The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. 2 (of 2)

by Charles James Lever

  CHAPTER XIV. A TETE-A-TETE AND A LETTER

  Long after Miss Daly's departure, Lady Eleanor continued to discuss theeccentricity of her manners and the wilful abruptness of her address;for although deeply sensible and grateful for her kindness, she dwelt onevery' peculiarity of her appearance with a pertinacity that more thanonce surprised her daughter. Helen, indeed, was very far from being apatient listener, not only because she was more tolerant in her estimateof their visitor, but because she was eager to read the letter sosecretly intrusted to her hands. A dread of some unknown calamity, somesad tidings of her father or Lionel, was ever uppermost in her thoughts,nor could she banish the impression that Miss Daly's visit had anotherand very different object than that which she alleged to Lady Eleanor.

  It may be reckoned among the well-known contrarieties of life, that ourfriends are never more disposed to be long-winded and discursive than atthe very time we would give the world to be alone and to ourselves. Witha most malicious intensity they seem to select that moment for indulgingin all those speculations by which people while away the weary hours.In such a mood was Lady Eleanor Darcy. Not only did she canvass andcriticise Miss Daly, as she appeared before them, but went off intolong rambling reminiscences of all she had formerly heard about her;for although they had never met before, Miss Daly had been the reigningBelle of the West before her own arrival in Ireland.

  "She must have been handsome, Helen, don't you think so?" said she, atthe end of a long enumeration of the various eccentricities imputed toher.

  "I should say very handsome," replied Helen.

  "Scarcely feminine enough, perhaps," resumed Lady Eleanor,--"thefeatures too bold, the expression too decided; but this may have beenthe fault of a social tone, which required everything in exaggeration,and would tolerate nothing save in excess."

  "Yes, mamma," said Helen, vaguely assenting to a remark she had notattended to.

  "I never fancied that style, either in beauty or in manner," continuedLady Eleanor. "It wants, in the first place, the great element ofpleasing; it is not natural."

  "No, mamma!" rejoined Helen, mechanically as before.

  "Besides," continued Lady Eleanor, gratified at her daughter's readyassent, "for one person to whom these mannerisms are becoming, there areat least a hundred slavish imitators ready to adopt without taste, andfollow without discrimination. Now, Miss Daly was the fashion once. Whocan say to what heresies she has given origin, to what absurdities indress, in manner, and in bearing?"

  Helen smiled, and nodded an acquiescence without knowing to what.

  "There is one evil attendant on all this," said Lady Eleanor, who, withthe merciless ingenuity of a thorough poser, went on ratiocinating fromher own thoughts; "one can rarely rely upon even the kindest intentionsof people of this sort, so often are their best offices but merepassing, fitful impulses; don't you think so?"

  "Yes, mamma," said Helen, roused by this sudden appeal to a more thanusual acquiescence, while totally ignorant as to what.

  "Then, they have seldom any discretion, even when they mean well."

  "No, mamma."

  "While they expect the most implicit compliance on your part with everyscheme they have devised for your benefit."

  "Very true," chimed in Helen, who assented at random.

  "Sad alternative," sighed Lady Eleanor, "between such rash friendshipand the lukewarm kindness of our courtly cousin."

  "I think not!" said Helen, who fancied she was still following thecurrent of her mother's reflections.

  "Indeed!" exclaimed Lady Eleanor, iu astonishment, while she looked ather daughter for an explanation.

  "I quite agree with you, mamma," cried Helen, blushing as she spoke, forshe was suddenly recalled to herself.

  "The more fortunate is the acquiescence, my dear," said Lady Eleanor,dryly, "since it seems perfectly instinctive. I find, Helen, you havenot been a very attentive listener, and as I conclude I must have been avery unamusing companion, I'll even say good-night; nay, my sweet child,it is late enough not to seek excuse for weariness--goodnight."

  Helen blushed deeply; dissimulation was a very difficult task to her,and for a moment seemed more than her strength could bear. She hadresolved to place the letter in her mother's hands, when the thoughtflashed across her, that if its contents might occasion any sudden orsevere shock, she would never forgive herself. This mental struggle,brief as it was, brought the tears to her eyes,--an emotion Lady Eleanorattributed to a different cause, as she said,--

  "You do not suppose, my dearest Helen, that I am angry because yourthoughts took a pleasanter path than my owu."

