Chapter Seven.Lady R— sat down before her writing materials, and I took my seat on the sofa, as she had requested, and was soon occupied with my reading. I perceived that, as she wrote, her ladyship continually took her eyes off her paper, and fixed them upon me. I presumed that she was describing me, and I was correct in my idea, for, in about half-an-hour, she threw down her pen, and cried:“There, I am indebted to you for the best picture of a heroine that I ever drew! Listen.”And her ladyship read to me a most flattering description of my sweet person, couched in very high-flown language.“I think, Lady R—,” said I, when she had finished, “that you are more indebted to your own imagination than to reality in drawing my portrait.”“Not so, not so, my dear Valerie. I may have done you justice, but certainly not more. There is nothing like having the living subject to write from. It is the same as painting or drawing, it only can be true when drawn from nature; in fact, what is writing but painting with the pen?”As she concluded her sentence, the page, Lionel, came in with a letter on a waiter, and hearing her observation, as he handed the letter, he impudently observed:“Here’s somebody been painting your name on the outside of this paper; and as there’s 7 pence to pay, I think it’s rather dear for such a smudge.”“You must not judge from outside appearance, Lionel,” replied Lady R—: “the contents may be worth pounds. It is not prepossessing, I grant, in its superscription, but may, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wear a precious jewel in its head. That was a vulgar error of former days, Lionel, which Shakespeare has taken advantage of.”“Yes, that chap painted with a pen at a fine rate,” replied the boy, as Lady R— opened the letter and read it.“You may go, Lionel,” said she, putting the letter down.“I just wanted to know, now that you’ve opened your toad, if you have found the jewel, or whether it’s a vulgar error?”“It’s a vulgar letter, at all events, Lionel,” replied her ladyship, “and concerns you; it is from the shoemaker at Brighton, who requests me to pay him eighteen shillings for a pair of boots ordered by you, and not paid for.”“Well, my lady, I do owe for the boots, true enough; but it’s impossible for me always to recollect my own affairs, I am so busy with looking after yours.”“Well, but now you are reminded of them, Lionel, you had better give me the money, and I will send it to him.”At this moment Lady R— stooped from her chair to pick up her handkerchief. There were some sovereigns lying on the desk, and the lad, winking his eye at me, took one up, and, as Lady R— rose up, held it out to her in silence.“That’s right, Lionel,” said Lady R—; “I like honesty.”“Yes, madame,” replied the impudent rogue, very demurely; “like most people who tell their own stories, I was born of honest, but poor parents.”“I believe your parents were honest; and now, Lionel, to reward you, I shall pay for your boots, and you may keep your sovereign.”“Thank your ladyship,” replied the lad. “I forgot to say that the cook is outside for orders.”Lady R— rose, and went out of the room; and Mr Lionel, laughing at me, put the sovereign down with the others.“Now, I call that real honesty. You saw me borrow it, and now you see me pay it.”“Yes; but suppose her ladyship had not given you the sovereign, how would it have been then?” said I.“I should have paid her very honestly,” replied he. “If I wished to cheat her, or rob her, I might do so all day long. She leaves her money about everywhere, and never knows what she has; besides, if I wanted to steal, I should not do so with those bright eyes of yours looking at me all the time.”“You are a very saucy boy,” replied I, more amused than angry.“It’s all from reading, and it’s not my fault, for her ladyship makes me read, and I never yet read any book about old times in which the pages were not saucy; but I’ve no time to talk just now—my spoons are not clean yet,” so saying he quitted the room.I did not know whether I ought to inform her ladyship of this freak of her page’s; but, as the money was returned, I thought I had better say nothing for the present. I soon found out that the lad was correct in asserting that she was careless of her money, and that, if he chose, he might pilfer without chance of discovery; and, moreover, that he really was a good and honest lad, only full of mischief and very impudent; owing, however, to Lady R—’s treatment of him, for she rather encouraged his impudence than otherwise. He was certainly a very clever, witty boy, and a very quick servant; so quick, indeed, at his work, that it almost appeared as if he never had anything to do, and he had plenty of time for reading, which he was very fond of.Lady R— returned, and resumed her writing.“You sing, do you not? I think Mrs Bathurst told me you were very harmonious. Now, Valerie, do me a favour: I want to hear a voice carolling some melodious ditty. I shall describe it so much better, if I really heard you sing. I do like reality; of course, you must sing without music, for my country girl cannot be crossing the mead with a piano in one hand, and a pail of water in the other.”“I should think not,” replied I, laughing; “but am not I too near?”“Yes, rather; I should prefer it on the stairs, or on the first floor landing, but I could not be so rude as to send you out of the room.”“But I will go without sending,” replied I; and I did so, and having arrived at my station, I sang a little French refrain, which I thought would answer her ladyship’s purpose. On my return her ladyship was writing furiously, and did not appear to notice my entrance. I took my seat quietly, and in about ten minutes she again threw down the pen, exclaiming:“I never wrote so effective a chapter! Valerie, you are more precious to me than fine gold; and as Shylock said of his ring, ‘I would not change thee for a wilderness of monkeys.’ I make the quotation as expressive of your value. It was so kind-hearted of you to comply with my wish. You don’t know an author’s feelings. You have no idea how our self-love is flattered by success, and that we value a good passage in our works more than anything else in existence. Now, you have so kindly administered to my ruling passion twice in one morning, that I love you exceedingly. I daresay you think me very odd, and people say that I am so; I may ask you to do many odd things for me, but I shall never ask you to do what a lady may not do, or what would be incorrect for you to do, or for me to propose; that you may depend upon, Valerie: and now I close my manuscript for the present, being well satisfied with the day’s work.”Lady R— rang the bell, and on Lionel making his appearance, she desired him to take away her writing materials, put her money into her purse—if he knew where the purse was—and then asked him what were her engagements for the evening.“I knowwehave an engagement,” replied the boy; “I can’t recollect it, but I shall find it in the drawing-room.”He went out, and in a minute returned.“I have found it, my lady,” said he. “Here’s the ticket; Mrs Allwood, at home, nine o’clock.”“Mrs Allwood, my dear Valerie, is a literary lady, and her parties are very agreeable.”The page looked at me from behind Lady R—’s chair, and shook his head in dissent.“Shall we go?” continued Lady R—.“If you please, madame,” replied I.“Well, then, we will take a drive before dinner, and the evening after dinner shall be dedicated to the feast of reason and the flow of soul. Dear me, how I have inked my fingers, I must go upstairs and wash them.”As soon as Lady R— left the room, Master Lionel began.“Feast of reason and flow of soul; I don’t like such entertainment. Give me a good supper and plenty of champagne.”“Why, what matter can it make to you?” said I, laughing.“It matters a good deal. I object to literary parties,” replied he. “In the first place, for one respectable carriage driving up to the door, there are twenty cabs and jarveys, so that the company isn’t so good; and then at parties, when there is a good supper, I get my share of it in the kitchen. You don’t think we are idle down below. I have been to Mrs Allwood’s twice, and there’s no supper, nothing but feast of reason, which remains upstairs, and they’re welcome to my share of it. As for the drink, it’s negus and cherry-water; nothing else, and if the flow of soul is not better than such stuff, they may have my share of that also. No music, no dancing, nothing but buzz, buzz, buzz. Won’t you feel it stupid!”“Why, one would think you had been upstairs instead of down, Lionel.”