The Mysteries of London, Vol. II [Unabridged & Illustrated] (Valancourt Classics)

by George W. M. Reynolds

  “I cordially approve of every step you have taken, my dear Richard,” replied the Grand-Duke: “your conduct has been beyond all praise. I expressed that opinion in the letter which I wrote to you, and wherein I informed you that I should wait in England until you came in person to announce to me the desire of the Castelcicalans that I should become their sovereign. I have, as I told you in my communication, only just recovered from a severe illness; but my duty to my country requires that I should return thither as soon as possible. In four days I shall embark on board the ship that brought you to England.”

  “So soon, my lord?” cried Markham, somewhat uneasily.

  “I should leave England to-morrow, had I not one solemn but joyful task to accomplish,” answered the Duke with a smile. “Fear not, dear Richard, that I shall delay your happiness any longer; for if you yourself do not consider the haste indelicate, I purpose to bestow Isabella upon you the day after to-morrow.”

  “Oh! my lord—what happiness!—and what deep gratitude do I owe you!” exclaimed Richard, falling upon his knees, and pressing the sovereign’s hand to his lips.

  “Rise, Richard—rise,” said the Grand-Duke: “you owe me no gratitude—for you forget how deeply I am your debtor! You have delivered my native land from an odious tyranny—although it be of my own relative of whom I am compelled to speak thus severely; and you have given me a throne. In return I bestow upon you the dearest of all my earthly treasures—my daughter!”

  “And the study of my life shall be her happiness,” replied our hero. “But I have one great and signal favour to implore of your Highness; and I tremble to ask it—lest you should receive my prayer coldly.”

  “What is there that you should hesitate to ask or that I could refuse to grant?” exclaimed the Grand-Duke. “Speak, Richard:—the favour—if favour it be—is already accorded.”

  “Your Highness must be informed,” continued Richard, thus encouraged, “that I have various duties to accomplish, which demand my presence for some time in England. I have an old friend and his daughter dependant upon me: I must settle them in a comfortable manner, to ensure their happiness. There is also a young female named Katherine Wilmot,—whose history I will relate to your Highness at a more convenient period,—but to whom I have been in some measure left guardian. By letters which I received a few days before my departure, I learnt that she is residing at my house, with my old friend and his daughter. It will be my duty to arrange plans for the welfare of Katherine. This I should wish to do in concert with Isabella. Lastly, my lord, I have the hope of meeting my brother—should he be still alive,” added Richard, with a sigh. “Your Highness is aware of our singular appointment for the 10th of July, 1843.”

  The Grand-Duke reflected profoundly for some minutes; and Richard awaited his answer with intense anxiety.

  “You shall have your will, noble-hearted young man!” at length cried Alberto: “I was wrong to hesitate even for a moment; but you will pardon me when you remember that in granting your request, I consent to a long—long separation from my daughter.”

  “But when the time for the appointment with my brother shall have passed,” said Richard, “Isabella and myself will hasten to Montoni; and then, God grant that you may be parted from your daughter no more in this life.”

  “Would it be impossible for you to effect a species of compromise with me in this way?” returned Alberto, with a smile. “Provide for those who are dependant on you; and when that duty is accomplished, pass at Montoni the interval until the period of the appointment with your brother shall demand your return to London.”

  “I would submit to your Highness this fact,” answered Richard,—“that I live in constant hope of the reappearance of my brother ere the stated time; and should he seek me in the interval—should he be poor or unhappy—should he require my aid—or consolation—if I were far away——”

  “I understand you,” interrupted the Grand-Duke. “Be it as you say. Provided Isabella will consent,” he added, smiling, “you shall remain in England until the autumn of 1843.”

  “Much as the Princess will grieve to separate from her parents—”

  “You think she will be content to stay in this country with you,” again interrupted the Duke, laughing. “I see that you have already planned every thing in your own way; and both the Grand-Duchess and myself are too much pleased with you—too willing to testify our regard for you—and too anxious to make reparation for the past,” added his Serene Highness significantly, “to oppose your projects in the slightest degree. It shall be all as you desire.”

  “Your Highnesses will then render me completely happy,” exclaimed Richard, again pressing the Duke’s hand to his lips.

  Alberto then rang the bell, and commanded the domestic who answered the summons to request the presence of the Grand-Duchess and the Princess.

  Those illustrious ladies soon made their appearance—Isabella’s heart fluttering with a kind of joyful suspense, for she full well divined at least one topic that had been discussed during the private interview of her father and her lover.

  The two latter rose as the ladies entered the room.

