"Indeed, your ladyship does my acuteness too much honour."

"Did she not mention a Christian name?" said Lady Penelope; "your lordship is strangely dull this morning!"

"A Christian name?--No, none that I heard--yes, she said something about--a Catherine, I think it was."

"Catherine!" answered the lady; "No, my lord, it was Clara--rather a rare name in this country, and belonging, I think, to a young lady of whom your lordship should know something, unless your evening flirtations with Lady Binks have blotted entirely out of your memory your morning visits to Shaws-Castle. You are a bold man, my lord. I would advise you to include Mrs. Blower among the objects of your attention, and then you will have maid, wife, and widow upon your list."

"Upon my honour, your ladyship is too severe," said Lord Etherington; "you surround yourself every evening with all that is clever and accomplished among the people here, and then you ridicule a poor secluded monster, who dare not approach your charmed circle, because he seeks for some amus.e.m.e.nt elsewhere. This is to tyrannize and not to reign--it is Turkish despotism!"

"Ah! my lord, I know you well, my lord," said Lady Penelope--"Sorry would your lordship be, had you not power to render yourself welcome to any circle which you may please to approach."

"That is to say," answered the lord, "you will pardon me if I intrude on your ladyship's coterie this evening?"

"There is no society which Lord Etherington can think of frequenting, where he will not be a welcome guest."

"I will plead then at once my pardon and privilege this evening--And now," (speaking as if he had succeeded in establishing some confidence with her ladyship,) "what do you really think of this blind story?"

"O, I must believe it concerns Miss Mowbray. She was always an odd girl--something about her I could never endure--a sort of effrontery--that is, perhaps, a harsh word, but a kind of a.s.surance--an air of confidence--so that though I kept on a footing with her, because she was an orphan girl of good family, and because I really knew nothing positively bad of her, yet she sometimes absolutely shocked me."

"Your ladyship, perhaps, would not think it right to give publicity to the story? at least, till you know exactly what it is," said the Earl, in a tone of suggestion.

"Depend upon it, that it is quite the worst, the very worst--You heard the woman say that she had exposed Clara to ruin--and you know she must have meant Clara Mowbray, because she was so anxious to tell the story to her brother, St. Ronan's."

"Very true--I did not think of that," answered Lord Etherington; "still it would be hard on the poor girl if it should get abroad."

"O, it will never get abroad for me," said Lady Penelope; "I would not tell the very wind of it. But then I cannot meet Miss Mowbray as formerly--I have a station in life to maintain, my lord--and I am under the necessity of being select in my society--it is a duty I owe the public, if it were even not my own inclination."

"Certainly, my Lady Penelope," said Lord Etherington; "but then consider, that, in a place where all eyes are necessarily observant of your ladyship's behaviour, the least coldness on your part to Miss Mowbray--and, after all, we have nothing like a.s.surance of any thing being wrong there--would ruin her with the company here, and with the world at large."

"Oh! my lord," answered Lady Penelope, "as for the truth of the story, I have some private reasons of my own for 'holding the strange tale devoutly true;' for I had a mysterious hint from a very worthy, but a very singular man, (your lordship knows how I adore originality,) the clergyman of the parish, who made me aware there was something wrong about Miss Clara--something that--your lordship will excuse my speaking more plainly,--Oh, no!--I fear--I fear it is all too true--You know Mr.

Cargill, I suppose, my lord?"

"Yes--no--I--I think I have seen him," said Lord Etherington. "But how came the lady to make the parson her father-confessor?--they have no auricular confession in the Kirk--it must have been with the purpose of marriage, I presume--let us hope that it took place--perhaps it really was so--did he, Cargill--the minister, I mean--say any thing of such a matter?"

"Not a word--not a word--I see where you are, my lord; you would put a good face on't.--

'They call'd it marriage, by that specious name To veil the crime, and sanctify the shame.'

Queen Dido for that. How the clergyman came into the secret I cannot tell--he is a very close man. But I know he will not hear of Miss Mowbray being married to any one, unquestionably because he knows that, in doing so, she would introduce disgrace into some honest family--and, truly, I am much of his mind, my lord."

"Perhaps Mr. Cargill may know the lady is privately married already,"

said the Earl; "I think that is the more natural inference, begging your ladyship's pardon for presuming to differ in opinion."

Lady Penelope seemed determined not to take this view of the case.

"No, no--no, I tell you," she replied; "she cannot be married, for if she were married, how could the poor wretch say that she was ruined?--You know there is a difference betwixt ruin and marriage."

"Some people are said to have found them synonymous, Lady Penelope,"

answered the Earl.

"You are smart on me, my lord; but still, in common parlance, when we say a woman is ruined, we mean quite the contrary of her being married--it is impossible for me to be more explicit upon such a topic, my lord."

"I defer to your ladyship's better judgment," said Lord Etherington. "I only entreat you to observe a little caution in this business--I will make the strictest enquiries of this woman, and acquaint you with the result; and I hope, out of regard to the respectable family of St.

Ronan's, your ladyship will be in no hurry to intimate any thing to Miss Mowbray's prejudice."

"I certainly am no person to spread scandal, my lord," answered the lady, drawing herself up; "at the same time, I must say, the Mowbrays have little claim on me for forbearance. I am sure I was the first person to bring this Spa into fashion, which has been a matter of such consequence to their estate; and yet Mr. Mowbray set himself against me, my lord, in every possible sort of way, and encouraged the under-bred people about him to behave very strangely.--There was the business of building the Belvidere, which he would not permit to be done out of the stock-purse of the company, because I had given the workmen the plan and the orders--and then, about the tea-room--and the hour for beginning dancing--and about the subscription for Mr. Rymour's new Tale of Chivalry--in short, I owe no consideration to Mr. Mowbray of St.

