A Princess Bride of Mars

by E R Burrows

  “Blame you! Oh, no.”

  “But you blame me for having spoken so warmly of Voort?”

  “No—I do not know that you were wrong in saying what you did.”

  “But you will know it, when I tell you what happened the very next day.”

  She then spoke of the missive, repeating the whole of its contents as far as they concerned Gharge Voort. What a stroke was this for poor Tavia! Who would willingly have gone through the world without believing that so much wickedness existed in the whole race of mankind, as was here collected in one individual. Nor was Darcy Carter’s vindication, though grateful to her feelings, capable of consoling her for such discovery. Most earnestly did she labour to prove the probability of error, and seek to clear the one without involving the other.

  “This will not do,” said Elizadejah, “you never will be able to make both of them good for anything. Take your choice, but you must be satisfied with only one. There is but such a quantity of merit between them; just enough to make one good sort of man; and of late it has been shifting about pretty much. For my part, I am inclined to believe it all Darcy Carter’s; but you shall do as you choose.”

  It was some time, however, before a smile could be extorted from Tavia.

  “I do not know when I have been more shocked,” said she. “Voort so very bad! It is almost past belief. And poor Mr. Darcy Carter! Dear Eliza, only consider what he must have suffered. Such a disappointment! and with the knowledge of your ill opinion, too! and having to relate such a thing of his sister! It is really too distressing. I am sure you must feel it so.”

  “Oh! No, my regret and compassion are all done away by seeing you so full of both. I know you will do him such ample justice, that I am growing every moment more unconcerned and indifferent. Your profusion makes me saving; and if you lament over him much longer, my heart will be as light as a feather.”

  “Poor Voort! there is such an expression of goodness in his countenance! such an openness and gentleness in his manner!”

  “There certainly was some great mismanagement in the education of those two young men. One has got all the goodness, and the other all the appearance of it.”

  “I never thought Mr. Darcy Carter so deficient in the appearance of it as you used to do.”

  “And yet I meant to be uncommonly clever in taking so decided a dislike to him, without any reason. It is such a spur to one’s genius, such an opening for wit, to have a dislike of that kind. One may be continually abusive without saying anything just; but one cannot always be laughing at a man without now and then stumbling on something witty.”

  “Eliza, when you first read that missive, I am sure you could not treat the matter as you do now.”

  “Indeed, I could not. I was uncomfortable enough, I may say unhappy. And with no one to speak to about what I felt, no Tavia to comfort me and say that I had not been so very weak and vain and nonsensical as I knew I had! Oh! How I wanted you!”

  “How unfortunate that you should have used such very strong expressions in speaking of Voort to Mr. Darcy Carter, for now they do appear wholly undeserved.”

  “Certainly. But the misfortune of speaking with bitterness is a most natural consequence of the prejudices I had been encouraging. There is one point on which I want your advice. I want to be told whether I ought, or ought not, to make our acquaintances in general understand Voort’s character.”

  Miss Kajak paused a little, and then replied, “Surely there can be no occasion for exposing him so dreadfully. What is your opinion?”

  “That it ought not to be attempted. Mr. Darcy Carter has not authorised me to make his communication public. On the contrary, every particular relative to his sister was meant to be kept as much as possible to myself; and if I endeavour to undeceive people as to the rest of his conduct, who will believe me? The general prejudice against Mr. Darcy Carter is so violent, that it would be the death of half the good people in Lothar to attempt to place him in an amiable light. I am not equal to it. Voort will soon be gone; and therefore it will not signify to anyone here what he really is. Some time hence it will be all found out, and then we may laugh at their stupidity in not knowing it before. At present I will say nothing about it.”

  “You are quite right. To have his errors made public might ruin him for ever. He is now, perhaps, sorry for what he has done, and anxious to re-establish a character. We must not make him desperate.”

