Part 4

Mr. Mordaunt had fixed one o'clock at noon to finish the settlement of all legal concerns between Lord St. Aubyn and Lord De Montfort, the weak state of his health not permitting him to come earlier to the Castle. As soon as breakfast was over, therefore, St. Aubyn invited his guests to walk or ride round the grounds. O'Brien gladly consented, and Laura said she should like to ride with them; but Edmund coldly refused, saying if he went out at all, he should merely stroll by himself a short distance, as he felt languid and unwell. "To you then, my Ellen," said St. Aubyn, "I recommend our noble guest. I need not I am sure request you to pay him every attention; if possible, prevail on him to stay and dine with us: he talks of going the instant his business is completed."

"I hope, my Lord," said Ellen to De Montfort, "you will not do so. The evenings now close in abruptly, and it will be late before you reach the end of the first stage from hence."

He bowed in silence.

The gentlemen and Miss Cecil went to prepare for their ride; and Ellen, ringing the bell, desired Jane to bring her netting-box thither, for she feared if she went as usual to the nursery, Edmund might escape her, and no other opportunity offer for the conference on which her heart was set.

Lady Juliana, as usual, went to her own room, where she always chose to spend two or three hours of her morning alone.

Edmund had, by the time Ellen was seated at her work, thrown himself in a meditating attitude on a sofa, and was apparently lost in a reverie; yet his eyes were frequently fixed on her, and his countenance seemed to soften as he gazed upon her. She soon saw the little party ride into the park, and then feeling herself secure from interruption, she considered how best to begin her intended conversation:--her heart fluttered, and her fingers entangled her work so completely, that it was impossible to proceed with it. Painful, indeed, was her situation; for to converse on topics so deeply interesting with a young man so very lately an entire stranger was indeed a severe task for the gentle, the timid Ellen. Rousing her spirits, however, for she felt that time fled swiftly, she with a tremulous voice said,

"My Lord, I fear you will think I take too great a liberty with one so lately a stranger, if I venture to enter on a subject of the most delicate nature, indeed; but one to me so deeply interesting, I cannot consent to let this opportunity pass, since it may be the last I shall ever have of speaking to your Lordship without witnesses."

From the moment she began to speak, De Montfort started from his reverie, and fixed on her an earnest attention, which had, however, so much softness in it, as emboldened her to proceed in a voice somewhat firmer and more assured.

"You may believe, my Lord," she said, "that Lord St. Aubyn has not withheld from me the real cause of the painful scene I last night witnessed, and a decree of agitation in you, not to be accounted for, but by a recital which out of tenderness he till this morning never ventured to make to me."

"Has he then," said Edmund (in that low, solemn, impressive tone which so deeply interested his hearers) "has he then ventured to reveal to you that horrid event, that deed of blood, the guilt of which he has never been able to throw from him?"

"He has, my Lord, explained to me the meaning of many painful hints; of much uneasiness which I have perceived in him from the first of our acquaintance: but ah! generous, though misled, Lord de Montfort, can you really believe him guilty? Can you doubt the innocence of a man whose life of virtue, whose tender affectionate nature, surely point him out as of all men the least likely to have committed an action so horrid! Surely he cannot have fully and clearly explained to you all the circumstances which preceded this sad event. May I, without too much wounding your feelings, venture to recapitulate what he has told me. Surely a story so clear, so consistent, must at once exonerate him from having had any part in that guilty, that horrid deed."

He bowed assent, and Ellen as succinctly, but as clearly as possible, brought into one point of view, all the circumstances which were favourable to St. Aubyn, yet veiling with the most touching delicacy and consideration those which bore hardest on the fame of Rosolia; affecting to believe that the wretch De Sylva (whom she asserted St. Aubyn and Mrs. Bayfield had certainly seen at her window the night before) had come without her knowledge, and that the same man, meeting her in the lonely hermitage, had committed the shocking deed for the sake of the valuables she wore.

