Thaddeus of Warsaw Part 51

Having flown rather than walked, he arrived in sight of Lady Dundas's house just as a coachful of her ladys.h.i.+p's maids and packages drove from the door. Hurrying up the step, he asked the porter if Miss Dorothy Somerset were at home.

"No," replied the man; "she and Miss Beaufort, with Miss Dundas and Mr. Somerset, went out of town this morning by eight o'clock; and my lady and Miss Euphemia, about an hour ago, set off for Scotland, where they mean to stay all the summer."

At this information, which seemed to be the sealing of his condemnation with Mary, the heart of Thaddeus was pierced to the core. Unacquainted until this moment with the torments attending the knowledge of being calumniated, he could scarcely subdue the tempest in his breast, when forced to receive the conviction that the woman he loved above all the world now regarded him as not merely a villain, but the meanest of villains.

He returned home indignant and agitated. The probability that Pembroke Somerset had listened to the falsehood of Euphemia, without suggesting one word in defence of him who once was his friend, inflicted a pang more deadly than the rest. Shutting himself within his apartment, tossed and tortured in soul, he traversed the room.

First one idea occurred and then another, until he resolved to seek redress from the advice of Lady Tinemouth. With this determination he descended the stairs, and telling Mrs. Robson he should leave London the ensuing day for Lincolns.h.i.+re, begged her not to be uneasy on his account, as he went on business, and would return in a few days. The good woman almost wept at this intelligence, and prayed Heaven to guard him wherever he went.

Next morning, having risen at an early hour, he was collecting his few articles of wardrobe to put into his cloak-bag for his meditated short visit, when going to open one of the top drawers in his chamber, he found it sealed, and observed on the black wax the impress of an eagle. It was a large seal. Hardly crediting his eyes, it appeared to be the armorial eagle of Poland, surmounted by its regal crown. Nay, it seemed an impression of the very seal which had belonged to his royal ancestor, John Sobieski, and which was appended to the watch of his grandfather when he was robbed of it on his first arrival in England.

Thaddeus, in a wondering surprise, immediately rang the bell, and Mrs. Robson herself came up stairs. He hurriedly but gently inquired "how the drawer became not only locked as he had left it, but fastened with such a seal?"

Mrs. Robson did not perceive his agitation, and simply replied, "While his honor was in that horrid place, and after the attempt of Mr. Jackson to get possession of his property, she had considered it right to so secure the drawer, which she believed contained his most valuable pictures, and the like. So, having no impression of her own big enough, she went and bought a bunch of tarnished copper-seals she had seen hanging in the window of a huckster's shop at the corner of an ally hard by, one of them appearing about the size she wanted. The woman of the shop told her she had found them at the bottom of a tub of old iron, sold to her a while ago by a dustman; and as, to be sure, they were damaged and very dirty, she would not ask more than a couple of s.h.i.+llings for the lot, and would be glad to get rid of them!"

"So, sir," continued Mrs. Robson, with a pleased look, "I gave the money, and hastened home as fast as I could, and with Mrs. Watts by my side to witness it, you see I made all safe which I thought you most cared for."

"You are very thoughtful for me, kindest of women!" returned Thaddeus, with grateful energy; "but let me see the seals--for it is possible I may recognize in the one of this impression, indeed, a relic precious to my memory!"

Mrs. Robson put her hand into her pocket, and instantly gave them to him. There were three, one large, two small, and strung together by a leather thong. The former ma.s.sive gold chain was no longer their link, and the rust from the iron had clouded the setting; but a glance told Sobieski they were his! He pressed them to his heart, whilst with glistening eyes he turned away to conceal his emotion.

His sensible landlady comprehended there was something more than she knew of in the recognition (he never having told her of the loss of his watch, when he had saved her little grandchild from the plunging horses in the King's Mews;) and from her native delicacy not to intrude on his feelings, she gently withdrew un.o.bserved, and left him alone.

About half an hour afterwards, when she saw her beloved lodger depart in the stage-coach that called to take him up, her eyes followed the wheels down the lane with renewed blessings.

His long journey pa.s.sed not more in melancholy reveries against the disappointing characters he had met in revered England than in affectionate antic.i.p.ations of the moment in which he should pour out his grat.i.tude to the maternal tenderness of Lady Tinemouth, and learn from her ingenuous lips how to efface from the minds of Miss Dorothy Somerset and her angel-like niece the representations, so dishonoring, torturing, and false, which had been heaped upon him by the calumnies of the family in Harley Street.

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII.

ZEAL IS POWER.

The porter at Lady Dundas's had been strictly correct in his account respecting the destination of the dispersed members of her ladys.h.i.+p's household.