“Of course I am. They press all who have liveries into the service, and I hand the cakes about rather than kick for hours at the legs of the kitchen-table. I hear all that’s said just as well as the company, and I’ve often thought I could have given a better answer than I’ve heard some of your great literaries. When I hand the cakes to-night, take them I point out to you: they’ll be the best.”“Why, how can you tell?”“Because I try them all before I come in the room.”“You ought to be ashamed to acknowledge it.”“All comes of reading, miss,” replied he. “I read that in former times great people, kings and princes and so on, always had their victuals tasted first, lest there should be poison in them: so I taste upon that principle, and I have been half-poisoned sometimes at these cheap parties, but I’m getting cunning, and when I meet a suspicious-looking piece of pastry, I leave it for the company; but I can’t wait to talk any longer, miss, I must give coachman his orders.”“I never asked you to talk, Mr Lionel,” said I.“No, you didn’t, but still I know you like to hear me: you can’t deny that. Now to use my lady’s style, I am to tell the coachman to put a girdle round the park in forty minutes;” so saying, the lad vanished, as he usually did, in a second.The lad was certainly right when he said that I did like to hear him talk, for he amused me so much, that I forgave his impudence and familiarity. Shortly afterwards, we went out in the carriage, and having driven two or three times round the park, returned home to dinner. At ten o’clock, we went to Mrs Allwood’s party. I was introduced to a great many great literary stars, whom I had never before heard of; but the person who attracted the most attention was a Russian Count, who had had his ears and nose cut off by the Turks. It certainly did not add to his beauty, however it might have to his interest. However, Lionel was right. It was a very stupid party to me: all talking at once and constantly on the move to find fresh listeners; itwasall buzz, buzz, buzz, and I was glad when the carriage was announced. Such were the events of the first day which I passed under the roof of Lady R—.Indeed, this first day may be taken as a sample of most others, and a month passed rapidly away. Each day, however, was marked with some peculiar eccentricity on her part, but these diverted me. I was often requested to do strange things in my position as a model, but with all her oddities Lady R— was a gentlewoman in manner and in feeling, and what I should certainly have refused to anyone else, I did for her without reluctance. I now called her Sempronia, as she requested, and, moreover, I became very intimate with Master Lionel, who would be intimate, whether or no, and who, like Lady R—, was a source of great amusement. At times, when I was alone and communed with myself, I could not help surveying my peculiar position. I was engaged at a large salary—for what? to look handsome, to put myself in attitudes, and to do nothing. This was not flattering to my talents (such as I had), but still I was treated with kindness and confidence; was the companion of her ladyship; was introduced and taken to all the parties to which she was asked, and never made to feel my dependence. I had already imbibed a strong friendship for Lady R—, and I was, therefore, content to remain. One morning she said to me, “My dear Valerie, do me the favour to tighten the laces of my stays.”She was, as usual, writing in her dressing-gown.“Oh, tighter yet; as tight as you can draw them. That will do nicely.”“Why you can hardly breathe, Sempronia.”“But I can write, my dear child, and, as I before observed, the mind and the body influence each other. I am about to write a strictly moral dialogue, and I never could do it unless I am strait-laced. Now I feel fit for the wife of Cato and of Rome.”A few days afterwards she amused me still more. After writing about half-an-hour, she threw down her pen—“I never can do it; come upstairs, my dear Valerie, and help me off with my stays. I must beá l’abandon.”I followed her, and having removed these impediments we returned to the boudoir.“There,” said she, sitting down, “I think I shall manage it now: I feel as if I could.”“Manage what?” inquired I.“My dear, I am about to write a love scene, very warm and impassioned, and I could not do it, confined as I was. Now that I am loose, I can give loose to the reins of my imagination, and delineate with the arrow of Cupid’s self. My heroine is reclining, with her hand on her cheek; put yourself in that attitude, my dear dear Valerie, as if you were meditating upon the prolonged absence of one dear to you. Exactly—beautiful—true to nature—but I forgot, a page enters—don’t move, I’ll ring the bell.”Lionel answered quickly, as usual.“Here, Lionel, I want you to play the page.”“I’ve no time for play, my lady; I’m page in earnest. There’s all the knives to clean.”“Never mind the knives just now. Observe, Lionel, you are supposed to be sent a message to that lovely girl, who is sitting absorbed in a soft reverie. You enter her presence unperceived, and are struck with her beauty; you lean against a tree, in a careless but graceful attitude, with your eyes fixed upon her lovely features. Now lean against the door, as I have described, and then I shall be able to write.”I could not help smiling at the absurdity of this scene, the more so as Lionel, just passing his fingers through his hair, and then pulling up his shirt collar, took his position, saying, “Now, Miss Valerie, we’ll see who performs best: I think you will be sooner tired of sitting than I shall be of looking at you.”“Excellent, Lionel!—exactly the position that I wished,” said Lady R—, scribbling as fast as she could; “that stare of yours is true to nature—Cymon and Iphigenia—a perfect tableau!—don’t move, I beg; I only require ten minutes.”I looked up at Master Lionel, and he made such a grimace, that I could hardly keep my countenance, and I did not exactly feel satisfied at thus performing, as it were, with a servant; but still, that servant was Lionel, who was very unlike other servants. In ten minutes, as promised, we were released, much to my satisfaction. Lionel went off to clean his knives, and I took up my book, and really when I perceived the delight of Lady R—, at what she called her success, I no longer felt anything like annoyance at having complied with her wishes.One morning, when Lady R— had walked out, and the page Lionel was in the room, I entered into conversation with him, and asked how it was that he had been so much better educated than were lads in his position in general?“That’s a question that I often ask myself, Miss Valerie,” replied he, “as they say in some autobiographies. The first recollection I have of myself was finding myself walking two-and-two, in a suit of pepper-and-salt, along with about twenty other very little boys, at a cheap preparatory school, kept by the Misses Wiggins. There I remained—nobody came to see me: other boys talked of their papas and mammas—I had none to talk about: they went home at the holidays, and brought back toys and plum-cakes; I enjoyed my holidays alone, scraping holes in the gravel, for want of better employment, between my meals, and perhaps not opening my mouth, or hearing the sound of my own voice, more than three or four times in the twenty-four hours. As I had plenty of time for reflection during the vacations, as I grew bigger I began to imagine that somehow or another I must have had a father and mother, like the other boys, and began to make very impertinent (as I was told) inquiries about them. The Misses Wiggins gave me a good wigging, as they call it, for my unwarranted curiosity, pointing out the indelicacy of entering upon such subjects, and thus was my mouth stopped.“At last I grew up too big for the school, and was not to be managed by two old maids, and I presume it was through their representations that I was at last honoured by a visit from an old housekeeper, a woman above fifty, whom I never saw before. I ventured to put the forbidden questions to her, and she replied that I had neither father nor mother, that they were both dead, and that I was educated by the kindness of a great lady, whose dependents they had been, and that the great lady would call and see me perhaps, or if she did not, would send for me and do something for me. Well, about four years ago (I was then twelve years old, I was told, but my idea is that I am older than they say), I was sent for by Lady R—, and at first I was dressed in a turban and red jacket, and sat on the floor. I was told that I was to be her page, and I liked it very much, as I did nothing but run messages and read books, which I was very fond of; and Lady R— took some pains with me; but as I grew bigger, so did I fall off from my high estate, and by degrees descended from the drawing-room to the kitchen.