It seemed as if Edmund had chiefly resisted the evidences in St. Aubyn's favour, lest by yielding to them, he must have pronounced his sister guilty: whether this being now less pressed upon him, or that Ellen herself, fully convinced of St. Aubyn's innocence, and perhaps less impassioned than he had been when stating the same story, had placed circumstances more clearly before him, he evidently gave greater credence to the tale than he had ever before done. Her sweetness of voice and manner, and the graceful tenderness with which she spoke of St. Aubyn's virtues; or his honourable and disinterested conduct to her, both before and since their marriage, and of the perfect love which bound them to each other, and wrapt her life in his; tears of tenderness and blushes of indignation marked the varying sensations which filled her bosom at the bare idea of his being suspected of such a crime, and animated her beauty with new graces, appeared to impress him deeply with sentiments of admiration and esteem. When she paused, he sighed and said:--

"Is it in nature to resist such a pleader, or to believe the man so loved by one so pure and spotless, can be himself capable of the blackest crimes? No, Lady St. Aubyn, were your natures so dissimilar it would be impossible that you could so love, so confide in him."

At that instant a soft plaintive voice was heard at the opening door, the voice of an infant. Edmund started, for he had forgotten Lady St. Aubyn had recently become a mother, and a painful recollection pressed on his heart of the infant so dearly loved, so deeply lamented, the child of his idolized Rosolia!

The nurse now appeared with the babe in her arms, for wondering at her Lady's usually lengthened absence from the nursery, she came to request some directions concerning the child: supposing all the gentlemen were gone out together, when she saw Lord de Montfort she would have retreated but Ellen advancing, took the infant in her arms and said:

"Give him to me, nurse; I will but shew him to Lord de Montfort, and bring him to the nursery myself:" then unfolding his mantle, she pressed him to her tender bosom: and when the nurse was gone, with light graceful steps advancing towards Edmund, (who rose from his seat to meet her) she said:

"See here, my Lord, a still more powerful pleader; one pure and spotless indeed, whose opening prospects must be clouded, whose innocent name must be blasted, if you persist in your intentions, if you seek his father's destruction. Look at this babe, and tell me if your gentle nature can doom him to such cruel misfortunes as your denunciation of his father must bring upon his guiltless head."

Edmund, the noble Edmund, stooped, and gazing on the child, was not ashamed to shed tears of tenderness and compassion on his sweet face. The lovely creature opened its eyes, and with the same soft look of confiding innocence which marked his mother's features, stretched out his little hands and smiled.

"Oh! this is too much! indeed too much!" exclaimed De Montfort. "I must not be a man to see this sweet, this lovely infant, and you, angelic woman, and dare to breathe one injurious wish against that man on whom the happiness of both depends! From henceforth I dismiss for ever all my revengeful, perhaps my ill-founded schemes: never shall word or look of mine attempt to injure the happy, the enviable St. Aubyn. Surely Heaven would not have favoured him with felicity so rare, had a deed so cruel as that of which I suspected him stained his soul! I will try to think, to believe so. Assure yourself, at least, loveliest of women, that from me he has nothing more to fear; and may Heaven's choicest blessings be showered on you, and on this sweet, this lovely infant!"

He bent one knee to the ground, and, with reverential awe, kissed Ellen's hand, lifting his expressive eyes towards that Heaven he was invoking in her favour: then rising, he took the babe from her arms, kissed its hands, its cheeks, its lips, and returning it to its mother, with hasty and agitated steps quitted the apartment: leaving her impressed with feelings of joy, gratitude, and the tenderest esteem for this noble, though somewhat eccentric being.

Folding her babe to her fond maternal heart, which seemed to feel even increased affection for it from the late trying scenes, she passed with it to the nursery, where Laura found her a few minutes after, and announced the return of the gentlemen from their ride.

"Where is St. Aubyn?" said Ellen, with a countenance where tears and smiles contended: "I must see him immediately."

"It is near the time appointed by Mr. Mordaunt to conclude Lord de Montfort's business," said Laura, "and I believe he is gone to his study: but what is the matter, Ellen, you look agitated yet joyful? I never saw you more radiant in beauty; something I am sure has happened to light up your face in this manner."

