nevertheless, thought it would be much better to tell the general of it, and she wondered how Cecilia could think of doing otherwise, and just when she had so strongly reproached herself, and repented of these foolish mysteries; and this was going on another step. “Indeed, Cecilia,” said Helen, “I wish — on my own account I wish you would not conceal anything. It is hard to let the general suspect me of extreme folly and absurdity, or of some sort of double dealing in this business, in which I have done my utmost to do right and to go straightforward.” Poor Helen, with her nervous headache beating worse and worse, remonstrated and entreated, and came to tears; and Lady Cecilia promised that it should be all done as she desired; but again she charged and besought Helen to say nothing herself about the matter to the general: and this acceded to, Lady Cecilia’s feelings being as transient as they were vehement, all her self-reproaches, penitence, and fears passed away, and, taking her bright view of the whole affair, she ended with the certainty that Beauclerc, would return the moment he received her letter; that he would have it in a very few days, and all would end well, and quite as well as if she had not been a fool.
CHAPTER VI.
THE first tidings of Beauclerc came in a letter from him to the general, written immediately after his arrival at Paris. But it was plain that it must have been written before Lady Cecilia’s letter, forwarded by Madame de St. Cymon, could have reached him. It was evident that matters were as yet unexplained, from his manner of writing about “the death-blow to all his hopes,” and now he was setting off with Lord Beltravers for Naples, to follow M. de St. Cymon, and settle the business of the sister’s divorce. Lady Cecilia could only hope that her letter would follow him thither, enclosed in this Madame de St. Cymon’s despatches to her brother; and now they could know nothing more till they could hear from Naples.
Meanwhile, Helen perceived that, though the general continued to be as attentive and kind to her as usual, yet that there was something more careful and reserved in his manner than formerly, less of spontaneous regard, and cordial confidence. It was not that he was displeased by her having discouraged the addresses of his ward, fond as he was of Beauclerc, and well as he would have been pleased by the match. This he distinctly expressed the only time that he touched upon the subject. He said, that Miss Stanley was the best and the only judge of what would make her happy; but he could not comprehend the nature of the mistake she had made; Cecilia’s explanations, whatever they were, had not made the matter clear. There was either some caprice, or some mystery, which he determined not to inquire into, upon his own principle of leaving people to settle their love affairs in their own way. Helen’s spirits were lowered: naturally of great sensibility, she depended more for her happiness on her inward feelings than upon any external circumstances. A great deal of gaiety was now going on constantly among the young people at Clarendon Park, and this made her want of spirits more disagreeable to herself, more obvious, and more observed by others. Lady Katrine rallied her unmercifully. Not suspecting the truth, her ladyship presumed that Miss Stanley repented of having, before she was asked, said No instead of Yes, to Mr. Churchill. Ever since his departure she had evidently worn the willow.
Lady Cecilia was excessively vexed by this ill-natured raillery: conscious that she had been the cause of all this annoyance to Helen, and of much more serious evil to her, the zeal and tenderness of her affection now increased, and was shown upon every little occasion involuntarily, in a manner that continually irritated her cousin Katrine’s jealousy. Helen had been used to live only with those by whom she was beloved, and she was not at all prepared for the sort of warfare which Lady Katrine carried on; her perpetual sneers, innuendoes, and bitter sarcasms, Helen did not resent, but she felt them. The arrows, ill-aimed and weak, could not penetrate far; it was not with their point they wounded, but by their venom — wherever that touched it worked inward mischief. Often to escape from one false imputation she exposed herself to another more grievous. One night, when the young people wished to dance, and the usual music was not to be had, Helen played quadrilles, and waltzes, for hours with indefatigable good-nature, and when some of the party returned their cordial thanks, Lady Katrine whispered, “our musician has been well paid by Lord Estridge’s admiration of her white hands.” His lordship had not danced, and had been standing all the evening beside Helen, much to the discomfiture of Lady Katrine, who intended to have had him for her own partner. The next night, Helen did not play, but joined the dance, and with a boy partner, whom nobody could envy her. The general, who saw wonderfully quickly the by-play of society, marked all this, and now his eye followed Helen through the quadrille, and he said to some one standing by, that Miss Stanley danced charmingly, to his taste, and in such a lady-like manner. He was glad to see her in good spirits again; her colour was raised, and he observed that she looked remarkably well. “Yes,” Lady Katrine answered, “remarkably well; and black is so becoming to that sort of complexion, no doubt this is the reason Miss Stanley wears it so much longer than is customary for an uncle. Short or long mournings are, to be sure, just acco
rding to fashion, or feeling, as some say. For my part, I hate long mournings — so like ostentation of sentiment; whatever I did, at any rate I would be consistent. I never would dance in black. Pope, you know, has such a good cut at that sort of thing. Do you recollect the lines?”
“‘And bear about the mockery of woe
To midnight dances and the public show.’”
Lady Castlefort took Miss Stanley aside, after the dance was over, to whisper to her so good-naturedly, how shockingly severe Katrine had been; faithfully repeating every word that her sister had said. “And so cruel, to talk of your bearing about the mockery of woe! — But, my sweet little lamb, do not let me distress you so.” Helen, withdrawing from the false caresses of Lady Castlefort, assured her that she should not be hurt by any thing Lady Katrine could say, as she so little understood her real feelings; and at the moment her spirit rose against the injustice, and felt as much superior to such petty malice as even Lady Davenant could have desired. She had resolved to continue in mourning for the longest period in which it is worn for a parent, because, in truth, her uncle had been a parent to her; but the morning after Lady Katrine’s cruel remarks, Cecilia begged that Helen would oblige her by laying aside black. “Let it be on my birthday.” Lady Cecilia’s birth-day was to be celebrated the ensuing week. “Well, for that day certainly I will,” Helen said; “but only for that day.” This would not satisfy Cecilia. Helen saw that Lady Katrine’s observations had made a serious impression, and, dreading to become the subject of daily observation, perhaps altercation, she yielded. The mourning was thrown aside. Then every thing she wore must be new. Lady Cecilia and Mademoiselle Felicie, her waiting-maid, insisted upon taking the matter into their own hands. Helen really intended only to let one dress for her friend’s birth-day be bespoken for her; but from one thing she was led on to another. Lady Cecilia’s taste in dress was exquisite. Her first general principle was admirable—”Whatever you buy, let it be the best of its kind, which is always the cheapest in the end.” Her second maxim was—”Never have anything but from such and such people, or from such and such places,” naming those who were at the moment accredited by fashion. “These, of course, make you pay high for the name of the thing; but that must be. The name is all,” said Lady Cecilia. “Does your hat, your bonnet, whatever it be, come from the reigning fashionable authority? then it is right, and you are quite right. You can put down all objections and objectors with the magic of a name. You need think no more about your dress; you have no trouble; while the poor creatures who go toiling and rummaging in cheap shops — what comes of it? but total exhaustion and disgrace! Yesterday, now, my dear Helen, recollect. When Lady Katrine, after dinner, asked little Miss Isdall where she bought that pretty hat, the poor girl was quite out of countenance. ‘Really she did not know; she only knew it was very cheap.’ You saw that nobody could endure the hat afterwards; so that, cheap as it might be, it was money to all intents and purposes absolutely thrown away, for it did not answer its purpose.”
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