“My finery was not renewed; at first I had a plain suit and did my work under the footman, and two years ago, when the footman was sent away, rather than be under the orders of another, I volunteered to do the work, which I have done ever since, and now receive high wages, and wear sugar-loaf buttons, as you perceive. Now, Miss Valerie, that’s all I know ofmyself; but I suspect that Lady R— knows more; still it may be that what the old woman told me was correct, and that I was the child of one of her favourite dependents, and was educated by her in the manner that I was, for you know how many odd things she does.”“What is your other name, Lionel?”“Bedingfield, I am told, is my name,” replied he.“Have you ever spoken to Lady R—,” inquired I, “relative to your parents?”“I once did; but she said they were Sir Richard’s people, not hers (that is, her father’s, the late baronet’s), and that she knew nothing about them, except that my father was a steward or bailiff to him in the country, and that he had left directions that she should do something for me. Her ladyship did not appear to be inclined to talk about them much, and sent me away as soon as she had told me what I now repeat to you; however, I have found out something since that—but there’s her ladyship’s knock”—so saying, Lionel vanished.Soon after her ladyship’s return, Madame Gironac, who had called upon me two or three times, was announced. I went out of the room, and when I met her in the dining-parlour, she told me that she had brought some of her imitations of flowers on wax, to show them to her ladyship. I immediately went up, and asked Lady R— if she would like to see them, to which proposal she assented. When Madame Gironac displayed her performances, which were very natural and beautiful, her ladyship was delighted, and purchased several of them, after which I again went downstairs, and had a long conversation with my warm-hearted little friend.“I don’t like this situation of yours, mademoiselle,” said she, “nor does my husband. Now I was thinking, Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, that it would not be a bad plan if you were to learn how to make those flowers. I will teach you for nothing; and I will teach you what I never teach my pupils, which is how to prepare the wax, and a great many other little secrets which are worth knowing.”“I shall be very glad to learn, my dear madame,” replied I, “but I can afford to pay you for your time and trouble, and must insist upon doing so; if not, I will not be your pupil.”“Well, well, we must not quarrel about that. I know that no one likes to be under an obligation, especially one like you—but learn you must—so let us arrange for the lessons.”I did so; and from that day until I quitted Lady R—I applied myself so assiduously to the art, that, with the unreserved communications of Madame Gironac, I became a proficient, and could equal her own performances—Madame Gironac declared that I excelled her, because I had more taste—but to return.After I had parted with Madame Gironac, I went upstairs, and found Lady R— sitting at the table, looking at the purchases she had made.“My dear Valerie,” cried she, “you don’t know how you have obliged me by introducing that little woman and her flowers. What a delightful and elegant employment for a heroine to undertake—so lady-like! I have determined that mine shall support herself by imitating flowers in wax. I am just at the point of placing her in embarrassed circumstances, and did not well know how she was to gain her livelihood, but, thanks to you, that is selected, and in a most charming and satisfactory manner. It is so hard to associate poverty with clean hands.”About a fortnight afterwards, after some other conversation, Lady R— said, “My dear Valerie, I have a surprise for you. The season is nearly over, and, what is more important, my third volume will be complete in a fortnight. Last night as I was wooing Somnus in vain, an idea came into my head. I proposed going to pass the autumn at Brighton, as you know, but last night I made up my mind that we would go over the water; but whether it is to be Havre, or Dieppe, or Paris, or anywhere else I cannot say, but certainly La Belle France. How do you like the idea? I think of making a sort of sentimental journey. We will seek adventures. Shall we go like Rosamond and Celia? I with ‘gallant curtal axe,’ dressed as a youth. Shall we be mad, Valerie? What say you?”I hardly knew what to say. Lady R— appeared to have a most unusual freak in her head, and to be a little more odd than usual. Now I had no wish to go to France, as I might fall in with people whom I did not wish to see; and moreover, from what I had heard of her ladyship’s adventures in Italy, I was convinced that she was one of many, I may say, who fancy that they may do as they please out of their own country, and I certainly did not wish to figure in her train; I therefore replied, “I know my own country well, Lady R—, and there cannot be a less eligible one for a masquerade. We should meet with too manydésagrémens, if unprotected by male society, and our journey would be anything but sentimental. But if you do go to France, does Lionel accompany you?”“Well, I do not know, but I should like him to learn the language. I think I shall take him. He is a clever boy.”“Very,” replied I; “where did you pick him up?”“He is a son of my late father’s”—(‘a son of—’ exclaimed I)—“tenant, or something I was going to say,” continued Lady R—, colouring; “but I could not recollect exactly what the man was. Bailiff, I think. I know nothing about his father, but he was recommended to me by Sir Richard before he died.”“Recommended as a servant?” replied I; “he appears to me to be too good for so menial a position.”“I have made him above his position, Valerie; not that he was recommended as a servant, but recommended to my care. Perhaps some day I may be able to do more for him. You know that we are to go to Lady G—’s ball to-night. It will be a very brilliant affair. She gives but one during the season, and she always does the thing in good style. Bless me, how late it is! The carriage will be round in two minutes; I’ve a round of visits to pay.”“Will you excuse me? I have promised to take a lesson of Madame Gironac.”“Very true; then I must enter upon my melancholy task alone. What can be so absurd as a rational and immortal soul going about distributing pasteboard!”We went to Lady G—’s ball, which was very splendid. I had been dancing, for although I was not considered probably good enough among the young aristocrats to be made a partner for life, as a partner in a waltz or quadrille I was rather in request, for the odium of governess had not yet been attached to my name, having never figured in that capacity in the metropolis, where I was unknown. I had but a short time taken my seat by Lady R—, when the latter sprang off in a great hurry, after what I could not tell, and her place was immediately occupied by a lady, who I immediately recognised as a Lady M—, who had, with her daughters, composed a portion of the company at Madame Bathurst’s country seat.“Have you forgotten me, Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf?” said Lady M—, extending her hand.“No, my lady, I am glad to see you looking so well. I hope your daughters are also quite well?”“Thank you; they look very well in the evening, but rather pale in the morning. It is a terrible thing a London season, very trying to the constitution, but what can we do? We must be out and be seen everywhere, or we lose caste—so many balls and parties every night. The fact is, that if girls are not married during the three first seasons after they come out, their chance is almost hopeless, for all the freshness and charm of youth, which are so appetising to the other sex, are almost gone. No constitution can withstand the fatigue. I’ve often compared our young ladies to the carriage horses—they are both worked to death during the season, and then turned out to grass in the country to recover themselves, and come up fresh for the next winter. It really is a horrible life, but girls must be got off. I wish mine were, for what with fatigue and anxiety I’m worn to a shadow. Come, Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, let us go into the next room. It is cooler, and we shall be more quiet; take my arm: perhaps we shall meet the girls.”I accepted her ladyship’s invitation, and we went into the next room, and took a seat upon a sofa in a recess.“Here we can talk without being overheard,” said Lady M—; “and now, my dear young lady, I know that you have left Madame Bathurst, but why I do not know. Is it a secret?”