Ellen smiled, and said, "Oh, flatterer! but I cannot stay to tell you now; only I hope I have been fortunate enough to adjust a difference of long standing between Lord de Montfort and St. Aubyn, and I am impatient to tell my Lord the result of my morning's conversation with the former--here, take the babe, Laura, and keep him if you will till I come again, unless Lady Juliana comes, as usual, and snatches him away." She then hastened to St. Aubyn, whom she found alone, and had just time to tell him the result of the conference she had held with Edmund, but not the particulars, before Mr. Mordaunt and the other gentlemen assembled.

As De Montfort entered the study, Lady St. Aubyn was quitting it, but he stopped her one moment, and said in a low voice, "Stay, madam, and witness your power over me." Then advancing, he held out his hand to St. Aubyn, and said to him in Italian, which he knew O'Brien did not understand, "Be all our animosity banished for ever." Yet so strong had been, and perhaps still were his prejudices, that the hand he offered trembled, and he turned pale, when St. Aubyn took it.

"I never felt any, Edmund," said he. "I made large allowances for you, and felt towards you a brother's love: my friendship and best offices are your's at all times."

He then apologized to the gentlemen present for speaking a strange language, and accounted for this little scene, by saying, that an unhappy disagreement which had taken place long ago between himself and Lord de Montfort was now fortunately adjusted.

Ellen just staid long enough to congratulate St. Aubyn in a low voice on this happy termination of an affair which cost him so much uneasiness, and turning to Edmund, she said, "You dine with us, my Lord:" he bowed in silent acquiescence, and she retired, happiest at that moment of the happy.

Lord de Montfort and Mr. O'Brien remained that day at the Castle, and the former, though still at times sunk in reverie, yet was composed; and sometimes almost cheerful. A weight seemed removed from his mind, and though his manner to St. Aubyn was still constrained and distant, there were moments when he appeared with difficulty to prevent himself from appearing friendly and cordial.

Ellen saw, that were they often together, Edmund's long-rooted and cherished prejudices would insensibly wear away; and on that account regretted that he would not be prevailed on to stay longer than till the next morning.

That evening, Laura Cecil, who had been quite pleased to see De Montfort resuming in some degree the manners which in his boyhood made him so agreeable, returned to Rose Hill, where Sir Edward Leicester was soon expected, to whom, it was supposed, she would be married before Christmas.

Lord St. Aubyn willingly consented that Ellen should inform his faithful Bayfield of her knowledge of their transactions in Spain, and the happy reconciliation between her Lord and Lord de Montfort; and Bayfield, who almost idolized Ellen before, now considering her as the cause of an event so desirable, felt her love and veneration redoubled.

In the course of the evening, Lord St. Aubyn hinted to Mr. O'Brien, that some of his family had been disturbed by Lord de Montfort's having left his room while sleeping, and Mr. O'Brien said, that after any great emotion, his pupil sometimes did so, but that it rarely happened, frequently not for months together; in reality, no farther disturbance took place, and the two gentlemen departed the next morning, leaving the inhabitants of the Castle with very different sensations from those they had felt at their first arrival.

CHAP. V.

My noble gossips, you have been too liberal; I thank you for it--so shall this _child_, When _he_ has so much English.

HENRY VIII.

Lady St. Aubyn had received so little pleasure from visiting London the preceding winter, that she earnestly requested not to remove from the Castle till after Christmas, when Laura entreated her to spend a month or six weeks there after her marriage, and wished, as the Countess had not yet been presented, that ceremony might take place when she was herself introduced: Lord and Lady Delamore were also expected to be in London at that time, and Ellen promised herself great pleasure from becoming acquainted with her. It was therefore determined, that she should meet Sir Edward, and Laura (who would then be Lady Leicester), in town the beginning of February, and remain quietly in the country till that time, where she would have leisure to fulfil those maternal duties she had voluntarily taken upon herself, and from the due exercise of which her sweet child grew, and improved every day.