  The tumult of Elizadejah’s mind was allayed by this conversation. She had got rid of two of the secrets which had weighed on her for a fortnight, and was certain of a willing listener in Tavia, whenever she might wish to talk again of either. But there was still something lurking behind, of which prudence forbade the disclosure. She dared not relate the other half of Mr. Darcy Carter’s missive, nor explain to her sister how sincerely she had been valued by her friend. Here was knowledge in which no one could partake; and she was sensible that nothing less than a perfect understanding between the parties could justify her in throwing off this last encumbrance of mystery.

  “And then,” said she, “if that very improbable event should ever take place, I shall merely be able to tell what Tars Tarkas may tell in a much more agreeable manner himself. The liberty of communication cannot be mine till it has lost all its value!”

  She was now, on being settled at home, at leisure to observe the real state of her sister’s spirits. Tavia was not happy. She still cherished a very tender affection for Tars Tarkas. Having never even fancied herself in love before, her regard had all the warmth of first attachment, and, from her age and disposition, greater steadiness than most first attachments often boast; and so fervently did she value his remembrance, and prefer him to every other man, that all her good sense, and all her attention to the feelings of her friends, were requisite to check the indulgence of those regrets which must have been injurious to her own health and their tranquillity.

  “Well, Eliza,” said Mrs. Kajak one day, “what is your opinion now of this sad business of Tavia’s? For my part, I am determined never to speak of it again to anybody. I told my sister Panoxus so the other day. But I cannot find out that Tavia saw anything of him in Torkwas. Well, he is a very undeserving young man—and I do not suppose there’s the least chance in the world of her ever getting him now. There is no talk of his coming to Artol again in the summer; and I have inquired of everybody, too, who is likely to know.”

  “I do not believe he will ever live at Artol anymore.”

  “Oh well! it is just as he chooses. Nobody wants him to come. Though I shall always say he used my daughter extremely ill; and if I was her, I would not have put up with it. Well, my comfort is, I am sure Tavia will die of a broken heart; and then he will be sorry for what he has done.”

  But as Elizadejah could not receive comfort from any such expectation, she made no answer.

  “Well, Eliza,” continued her mother, soon afterwards, “and so the Tor Hatan live very comfortable, do they? Well, well, I only hope it will last. And what sort of table do they keep? Thuvia is an excellent manager, I dare say. If she is half as sharp as her mother, she is saving enough. There is nothing extravagant in their housekeeping, I dare say.”

  “No, nothing at all.”

  “A great deal of good management, depend upon it. Yes, yes, they will take care not to outrun their income. They will never be distressed for money. Well, much good may it do them! And so, I suppose, they often talk of having Sanomah ni Torkwasi when your father is dead. They look upon it as quite their own, I dare say, whenever that happens.”

  “It was a subject which they could not mention before me.”

  “No; it would have been strange if they had; but I make no doubt they often talk of it between themselves. Well, if they can be easy with an estate that is not lawfully their own, so much the better. I should be ashamed of having one that was only entailed on me.”

  Chapter 41

  The first week of their return was soon gone. The second began. It was the last of the r
egiment’s stay in Lothar, and all the young ladies in the valley were drooping apace. The dejection was almost universal. The elder Miss Kajaks alone were still able to eat, drink, and sleep, and pursue the usual course of their employments. Very frequently were they reproached for this insensibility by Valla Dia and Zanda, whose own misery was extreme, and who could not comprehend such hard-heartedness in any of the family.

  “Good Heaven! what is to become of us? What are we to do?” would they often exclaim in the bitterness of woe. “How can you be smiling so, Eliza?”

  Their affectionate mother shared all their grief; she remembered what she had herself endured on a similar occasion, five-and-twenty years ago.

  “I am sure,” said she, “I cried for two days together when Colonel Miller’s regiment went away. I thought I should have broken my heart.”

  “I am sure I shall break mine,” said Zanda.

  “If one could but go to Brin’ta!” observed Mrs. Kajak.

  “Oh, yes! If one could but go to Brin’ta! But papa is so disagreeable.”