“No, my lady; when Caroline went away I was of no further use, and therefore I did not wish to remain. You may perhaps know that I went to Madame Bathurst’s on a visit, and that an unforeseen change of circumstances induced me to remain for some time as instructress to her niece.”“I heard something of that sort, a kind of friendly arrangement, at which Madame Bathurst had good cause to be content. I’m sure I should have been, had I been so fortunate; and now you are residing with Lady R—, may I inquire, without presuming too much, in what capacity you are with Lady R—.”“I went there as an amanuensis, but I have never written a line. Lady R— is pleased to consider me as a companion, and I must say that she has behaved to me with great kindness and consideration.”“I have no doubt of it,” replied Lady M—; “but still it appears to me (excuse the liberty I take, or ascribe it to a feeling of good-will), that your position with Lady R— is not quite what those who have an interest in you would wish. Everyone knows how odd she is, to say the least of it, and you may not be perhaps aware, that occasionally her tongue outruns her discretion. In your presence she of course is on her guard, for she is really good-natured, and would not willingly offend anyone or hurt their feelings, but when led away by her desire to shine in company, she is very indiscreet. I have been told that at Mrs W—’s dinner-party the other day, to which you were not invited, on your name being brought up, she called you her charming model, I think was the phrase; and on an explanation being demanded of the term, she said you stood for her heroines, putting yourself in postures and positions while she drew from nature, as she termed it; and that, moreover, on being complimented on the idea, and some of the young men offering, or rather intimating, that they would be delighted to stand or kneel at your feet, as the hero of the tale, she replied that she had no occasion for their services, as she had a page or footman, I forget which, who did that portion of the work. Surely this cannot be true, my dear Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf?”Oh! how my blood boiled when I heard this.How far it was true, the reader already knows; but the manner in which it was conveyed by Lady M—, quite horrified me. I coloured up to the temples, and replied, “Lady M—, that Lady R— has very often, when I have been sitting, and she has been writing, told me that she was taking me as a model for her heroine, is very true, but I have considered it as a mere whim of hers, knowing how very eccentric she is. I little thought from my having good-naturedly yielded to her caprice, that I should have been so mortified as I have been by what you have communicated to me. That she must have been indiscreet, is certain, for it was known only to herself and me.”“And the footman.”“Footman, my lady? There is a boy—a sort of page there.”“Exactly; a lad of fifteen or sixteen, a precocious, pert boy, who is much indulged by Lady R—, and, if report says true, is nearer related to her than she is willing to acknowledge. Did you never observe that there is a strong likeness?”“Good heavens, my lady, you surprise me.”“And, I fear, have also annoyed you; but,” continued Lady M—, laying her hand on mine, “I thought it kinder to let you know your peculiar position than to sneer and ridicule, as others do, behind your back. This is a sad world in one respect; if there is any scandal or false report spread against us, it is known to everyone but ourselves. We cannot find, but rarely, a friend who is so really our friend as to tell us of it. The poison is allowed to circulate without the power being given to us of applying an antidote—so hollow is friendship in this world. My dear mademoiselle, I have done otherwise; whether you thank me for it or not, I cannot tell; perhaps not, for those who communicate unpleasant intelligence, are seldom looked kindly upon.”“Lady M—,” replied I, “I do thank you most heartily. I do consider that you have acted a friendly part. That I have been dreadfully shocked and mortified, I admit,” continued I, wiping away the tears that forced their passage; “but I shall not give an opportunity for future unjust insinuations or remarks, as I have made up my mind that I shall leave Lady R— as soon as possible.”“My dear mademoiselle, I did not venture to make you acquainted with what I knew would, to a person of your sensitive mind, be the cause of your quitting the protection of Lady R— without having considered whether an equivalent could not be offered to you; and I am happy to say that I can offer you a home, and I trust comfort and consideration, if you will accept of them. The fact is, that had I known that you had any idea of quitting Madame Bathurst, I should have made the offer then—now I do so with all sincerity;—but at present you are agitated and annoyed, and I will say no more. If I send the carriage for you to-morrow at two o’clock, will you do me the favour to come and see me? I would call upon you, but of course the presence of Lady R— would be a check to our free converse. Say, my dear, will you come?”I replied in the affirmative, and Lady M— then rose, and giving me her arm, we walked back to the bench which I had left, where I found Lady R— in a hot dispute with a member of Parliament. I sat down by her unnoticed, and Lady M— having smiled an adieu, I was left to my own reflections, which were anything but agreeable. My head ached dreadfully, and I looked so ill that Lady R—’s warm antagonist perceived it, and pointed it out to her, saying, “Yourprotégéeis not well, I fear, Lady R—.”I replied to Lady R—, “that I had a violent headache, and wished to get home if it were possible.”She immediately consented, and showed great concern. As soon as we were home, I need hardly say, that I hastened to my room.I sat down and pressed my forehead with my hands: my knowledge of the world was increasing too fast. I began to hate it—hate men, and women even more than men. What lessons had I learnt within the last year. First Madame d’Albret, then Madame Bathurst, and now Lady R—. Was there no such thing as friendship in the world—no such thing as generosity? In my excited state it appeared to me that there was not. All was false and hollow. Self was the idol of mankind, and all worshipped at its altar. After a time I became more composed, I thought of little Madame Gironac, and the recollection of her disinterested kindness put me in a better frame of mind. Mortified as I was, I could not help feeling that it was only the vanity of Lady R— and her desire to shine, to which I had been made a sacrifice, and that she had no intention of wounding my feelings. Still, to remain with her after what had been told to me by Lady M— was impossible.And then I reflected upon what steps I should take. I did not like to tell Lady R— the real grounds of my leaving her. I thought it would be prudent to make some excuse and part good friends. At last it occurred to me that her intention of going to France would be a good excuse. I could tell her that I was afraid of meeting my relatives.Having decided upon this point, I then canvassed the words of Lady M—. What could she offer me in her house? She had three daughters, but they were all out, as the phrase is, and their education supposed to be completed. This was a mystery I could not solve, and I was obliged to give up thinking about it, and at last I fell asleep. The next moment I woke up, jaded in mind, and with a bad headache, but I dressed and went down to breakfast. Lady R— asked after my health, and then said, “I observed you talking very confidentially with Lady M—. I was not aware that you knew her. Between ourselves, Valerie, she is one of my models.”“Indeed,” replied I, “I do not think that her ladyship is aware of the honour conferred upon her.”“Very likely not, but in the last work she was portrayed to the life. Lady M— is a schemer, always plotting; her great object now is to get her three daughters well married.”“I believe that most mothers wish that, Lady R—.”“I grant it, and perhaps manoeuvre as much, but with more skill than she does, for every one sees the game that she is playing, and the consequence is, that the young men shy off, which they probably would not if she were quiet, for they are really clever, unaffected, and natural girls, very obliging, and without any pride; but how came you to be so intimate with Lady M—?”“Lady M— and her eldest daughter were staying for some time with Madame Bathurst in the country when I was there.”“Oh, I understand, that accounts for it.”“I am going to call upon Lady M—, if she sends her carriage for me,” replied I. “She told me that she would, if she could, at two o’clock. She has proposed my paying her a visit; I presume it will be after she leaves town.”