Part 9

I never saw Lord Charles so disconcerted as he was during the whole of the time. He could not bear to praise the heroine of the evening, yet he felt that praise was her due. Nor could he bear either to find fault with or to praise _me_. In this dilemma, he seemed to think it was best to be silent; and drawing himself up, he entrenched himself in the consciousness that he was Lord Charles Belmour. But while Lady Martindale leaned on Seymour on one side and I on the other, as we were awaiting the summons to supper, surrounded by our flatterers, one glance at my dejected countenance brought back his kinder feelings; and turning to my mother, who held his arm, he said, "Shall I tell your fair daughter how enchanted I was with the masquerade scene?"

"I assure you," said Seymour, "Helen did not do herself justice to-night: she did not act as well as she can act."

"I should have been very sorry, so much do I esteem her, to have seen her act better," was his cold reply. "Would you have your wife, Pendarves, perform as well as a professional person, and as if she had been brought up on the stage?"

"I would wish my wife to do well whatever she undertakes," replied Seymour.

"And so she does, and so she _did_; but if you do not love her the better (as I am sure you do) for the graceful timidity which she displayed, I could not esteem you."

Lady Martindale, who watched his very look, now bit her lip, and Seymour did not look pleased. My mother owned afterwards, that what with pinching Lord Charles's arm, to see how Lord and Lady Martindale both were confused by the first part of his speech, and squeezing it affectionately from delight at the last, she is very sure Lord Charles carried her marks with him to London. _I_ too could scarcely keep the grateful tears from flowing down my cheeks, which his well timed kindness brought into my eyes: but I saw that my expression was not lost upon him.

Seymour led Lady Martindale to the head of the supper table, and Lord Charles on account of his rank was forced to sit next her.

"Painful pre-eminence!" he whispered to my mother, who, as I was one of the queens of the night, insisted on my taking her place on the other side. Lord Martindale seated himself next me; and Seymour took the seat vacant by Lady Martindale. As Lord Charles scarcely noticed her, except as far as civility commanded, Lady Martindale soon turned her back on him, and Seymour and she seemed to forget any one else was present.

Lord Charles endeavoured by the most unremitting attentions to conceal from me what must, he knew, distress me. But he could not do it: I heard every whisper of their softened voices, and I dare say my uneasy countenance was a complete and whimsical contrast to that of Lord Martindale, who seemed perfectly easy under circumstances which would have distressed most men, and talked and laughed with every one in his turn.

The Lord and Lady of the feast, who were never tired of exhibitions, now began their usual demands on the talents of their guests, and were importunate in soliciting several of them to sing, a custom which I usually think "more honoured in the breach than the observance;" but on this occasion it was welcome to me, especially as I knew that it must for a time interrupt Seymour's attention to Lady Martindale. But as the hypochondriac, when he reads a book on diseases, always finds his own symptoms in every case before him, so I in the then existing state of my feelings always brought home every thing I heard or read to my own heart; and two of the songs which were sung that night accorded so well with my own state of mind, that I felt the tears come into my eyes as I listened; and during the following one Pendarves sighed so audibly, that I imagined he felt great sympathy with the sentiments; and that idea increased my suffering:--

SONG.

O that I could recall the day When all my hours to thee were given, And, as I gazed my soul away, Thou wert my treasure, world, and heaven!

Then time on noiseless pinions flew, And life like one bright morning beam'd: Then love around us roses threw, Which ever fresh and fragrant seem'd. And are these moments gone for ever? And can they ne'er return? NO NEVER.

For oh! that cruel traitor Time, Although he might unheeded move, Bore off our YOUTH'S luxuriant prime, And _also_ stole the _bloom of_ LOVE.

Yet still the thought of raptures past Shall gild life's dull remaining store, As sinking suns a _splendour_ cast On scenes their _presence lights_ no more.

But are those raptures gone for ever? And will they ne'er return? NO NEVER.

The other song was only in unison with my feelings in the last lines of the last verse. Still, while my morbid fancy made me consider them as the expression of my own sentiments, I listened with such a tell-tale countenance, that my delicacy was wounded; for I saw that my emotion was visible to those who sat opposite to me.