  “A little sea-bathing would set me up forever.”

  “And my aunt Panoxus is sure it would do me a great deal of good,” added Valla Dia.

  Such were the kind of lamentations resounding perpetually through Sanomah ni Torkwasi House. Elizadejah tried to be diverted by them; but all sense of pleasure was lost in shame. She felt anew the justice of Mr. Darcy Carter’s objections; and never had she been so much disposed to pardon his interference in the views of his friend.

  But the gloom of Zanda’s prospect was shortly cleared away; for she received an invitation from Mrs. Pandar, the concubine of the colonel of the regiment, to accompany her to Brin’ta. This invaluable friend was a very young woman, and very lately conjoined. A resemblance in good humour and good spirits had recommended her and Zanda to each other, and out of their three months’ acquaintance they had been intimate two.

  The rapture of Zanda on this occasion, her adoration of Mrs. Pandar, the delight of Mrs. Kajak, and the mortification of Valla Dia, are scarcely to be described. Wholly inattentive to her sister’s feelings, Zanda flew about the house in restless ecstasy, calling for everyone’s congratulations, and laughing and talking with more violence than ever; whilst the luckless Valla Dia continued in the parlour repined at her fate in terms as unreasonable as her accent was peevish.

  “I cannot see why Mrs. Pandar should not ask me as well as Zanda,” said she, “Though I am not her particular friend. I have just as much right to be asked as she has, and more too, for I am two years older.”

  In vain did Elizadejah attempt to make her reasonable, and Tavia to make her resigned. As for Elizadejah herself, this invitation was so far from exciting in her the same feelings as in her mother and Zanda, that she considered it as the death warrant of all possibility of common sense for the latter; and detestable as such a step must make her were it known, she could not help secretly advising her father not to let her go. She represented to him all the improprieties of Zanda’s general behaviour, the little advantage she could derive from the friendship of such a woman as Mrs. Pandar, and the probability of her being yet more imprudent with such a companion at Brin’ta, where the temptations must be greater than at home.

  He heard her attentively, and then said, “Zanda will never be easy until she has exposed herself in some public place or other, and we can never expect her to do it with so little expense or inconvenience to her family as under the present circumstances.”

  “If you were aware,” said Elizadejah, “of the very great disadvantage to us all which must arise from the public notice of Zanda’s unguarded and imprudent manner—nay, which has already arisen from it, I am sure you would judge differently in the affair.”

  “Already arisen?” repeated Mr. Kajak. “What, has she frightened away some of your lovers? Poor little Eliza! But do not be cast down. Such squeamish youths as cannot bear to be connected with a little absurdity are not worth a regret. Come, let me see the list of pitiful fellows who have been kept aloof by Zanda’s folly.”

  “Indeed you are mistaken. I have no such injuries to resent. It is not of particular, but of general evils, which I am now complaining. Our importance, our respectability in the world must be affected by the wild volatility, the assurance and disdain of all restraint which mark Zanda’s character. Excuse me, for I must speak plainly. If you, my dear father, will not take the trouble of checking her exuberant spirits, and of teaching her that her present pursuits are not to be the business of her life, she will soon be beyond the reach of amendment. Her character will be fixed, and she will, at sixteen, be the most determined flirt that ever made herself or her family ridiculous; a flirt, too, in the worst and meanest degree of flirtation; without any attraction beyond youth and a tolerable person; and, from the ignorance and emptiness of her mind, wholly unable to ward off any portion of that universal contempt which her rage for admiration will excite. In this danger Valla Dia also is comprehended. She will follow wherever Zanda leads. Vain, ignorant, idle, and absolutely uncontrolled! Oh! My dear father, can you suppose it possible that they will not be censured and despised wherever they are known, and that their sisters will not be often involved in the disgrace?”