“But that you will not be able to do, Valerie; you forget our trip to France.”“I did not think that you were serious,” replied I; “you mentioned it as the resolution of a night, and I did not know that you might not think differently upon further consideration.”“Oh no, my resolutions are hastily formed, but not often given up. Go to Paris we certainly shall.”“If you are determined upon going, Lady R—, I am afraid that I cannot accompany you.”“Indeed!” exclaimed her ladyship, in surprise. “May I ask why not?”“Simply because I might meet those I am most anxious to avoid; there is a portion of my history that you are not acquainted with, Lady R—, which I will now make known to you.”I then told her as much as I thought necessary relative to my parents, and stated my determination not to run the risk of meeting them. Lady R— argued, persuaded, coaxed, and scolded, but it was all in vain; at last she became seriously angry, and left the room. Lionel soon afterwards made his appearance, and said to me, in his usual familiar way, “What’s the matter, Miss Valerie? The governess is in a rage about something; she gave me a box on the ear.”“I suppose you deserved it, Lionel,” replied I.“Well, there may be differences of opinion about that,” replied the boy. “She went on scolding me at such a rate that I was quite astonished, and all about nothing. She blew up cook—didn’t she—blew her half up the chimney—and then she was at me again. At last I could bear it no longer, and I said, ‘Don’t flare up, my lady.’”“‘Don’t my lady me,’ cried she, ‘or I’ll box your ears.’”“Well, then, as she is always angry if you call her my lady, I thought she was angry with me for the same reason, so I said, ‘Sempronia, keep your temper,’—and didn’t I get a box on the ear.”I could not help laughing at this recital of his cool impudence, the more so as he narrated it with such an air of injured innocence.“Indeed, Lionel,” said I at last, “you well deserved the box on the ear. If you ever quit the service of Lady R—, you will find that you must behave with proper respect to those above you; if not, you will not remain an hour in any other house. Lady R— is very odd and very good-tempered, and permits more liberties than any other person would. I will, however, tell you why Lady R— is displeased. It is because she wishes me to go to France with her and I have refused.”“Then you are going to leave us?” inquired Lionel, mournfully.“I suppose so,” replied I.“Then I shall go, too,” said the boy. “I’m tired of it.”“But why should you go, Lionel? You may not find another situation half so comfortable.”“I shall not seek one. I have only stayed here with the hope that I may find out from her ladyship who and what my parents were, and she will not tell me. I shall live by my wits, never fear; ‘the world’s my oyster,’ as Shakespeare says, and I think I’ve wit enough to open it.”I had not forgotten the observations of Lady M— relative to Lionel, and what the lad now said made me surmise that there was some mystery, and, on examination of his countenance, therewasa family likeness to Lady R—. I also called to mind her unwillingness to enter upon the subject when I brought it up.“But, Lionel,” said I, after a pause, “what is it that makes you suppose that Lady R— conceals who were your parents—when we last talked on the subject, you said you had found out something—she told me that your father was a bailiff, or steward to Sir Richard.”“Which I have proved to be false. She told me that my father was Sir Richard’s butler; that I have also discovered to be false, for one day the old housekeeper, who called upon me at school, came here, and was closeted with Lady R— for half-an-hour. When she went away, I called a hackney-coach for her, and getting behind it, went home with her to her lodgings. When I found out where she lived, I hastened back immediately that I might not be missed, intending to have made a call upon her. The next day Lady R— gave me a letter to put in the twopenny-post; it was directed to a Mrs Green, to the very house where the hackney-coach had stopped, so I knew it was for the old housekeeper. Instead of putting the letter in the post, I kept it till the evening, and then took it myself.“‘Mrs Green,’ said I, for I found her at home with another old woman, sitting over their tea, ‘I have brought you a letter from Lady R—.’ This is about a year ago, Miss Valerie.“‘Mercy on me,’ said she, ‘how strange that Lady R— should send you here.’“‘Not strange that she should send a letter by a servant,’ said I, ‘only strange that I should be a servant.’“I said this, Miss Valerie, as a random throw, just to see what answer she would make.“‘Why, who has been telling you anything?’ said she, looking at me through her spectacles.“‘Ah,’ replied I, ‘that’s what I must keep to myself, for I’m under a promise of secrecy.’“‘Mercy on me, it couldn’t be—no, that’s impossible,’ muttered the old woman, as she opened the letter and took out a bank-note, which she crumpled up in her hand. She then commenced reading the letter; I walked a little way from her, and stood between her and the window. Every now and then she held the letter up to the candle, and when the light was strong upon it, I could read a line from where I stood, for I have been used to her ladyship’s writing, as you know. One line I read was, ‘remains still at Culverwood Hall;’ another was, ‘the only person now left in Essex.’ I also saw the words ‘secrecy’ and ‘ignorant’ at the bottom of the page. The old woman finished the letter at last, but it took her a good while to get through it.“‘Well,’ says she, ‘have you anything more to say?’“‘No,’ says I; ‘you are well paid for your secrecy, Mrs Green.’“‘What do you mean?’ said she.“‘Oh, I’m not quite so ignorant as you suppose,’ replied I.“‘Ignorant,’ said she, confused, ‘ignorant of what?’“‘When were you last in Essex?’ said I.“‘When, why? what’s that to you, you impudent boy?’“‘Nay, then, I’ll put another question to you. How long is it since you were at Culverwood Hall?’“‘Culverwood Hall! What do you know about Culverwood Hall? the boy’s mad, I believe; go away, you’ve done your message; if you don’t, I’ll tell her ladyship.’“‘Certainly, Mrs Green,’ said I. ‘I wish you a good-night.’“I left the room, slamming the door, but not allowing the catch to fall in, so that I held it a little ajar, and then I heard Mrs Green say to the other woman,“‘Somebody’s been with that boy; I wonder who it can be? He’s put me in such a flurry. Well, these things will out.’“‘Yes, yes, it’s like murder,’ replied the other; ‘not that I know what it’s all about, only I see there’s a secret—perhaps you’ll tell me, Mrs Green?’“‘All I dare tell you is that there is a secret,’ replied Mrs Green, ‘and the boy has got an inkling of it somehow or another. I must see my lady—no, I had better not,’ added she; ‘for she is so queer that she’ll swear that I’ve told him. Now there’s only one besides myself and her ladyship who knows anything, and I’ll swear that he could not have been with the boy, for he’s bedridden. I’m all of a puzzle, and that’s the truth. What a wind there is; why the boy has left the door open. Boys never shut doors.’“Mrs Green got up and slammed the door to, and I walked off; and now, Miss Valerie, that’s all that I know of the matter; but why I should be sent to a good school and wear pepper and salt, and to be taken away to be made first a page, and now a footman, I can’t tell; but you must acknowledge that there is some mystery, after what I have told you.”“It certainly is strange, Lionel,” replied I, “but my advice is that you remain patiently till you can find it out, which by leaving Lady R— you are not likely to do.”“I don’t know that, Miss Valerie; let me get down to Culverwood Hall, and I think I would find out something, or my wits were given me to no purpose. But I hear her ladyship coming upstairs: so good-bye, Miss Valerie.”And Lionel made a hasty retreat.Lady R— slowly ascended the stairs, and came into the room. Her violence had been exhausted, but she looked sullen and moody, and I could hardly recognise her; for I must do her the justice to say, that I had never before seen her out of temper. She sat down in her chair, and I asked her whether I should bring her her writing materials.“A pretty state I am in to write,” replied she, leaning her elbows on the table, and pressing her hands to her eyes. “You don’t know what a rage I have been in, and how I have been venting it upon innocent people. I struck that poor boy—shame on me! Alas! I was born with violent passions, and they have been my curse through life. I had hoped that years had somewhat subdued them, but they will occasionally master me. What would I not give to have had your placid temper, Valerie! How much unhappiness I should have been spared! How much error should I have avoided! I was going to say, how much crime.”Lady R— was evidently more talking to herself than to me when she said the last words, and I therefore made no reply. A silence of more than a quarter of an hour followed, which was broken by Lionel coming in, and announcing the carriage of Lady M—.