“Undoubtedly, my lord.”
“And I should have hoped that, if your majesty had perused those letters, no assertions could have been necessary, on my part, to convince you, sir, that they could not be mine. I have now only to rejoice that your majesty is undeceived; and that I have not intruded unnecessarily with this explanation. I am fully sensible, sir, of your goodness, in having thus permitted me to make, as early as possible, this assertion of my innocence. For the proofs of it, and for the detection of the guilty, I am preparing; and I hope to make these as clear to you, sir, as your majesty’s assurance of the pleasure you feel in being undeceived is satisfactory — consolatory to me,” concluded Lord Oldborough, with a bow of profound yet proud respect.
“My lord,” said the king, “I have no doubt that this affair will redound to your honour, and terminate to your lordship’s entire satisfaction.”
The very phrase used by the Duke of Greenwich.
“As to myself, your lordship can have no farther anxiety; but I wish your lordship’s endeavours to detect and bring proofs home to the guilty may be promptly successful — for the gratification of your own feelings, and the satisfaction of the public mind, before the matter should be brought forward in parliament.”
His majesty bowed, and as Lord Oldborough retired, he added some gracious phrases, expressive of the high esteem he felt for the minister, and the interest he had always, and should always take, in whatever could contribute to his public and private — satisfaction — (again).
To an eye and ear less practised in courts than this minister’s, all that had been said would have been really satisfactory: but Lord Oldborough discerned a secret embarrassment in the smile, a constraint in the manner, a care, an effort to be gracious in the language, a caution, a rounding of the periods, a recurrence to technical phrases of compliment and amity, a want of the free fluent language of the heart; language which, as it flows, whether from sovereign or subject, leaves a trace that the art of courtier or of monarch cannot imitate. In all attempts at such imitation, there is a want, of which vanity and even interest is not always sensible, but which feeling perceives instantly. Lord Oldborough felt it — and twice, during this audience, he was on the point of offering his resignation, and twice, exerting strong power over himself, he refrained.
He saw plainly that he was not where he had been in the king’s confidence; that his enemies had been at work, and, in some measure, had succeeded; that suspicions had been infused into the king’s mind. That his king had doubted him, his majesty had confessed — and Lord Oldborough discerned that there was no genuine joy at the moment his majesty was undeceived, no real anxiety for his honour, only the ostensible manifestation suitable to the occasion — repeatable — or recordable.
Still there was nothing of which he could complain; every expression, if written down or repeated, must have appeared proper and gracious from the sovereign to his minister; and for that minister to resign at such a moment, from pride or pique, would have been fatal to the dignity, perhaps to the integrity, of his character.
Lord Oldborough reasoned thus as he stood in the presence of the king, and compelled himself, during the whole audience, and to the last parting moment, to preserve an air and tone of calm, respectful self-possession.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
During Lord Oldborough’s absence, his faithful secretary had been active in his service. Mr. Temple went immediately to his friend Alfred Percy. Alfred had just returned fatigued from the courts, and was resting himself, in conversation with his wife and Caroline.
“I am sorry to disturb you, Alfred,” said Mr. Temple, “but I must take you away from these ladies to consult you on particular business.”
“Oh! let the particular business wait till he has rested himself,” said Mrs. Percy, “unless it be a matter of life and death.”
“Life and death!” cried Lady Frances Arlington, running in at the open door—”Yes, it is a matter of life and death! — Stay, Mr. Temple! Mr. Percy! going the moment I come into the room — Impossible!”