  Then the Grand-Duke took his daughter’s hand, and said, “Isabella, our duty towards our native land requires that your mother and myself should return thither with the least possible delay. But before we depart, we must ensure the happiness of you, beloved child, and of him who is in every way worthy of your affections. Thus an imperious necessity demands that the ceremony of your union should be speedily accomplished. I have fixed the day after to-morrow for your bridal:—but you, dearest Isabel, will remain in England with your noble husband. He himself will explain to you—even if he have not already done so—the motives of this arrangement. May God bless you, my beloved children! And, oh!” continued the Grand-Duke, drawing himself up to his full height, while a glow of honourable pride animated his countenance, “if there be one cause rather than another which makes me rejoice in my sovereign rank, it is that I am enabled to place this excellent young man in a position so exalted—on an eminence so lofty—that none acquainted with his former history shall ever think of associating his name with the misfortunes that are past. And that he may give even a title to his bride and accompany her to the altar with that proper independence which should belong to the character of the husband, it is my will to create him PRINCE OF MONTONI; and here is the decree which I have already prepared to that effect, and to which I have affixed my royal seal.”

  With these words the Grand-Duke took from the table a paper which he presented to our hero, who received it on his bended knee.

  He then rose: Alberto placed the hand of Isabella in his; and the young lovers flew into each other’s arms.

  The parents exchanged glances of unfeigned affection as they witnessed the happiness of their charming daughter and of him whom she loved so faithfully and so well.

  Dinner was shortly announced; and around the table were smiling faces gathered that evening.

  At nine o’clock Richard took his departure alone in the Grand-Duke’s carriage; for he had transferred his own aides-de-camp to the service of their sovereign.

  But when he bade farewell to Isabella on this occasion, it was with the certainty of seeing each other again in a short time; and they inwardly thanked heaven that their meeting was no longer clandestine, and that their attachment was at length sanctioned by the parents of the charming maiden.

  CHAPTER CCXXII.

  THE ARRIVAL AT HOME.

  On the same evening Mr. Monroe, Ellen, and Katherine were assembled in the drawing-room at Markham Place.

  The lamp burnt bright, and there were books open upon the table; but none of the little party had any inclination to read—some event of importance was evidently expected.

  “He will assuredly return this evening,” observed Mr. Monroe, after a long pause in the conversat
ion. “The last letter he wrote to us was positive in naming the day when he calculated upon arriving in England.”

  “But as he said that he should be compelled to come back to his native land in one of the government steamers of Castelcicala,” said Ellen, “it is impossible to conjecture what delay adverse weather may have caused.”

  “True,” exclaimed Mr. Monroe; and he walked to the window, whence he looked forth into the bright clear night.

  It is a strange fact that whenever people are expecting the arrival of some one near or dear to them, they invariably go to the windows, where they watch with a sort of nervous agitation—as if by so doing they could hasten the coming which they anticipate.

  The two young ladies drew close to each other on the sofa, and exchanged a few words in whispers.

  “You seem low-spirited, dearest Kate,” said Ellen; “and yet our benefactor is about to return to us. I feel convinced that you are more annoyed than you choose to confess, on account of the non-appearance of the handsome stranger.”

  “I should be telling you an untruth, Ellen,” answered Kate, blushing deeply, “were I to declare that I do not sometimes think of him whom you alluded to. But have I not another cause of vexation? do you imagine that the recent interview which I had with that odious Mr. Banks——”

  “Yes, dear Kate: all that he told you was well calculated to render you anxious and unsettled in mind,” interrupted Ellen. “But it was necessary to await the return of him who can best counsel you; and the time now approaches when you may communicate to Richard all that has passed.”

  Katherine was about to reply, when Mr. Monroe, who was still watching at the window, suddenly exclaimed, “A carriage—at last!”

  The two young ladies hurried to the casement, and beheld the lamps of the vehicle rapidly approaching, while the sound of its wheels also reached their ears.

  Then they both hastened from the room, followed by Mr. Monroe, to receive Markham the moment he should alight.

  Whittingham and Marian joined them; and the whole party was stationed on the steps of the front door when the carriage drove up.

  In another moment Richard was amongst them; and there were such congratulations—such shaking of hands—and such proofs of joy as were seldom known or seen even on occasions of similar happiness.

  As for the old butler, he was literally mad with the excitement of his feelings. He hugged his young master with a warmth that could not possibly have been exceeded had they stood in the relation of father and son, and the fervour of which considerably deranged the position of our hero’s epaulettes and aiguillettes—for he was in his uniform, as the reader will remember. Then, when Whittingham had thus far testified his joy at his master’s return, he seized upon Marian and compelled her to perform three or four rapid pirouettes with him in the hall—to the infinite peril of that good woman’s equilibrium. She disengaged herself from him with considerable difficulty; and the old man, quite overcome by his feelings and performances, sat down in one of the hall-chairs, and began to whimper like a child—exclaiming as well as he could, “Don’t mind me—don’t mind me! I can’t help it! It’s the unawoidable commotions here!” and he slapped his breast. “Master Richard’s come back to the home of his successors; and he’s a great man too—in spite of all that them willains Marlborough and Axminster once did to him!”

  “Compose yourself, my excellent old friend,” said the young Prince, pressing Whittingham’s hand: “I am indeed come back—and to remain, too, for a long—long time.”

