“No,” returned Adeline: “accident alone has brought you into my service; and you must well understand that I am not over well pleased with the coincidence. In a word, name the sum that will satisfy you for the loss of a good place—and take your departure. You can leave to me the invention of some proper excuse——”
“Is it possible?” ejaculated Lydia; “this cold—heartless—ungrateful reception——”
“Do you recollect to whom you are speaking?” demanded Adeline, the colour mounting to her cheeks.
“Oh! yes,—I know that full well—too well,” said Lydia, again clasping her hands, and casting her eyes upwards, as if in appeal to heaven against the ingratitude of the world. “I stand in the presence of one to save whose good fame I sacrificed my own—to shield whom from the finger of scorn and reproach, I allowed myself to be made a victim! Yes, proud lady of Ravensworth—so many years have not elapsed since, in my cold and cheerless garret, in the depth of a winter night, you gave birth——”
“Silence, Lydia!” ejaculated Adeline, her lips quivering, and the colour coming and going on her cheeks with rapid alternations. “Let us not refer to the past. The present——”
“No,” interrupted Lydia, in a solemn tone: “you can not—you shall not deter me from talking of the past. For you, lady, are so highly exalted above myself, that it is almost impossible for you to shape the least—the faintest—the most remote idea of the depth of misery into which I have been plunged. And yet I pant—I long—I feel a burning desire to make you comprehend all I have suffered;—because to my acquaintance with you—to my fatal connexion with you at the seminary—may be traced all the sorrows—the profound, ineffable woes—the degradations—the terrible afflictions that have since marked my career!”
“I will not hear more;—I cannot permit you thus to insult—to upbraid me,” faltered Lady Ravensworth, her bosom agitated with the most cruel emotions.
“Oh! I have longed for this opportunity to meet you face to face, and tell you all I have suffered, and all I now feel!” exclaimed Lydia; “and it is not likely that I will abandon so favourable an occasion. No—you have triumphed over me long enough: you have used me as a tool when it suited your convenience—and you spurned me when I had ceased to be useful. Though maintaining your own outward respectability, honour, and good name upon the wreck of mine, you dare to treat me with the blackest ingratitude. Lady Ravensworth, I said that all I have endured was traceable to you! When I first met you at the Kensington seminary, I was pure, artless, innocent:—you were already initiated in the secrets of intrigue—you were even then, at that tender age, a wanton in your heart.”
“Lydia—Miss Hutchinson! Oh! my God!” exclaimed Adeline, covering her face with her hands.
“Yes—you were already trembling on the verge of dishonour—you were courting seduction and all its consequences!” continued the unfortunate woman, upbraiding that proud peeress with a remorselessness, a bitterness, and a feeling of delighted vengeance that made her language the more terrible and its effect more overwhelming. “I even remember still—oh! how well I remember—that you were the first who opened my eyes to the existence of female frailty. Yes—I, who went to that school as a teacher, was taught by a pupil! And merciful heavens! what did you teach me? You led me on step by step in the path of duplicity and dishonour: you made me the companion of your own amours; and we became victims to our seducers on the same day!”
“Oh! spare me—spare me!” moaned Adeline. “My God! if we were overheard! I would be lost—ruined—undone!”
“Rest tranquil on that head:—it does not suit my present purposes to betray you—and I will explain my reason shortly. In the meantime,” continued Lydia Hutchinson, “I must recall to your recollection all those circumstances which led me to sacrifice myself to save you.”