Before they left the Castle, the young heir was christened with all due splendor. Sir William Cecil and Sir Edward Leicester, Lady Juliana and Miss Cecil, were sponsors. The christening suit of fine Brussels lace for the infant, over white satin, and a similar dress for the fair mother, were the gift of Lady Juliana; the other sponsors were also very liberal in their presents to their godson.

The hilarity attending this ceremony was not confined within the walls of the Castle, where, however, all the genteeler part of the neighbourhood were elegantly entertained, while all the poorer sort were most hospitably regaled under some temporary buildings and marquees erected for the purpose in the park, where immense fires dispelled the coldness of winter, at the same time that they served to dress the provisions intended to regale the crowd assembled round them. Each family was also liberally supplied with bread, meat, clothing, and money, according to its numbers and their respective wants; and as Lady St. Aubyn and Miss Cecil, attended by Bayfield and Jane, did not themselves disdain to visit the cottages, and see what was really requisite for the comfort of their inhabitants, every thing was ordered with intelligence and regularity, and imposition almost totally prevented.

Mrs. Neville, the poor officer's widow mentioned before, had for some time been settled as manager of the Schools of Industry, and other useful institutions, which Lady St. Aubyn had set on foot during the summer: her eldest daughter was gone to "that bourne from which no traveller returns;" but the others, healthy and happy, were in training for such situations as they seemed calculated to fill. Mrs. Neville was also very useful in distributing the gifts to the poor, and the preparations for their entertainment.

A grand display of fireworks finished the amusements of the evening, for St. Aubyn observed that was the only species of mere entertainment which all ranks and ages could partake of; and in the present instance, he wished not only to benefit, but to gratify all his neighbours.

Miss Alton and Mrs. Dawkins were amongst the company received at the Castle, and so delighted were they with the young heir, so charmed with the splendour and elegance of the repast, that, contrary to usual custom, no lamentations or tender sympathetic sighs disturbed the gaiety of the day.

Soon after this grand fete, the whole family set out for London; and Lady St. Aubyn, not satisfied with any superintendent of her nursery but Mrs. Bayfield, begged she might go with them, and be removed entirely from the more fatiguing post she had hitherto filled.

Jane, now called Mrs. Williamson, having been for some time under Mrs. Bayfield's direction, was placed in her vacant department, and another, somewhat more fashionable, lady's woman engaged to attend the Countess.

In London they met the new married pair, and the bride's fair sister, Lady Delamore, whose extraordinary beauty excited Ellen's admiration, while her likeness to the sweet departed Juliet involuntarily claimed her affection.

With such very agreeable friends, and under the respectable protection of Lady Juliana, Lady St. Aubyn found London a very different scene from what it had appeared to her the year before: she now possessed also a greater degree of confidence in herself, and having no longer any thing to fear, the gloomy hints of St. Aubyn, and her consequent dread, being for ever explained and removed, she felt a more cheerful flow of spirits, and enjoyed the amusements which were so amply in her power: yet still those spirits were softened by the most retiring delicacy; and those amusements, partaken with moderation and decorum. Still her high character stood unblemished, and even elevated in the public opinion; and the splendour of her beauty, which every one thought but now come to its full perfection, attracted none but _respectful_ admirers.

The St. Aubyns frequently saw Lord de Montfort, who had purchased a house in town, and was living in very high style, though still under the direction of Mr. O'Brien, but evidently choosing to be more his own master than he had been in Spain, to which country he seemed at present to have no thoughts of returning; his grandfather's will having left him free to choose his own residence, though he was under a necessity of visiting Spain at least once in two years.

To Lord St. Aubyn he was polite, though distant: strangers could not have perceived any thing in his manner indicative of dislike or resentment; but those who knew what had passed, could at times discover a particular cast of his eye, a certain tone in speaking to the Earl, which marked a _recollection_, at least, of former enmity, and were by St. Aubyn hardly to be endured.