“That woman is the cause of all this,” said Lady R—; “I am sure that she is. Pray do not wait, Valerie. Go and see her. I shall be better company when you come back.”I made no reply, but left the room, and putting on my bonnet, was driven to Lady M—’s. She received me with great cordiality, and so did her daughters, who were in the room; but they were dismissed by their mother, who then said, “I told you last night, my dear Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, that I wished you to reside with me. You may say in what capacity, and I acknowledge that I hardly know what answer to give. Not as governess, certainly, for I consider it an odious position, and one that I could not offer you; indeed, my girls do not require teaching, as they have finished their studies; in only one thing you could be of advantage to them in that respect, which is in music and singing. But I wish you to come as their companion, as I am convinced that they will gain much by your so doing. I wish you, therefore, to be considered by others as a visitor at the house, but at the same time I must insist that from the advantages my girls will derive from your assisting them in music and singing, you will accept the same salary per annum which you have from Lady R—. Do you understand me: I wish you to remain with me, not as a model after the idea of Lady R—, but as a model for my girls to take pattern by. I shall leave it to yourself to act as you please. I am sure my girls like you already, and will like you better. I do not think that I can say more, except that I trust you will not refuse my offer.”There was a delicacy and kindness in this proposal on the part of Lady M— which I felt gratefully; but it appeared to me that after all it was only an excuse to offer me an asylum without any remuneration on my part, and I stated my feeling on that point.“Do not think so,” replied Lady M—. “I avoided saying so, because I would not have you styled a music-mistress; but on that one point alone you will more than earn your salary, as I will prove to you by showing you the annual payments to professors for lessons; but you will be of great value to me in other points, I have no doubt. May I, therefore, consider it as anaffaire arrangée?” After a little more conversation, I acquiesced, and having agreed that I would come as soon as Lady R— went to the continent, or at all events in three weeks, when Lady M— quitted London, I took my leave, and was conveyed back to Lady R—, in the carriage which had been sent for me.On my return, I found Lady R— seated where I had left her.“Well,” said she, “so you have had your audience; and I have no doubt but that you were most graciously received. Oh! I know the woman; and I have been reflecting upon it during your absence, and I have discovered what she wants you for; but this she has not mentioned, not even hinted at. She knows better; but when once in her house, you will submit to it, rather than be again in search of a home.”“I really do not know what you mean, Lady R—,” said I.“Has not Lady M— asked you to come as a visitor, without specifying any particular employment?”“No, she has not. She has proposed my staying in the house to give lessons to her daughters in music, and to be their companion; but there is nothing stated as to a fixed residence with her.”“Well, Valerie, I know that I am odd; but you will soon find out whether you have gained by the change.”“Lady R—, I really do not consider you should be so sarcastic or unkind towards me. I do not like to go to France with you for reasons which I have fully explained, at the expense of disclosing family affairs, which I had much rather not have mentioned. You leave me by myself, and I must seek protection somewhere. It is kindly offered by Lady M—, and in my unfortunate position I have not to choose. Be just and be generous.”“Well, well, I will,” said Lady R—, the tears starting in her eyes; “but you do not know how much I am annoyed at your leaving me. I had hoped, with all my faults, that I had created in you a feeling of attachment to me—God knows, that Ihave tried. If you knew all my history, Valerie, you would not be surprised at my being strange. That occurred when I was of your age which would have driven some people to despair or suicide. As it is, it has alienated me from all my relations, not that I have many. My brother, I never see or hear from, and have not for years. I have refused all his invitations to go down to see him, and he is now offended with me; but there are causes for it, and years cannot wipe away the memory of what did occur.”“I assure you, Lady R—, I have been very sensible of your kindness to me,” replied I, “and shall always remember it with gratitude; and if you think I have no regard for you, you are mistaken; but the subject has become painful—pray let us say no more.”“Well, Valerie, be it so; perhaps it is the wisest plan—”To change the conversation, I said—“Is not your brother the present baronet?”“Yes,” replied Lady R—“And where does he reside?”“In Essex, at Culverwood Hall, the seat of all my misfortunes.”I started a little at the mention of the place, as it was the one which the reader may remember was spoken of by Lionel. I then turned the conversation to other matters, and by dinner-time Lady R— had recovered herself, and was as amiable as ever.From that day until Lady R— set off for Paris, there was not a word said relative to Lady M—. She was kind and polite, but not so warm and friendly as she had been before, and in her subdued bearing towards me was more agreeable. Her time was now employed in making preparations for her tour. Lionel was the only one who was to accompany her except her own maid. At last she fixed the day of her departure, and I wrote to Lady M—, who returned an answer that it suited her exactly, as she would go to the country the day after. The evening before Lady R— was to start was passed very gloomily.I felt great sorrow at our separation, more than I could have imagined; but when you have been associated with a person who is good-tempered and kind, you soon feel more for them than you would suppose until you are about to quit them.Lady R— was very much dispirited, and said to me, “Valerie, I have a presentiment that we never shall meet again, and yet I am anything but superstitious. I can truly say that you are the only person to whom I have felt real attachment since my youth, and I feel more than I can describe. Something whispers to me, ‘Do not go to France,’ and yet something impels me to go. Valerie, if I do come back I trust that you will consider my house your home, if at any time you cannot place yourself more to your satisfaction; I will not say more, as I know that I am not exactly a lovable person, and my ways are odd; but do pray look upon me as your sincere friend, who will always be ready to serve you. I have to thank you for a few happy months, and that is saying much. God bless you, my dear Valerie.”I was moved to tears by what Lady R— said, and I thanked her with a faltering voice.“Come now,” said she, “I shall be off too early in the morning to see you: let us take our farewell.”Lady R— put a small packet into my hand, kissed me on the forehead, and then hastened up to her own room.That people love change is certain, but still there is a mournfulness connected with it; even in a change of residence, the packing up, the litter attending it, the corded trunks and packages, give a forlorn appearance to the house itself. To me it was peculiarly distressing; I had changed so often within the last year, and had such a precarious footing wherever I went, I felt myself to be the sport of fortune, and a football to the whims and caprices of others. I was sitting in my bedroom, my trunks packed but not yet closed down, thinking of Lady R—’s last conversation, and verytriste. The packet was lying on the table before me, unopened, when I was roused by a knock at the door. I thought it was Lady R—’s maid, and I said, “Come in.”The door opened, and Lionel made his appearance.“Is it you, Lionel? What do you want?”“I knew that you were up, and I recollected as we leave before you do, to-morrow, that you would have no one to cord your luggage, so I thought I would come up and do it for you to-night, Miss Valerie, if it is ready.”