“No—no: I remember everything. Say no more, Lydia,” cried Lady Ravensworth. “Tell me what you require—what I can do for you! Will you have money? or——”
“Peace!—silence!” said Lydia, eyeing the patrician lady with a glance of ineffable scorn. “Oh!” she added, almost wildly, “I have sold myself for gold;—but never—never may that occur again; either bodily or morally! Your ladyship declares you remember all that has ever passed between us? Then does your ingratitude become infinitely the more vile and contemptible. For when you lay writhing in the agonies of maternity, I was there,—there in that cold and cheerless garret,—to minister unto you! And when the lifeless form of your babe was discovered concealed amongst my clothes—in my room—and in my box,—I did not turn to the schoolmistress and say, ‘It is not mine: it is Miss Adeline Enfield’s!’—When, too, I saw that you were so weak, so feeble, and so suffering that the cold night air would kill you, I took your child, and, like a thief, I stole away from the house to sink the corpse in a distant pool. For you had said to me, ‘Keep my secret, dearest Lydia: the honour of a noble family depends upon your prudence!’—My prudence! Oh! no:—the honour of your family depended on the sacrifice of mine! And I did sacrifice my family to save you—for to all that I did for you may be traced the broken heart of my poor father and the assassination of my brother by the hand of the duellist!”
“Oh! spare me—spare me!” again exclaimed Lady Ravensworth. “I have been very ungrateful—very unkind; but now, Lydia, I will endeavour to compensate you for all that has passed.”
“One being alone can so compensate me, lady,” said Miss Hutchinson in a solemn tone; “and that being is God! No human power can give me back my poor father or my much-loved brother: no human agency can obliterate from my mind those infamies and degradations to which I have been subject. What amount of gold can reward me for days of starvation and nights of painful wanderings amidst the creatures of crime, without a place to repose my aching, shivering limbs? And sometimes, amidst the overwhelming crowd of sorrows that so often drove me to the river’s bank, or made me pause on the threshold of the chemist’s-shop where poison was to be procured,—I saw, from time to time, your name mentioned in the newspapers. Oh! what memories did those occasions recall! On the very day that you were presented at Court, I had not a crust to eat! And twice on that day did I seek the river’s brink, whence I turned away again—afraid of changing even the horrible certainties of this life’s sufferings for the more appalling uncertainties of another world.”
“Lydia—Lydia, you are killing me!” exclaimed Lady Ravensworth. “Pity me—if not for myself, for the sake of the innocent child which I bear in my bosom. Tell me what I can do for you—what you require—”
“My views are soon explained,” interrupted Lydia. “I demand permission to remain in the service of your ladyship.”
“Oh! no—no: impossible!” said Adeline, in an imploring tone.
“It must be as I say,” observed Lydia, coolly.
“Insolent menial!” ejaculated Lady Ravensworth, losing all command over herself. “Leave me—quit this house—go——”
“Do you dare me?” said Miss Hutchinson. “I assured your ladyship ere now that it did not suit my present plans to expose you; because I seek to remain in your service. But, if you essay again to triumph over me—to spurn me from your presence—I will, remorselessly and fearlessly, proclaim the past.”
“And who will believe you?” cried Adeline, trembling with mingled alarm and rage: “who will believe you? The whole world will denounce you as an impostress. Nay—more: I will punish you—yes, I will punish you for your insolence! I will declare that you have attempted to extort money from me by means of the most diabolical threats——”
“Think not that I am to be intimidated by your ladyship’s miserable subterfuges,” interrupted Lydia, who grew if possible more cold and contemptuous in her manner in proportion as the proud patrician became excited and indignant. “Are there no witnesses to speak to collateral facts? Could Cholmondeley and Dunstable prove nothing again
st you?”
“They would not raise their voices against a noble lady’s fame,” said Adeline, impatiently.
“They would speak the truth when placed on their oaths in a court of justice,” exclaimed Lydia, confidently; “for it is to a court of justice that your ladyship threatens to drag me. And now, proud peeress, I dare you to the public investigation! Throw open the door—summon your domestics—send me to a gaol!—but the day of fair and searching scrutiny must come—and I should await in confidence the reply that a British judge and a British jury would give to the vile calumny of even a lady so highly exalted as yourself!”