To Ellen he at all times shewed an attention so devoted, and his expressive eyes displayed so much admiration, that some of those who witnessed them began to fancy they had discovered the cause of that gloom which still overshadowed him, and had, from the time of his first arrival, excited the remarks of every one, and made him the object of the insipid jests and witless railleries of those who could conceive no cause but _love_ for the dejection of a young man who could scarcely count the thousands which swelled his rent-roll.

Love! ill-star'd passion! doom'd vain scorn to bear, To meet the busy mocker's idle jest; Nor then allow'd its misery to declare; Nor then indulge the woe but half supprest.

For of the pure, though enthusiastic attachment he felt for Ellen, such minds could form no idea.

One evening, at the play, whither Lady St. Aubyn went with a large party, amongst whom were Lady Meredith and several gentlemen in her train, they saw in the box opposite to theirs Lord de Montfort leaning against the side of it, in his usual state of gloomy apathy--his eyes half closed, his fine hair disordered, and his whole person expressing a sort of desolation, which waked emotions of pity in Ellen's gentle heart: she could not see him without compassion, he appeared so completely an insulated being, and even in the very morning of life, so totally without any kind connection or affectionate friend to soothe his melancholy--that melancholy, of which she so well knew the original cause, that, as she looked towards him, she could not forbear a sigh; and the sorrow she really felt appeared in her expressive countenance.

Lady Meredith, who had been attentively watching her with a degree of malice, of which Ellen had not supposed her capable, now gently touched Lady St. Aubyn with her fan, and said--

"Upon my word, my dear, I could in pity to the love-sick woe-begone De Montfort have almost wished he could have seen that soft look, and heard that tender sigh: no doubt it would have gone a great way towards rendering him a more cheering object, and that I am sure we should all have rejoiced in, for at present he really casts a gloom over all our amusements."

"I do not understand you," said Ellen, with surprize.

"Indeed!" replied Lady Meredith: "I hardly supposed you would have carried affectation so far. Here, Hamilton," added she, laughing and turning to the gentleman next her, "Lady St. Aubyn cannot imagine why her pity and a very kind look should have any effect on Lord de Montfort."

"Pity and a gentle look from so much beauty," replied Sir James Hamilton, with affected gravity, "must certainly have a most powerful effect on the heart of any man--assuredly still more on that of one so devoted as De Montfort's appears to be."

"I know not, Sir," said Ellen, with modest grace, yet with spirit, "if I am to consider this as a specimen of that fashionable sort of wit which you call quizzing or hoaxing. Are not these the _elegant_ terms of the day? But I am willing to think it no more, as I am convinced you cannot seriously lose sight of the respect you owe me as a married woman, so far as to imagine Lord de Montfort can feel, or I permit, a greater degree of attachment than his long connection with Lord St. Aubyn may well account for."

Then turning to St. Aubyn, she said in a gay tone--

"Help me, my Lord, to convince Lady Meredith that Lord de Montfort has really not fallen violently in love with me: how far he may entertain such a sentiment for her, I will not pretend to say."

St. Aubyn laughed, and said--

"For his own sake, Ellen, I hope he has not been so improvident as to dispose of his heart in your favour; though I should be happy to hear he had selected any fair one at liberty to reward his passion."

This well-timed appeal to her husband, and the unembarrassed manner with which both had spoken, effectually silenced those who hoped to have extracted much amusement from the confusion of the timid and delicate Ellen.

Presently afterwards, on meeting her eyes, De Montfort's seemed lighted up with pleasure, and quitting his box, he came to that where she sat. St. Aubyn seeing a little smile still playing on the countenances of Lady Meredith and some of her gay friends, determined to shew his perfect confidence in his wife, turned round to him, and said--

"De Montfort, how are you? I am quite glad you found us out, for nothing is more stupid than being at the play without a party. We have plenty of room: go and sit between Lady Meredith and Lady St. Aubyn; I am sure I shall make you happy by placing you there, they are both such favourites: we have just been disputing which of them you preferred."

"You did me great honour," replied Edmund, "in speaking of me at all."

"St. Aubyn only jests," said Ellen: "we were not, I assure you, debating on the subject."