Ronan's."

"But the poor young lady?" said Lord Etherington.

"Oh! the poor young lady?--the poor young lady can be as saucy as a rich young lady, I promise you.--There was a business in which she used me scandalously, Lord Etherington--it was about a very trifling matter--a shawl. n.o.body minds dress less than I do, my lord; I thank Heaven my thoughts turn upon very different topics--but it is in trifles that disrespect and unkindness are shown; and I have had a full share of both from Miss Clara, besides a good deal of impertinence from her brother upon the same subject."

"There is but one way remains," thought the Earl, as they approached the Spa, "and that is to work on the fears of this d--d vindictive blue-stocking'd wild-cat.--Your ladyship," he said aloud, "is aware what severe damages have been awarded in late cases where something approaching to scandal has been traced to ladies of consideration--the privileges of the tea-table have been found insufficient to protect some fair critics against the consequences of too frank and liberal animadversion upon the characters of their friends. So pray, remember, that as yet we know very little on this subject."

Lady Penelope loved money, and feared the law; and this hint, fortified by her acquaintance with Mowbray's love of his sister, and his irritable and revengeful disposition, brought her in a moment much nearer the temper in which Lord Etherington wished to leave her. She protested, that no one could be more tender than she of the fame of the unfortunate, even supposing their guilt was fully proved--promised caution on the subject of the pauper's declaration, and hoped Lord Etherington would join her tea-party early in the evening, as she wished to make him acquainted with one or two of her _proteges_, whom, she was sure, his lordship would find deserving of his advice and countenance.

Being by this time at the door of her own apartment, her ladyship took leave of the Earl with a most gracious smile.

FOOTNOTES:

[II-9] Note I.

[II-10] Note II.

CHAPTER XIV.

DISAPPOINTMENT.

On the lee-beam lies the land, boys, See all clear to reef each course; Let the fore-sheet go, don't mind, boys, Though the weather should be worse.

_The Storm._

"It darkens round me like a tempest," thought Lord Etherington, as, with slow step, folded arms, and his white hat slouched over his brows, he traversed the short interval of s.p.a.ce betwixt his own apartments and those of the Lady Penelope. In a buck of the old school, one of Congreve's men of wit and pleasure about town, this would have been a departure from character; but the present fine man does not derogate from his quality, even by exhibiting all the moody and gentlemanlike solemnity of Master Stephen.[II-C] So, Lord Etherington was at liberty to carry on his reflections, without attracting observation.--"I have put a stopper into the mouth of that old vinegar-cruet of quality, but the acidity of her temper will soon dissolve the charm--And what to do?"

As he looked round him, he saw his trusty valet Solmes, who, touching his hat with due respect, said, as he pa.s.sed him, "Your lordship's letters are in your private dispatch-box."

Simple as these words were, and indifferent the tone in which they were spoken, their import made Lord Etherington's heart bound as if his fate had depended on the accents. He intimated no farther interest in the communication, however, than to desire Solmes to be below, in case he should ring; and with these words entered his apartment, and barred and bolted the door, even before he looked on the table where his dispatch-box was placed.

Lord Etherington had, as is usual, one key to the box which held his letters, his confidential servant being intrusted with the other; so that, under the protection of a patent lock, his dispatches escaped all risk of being tampered with,--a precaution not altogether unnecessary on the part of those who frequent hotels and lodging-houses.

"By your leave, Mr. Bramah," said the Earl, as he applied the key, jesting, as it were, with his own agitation, as he would have done with that of a third party. The lid was raised, and displayed the packet, the appearance and superscription of which had attracted his observation but a short while before in the post-office. _Then_ he would have given much to be possessed of the opportunity which was now in his power; but many pause on the brink of a crime, who have contemplated it at a distance without scruple. Lord Etherington's first impulse had led him to poke the fire; and he held in his hand the letter which he was more than half tempted to commit, without even breaking the seal, to the fiery element.

But, though sufficiently familiarized with guilt, he was not as yet acquainted with it in its basest shapes--he had not yet acted with meanness, or at least with what the world terms such. He had been a duellist, the manners of the age authorized it--a libertine, the world excused it to his youth and condition--a bold and successful gambler, for that quality he was admired and envied; and a thousand other inaccuracies, to which these practices and habits lead, were easily slurred over in a man of quality, with fortune and spirit to support his rank. But his present meditated act was of a different kind. Tell it not in Bond Street, whisper it not on St. James's pavement!--it amounted to an act of petty larceny, for which the code of honour would admit of no composition.

Lord Etherington, under the influence of these recollections, stood for a few minutes suspended--But the devil always finds logic to convince his followers. He recollected the wrong done to his mother, and to himself, her offspring, to whom his father had, in the face of the whole world, imparted the hereditary rights, of which he was now, by a posthumous deed, endeavouring to deprive the memory of the one and the expectations of the other. Surely, the right being his own, he had a full t.i.tle, by the most effectual means, whatever such means might be, to repel all attacks on that right, and even destroy, if necessary, the doc.u.ments by which his enemies were prosecuting their unjust plans against his honour and interest.

This reasoning prevailed, and Lord Etherington again held the devoted packet above the flames; when it occurred to him, that, his resolution being taken, he ought to carry it into execution as effectually as possible; and to do so, it was necessary to know, that the packet actually contained the papers which he was desirous to destroy.