  "Oh, no,-no!" cried Helen, eagerly, "I know you are not. It is my own--"She stopped; another word would have revealed everything, and with anaffectionate embrace she hurried from the room.

  "Poor child!" exclaimed her mother; "the courage that sustained us bothso long is beginning to fail her now; and yet I feel as if our trialswere but commencing."

  While Lady Eleanor dwelt on these sad thoughts, Helen sat beside her bedweeping bitterly.

  "How shall I bear up," thought she, "if deprived of that confiding trusta mother's love has ever supplied,--without one to counsel or directme?"

  Half fearing to open the letter, lest all her resolves should be alteredby its contents, she remained a long time balancing one difficultyagainst another. Wearied and undecided, she turned at last to the letteritself, as if for advice. It was a strange hand, and addressed to "MissDaly." With trembling fingers she unfolded the paper, and read thewriter's name,--"Richard Forester."

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  A flood of grateful tears burst forth as she read the words; a senseof relief from impending calamity stole over her mind, while she said,"Thank God! my father and Lionel--" She could say no more, for sobbingchoked her utterance. The emotions, if violent, passed rapidly off; andas she wiped away her tears, a smile of hope lit up her features. At anyother time she would have speculated long and carefully over the causeswhich made Forester correspond with Miss Daly, and by what right sheherself should be intrusted with his letter. Now her thoughts werehurried along too rapidly for reflection. The vague dread of misfortune,so suddenly removed, suggested a sense of gratitude that thrilledthrough her heart like joy. In such a frame of mind she read thefollowing lines:--

  At Sea. My dear Miss Daly,-I cannot thank you enough for your letter,so full of kindness, of encouragement, and of hope. How much I standin need of them! I have strictly followed every portion of yourcounsel,--would that I could tell you as successfully as implicitly!The address of this letter will, however, be the shortest reply to thatquestion. I write these lines from the "Hermione" frigate. Yes, I am avolunteer in the expedition to the Mediterranean; and only think who ismy commanding officer,--the Knight himself. I had enrolled myselfunder the name of Conway; but when called up on deck this morning forinspection, such was my surprise on seeing the Knight of Gwynne, or, ashe is now called, Colonel Darcy, I almost betrayed myself. Fortunately,however, I escaped unnoticed,--a circumstance I believe I owe chiefly tothe fact that several young men of family are also volunteers, so thatmy position attracted no unusual attention. It was a most anxious momentfor me as the colonel came down the line, addressing a word here andthere as he went; he stopped within one of me, and spoke for someseconds to a young fellow whose appearance indicated delicate health.How full of gentleness and benevolence were his words! But when heturned and fixed his eyes on me, my heart beat so quick, my head grewso dizzy, I thought I should have fainted. He remained at least half aminute in front of me, and then asked the orderly for my name--"Conway!Conway!" repeated he more than once. "A very old name. I hope you'll doit credit, sir," added he, and moved on,--how much to my relief I neednot say. What a strange rencontre! Often as I wonder at the singularnecessity that has made me a private soldier, all my astonishment islost in thinking of the Knight of Gwynne's presence amongst us; and yethe looks the soldier even as much as he did the country gentleman whenI first saw him, and, strangely too, seems
younger and more active thanbefore. To see him here, chatting with the officers under his command,moving about, taking interest in everything that goes on, who wouldsuspect the change of fortune that has befallen him! Not a vestigeof discontent, not even a passing look of impatience on his handsomefeatures; and yet, with this example before me, and the consciousnessthat my altered condition is nothing in comparison with his, I amlow-spirited and void of hope! But a few weeks ago I would have thoughtmyself the luckiest fellow breathing, if told that I were to serveunder Colonel Darcy, and now I feel ashamed and abashed, and dread arecognition every time I see him. In good truth, I cannot forget thepresumption that led me first to his acquaintance. My mind dwells onthat unhappy mission to the West, and its consequences. My foolishvanity in supposing that I, a mere boy, uninformed, and withoutreflection, should be able to influence a man so much my superior inevery way! and this, bad as it is, is the most favorable view of myconduct, for I dare not recall the dishonorable means by which I was tobuy his support. Then, I think of my heedless and disreputable quarrel.What motives and what actions in the eyes of her whose affection Isought! How worthily am I punished for my presumption!