Whilst Pembroke Somerset was sullenly executing his forced act of benevolence at Newgate, Miss Dundas suddenly took into her scheming head to compare the merits of Somerset's rich expectancy with the penniless certainty of Lascelles. She considered the substantial advantages which the wife of a wealthy baronet would hold over the thriftless _cara sposa_ of a man owning no other estate than a reflected l.u.s.tre from the coronet of an elder brother. Besides, Pembroke was very handsome--Lascelles only tolerably so; indeed, some women had presumed to call him "very plain." But they were "stupid persons," who, not believing the _metempsychosis_ doctrine of the tailor and his decorating adjuncts, could not comprehend that although a mere human creature can have no such property, a man of fas.h.i.+on may possess an _elixir vitae_ which makes age youth, deformity beauty, and even transforms vice into virtue.

In spite of recollection, which reminded Diana how often she had contended that all Mr. Lascelles' teeth were his own; that his nose was not a bit too long, being a facsimile of the feature which reared its sublime curve over the capricious mouth of his n.o.ble brother, the Earl of Castle Conway--notwithstanding all this, the Pythagorean pretensions of fas.h.i.+on began to lose their ascendency; and in the recesses of her mind, when Miss Dundas compared the light elegance of Pembroke's figure with the heavy limbs of her present lover, Pembroke's dark and ever-animated eyes with the gooseberry orbs of Lascelles, she dropped the parallel, and resolving to captivate the heir of Somerset Castle, admitted no remorse at jilting the brother of Castle Conway.

To this end, before Pembroke's return from Newgate, Diana had told her mother of her intention to accompany Miss Dorothy to the baronet's, where she would remain until her ladys.h.i.+p should think Euphemia might be trusted to rejoin her in town. Neither Miss Dorothy nor Miss Beaufort liked this arrangement; and next morning, with an aching heart, the latter prepared to take her seat in the travelling equipage which was to convey them all into Leicesters.h.i.+re.

After supper, Pembroke coldly informed his cousin of the success of her commands--that Mr. Constantine was at liberty. This a.s.surance, though imparted with so ungracious an air, laid her head with less distraction on her pillow, and as she stepped into Sir Robert's carriage next day, enabled her with more ease to deck her lips with smiles. She felt that the penetrating eyes of Mr. Somerset were never withdrawn from her face. Offended with his perverseness, and their scrutiny, she tried to baffle their inspection. She attempted gayety, when she gladly would have wept. But when the coach mounted the top of Highgate Hill, and she had a last view of that city which contained the being whose happiness was the sole object of her thoughts and prayers, she leaned out of the window to hide a tear she could not repress; feeling that another and another would start, she complained of the dust, and pulling her veil over her eyes, drew back into the corner of the carriage. The trembling of her voice and hands during the performance of this little artifice too well explained to Pembroke what was pa.s.sing in her mind. At once dispelling the gloom which shrouded his own countenance, he turned towards her with compa.s.sionate tenderness in his words and looks; he called her attention by degrees to the happy domestic scene she was to meet at the Castle; and thus gradually softening her displeasure into the easy conversation of reciprocal affection, he rendered the remainder of their long journey less irksome.

When, at the end of the second day, Miss Beaufort found herself in the old avenue leading to the base of the hill which sustains the revered walls of Somerset's castellated towers, a mingled emotion took possession of her breast; and when the carriage arrived at the foot of the highest terrace, she sprang impatiently out of it, and hastening up the stone stairs into the front hall, met her uncle at the door of the breakfast-parlor, where he held out his arms to receive her.

"My Mary! My darling!" cried he, embracing her now wet cheek, and straining her throbbing bosom to his own, "Why, my dear love," added he, almost carrying her into the room, "I am afraid this visit to town has injured your nerves! Whence arises this agitation?"

She knew it had injured her peace; and now that the floodgates of her long-repelled tears were opened, it was beyond her power, or the soothings of her affectionate uncle, to stay them. A moment afterwards her cousin entered the room, followed by Miss Dorothy and Miss Dundas. Miss Beaufort hastily rose, to conceal what she could not check. Kissing Sir Robert's hand, she asked permission to retire, under the pretence of regaining those spirits which had been dissipated by the fatigues of her journey.

In her own chamber she did indeed struggle to recover herself. She shuddered at the impetuosity of her emotions when once abandoned of their reins, and resolved from this hour to hold a stricter control over such betrayals of her ill-fated, devoted heart.