“Enough!” cried Adeline, now almost purple with rage, and every vein on her forehead swollen almost to bursting. “I accept your challenge—for I well know that I can rely upon the honour of Lord Dunstable and Colonel Cholmondeley. Yes—yes: they would sooner perjure themselves than attaint the honour of a peeress!”
“There is one other consideration, then,” said Lydia, still completely unruffled: “and perhaps the ingenuity of your ladyship will devise a means of frustrating that test also.”
“To what do you allude?” demanded Adeline.
“I mean that when you summon your domestics to drag me to a gaol on a charge of extortion,” replied Lydia, contemptuously, “that moment do I proclaim the history of the past! Then will medical experience speedily prove whether Lady Ravensworth now bears her first child in her bosom!”
Adeline uttered a faint shriek, and fell back upon the sofa, overwhelmed by this dread menace.
That shriek was accompanied by a low moan that seemed to come from the passage outside.
Lydia hastened towards the door; but ere she had half crossed the room, it was thrown violently open, and Lord Ravensworth entered the boudoir.
“My husband!” screamed Adeline, in a frantic tone: then, flinging herself on her knees before him, she cried, “Mercy! mercy!”
CHAPTER CCVII.
THE HUSBAND, THE WIFE, AND THE UNFORTUNATE WOMAN.
“Mercy! mercy!” were the words that burst from the lips of the affrighted lady, ere she paused to reflect whether the preceding conversation had been overheard or not.
“Rise,” said Lord Ravensworth, his quivering lip, flashing eye, hectic cheek, heaving chest and clenched hand denoting a more powerful excitement than he had experienced for a long, long time. “Rise, madam: this is a subject which cannot be disposed of in passionate ejaculations;—it requires a calmer deliberation—for the honour of two noble families is now at stake!”
“Then you know all!” cried Adeline, in an agonising tone, as she embraced her husband’s knees.
“Yes—I overheard enough to enable me to comprehend the whole truth,” returned the nobleman who for the time being seemed to have altogether thrown off the apathetic lethargy which had characterised him lately with such few intermissions.
Then, as he was yet speaking, he forcibly raised his wife from her suppliant position, and placed her upon the ottoman.
Taking a chair near her, he pointed to another, and, glancing towards Lydia, said in a tone rather mournful than angry, “Young woman, be seated.”
Lydia obeyed mechanically; for she herself was alarmed at the serious turn which the affair had taken.
“Adeline,” said the nobleman, after a short pause, during which he evidently endeavoured to compose his feelings as much as possible, “before we enter upon this sad topic, I must in justice to myself observe that I did not seek your chamber to play the eaves-dropper. I felt unwell in the drawing-room ere now, and I retired to my own cabinet to solace myself in the usual manner with the meerschaum. But it struck me that I had been better during all the early part of the morning than for some weeks past; and, after a long struggle with myself, I resolved to renounce the pipe. On my return to the drawing-room, I heard that you were suddenly indisposed; and I came hither to inquire after you. But at the moment I reached your door, I overheard words which struck me as with a thunderbolt. Then I listened—and overheard much—too much!”
“And now you hate—you despise me!” cried Adeline, wildly: “you will thrust me forth from your dwelling—you will cover me with shame! No—no,” she added hysterically, “death—death before such a fate!”
“Calm yourself, Adeline,” said Lord Ravensworth, who evidently suppressed his own feelings with great difficulty: “I before observed that there is the honour of two families to preserve—that of Rossville and of Ravensworth. Give me your Bible.”
“My Bible!” exclaimed Adeline, in astonishment mingled with alarm.
“Yes—your Bible. Where is it?”
“There—there!” said Adeline in a faint tone—for she was at a loss to divine the meaning or intention of her husband; and that mysterious uncertainty filled her with vague fears.
Lydia rose, and taking the Bible from a small book-case to which Lady Ravensworth pointed, handed it to the nobleman.
“Will you swear, Adeline,” he said, in a solemn and impressive tone,—“will you swear upon this volume which contains the Word of God, that the child you now bear in your bosom is mine, and that since your marriage you have never forgotten the fidelity due to a husband? Will you swear this, Adeline?”