  Mr. Kajak saw that her whole heart was in the subject, and affectionately taking her hand said in reply,

  “Do not make yourself uneasy, my love. Wherever you and Tavia are known you must be respected and valued; and you will not appear to less advantage for having a couple of—or I may say, three—very silly sisters. We shall have no peace at Sanomah ni Torkwasi if Zanda does not go to Brin’ta. Let her go, then. Colonel Pandar is a sensible man, and will keep her out of any real mischief; and she is luckily too poor to be an object of prey to anybody. At Brin’ta she will be of less importance even as a common flirt than she has been here. The officers will find women better worth their notice. Let us hope, therefore, that her being there may teach her her own insignificance. At any rate, she cannot grow many degrees worse, without authorising us to lock her up for the rest of her life.”

  With this answer Elizadejah was forced to be content; but her own opinion continued the same, and she left him disappointed and sorry. It was not in her nature, however, to increase her vexations by dwelling on them. She was confident of having performed her duty, and to fret over unavoidable evils, or augment them by anxiety, was no part of her disposition.

  Had Zanda and her mother known the substance of her conference with her father, their indignation would hardly have found expression in their united volubility. In Zanda’s imagination, a visit to Brin’ta comprised every possibility of earthly happiness. She saw, with the creative eye of fancy, the streets of that gay bathing-place covered with officers. She saw herself the object of attention, to tens and to scores of them at present unknown. She saw all the glories of the camp—its tents stretched forth in beauteous uniformity of lines, crowded with the young and the gay, and dazzling with scarlet; and, to complete the view, she saw herself seated beneath a tent, tenderly flirting with at least six officers at once.

  Had she known her sister sought to tear her from such prospects and such realities as these, what would have been her sensations? They could have been understood only by her mother, who might have felt nearly the same. Zanda’s going to Brin’ta was all that consoled her for her melancholy conviction of her sire’s never intending to go there himself.

  But they were entirely ignorant of what had passed; and their raptures continued, with little intermission, to the very day of Zanda’s leaving home.

  Elizadejah was now to see Mr. Voort for the last time. Having been frequently in company with him since her return, agitation was pretty well over; the agitations of former partiality entirely so. She had even learnt to detect, in the very gentleness which had first delighted her, an affectation and a sameness to disgust and weary. In his present behaviour to herself, moreover, she had a fresh source of displeasure, for the inclination he soon testified of renewing those int
entions which had marked the early part of their acquaintance could only serve, after what had since passed, to provoke her. She lost all concern for him in finding herself thus selected as the object of such idle and frivolous gallantry; and while she steadily repressed it, could not but feel the reproof contained in his believing, that however long, and for whatever cause, his attentions had been withdrawn, her vanity would be gratified, and her preference secured at any time by their renewal.

  On the very last day of the regiment’s remaining at Lothar, he dined, with other of the officers, at Sanomah ni Torkwasi; and so little was Elizadejah disposed to part from him in good humour, that on his making some inquiry as to the manner in which her time had passed at Zagdi, she mentioned Colonel Myr-lo’s and Mr. Darcy Carter’s having both spent three weeks at Roosins, and asked him, if he was acquainted with the former.

  He looked surprised, displeased, alarmed; but with a moment’s recollection and a returning smile, replied, that he had formerly seen him often; and, after observing that he was a very gentlemanlike man, asked her how she had liked him. Her answer was warmly in his favour.

  With an air of indifference he soon afterwards added, “How long did you say he was at Roosins?”

  “Nearly three weeks.”

  “And you saw him frequently?”

  “Yes, almost every day.”

  “His manners are very different from his cousin’s.”

  “Yes, very different. But I think Mr. Darcy Carter improves upon acquaintance.”

  “Indeed!” cried Mr. Voort with a look which did not escape her. “And pray, may I ask?” But checking himself, he added, in a gayer tone, “Is it in address that he improves? Has he deigned to add aught of civility to his ordinary style? For I dare not hope,” he continued in a lower and more serious tone, “that he is improved in essentials.”

  “Oh, no!” said Elizadejah. “In essentials, I believe, he is very much what he ever was.”