“Impossible it would be,” said Mr. Temple, “in any other case; but—”
“‘When a lady’s in the case,
You know all other things give place,’”
cried Lady Frances. “So, positively, gentlemen, I stop the way. But, Mr. Temple, to comfort you — for I never saw a man, gallant or ungallant, look so impatient — I shall not be able to stay above a moment — Thank you, Mrs. Percy, I can’t sit down — Mrs. Crabstock, the crossest of Crabstocks and stiffest of pattern-women, is in the carriage waiting for me. Give me joy — I have accomplished my purpose, and without Lady Jane Granville’s assistance — obtained a permit to go with Lady Trant, and made her take me to Lady Angelica’s last night. Grand conversazione! — Saw the German baron! Caught both the profiles — have ’em here — defy you not to smile. Look,” cried her ladyship, drawing out of her reticule a caricature, which she put into Caroline’s hand; and, whilst she was looking at it, Lady Frances went on speaking rapidly. “Only a sketch, a scrawl in pencil, while they thought I was copying a Sonnet to Wisdom — on the worst bit of paper, too, in the world — old cover of a letter I stole from Lady Trant’s reticule while she was at cards. Mr. Temple, you shall see my chef-d’oeuvre by and by; don’t look at the reverse of the medal, pray. Did not I tell you, you were the most impatient man in the world?”
It was true that Mr. Temple was at this instant most impatient to get possession of the paper, for on the back of that cover of the letter, on which the caricature was drawn, the hand-writing of the direction appeared to him — He dared scarcely believe his eyes — his hopes.
“Mrs. Crabstock, my lady,” said the footman, “is waiting.”
“I know, sir,” said Lady Frances: “so, Caroline, you won’t see the likeness. Very well; if I can’t get a compliment, I must be off. When you draw a caricature, I won’t praise it. Here! Mr. Temple, one look, since you are dying for it.”
“One look will not satisfy me,” cried Mr. Temple, seizing the paper: “your ladyship must leave the drawing with us till to-morrow.”
“Us — must. Given at our court of St. James’s. Lord Oldborough’s own imperative style.”
“Imperative! no; humbly I beseech your ladyship, thus humbly,” cried Mr. Temple, kneeling in jest, but keeping in earnest fast hold of the paper.
“But why — why? Are you acquainted with Lady Angelica? I did not know you knew her.”
“It is excellent! — It is admirable! — I cannot let it go. This hand that seized it long shall hold the prize.”
“The man’s mad! But don’t think I’ll give it to you — I would not give it to my mother: but I’ll lend it to you, if you’ll tell me honestly why you want it.”
“Honestly — I want to show it to a particular friend, who will be delighted with it.”
“Tell me who, this minute, or you shall not have it.”
“Mrs. Crabstock, my lady, bids me say, the duchess—”
“The duchess — the deuce! — if she’s come to the duchess, I must go. I hope your man, Mrs. Percy, won’t tell Mrs. Crabstock he saw this gentleman kneeling.”
“Mrs. Crabstock’s getting out, my lady,” said the footman, returning.
“Mr. Temple, for mercy’s sake, get up.”
“Never, till your ladyship gives the drawing.”
“There! there! let me go — audacious!”
“Good morning to you, Mrs. Percy — Good bye, Caroline — Be at Lady Jane’s to-night, for I’m to be there.”
Her ladyship ran off, and met Mrs. Crabstock on the stairs, with whom we leave her to make her peace as she pleases.
“My dear Temple, I believe you are out of your senses,” said Alfred: “I never saw any man so importunate about a drawing that is not worth a straw — trembling with eagerness, and kneeling! — Caroline, what do you think Rosamond would have thought of all this?”
“If she knew the whole, she would have thought I acted admirably,”
said Mr. Temple. “But come, I have business.”
Alfred took him into his study, and there the whole affair was explained. Mr. Temple had brought with him the specimen of the forgery to show to Alfred, and, upon comparing it with the handwriting on the cover of the letter on which the caricature was drawn, the similarity appeared to be strikingly exact. The cover, which had been stolen, as Lady Frances Arlington said, from Lady Trant’s reticule, was directed to Captain Nuttall. He was one of the persons to whom forged letters had been written, as appeared by the list which Lord Oldborough had left with Mr. Temple. The secretary was almost certain that his lordship had never written with his own hand to any Captain Nuttall; but this he could ask the moment he should see Lord Oldborough again. It seemed as if this paper had never been actually used as the cover of a letter, for it had no post-mark, seal, or wafer. Upon farther inspection, it was perceived that a t had been left out in the name of Nuttall; and it appeared probable that the cover had been thrown aside, and a new one written, in consequence of this omission. But Alfred did not think it possible that Lady Trant could be the forger of these letters, because he had seen some of her ladyship’s notes of invitation to Caroline, and they were written in a wretched cramped hand.