“Thank you, Lionel, it is very considerate of you. I will lock the trunks up, and you can cord them outside.”Lionel took out the trunks and corded them in the passage. When he had finished he said to me, “Good bye, Miss Valerie. You will see me again very soon.”“See you very soon, Lionel! I am afraid there is no chance of that, for Lady R— intends to stay abroad for six months.”“I do not,” replied he.“Why, Lionel, it would be very foolish for you to give up such a good situation. You have such unusual wages: twenty pounds a year, is it not?”“Yes, Miss Valerie. I should not get half that in another situation, but that is one reason why I am going to leave. Why should she give me twenty pounds a year. I must find out why, and find out I will, as I said to you before. She don’t give me twenty pounds for my beauty, although she might give you a great deal more, and yet not pay you half enough.”“Well, Lionel, I think you have been here long enough. It is too late to sit up to pay compliments. Fare you well.”I shut my door upon him gently, and then went to bed. As usual after excitement, I slept long and soundly. When I awoke the next morning, I found it was broad day, and nearly ten o’clock. I rang the bell, and it was answered by the cook, who told me that she and I were the only people in the house. I rose, and as I passed by my table, I perceived another package lying by the side of the one which Lady R— had given me. It was addressed to me and I opened it. It contained a miniature of Lady R— when she was about my age, and very beautiful she must have been. It was labelled “Sempronia at eighteen. Keep it for my sake, dear Valerie, and do not open the paper accompanying it until you have my permission, or you hear of my being no more.”I laid the miniature down and opened the first packet given me by Lady R—. It contained bank-notes to the amount of one hundred pounds, nearly double the salary due to me. The contents of both these packets only made me feel more melancholy, and I sighed heavily as I put them in my dressing-case; but time ran on, and I had agreed to be at Lady M—’s at one o’clock, when the carriage would be sent for me. I therefore hastened my toilet, closed the remainder of my luggage, and went down to the breakfast which the cook had prepared for me. While I was at breakfast a letter was brought by the post. It had been directed to Madame Bathurst, and was redirected to Lady R—’s address. It was from Madame Paon, and as follows:—“My dear Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf,—“As I take it for granted that you do not see the French papers, I write to tell you that your predictions relative to Monsieur G—, have all proved correct. A month after the marriage, he neglected madame, and spent his whole time at the gaming-table, only returning home to obtain fresh supplies from her. These were at last refused, and in his rage he struck her. A suit for separation of person and property was brought into court last week, and terminated in favour of Madame d’Albret, who retains all her fortune, and is rid of a monster. She came to me yesterday morning, and showed me the letter which you had written to her, asking me whether I did not correspond with you, and whether I thought, that after her conduct you could be prevailed upon to return to her. Of course I could not give any opinion, but I am convinced that if you only say that you forgive her, that she will write to you and make the request. I really do not well see how you can do otherwise, after the letter which you wrote to her, but of course you will decide for yourself. I trust, mademoiselle, you will favour me with a speedy answer, as Madame d’Albret is here every day, and is evidently very impatient,—I am, my dear mademoiselle, yours,“Emile Paon.“Née Mercé.”To this letter I sent the following reply by that day’s post:—“My dear Madame Paon,“That I sincerely forgive Madame d’Albret is true; I do so from my heart; but although I forgive her, I cannot listen to any proposal to resume the position I once held. Recollect that she has driven all over Paris, and accused me among all her friends of ingratitude and slander. How then, after having been discarded for such conduct, could I again make my appearance in her company. Either I have done as she has stated, and if so, am unworthy of her patronage, or I have not done so, and therefore have been cruelly used: made to feel my dependence in the bitterest way, having been dismissed and thrown upon the world with loss of character. Could I ever feel secure or comfortable with her after such injustice? or could she feel at her ease on again presenting one as herprotégée, whom she had so ill-treated? would she not have to blush every time that she met with any of our former mutual friends and acquaintances? It would be a series of humiliations to us both. Assure her of my forgiveness and good-will, and my wishes for her happiness; but to return to her is impossible. I would rather starve. If she knew what I have suffered in consequence of her hasty conduct towards me, she would pity me more than she may do now; but what is done is done. There is no remedy for it. Adieu, Madame Paon. Many thanks for your kindness to one so fallen as I am.“Yours truly and sincerely,“Valerie.”I wrote the above under great depression of spirits, and it was with a heavy heart that I afterwards alighted at Lady M—’s residence in St James’s Square. If smiles, however, and cordial congratulations, and shakes of the hand could have consoled me, they were not wanting on the part of Lady M— and her daughters. I was shown all the rooms below, then Lady M—’s room, the young ladies’ rooms, and lastly my own, and was truly glad when I was at last left alone to unpack and arrange my things.The room allotted to me was very comfortable, and better furnished than those in which the young ladies slept, and as far as appearances went, I was in all respects treated as a visitor and not as a governess. The maid who attended me was very civil, and as she assisted and laid my dresses in the wardrobe, made no attempt to be familiar. I ought to have informed the reader that Lady M— was a widow, Lord M— having died about two years before. Her eldest son, the present Lord M—, was on the continent. Dinner was announced; there were only two visitors, and I was treated as one of the company. In fact, nothing could be more gratifying than the manner in which I was treated. In the evening, I played and sang. The young ladies did the same; their voices were good, but they wanted expression in their singing, and I perceived that I could be useful.Lady M— asked me, when we were not overheard, “what I thought of her daughters’ singing?”I told her frankly.“It is impossible to doubt the truth of what you say, my dear Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, after having heard your performance. I knew that you were considered a good performer, but I had no idea of the perfection which you have arrived at.”“If your daughters are really fond of music, they would soon do as well, my lady,” replied I.“Impossible,” exclaimed her ladyship; “but still they must gain something from listening to you. You look fatigued. Do you wish to go to bed? Augusta will go up with you.”“I have a nervous headache,” replied I, “and I will accept your ladyship’s considerate proposal.”Augusta, the eldest daughter, lighted a chamber-candle, and went up with me into my room. After a little conversation, she wished me good-night, and thus passed the first day in St James’s Square.
Lady R— sat down before her writing materials, and I took my seat on the sofa, as she had requested, and was soon occupied with my reading. I perceived that, as she wrote, her ladyship continually took her eyes off her paper, and fixed them upon me. I presumed that she was describing me, and I was correct in my idea, for, in about half-an-hour, she threw down her pen, and cried:
“There, I am indebted to you for the best picture of a heroine that I ever drew! Listen.”
And her ladyship read to me a most flattering description of my sweet person, couched in very high-flown language.
“I think, Lady R—,” said I, when she had finished, “that you are more indebted to your own imagination than to reality in drawing my portrait.”
“Not so, not so, my dear Valerie. I may have done you justice, but certainly not more. There is nothing like having the living subject to write from. It is the same as painting or drawing, it only can be true when drawn from nature; in fact, what is writing but painting with the pen?”
As she concluded her sentence, the page, Lionel, came in with a letter on a waiter, and hearing her observation, as he handed the letter, he impudently observed:
“Here’s somebody been painting your name on the outside of this paper; and as there’s 7 pence to pay, I think it’s rather dear for such a smudge.”