  The footman who attended upon the Grand-Duke’s carriage now approached our hero, and with head uncovered, said in a tone of extreme deference, “Is it the pleasure of your Highness that the chariot should remain, or return to Richmond?”

  “I wish you to stay here until the morning,” answered Richard; “as I shall visit his Serene Highness to-morrow.”

  The footman bowed, and retreating to the hall steps, cried aloud to the coachman, “The Prince commands us to remain.”

  “Hey! what’s that?” ejaculated Whittingham, who, together with the others present, had caught those swelling titles. “I heerd, Master Richard, that you was a Markiss; but——”

  “It has pleased the gracious sovereign to whose service I have the honour to belong, to invest me with the rank which has surprised you,” answered Richard, laughing at his old dependant’s bewilderment: “at the same time I can assure you that you will please me best by addressing me ever as you have been accustomed to do from my childhood.”

  The butler seemed to reflect profoundly for a few moments, with his eyes fixed on the marble floor; then, suddenly raising his head, he exclaimed, “No, Master Richard—it can’t be done! It would be prorogatory to treat you as if you was still a boy. There’s such a thing in the world as epaulette—etiquette, I mean; and I know myself better then to lose sight on it. Besides, Master Richard—it isn’t every one as is butler to a Prince; and I’m proud of the office. So now I’ve called you Master Richard for the last time. Marian, bustle about the supper—and see that the servants with the carriage is well taken care of. You can show ’em round to the stables; while I light his Highness to the drawing-room.”

  Having issued these commands in a tone of pompous importance which the old man had not adopted for some years past, he seized a candle and led the way in a solemn and dignified manner up stairs.

  “Poor Whittingham scarcely knows whether he stands on his head or his feet,” whispered Richard, laughing, to Ellen and Katherine, as he placed himself between them, and gave them each an arm. “Let us, however, humour the good old man, and ascend with due ceremony to the drawing-room.”

  The reader will not require us to detail all the conversation which ensued. Markham had so much to tell, and his hearers so much to learn, that the time slipped away with lightning speed. Our hero not only related at length all that had occurred to him in Italy, but also entered upon explanations which he had never broached before relative to his attachment to Isabella. He made Whittingham sit down and listen to all he had to say; and he concluded by acquainting those present with his intended marriage.

  “But,” he hastened to add, “this event will make no difference in regard to the dear friends by whom I am surrounded. You, Mr. Monroe and Ellen, must continue to dwell with me; and you, Katherine, must look upon this house as your home. It is large enough for us all—even for those servants whom it will now be necessary to add to our establishment, and who will increase the department over which you, my faithful friend,”—addressing himself to Whittingham,—“preside so ably.”

  “I shall know how to distrain ’em all in order, my lord,” said the butler, with an air of considerable importance.

  Ellen’s countenance had suddenly become thoughtful, when she heard that Richard was so shortly to be married.

  Leaning towards him, as she sate by his side, she murmured in a hasty whisper, “Tell Whittingham to leave the room: I wish to speak to you and my father immediately.”

  Markham requested the old man to see that the servants of the Grand-Duke were well cared for; and Whittingham accordingly withdrew.

  Richard then glanced inquiringly towards Ellen, who rose and whispered to Katherine, “Leave us, my sweet friend, for a few moments: I wish to speak to Richard and my father on a subject which nearly concerns myself.”

  Kate cheerfully complied with this request, and retired.

  “What does this mean, Ellen?” inquired Richard with some degree of anxiety. “God grant that no cause of unhappiness may interrupt the joy of my return!”

  “No—reassure yourself on that head,” said Ellen. “My dear benefactor—and you, beloved father—listen to me for a few moments. You, Richard, are about to bring home a bride whom you love—whom you respect—and who must be respected,—a lady endowed with every quality that can render her worthy of you,—pure, chaste
, and stainless as snow. Richard, she must not be placed in the companionship of one who occupies an equivocal situation in society—like myself!”

  “Ellen, my Isabella is of too generous—too charitable a mind—” began Richard, deeply affected by these words, which recalled so many unpleasant reminiscences with respect to Monroe’s daughter.

  “Nay—hear me out,” continued Ellen, with a sweet smile of gratitude for the sentiment which Markham had half expressed: “I shall not keep you in suspense for many moments. You wish me to be the companion of your Isabella, Richard?—I will be so—and not altogether unworthily either in respect to her or to myself. And now I am about to communicate to you both a secret which I should have treasured up until the proper time to elucidate it had arrived—were it not for the approaching event which has compelled me to break silence. But in imparting this secret, I must confide in your goodness—your forbearance—not to ask me more than I dare reveal. Richard—father—I am married!”

  “Married!” repeated our hero, joyfully.

  “Come to my arms, Ellen!” cried Mr. Monroe: “let me embrace you fondly—for now indeed are you my own daughter for whom I need not blush!”

  And he pressed her to his heart with the warmest enthusiasm of paternal affection.