  I told you that I strictly followed the advice of your last letter.Immediately on receiving it I wrote a few lines to my mother, entreatingher permission to see and speak with her, and expressing an earnesthope that our interview would end in restoring me to the place I so longenjoyed in her affection. A very formal note, appointing the followingday, was all the reply.

  On arriving at Berkeley Square, and entering the drawing-room, I found,to my great astonishment, I will not say more, that a gentleman, astranger to me, was already there, seated at the fire, opposite mymother, and with that easy air that bespoke his visit was not merelyaccidental, but a matter of pre-arrangement.

  Whatever my looks might have conveyed, I know not, but I was not giventhe opportunity for a more explicit inquiry, when my mother, in herstateliest of manners, arose and said,--

  "Richard, I wish to present you to my esteemed friend, Lord Netherby;a gentleman to whose kindness you are indebted for any favorableconstruction I can put upon your folly, and who has induced me toreceive you here to-day."

  "If I knew, madam, that such influence had been necessary, I shouldhave hesitated before I laid myself under so deep an obligation to hisLordship, to whose name and merits I confess myself a stranger."

  "I am but too happy, Captain Forester," interposed the Earl, "if anylittle interest I possess in Lady Wallincourt's esteem enables me tocontribute to your reconciliation. I know the great delicacy ofan interference, in a case like the present, and how officious andimpertinent the most respectful suggestions must appear, when offered byone who can lay no claim, at least to _your_ good opinion."

  A very significant emphasis on the word "your," a look towards mymother, and a very meaning smile from her in reply, at once revealed tome what, till then, I had not suspected,--that his Lordship meditated adeeper influence over her Ladyship's heart than the mere reconciliationof a truant son to her esteem.

  "I believe, my Lord," said I, hastily, and I fear not without someanger,--"I believe I should not have dared to decline your kindinfluence in my behalf, had I suspected the terms on which you wouldexert it. I really was not aware before that you possessed, so fully,her Ladyship's confidence."

  "If you read the morning papers, Captain Forester," said he, with theblandest smile, "you could scarcely avoid learning that my presence hereis neither an intrusion nor an impertinence."

  "My dear mother," cried I, forgetting all, save the long-continued griefby which my father's memory was hallowed, "is this really the case?"

  "I can forgive your astonishment," replied she, with a look of anger,"that the qualities you hold so highly in your esteem should have metfavor from one so placed and gifted as the Earl of Netherby."

  "Nay, madam; on the contrary. My difficulty is to think how any newproffer of attachment could find reception in a heart I fondly thoughtclosed against such appeals; too full of its own memories of the past toprofane the recollection by--"

  I hesitated and stopped. Another moment, and I would have uttered a wordwhich for worlds I would not have spoken.

  My mother became suddenly pale as marble, and lay back in her chairas if faint and sick. His Lordship adjusted his neckcloth and hiswatch-chain, and walked towards the window, with an air of as muchawkwardness as so very courtly a personage could exhibit.

  "You see, my Lord," said my mother,--and her voice trembled at everyword,--"you see, I was right: I told you how much this interview wouldagitate and distress me."

  "But it need not, madam," interposed I; "or, at all events, it may berendered very brief. I sought an opportunity of speaking to you, in thehope that whatever impressions you may have received of my conduct inIreland were either exaggerated or unjust; that I might convince you,however I may have erred in prudence or judgment, I have transgressedneither in honor nor good faith."

  "Vindications," said my mother, "are very weak things in the face ofdirect facts. Did you, or did you not, resign your appointment on theviceroy's staff--I stop not to ask with what scant courtesy--that youmight be free to rove over the country, on some knight-errant absurdity?Did you, after having one disreputable quarrel in the same neighborhood,again involve yourself and your name in an affair with a notoriousmob-orator and disturber, and thus become the 'celebrity' of thenewspapers for at least a fortnight? And lastly, when I hoped, byabsence from England, and foreign service, to erase the memory ofthese follies--to give them no harsher name,--did you not refuse theappointment, and without advice or permission sell out of the armyaltogether?"

  "Without adverting to the motives, madam, you have so kindly attributedto me, I beg to say 'yes' to all your questions. I am no longer anofficer in his Majesty's service."