The song was as follows:--

FAIREST, SWEETEST, DEAREST,

A SONG.

"Say, by what name can I impart My sense, dear girl, of what thou art? Nay, though to frown thou darest, I'll say thou art of _girls the pride_: And though that modest lip may chide, Mary! I'll call thee 'FAIREST.'

"Yet no--that word can but express The soft and winning loveliness In which the sight thou meetest. But not thy heart, thy temper too, So good, so sweet--Ha! that will do! Mary! I'll call thee 'SWEETEST.'

"But 'fairest, sweetest,' vain would be To speak the love I feel for thee: Why smilest thou as thou hearest?" "Because," she cried, "one little name Is all I wish from thee to claim-- That _precious_ name is 'DEAREST.'"

You will not, I conclude, imagine that I remember these songs only from having heard them that night, especially as they have very little merit; but the truth is, I was so pleased with them, because I fancied them applicable to my own feelings, that I requested them of the gentlemen who sung, and they were given to me.

Lord Charles meanwhile listened to the singing with great impatience, as he had had enough of the company, which was very numerous, and by no means as select as it had been before. Indeed at one table were many persons in whom the observant eye of Lord Charles discovered associates whose evident vulgarity made him feel himself out of his place. However, he could not presume to break up the party; and as our indefatigable host and hostess still kept forcing the talents of their guests into their service, song succeeded to song, and duet to duet. From one of the latter, however, sung by a lady and gentleman, I at length derived a soothing feeling; and in one moment, an observation of Seymour's, with, as I fancied, a correspondent and intended expression of countenance, removed a load from my heart, and my clouded brow became consciously to myself unclouded again.

The words of this healing duet were as follows:--

DUET.

"Say, why art thou pensive, beloved of my heart? Indeed I am happy wherever thou art: My eyes I confess toward others may rove, But never, believe me, with wishes of love. And trust me, however my _glances_ may roam, Of them, and _my heart_, THOU ALONE ART THE HOME!"

ANSWER.

"Perhaps I am wrong thus dejected to be; But my faithful eyes never wander from _thee_. On beauty and youth _I unconsciously_ gaze, No thought, no emotion in me they can raise; And ah! if thine eyes get the habit to roam, How can I _be certain_ they'll EVER COME HOME?"

"Oh! trust thy own charms! See the bee as he flies, And visits each blossom of exquisite dies; There culls of their sweetness some store for his cell; But short are his visits, and prompt his farewell; For still he remembers, howe'er he may roam, That _hoard of delight_ which AWAITS HIM AT HOME.

"Then trust me, however thy Henry may roam, I feel my best pleasures AWAIT ME AT HOME."

"I'll try to believe, howsoever thou roam, Thy heart's dearest pleasures await thee at home."

"That is a charming duet," cried Seymour when it was ended. Then leaning behind Lady Martindale and Lord Charles, and calling to me, he said, with a look from which my conscious eye shrunk, "Helen, I admire the sentiment of that duet. I think, my love, we will get it--we should sing it _con amore_, should we not?" I could not look at him as I replied, "_I_ could, I am sure."

"Silly girl," he added in a low and kind tone, "and so, I am sure, could I."

I then ventured to raise my eyes to his; and his expression was such, that I felt quite a different creature, and was able to enjoy the rest of the evening.

But why do I enter into these minute and unimportant details? Let me efface them--but no, perhaps they may chance to meet the eyes of some whose hearts have felt the anxieties and the vicissitudes of mine, and to them they may be interesting.

Lord Martindale was now requested to favour the company with a song, and with great good nature he instantly complied;--while Lord Charles whispered across me to my mother, "What a disgrace that fellow is to the peerage!"

"By his vices I grant you," replied my mother, "but not by his obliging compliance."