“But that cramped hand might be feigned to conceal the powers of penmanship,” said Mr. Temple.
“Well! granting her ladyship’s talents were equal to the mere execution,” Alfred persisted in thinking she had not abilities sufficient to invent or combine all the parts of such a scheme. “She might be an accomplice, but she must have had a principal — and who could that principal be?”
The same suspicion, the same person, came at the same moment into the heads of both gentlemen, as they sat looking at each other.
“There is an intimacy between them,” said Alfred. “Recollect all the pains Lady Trant took for Mrs. Falconer about English Clay — they—”
“Mrs. Falconer! But how could she possibly get at Lord Oldborough’s private seal — a seal that is always locked up — a seal never used to any common letter, never to any but those written by his own hand to some private friend, and on some very particular occasion? Since I have been with him I have not seen him use that seal three times.”
“When and to whom, can you recollect?” said Alfred.
“I recollect! — I have it all!” exclaimed Mr. Temple, striking the table—”I have it! But, Lady Frances Arlington — I am sorry she is gone.”
“Why! what of her? — Lady Frances can have nothing more to do with the business.”
“She has a great deal more, I can assure you — but without knowing it.”
“Of that I am certain, or all the world would have known it long ago: but tell me how.”
“I recollect, at the time when I was dangling after Lady Frances — there’s good in every thing — just before we went down to Falconer-court, her ladyship, who, you know, has always some reigning fancy, was distracted about what she called bread-seals. She took off the impression of seals with bread — no matter how, but she did — and used to torment me — no, I thought it a great pleasure at the time — to procure for her all the pretty seals I could.”
“But, surely, you did not give her Lord Oldborough’s?”
“I! — not I! — how could you imagine such a thing?”
“You were in love, and might have forgotten consequences.”
“A man in love may forget every thing, I grant — except his fidelity. No, I never gave the seal; but I perfectly recollect Lady Frances showing it to me in her collection, and my asking her how she came by it.”
“And how did she?”
“From the cover of a note which the duke, her uncle, had received from Lord Oldborough; and I, at the time, remembered his lordship’s having written it to the Duke of Greenwich on the birth of his grandson. Lord Oldborough had, upon a former occasion, affronted his grace by sending him a note sealed with a wafer — this time his lordship took special care, and sealed it with his private seal of honour.”
“Well! But how does this bring the matter home to Mrs. Falconer?” said Alfred.
“Stay — I am bringing it as near home to her as possible. We all went down to Falconer-court together; and there I remember Lady Frances had her collection of bread-seals, and was daubing and colouring them with vermilion — and Mrs. Falconer was so anxious about them — and Lady Frances gave her several — I must see Lady Frances again directly, to inquire whether she gave her, among the rest, Lord Oldborough’s — I’ll go to Lady Jane Granville’s this evening on purpose. But had I not better go this moment to Lady Trant?”
Alfred advised, that having traced the matter thus far, they should not hazard giving any alarm to Lady Trant or to Mrs. Talconer, but should report to Lord Oldborough what progress had been made.
Mr. Temple accordingly went home, to be in readiness for his lordship’s return. In the mean time the first exaltation of indignant pride having subsided, and his cool judgment reflecting upon what had passed, Lord Oldborough considered that, however satisfactory to his own mind might be the feeling of his innocence, the proofs of it were necessary to satisfy the public; he saw that his character would be left doubtful, and at the mercy of his enemies, if he were in pique and resentment hastily to resign, before he had vindicated his integrity. “If your proofs be produced, my lord!” — these words recurred to him, and his anxiety to obtain these proofs rose high; and high was his satisfaction the moment he saw his secretary, for by the first glance at Mr. Temple’s countenance he perceived that some discovery had been made.