  "Nor any longer a member of _my_ family, sir," said my mother,passionately; "at least so far as the will rests with me. A gentlemanso very independent in his principles is doubtless not less so in hiscircumstances. You are entitled to five thousand pounds only, by yourfather's will: this, if I mistake not, you have received and spent manya day ago. I will not advert to what my original intentions in yourbehalf were; they are recorded, however, in this paper, which you,my Lord, have read." Here her Ladyship drew forth a document, likea law-paper, while the Earl bowed a deep acquiescence, and mutteredsomething like--"Very generous and noble-minded, indeed!"

  "Yes, sir," resumed my mother, "I had no other thought or object, savein establishing you in a position suitable to your name and family; youhave thought fit to oppose my wishes on every point, and here I end thevain struggle." So saying, she tore the paper in pieces, and threw thefragments into the fire.

  A deep silence ensued, which I, for many reasons, had no inducementto break. The Earl coughed and hemmed three or four times, as thoughendeavoring to hit upon something that might relieve the generalembarrassment, but my mother was again the first to speak.

  "I have no doubt, sir, you have determined on some future career. I amnot indiscreet enough to inquire what; but that you may not enter uponit quite unprovided, I have settled upon you the sum of four hundredpounds yearly. Do not mistake me, nor suppose that this act proceedsfrom any lingering hope on my part that you will attempt to retrace yourfalse steps, and recover the lost place in my affection. I am too wellacquainted with the family gift of determination, as it is flatteringlystyled, to think so. You owe this consideration entirely to the kindinterference of the Earl of Netherby. Nay, my Lord, it is but fair thatyou should have any merit the act confers, where you have incurred allthe responsibility."

  "I will relieve his Lordship of both," said I. "I beg to decline yourLadyship's generosity and his Lordship's kindness, with the self-samefeeling of respect."

  "My dear Captain Forester, wait one moment," said Lord Netherby, takingmy arm. "Let me speak to you, even for a few moments."

  "You mistake him, my Lord," said my mother, with a scornful smile, whileshe arose to le
ave the room,--"you mistake him much."

  "Pray hear me out," said Lord Netherby, taking my hand in both his own."It is no time, nor a case for any rash resolves," whispered he; "LadyWallincourt has been misinformed,--her mind has been warped by storiesof one kind or other. Go to her, explain fully and openly everything."

  "Her Ladyship is gone, my Lord," exclaimed I, stopping him.

  Yes, she had left the room while we were yet speaking. This was mylast adieu from my mother! I remember little more, though Lord Netherbydetained me still some time, and spoke with much kindness; indeed,throughout, his conduct was graceful and good-natured.

  Why should I weary you longer? Why speak of the long dreary night,and the longer day that followed this scene,--swayed by differentimpulses,-now hoping and fearing alternately,--not daring to seekcounsel from my friends, because I well knew what worldly advice wouldbe given,--I was wretched. In the very depth of my despondency, like aray of sunlight darting through some crevice of a prisoner's cell, cameyour own words to me, "Be a soldier in more than garb or name, be onein the generous ardor of a bold career. Let it be your boast that youstarted fairly in the race, and so distanced your competitors." I caughtat the suggestion with avidity. I was no more depressed or down-hearted.I felt as if, throwing off my load of care, a better and a brighter daywas about to break for me; the same evening I left London for Plymouth,and became a volunteer.

  Before concluding these lines, I would ask why you tell me no moreof Miss Darcy than that "she is well, and, the reverse of her fortuneconsidered, in spirits." Am I to learn no more than that? Will you notsay if my name is ever spoken by or before her? How am I remembered? Hastime-have my changed fortunes softened her stern determination towardsme? Would that I could know this,--would that I could divine what maylurk in her heart of compassionate pity for one who resigned all forher love, and lost! With all my gratitude for your kindness, when Iwell-nigh believed none remained in the world for me,

  I am, yours in sincere affection,

  Richard Forester.

  I forgot to ask if you can read one strange mystery of this business, atleast so the words seem to imply. Lord Netherby said, when endeavoringto dissuade me from leaving my mother's house, "Remember, CaptainForester, that Lady Wallincourt's prejudices regarding your Irishfriends have something stronger than mere caprice to strengthen them.You must not ask her to forget as well as forgive, all at once." Can youinterpret this riddle for me? for although at the time it made littleimpression, it recurs to my mind now twenty times a day.

  Here concluded Forester's letter. A single line in pencil was writtenat the foot, and signed "M. D. ": "I am a bad prophet, or the volunteerwill turn out better than the aide-de-camp."