Lord Charles shrugged up his shoulders and was about to reply, when Silence was vociferated rather angrily by the lady of the house, who had not been blind to the airs which, as she said, Lord Charles had given himself the whole evening. Lord Martindale, as may be supposed, was greatly applauded, on the same principle as that mentioned by the poet with regard to noble authors:

"For if a lord once own the happy lines, How the wit brightens! how the taste refines!"

and the noisy expressions of admiration which rewarded a very mediocre performance did not increase the good humour of our noble guest, against whom I saw an attack preparing at the bottom of the table. At length a very pretty girl, and who had sung with considerable skill, tried to engage the attention of Lord Charles; and finding "Sir" was not sufficient, she added "Mr. Belmour, Sir!" But some one whispered, "He is a Lord;" on which she said, "Dear me! Well then, My lord, Lord Belmour;" and Lord Charles turned towards the pretty speaker, while a half-muttered "Vulgar animal!" was audible to my mother and myself, and formed a ludicrous contrast to the affectedly respectful attention and bent head with which he listened to what she had to observe.

But when he found that the young lady was requesting him to sing, and that she declared she had a claim on him, his expression of mingled _hauteur_, astonishment, and indignation, was highly comic, and we who knew him were eagerly expecting his answer, when we heard him say, having bowed and smirked his hand affectedly to his heart at the same time, "with the greatest pleasure in life;--which wine, claret or Champagne?"

"Dear me," cried the young lady, "I did not ask you to drink, but to sing, my lord."

"Oh! Champagne; very good. Carry a glass to that young lady:" but she indignantly rejected it, and repeated her request.

"I beg pardon," replied the impracticable Lord Charles, "I thought you said Champagne: then take claret to the young lady," who in vain exerted her voice. He remained quite deaf, holding his ear like a deaf person, much to the amusement of the company and the confusion of the fair supplicant, who had been encouraged by the admiring glances which Lord Charles had till now bestowed on her, to think that any request from her would have been attended to.

Thus far Lord Charles's endangered dignity had come off with flying colours, as it was no great affront to be requested to sing by a pretty girl, even though she had told him that he had a singing face, and looked like a singer; for the turn which he had given to her application got the laugh on his side, and he was very sure that she would not so presume again. But he was not to be let off so easily; for Mr. Oswald, who, being almost "as drunk as a lord," felt himself quite as great as one, now came behind Lord Charles, and giving him a sounding blow across the back, exclaimed with an oath, "Come, now, Belmour, there is a good fellow, do sing, for I have heard you are a comical dog when you like."

If a look could have annihilated, that instant would the little fat man have disappeared from off the face of the earth. The glance of Lord Charles was powerless even to wound Mr. Oswald; and he was equally unmoved when, scorning even to answer his importunate host, our friend suddenly addressed my mother, saying, "I think, Mrs. Pendarves, you desired me to call your carriage?"

"You are mistaken, my lord," replied my mother, with a reproving look which he well understood; and his tormentor was going to assail him again, when Seymour, to relieve Lord Charles, drew him into conversation; and I had just advised his still irritated guest to remember that Oswald was intoxicated, when our attention was attracted to a conversation between Mrs. Oswald and another lady, of which Lord Charles was the subject; and it was evident that Mrs. Oswald spoke of him in no friendly tone.

"Yes, my lord," said she, "you may look; we were certainly talking of your lordship."

"You do me much honour, madam."

"That is as it may be, my lord; but I was trying to do you justice, for my friend said it was pride that prevented your singing; but _I_ said--" (and here she raised her voice to a shriller and more ludicrous pitch than usual) "yes, I said, says I, 'That is impossible, my dear; it cannot be pride; for if a real peer of the realm,' says I, 'the real thing, condescends to sing and amuse the company, surely Lord Charles Belmour need not be above it, who is only a commonly called, you know.'"

Instantly, to my consternation, and afterwards to his own, Lord Charles, thrown off his guard by this sarcasm, echoed her last words, and gave her tone and manner so exactly, that the effect upon the company was irresistible, and a general laugh ensued; which, to do him justice, shocked more than it gratified the self-condemned mimic, who could only for a moment be provoked to violate the rules of good breeding; and he was completely subdued, when Mrs. Oswald, with a degree of forbearance and good-humour which exalted her in my esteem, observed, "Well, my lord, you have condescended to exert your talent of mimicry, though you would not sing; and though it was at my expense, I am grateful to you, as you have contributed to amuse my company."