Alfred, that night, received through Mr. Temple his lordship’s request, that he would obtain what farther information he could relative to the private seal, in whatever way he thought most prudent. His lordship trusted entirely to his discretion — Mr. Temple was engaged with other business.
Alfred went with Caroline to Lady Jane Granville’s, to meet Lady Frances Arlington; he entered into conversation, and by degrees brought her to his point, playing all the time with her curiosity, and humouring her childishness, while he carried on his cross-examination.
At first she could not recollect any thing about making the seals he talked of. “It was a fancy that had passed — and a past fancy,” she said, “was like a past love, or a past beauty, good for nothing but to be forgotten.” However, by proper leading of the witness, and suggesting time, place, and circumstance, he did bring to the fair lady’s mind all that he wanted her to remember. She could not conceive what interest Mr. Percy could take in the matter — it was some jest about Mr. Temple, she was sure. Yes, she did recollect a seal with a Cupid riding a lion, that Mr. Temple gave her just before they went to Falconer-court — was that what he meant?
“No — but a curious seal—” (Alfred described the device.)
“Lord Oldborough’s! Yes, there was some such odd seal.” But it was not given to her by Mr. Temple — she took that from a note to her uncle, the Duke of Greenwich.
Yes — that, Alfred said, he knew; but what did her ladyship do with it?
“You know how I got it! Bless me! you seem to know every thing I do and say. You know my affairs vastly well — you act the conjuror admirably — pray, can you tell me whom I am to marry?”
“That I will — when your ladyship has told me to whom you gave that seal.”
“That I would, and welcome, if I could recollect — but I really can’t. If you think I gave it to Mr. Temple, I assure you, you are mistaken — you may ask him.”
“I know your ladyship did not give it to Mr. Temple — but to whom did you give it?”
“I remember now — not to any gentleman, after all — you are positively out. I gave it to Mrs. Falconer.”
“You are certain of that, Lady Frances Arlington?”
“I am certain, Mr. Alfred Percy.”
“And how can you prove it to me, Lady Frances?”
“The easiest way in the world — by asking Mrs. Falconer. Only I don’t go there now much, since Georgiana and
I have quarrelled — but what can make you so curious about it?”
“That’s a secret.” — At the word secret, her attention was fixed.—”May I ask if your ladyship would know the seal again if you saw it? — Is this any thing like the impression?” (showing her the seal on the forged cover.)
“The very same that I gave Mrs. Falconer, I’ll swear to it — I’ll tell you how I know it particularly. There’s a little outer rim here, with points to it, which there is not to the other. I fastened my bread-seal into an old setting of my own, from which I had lost the stone. Mrs. Falconer took a fancy to it, among a number of others, so I let her have it. Now I have answered all your questions — answer mine — Whom am I to marry?”
“Your ladyship will marry whomsoever — your ladyship pleases.”
“That was an ambiguous answer,” she observed; “for that she pleased every body.” Her ladyship was going to run on with some further questions, but Alfred pretending that the oracle was not permitted to answer more explicitly, left her completely in the dark as to what his meaning had been in this whole conversation.
He reported progress to Lord Oldborough — and his lordship slept as soundly this night as he did the night after he had been attacked by the mob.
The next morning the first person he desired to see was Mr. Falconer — his lordship sent for him into his cabinet.
“Mr. Commissioner Falconer, I promised to give you notice, whenever I should see any probability of my going out of power.”
“Good Heaven! my lord,” exclaimed the commissioner, starting back. The surprise, the consternation were real — Lord Oldborough had his eye upon him to determine that point.
“Impossible, surely! — I hope—”
His hope flitted at the moment to the Duke of Greenwich — but returned instantly: he had made no terms — had missed his time. If Lord Oldborough should go out of office — his place, his pension, gone — utter ruin.
Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth Page 157