She sat in the window of her apartment, and looking down the extensive vale of Somerset, watched the romantic meanderings of its shadowed river, winding its course through the domains of the castle, and nouris.h.i.+ng the roots of those immense oaks which for many a century had waved their branches over its stream. She reflected on the revolution which had take place in herself since she walked on its banks the evening that preceded her visit to London. Then she was free as the air, gay as the lark; each object was bright and lovely in her eyes hope seemed to woo her from every green slope, every remote dingle. All nature breathed of joy, because her own breast was the abode of gladness. Now, all continued the same, but she was changed. Surrounded by beauty, she acknowledged its presence; the sweetness of the flowers bathed her senses in fragrance; the setting sun, gilding the height, shed a yellow glory over the distant hills; the birds were hailing the falling dew which spangled every leaf. She gazed around, and sighed heavily, when she said to herself, "Even in this paradise I shall be wretched. Alas! my heart is far away! My soul lingers about one I may never more behold!--about one who may soon cease to remember that such a being as Mary Beaufort is in existence. He will leave England!" cried she, raising her hands and eyes to the glowing heavens. "He will live, he will die, far, far from me! In a distant land he will wed another, whilst I shall know no wish that strays from him."

Whilst she indulged in these soliloquies, she forgot both Sir Robert and her resolution, until he sent her maid to beg, if she were better, that she would come down and make tea for him. At this summons she dried her eyes, and with a.s.sumed serenity descended to the saloon, where the family were a.s.sembled. The baronet having greeted Miss Dundas with an hospitable welcome, seated himself between his sister and his son; and whilst he received his favorite beverage from the hands of his beloved niece, he found that comfort once more re-entered his bosom.

Sir Robert Somerset was a man whose appearance alone attracted respect. His person bore the stamp of dignity, and his manners, which possessed the exquisite polish of travel, and of society in its most refined courts, secured him universal esteem. Though little beyond fifty, various perplexing situations having distressed his youth, had not only rendered his hair prematurely gray, but by clouding his once brilliant eyes with thoughtfulness, marked his aspect with premature old age and melancholy. The baronet's entrance into town life had been celebrated for his graceful vivacity; he was the animating spirit of every party, till an inexplicable metamorphosis suddenly took place. Soon after his return from abroad, he had married Miss Beaufort (a woman whom he loved to adoration), When, strange to say, excess of happiness seemed to change his nature and give his character a deep tinge of sadness. After his wife's death, the alteration in his mind produced still more extraordinary effects, and showed itself more than once in all the terrors of threatened mental derangement.

His latest attack of the kind a.s.sailed him during the last winter, under the appearance of a swoon, while he sat at breakfast reading the newspaper. He was carried to bed, and awoke in a delirium which menaced either immediate death or the total extinction of his intellects. However, neither of these dreads being confirmed, in the course of several weeks, to the wonder of everybody, he recovered much of his health and his sound mind. Notwithstanding this happy event, the circ.u.mstances of his danger so deeply affected his family, that he ceased not to be an object of the most anxious attention.

Indeed, solicitude did not terminate with them: the munificence of his disposition having spread itself through every county in which he owned a rood of land, as many prayers ascended for the repose of his spirit as ever pet.i.tioned Heaven from the mouths of "monkish beadsmen" in favor of power and virtue.

Since the demise of Lady Somerset, this still-admired man drew all his earthly comfort from the amiable qualities of his son Pembroke.

Sometimes in his livelier hours, which came "like angel visits, few and far between," he amused himself with the playfulness of the little Earl of Avon, the pompous erudition of Mr. Loftus, (who was become his young ward's tutor), and with giving occasional entertainments to the gentry in his neighborhood.

Of all the personages contained within this circle (which the hospitality of Sir Robert extended to a circ.u.mference of fifty miles,) the n.o.ble family of Castle Granby, brave, patriotic, and accomplished, with female beauty at its head,

"Fitted to move in courts or walk the shade, With innocence and contemplation joined,"

were held in the highest and most intimate appreciation; while many of the numerous t.i.tled visitants who attended the celebrated and magnificent Granby hunt were of too convivial notoriety to be often admitted within the social home-society of either Castle Granby or Somerset Castle, the two cynosure mansions which, now palace-like, crest with their peaceful groves the summits of those two promontory heights whereon in former times they stood in fortress strength, the guardians of each opening pa.s.s into that s.p.a.cious and once important belligerent vale!

Amongst the less-esteemed frequenters of the chase was devoted Nimrod, Sir Richard Shafto, who every season fixed himself and family at a convenient hunting-lodge near the little town of Grantham, with his right worthy son and heir who by calling at Somerset Castle soon after the arrival of his guests, caused a trifling change in its arrangements. When d.i.c.k Shafto (as all the grooms in the stables familiarly designated him) was ushered into the room, he nodded to Sir Robert, and, turning his back on the ladies, told Pembroke he had ridden to Somerset "on purpose to _bag_ him for Woodhill Lodge."