"Admirably replied!" exclaimed my mother.

"Excellent, excellent, bravo!" cried Pendarves; while Lord Charles, admonished, penitent and ashamed, was not slow to redeem himself from the sort of disgrace which he had incurred. Rising gracefully and bowing his head on his clasped hands, he solicited her pardon for the liberty which her evident nature had emboldened him to take, declaring at the same time, that if she forgave him, it would be long before he should forgive himself.

Mrs. Oswald, who was really as kind-hearted as she seemed, readily granted the pardon which he asked, and he respectfully pressed her offered hand to his lips. He did more; for while the carriages were called, he suddenly disappeared, and in a moment we could have fancied ourselves at the door of Drury-lane or Covent-garden; for the offered services of link-boys, the cries of "Coach, coach," and "Here, your honour," with all the different sounds, were heard in the hall; and while the guests listened delighted to this new and unexpected entertainment, the Oswalds were, I saw, evidently gratified at finding that it proceeded from the talent of Lord Charles. O the unnecessary humiliation to which pride exposes itself! Had he civilly though firmly refused the young lady's and Mr. Oswald's request to sing, and not discovered in the evening his haughty contempt for the company and his host, or insulted his hostess, he needed not to have condescended to an expiatory exhibition from which under other circumstances his pride would have properly revolted.

Thus ended this to me disagreeable evening, which extended far into the morning. The drive home was pleasant; for Lord Charles, having reconciled himself to himself by his ample _amende honorable_, and by the generous candour with which he received our reproofs, thought he was privileged to indulge his less amiable feelings by turning some of the company into ridicule, and exhibiting them to the very life before us. I must own that I again felt an ungenerous pleasure in some part of the entertainment, namely his mimicry of Lady Martindale, which I vainly endeavoured to subdue, and I was glad that, as Pendarves rode on the box, he did not witness my degradation. I must add, that both my mother and myself were gratified to observe that Lord Charles forbore to mimic our kind but vulgar host and hostess; and my mother took care to let him know indirectly that his delicacy was not lost upon her.

Another performance was fixed for that day week; the original Letitia Hardy, however, was expected, and most gladly did I offer to resign my part to her. Still, I was mortified to see with how little concern Pendarves heard me offer my resignation, and saw it accepted. Alas! not even Lord Charles's and my mother's joy at my being removed from a situation which they thought unworthy of me, could reconcile me to his indifference on the subject.

The next day Lord Charles was to leave us; but I saw that his departure was more welcome to my husband than to my mother and myself. In the morning he had requested Pendarves to walk with him round the grounds, and they returned, I observed, with disturbed countenances.

Lord Charles then called, and sat some time with my mother. What passed between them I do not know; but their parting was even affectionate, and his with me was distinguished from all our other partings by a degree of emotion for which I could not account.

"How I shall miss you!" said I, softened by his dejection.

"Thank you! I can bear better to leave you now:" and springing into his carriage he drove off and I felt forlorn; for I felt that I had lost a friend: and I also felt that I wanted one who, like him, had some check over my husband.

What more shall I say of this painful period of my life, for which, however, painful as it was, I would gladly have exchanged that which soon followed? One day was a transcript of the other. Pendarves, ever good-natured and kind while he was at home, seemed to think that he was thereby justified in leaving me continually; but as I was not of that opinion, to use a French phrase, _je deperissois a vue d'oeil;_ and though I affected to be cheerful, my mother saw that my feelings were undermining my existence. But not even to her would I complain of my husband and she respected my silence too much to wish me to break it. However she was with me,--she, I felt, never would forsake me, or love me less; and while I had her, I was far from being completely miserable. Alas! what was she not to me? friend, counsellor, comforter!

But the decree was gone forth, and even her I was doomed to resign!