“I will—I will!” she exclaimed, in almost a joyful tone, as if she were satisfied that her conjugal faith should be put to such a test.
“Swear, then,” said Lord Ravensworth; “and invoke God to cast you dead—dead this minute at my feet—if you swear falsely.”
“I do—I do!” cried Lady Ravensworth: then, taking the holy volume in her hand, she said in a calmer and more measured tone, “I swear, as I hope for future salvation, that I have never been unfaithful, even in thought, to my marriage vow, and that the child I bear in my bosom is my husband’s. This I swear by every thing sacred and holy; and if I have sworn falsely, may the great God cast me dead at your feet.”
She then kissed the book.
There was a solemn pause:—Lady Ravensworth was now perhaps the most composed of the three, for she saw that her husband was satisfied in all that concerned his own honour since the day he had led her to the altar.
As for Lydia—she was overawed and even alarmed at that imposing ceremony of a husband administering an oath to his wife; and Lord Ravensworth remained for some moments absorbed in deep thought.
“Yes,” he suddenly exclaimed, as if continuing aloud the thread of his silent thoughts,—“the honour of two families must be preserved! And, after all,—perhaps I am rightly served! A man of my years should have sought a partner of a fitting age; but it is the fault—the error—the curse of elderly men to believe that their rank and wealth warrant them in seeking some young girl who may thus become as it were a victim. Then mothers take advantage of that longing to obtain a wife of comparatively tender years; and those worldly-minded parents——”
“My lord—my lord, spare my feelings!” ejaculated Adeline, now painfully excited. “My mother knew not of her daughter’s frailty—”
“Well—enough on that head!” said Lord Ravensworth, somewhat impatiently. “The past cannot be recalled: let us secure the honour of the future. You have erred in your girlhood, Adeline! and there,” he added, indicating Lydia, “is one who knows that sad secret. You have been ungrateful to her—by her accusations and your acknowledgment; and she holds you in her power. Not you alone:—but she holds your family and mine—for an exposure would create a scandal that must redound upon us all!”
“I have no wish to avail myself of the possession of that secret for such an object,” said Lydia. “I have two motives for desiring to remain at least a year in her ladyship’s service.”
“Never!” cried Adeline, emphatically. “It is you who have made all this mischief!”
“Silence, Adeline,” said Lord Ravensworth, sternly; then, turning towards Lydia, he added, “Young
woman, proceed—and speak frankly.”
“I stated that I had two objects to serve in being anxious to remain in her ladyship’s service for one year,” continued Lydia. “In the first place I have been so unfortunate—so very, very miserable, that I wish to earn my livelihood by servitude; and it is my hope to remain here until her ladyship can conscientiously give me such a character as will ensure me a good situation elsewhere.”
“That is naturally understood,” observed Lord Ravensworth. “What is your second motive?”
“My second motive!” repeated Lydia, with the least accent of bitterness: “oh! that I will explain to her ladyship in private—and she will be satisfied!”
“Now listen to me,” said the nobleman. “Lady Ravensworth dislikes the idea that you should remain here. I will give you the means of settling yourself comfortably for life, if you will leave forthwith, and promise solemnly to preserve that fatal secret which you possess.”
“My lord,” answered Lydia, respectfully but firmly, “I return you my most sincere thanks for that bounteous offer which I am compelled to decline. Were I to accept your lordship’s conditions, my aims would not be answered. In respect to my first object, I have determined to earn a character that may to some extent retrieve the past;—for, as your lordship must have gathered from the conversation which you overheard, I have been unfortunate—very unfortunate!”
“Merciful heavens!” exclaimed Adeline; “how can I retain you in my service? You have belonged to a class—oh! no—it is impossible—impossible!”
The Mysteries of London, Vol. II [Unabridged & Illustrated] (Valancourt Classics) Page 76