"Upon my life," cried he, "if you don't come, I will cut and run.

There is not a creature but yourself within twenty miles to whom I can speak--not a man worth a sixpence. I wish my father had broken his neck before he accepted that confounded emba.s.sy, which enc.u.mbers me with the charge of my old mother!"

After this dutiful wish, which brought down a weighty admonition from Miss Dorothy, the young gentleman promised to behave better, provided she would persuade Pembroke to accompany him to the Lodge. Mr.

Somerset did not show much alacrity in his consent; but to rid his family of so noisy a guest, he rose from his chair, and acquiescing in the sacrifice of a few clays to good nature, bade his father farewell, and gave orders for a ride to Grantham.

As soon as the gentlemen left the saloon, Miss Dundas ran up stairs, and from her dressing-room window in the west tower pursued the steps of their horses as they cantered down the winding steep into the high road. An abrupt angle of the hill hiding them from her view, she turned round with a toss of the head, and flinging herself into a chair, exclaimed, "Now I shall be bored to death by this prosing family! I wish his boasted hunter had run away with Shafto before he thought of coming here!"

In consequence of the temper which engendered the above no very flattering compliment to the society at the Castle, Miss Dundas descended to the dining-room with sulky looks and a chilling air. She ate what the baronet laid on her plate with an indolent appet.i.te, cut her meat carelessly, and dragged the vegetables over the table-cloth.

Miss Dorothy colored at this indifference to the usual neatness of her damask covers; but Miss Dundas was so completely in the sullens, that, heedless of any other feelings than her own, she continued to pull and knock about the things just as her ill-humor dictated.

The petulance of this lady's behavior did not in the least a.s.similate with the customary decorum of Sir Robert's table; and when the cloth was drawn, he could not refrain from expressing his concern that Somerset Castle appeared so little calculated to afford satisfaction to a daughter of Lady Dundas. Miss Dundas attempted some awkward declaration that she never was more amused--never happier.

But the small credit Sir Robert gave to her a.s.sertion was fully warranted the next morning by the ready manner in which she accepting a casual invitation to spend the ensuing day and night at Lady Shafto's. Her ladys.h.i.+p called on Miss Dorothy, and intended to have a party in the evening, invited the two young ladies to return with her to Woodhill Lodge, and be her guests for a week. Miss Beaufort, whose spirits were far from tranquillized, declined her civility; but with a gleam of pleasure she heard it accepted by Miss Dundas, who departed with her ladys.h.i.+p for the Lodge.

Whilst the enraptured Diana, all life and glee, bowled along with Lady Shafto, antic.i.p.ating the delight of once more seating herself at the elbow of Pembroke Somerset, Mary Beaufort, relieved from a load of ill-requited attentions, walked out into the park, to enjoy in solitude the "sweet sorrow" of thinking on the unhappy and far- distant Constantine. Regardless of the way, her footsteps, though robbed of elasticity by nightly watching and daily regret, led her beyond the park, to the ruined church of Woolthorpe, its southern boundary. Her eyes were fixed on the opposite horizon. It was the extremity of Leicesters.h.i.+re; and far, far behind those hills was that London which contained the object dearest to her soul. The wind seemed scarcely to breathe as it floated towards her; but it came from that quarter, and believing it laden with every sweet which love can fancy, she threw back her veil to inhale its balm, then, blaming herself for such weakness, she turned, blus.h.i.+ng, homewards and wept at what she thought her unreasonably tenacious pa.s.sion.

The arrival of Miss Dundas at the Lodge was communicated to the two young men on their return from traversing half the country in quest of game. The news drew an oath from Shafto, but rather pleased Somerset, who augured some amus.e.m.e.nt from her attempts at wit and judgment. Tired to death, and dinner being over when they entered, with ravenous appet.i.tes they devoured their uncomfortable meal in a remote room; then throwing themselves along the sofas, yawned and slept for nearly two hours.

Pembroke waking first, suddenly jumped on the floor, and shaking his disordered clothes, exclaimed, "Shafto! get up This is abominable! I cannot help thinking that if we spend one half of our days in pleasure and the other in lolling off its fatigues, we shall have pa.s.sed through life more to our shame than our profit!"

"Then you take the shame and leave me the profit," cried his companion, turning himself round: "so good-night to you!"

Pembroke rang the bell. A servant entered.

"What o'clock is it?"

"Nine, sir."