Not long after Lord Charles had quitted us, I perceived a visible alteration in my mother's appearance. I saw that she ate little, that she was very soon fatigued, and that her fine spirits were gone. I had no doubt but that she fretted for my anxieties. I therefore laboured the more to convince her that I was not as uneasy as she thought me.

But how vainly did I try to veil my heart from her penetrating glance! if there be such a thing as the art of divination, it is possessed by the eagle eye of interested affection, and that was hers.

My mother saw all my secret struggles; she pitied, she resented their cause; and I have sometimes feared that she sunk under them.

One morning, Pendarves on his return from Oswald Lodge came in with a very animated countenance, and told us a new description of amusement was introduced there, namely, archery, and he must beg me to go with him the next day, and learn to be an archer. "Lady Martindale," cried he, "already shoots like Diana herself."

"The only resemblance, I should think," said my mother, "which she has to Diana. But what do you say to this proposal, Helen? I must take leave to say that, as your mother, you can never go to Oswald Lodge again with my consent on any terms: and to engage in this new competition, oh! never, never!"

"And why not, madam? There is nothing indelicate in such an exhibition; and I own my pride in Helen, as a husband, made me wish to see her fine form exhibited in the graceful action of shooting at a target. Besides, as I really wish if possible to associate her in all my amusements, I was delighted to think this new pursuit would have led her to join me in my visits to the Lodge, and I am really desirous to know on what grounds you object to her obliging me."

"On account of the company there. Mr. and Mrs. Oswald are weak, vain people, fond of courting persons of quality; and so as they can but be intimate with a Lord and Lady, they care not of what description they are. This Lord Martindale is, I find, a man not much noticed by his equals; and as to Lady Martindale, the woman who could so expose her person in the dress of a Statue is not a fit companion for my daughter, nor your wife."

"You are severe, madam; but what says Helen?"

"That my mother does not make sufficient allowances for the difference of manners and ideas between a French and an English woman; and that the dress which shocks us in the former does not necessarily prove incorrectness of conduct."

"Incorrectness of conduct! and can your mother suppose I would introduce my wife to a woman whom I knew to be incorrect in her conduct?"

"No, Seymour, no: I do you more justice. But it is my duty to inform you that it is suspected this person is Lord Martindale's mistress only, not his wife."

"Not his wife!" interrupted Seymour.

"No, so I am informed. As to him, you know his character is so infamous that one can wonder at nothing he does; and he has been suspected of being a spy for the French convention, as well as the lady."

"Madam," said Seymour, "I thought you had been above listening to tales like these, and I cannot think myself justified in acting upon them. On the contrary, by taking my wife to the Lodge, I think it right to show my disregard of them, especially as by staying away, and by her distant manner when there, Helen has already injured the character of Lady Martindale, and made even my attentions to her the source of calumny. This the afflicted lady told me with tears and lamentations, and Helen's renewed visits can alone repair the injury her absence has done."

"So, then, this is the real reason of your wishing to make Helen a sharer in your amusements, and to exhibit her fine form to advantage!" exclaimed my mother indignantly. "But, Mr. Pendarves, if your constant visits are injurious to the fame of this afflicted lady, you know your remedy--discontinue them; for never, with my consent, shall my virtuous daughter lend her assistance to shield any one from the infamy which they deserve."

"Deserve, madam!" cried Seymour, as indignant as she was: "repeat that, and, spite of the love and reverence I bear you, I shall exert a husband's lawful authority, and see who dares dispute it."

"Not I," she replied, folding her arms submissively on her breast, "and still less that poor trembling girl. No, Pendarves, my only resource now is supplication and entreaty: and I conjure you, by the dear name of your beloved mother, and by the memory of past fond and endearing circumstances, and hours, to grant the prayer of a dying woman, and not to force your wife to this abode of revelry and riot. I feel my days are already numbered; and when I am taken from you, bitter will be your recollections if you refuse, my son, and soothing if you grant my prayer. I know you, Seymour, and I know that you cannot do any great cruelty without great remorse."