“You must not judge from outside appearance, Lionel,” replied Lady R—: “the contents may be worth pounds. It is not prepossessing, I grant, in its superscription, but may, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wear a precious jewel in its head. That was a vulgar error of former days, Lionel, which Shakespeare has taken advantage of.”
“Yes, that chap painted with a pen at a fine rate,” replied the boy, as Lady R— opened the letter and read it.
“You may go, Lionel,” said she, putting the letter down.
“I just wanted to know, now that you’ve opened your toad, if you have found the jewel, or whether it’s a vulgar error?”
“It’s a vulgar letter, at all events, Lionel,” replied her ladyship, “and concerns you; it is from the shoemaker at Brighton, who requests me to pay him eighteen shillings for a pair of boots ordered by you, and not paid for.”
“Well, my lady, I do owe for the boots, true enough; but it’s impossible for me always to recollect my own affairs, I am so busy with looking after yours.”
“Well, but now you are reminded of them, Lionel, you had better give me the money, and I will send it to him.”
At this moment Lady R— stooped from her chair to pick up her handkerchief. There were some sovereigns lying on the desk, and the lad, winking his eye at me, took one up, and, as Lady R— rose up, held it out to her in silence.
“That’s right, Lionel,” said Lady R—; “I like honesty.”
“Yes, madame,” replied the impudent rogue, very demurely; “like most people who tell their own stories, I was born of honest, but poor parents.”
“I believe your parents were honest; and now, Lionel, to reward you, I shall pay for your boots, and you may keep your sovereign.”
“Thank your ladyship,” replied the lad. “I forgot to say that the cook is outside for orders.”
Lady R— rose, and went out of the room; and Mr Lionel, laughing at me, put the sovereign down with the others.
“Now, I call that real honesty. You saw me borrow it, and now you see me pay it.”
“Yes; but suppose her ladyship had not given you the sovereign, how would it have been then?” said I.
“I should have paid her very honestly,” replied he. “If I wished to cheat her, or rob her, I might do so all day long. She leaves her money about everywhere, and never knows what she has; besides, if I wanted to steal, I should not do so with those bright eyes of yours looking at me all the time.”
“You are a very saucy boy,” replied I, more amused than angry.
“It’s all from reading, and it’s not my fault, for her ladyship makes me read, and I never yet read any book about old times in which the pages were not saucy; but I’ve no time to talk just now—my spoons are not clean yet,” so saying he quitted the room.
I did not know whether I ought to inform her ladyship of this freak of her page’s; but, as the money was returned, I thought I had better say nothing for the present. I soon found out that the lad was correct in asserting that she was careless of her money, and that, if he chose, he might pilfer without chance of discovery; and, moreover, that he really was a good and honest lad, only full of mischief and very impudent; owing, however, to Lady R—’s treatment of him, for she rather encouraged his impudence than otherwise. He was certainly a very clever, witty boy, and a very quick servant; so quick, indeed, at his work, that it almost appeared as if he never had anything to do, and he had plenty of time for reading, which he was very fond of.
Lady R— returned, and resumed her writing.
“You sing, do you not? I think Mrs Bathurst told me you were very harmonious. Now, Valerie, do me a favour: I want to hear a voice carolling some melodious ditty. I shall describe it so much better, if I really heard you sing. I do like reality; of course, you must sing without music, for my country girl cannot be crossing the mead with a piano in one hand, and a pail of water in the other.”
“I should think not,” replied I, laughing; “but am not I too near?”
“Yes, rather; I should prefer it on the stairs, or on the first floor landing, but I could not be so rude as to send you out of the room.”
“But I will go without sending,” replied I; and I did so, and having arrived at my station, I sang a little French refrain, which I thought would answer her ladyship’s purpose. On my return her ladyship was writing furiously, and did not appear to notice my entrance. I took my seat quietly, and in about ten minutes she again threw down the pen, exclaiming:
“I never wrote so effective a chapter! Valerie, you are more precious to me than fine gold; and as Shylock said of his ring, ‘I would not change thee for a wilderness of monkeys.’ I make the quotation as expressive of your value. It was so kind-hearted of you to comply with my wish. You don’t know an author’s feelings. You have no idea how our self-love is flattered by success, and that we value a good passage in our works more than anything else in existence. Now, you have so kindly administered to my ruling passion twice in one morning, that I love you exceedingly. I daresay you think me very odd, and people say that I am so; I may ask you to do many odd things for me, but I shall never ask you to do what a lady may not do, or what would be incorrect for you to do, or for me to propose; that you may depend upon, Valerie: and now I close my manuscript for the present, being well satisfied with the day’s work.”
Lady R— rang the bell, and on Lionel making his appearance, she desired him to take away her writing materials, put her money into her purse—if he knew where the purse was—and then asked him what were her engagements for the evening.
“I knowwehave an engagement,” replied the boy; “I can’t recollect it, but I shall find it in the drawing-room.”
He went out, and in a minute returned.
“I have found it, my lady,” said he. “Here’s the ticket; Mrs Allwood, at home, nine o’clock.”
“Mrs Allwood, my dear Valerie, is a literary lady, and her parties are very agreeable.”
The page looked at me from behind Lady R—’s chair, and shook his head in dissent.
“Shall we go?” continued Lady R—.
“If you please, madame,” replied I.
“Well, then, we will take a drive before dinner, and the evening after dinner shall be dedicated to the feast of reason and the flow of soul. Dear me, how I have inked my fingers, I must go upstairs and wash them.”
As soon as Lady R— left the room, Master Lionel began.
“Feast of reason and flow of soul; I don’t like such entertainment. Give me a good supper and plenty of champagne.”
“Why, what matter can it make to you?” said I, laughing.
“It matters a good deal. I object to literary parties,” replied he. “In the first place, for one respectable carriage driving up to the door, there are twenty cabs and jarveys, so that the company isn’t so good; and then at parties, when there is a good supper, I get my share of it in the kitchen. You don’t think we are idle down below. I have been to Mrs Allwood’s twice, and there’s no supper, nothing but feast of reason, which remains upstairs, and they’re welcome to my share of it. As for the drink, it’s negus and cherry-water; nothing else, and if the flow of soul is not better than such stuff, they may have my share of that also. No music, no dancing, nothing but buzz, buzz, buzz. Won’t you feel it stupid!”
“Why, one would think you had been upstairs instead of down, Lionel.”
“Of course I am. They press all who have liveries into the service, and I hand the cakes about rather than kick for hours at the legs of the kitchen-table. I hear all that’s said just as well as the company, and I’ve often thought I could have given a better answer than I’ve heard some of your great literaries. When I hand the cakes to-night, take them I point out to you: they’ll be the best.”
“Why, how can you tell?”
“Because I try them all before I come in the room.”
“You ought to be ashamed to acknowledge it.”
“All comes of reading, miss,” replied he. “I read that in former times great people, kings and princes and so on, always had their victuals tasted first, lest there should be poison in them: so I taste upon that principle, and I have been half-poisoned sometimes at these cheap parties, but I’m getting cunning, and when I meet a suspicious-looking piece of pastry, I leave it for the company; but I can’t wait to talk any longer, miss, I must give coachman his orders.”
“I never asked you to talk, Mr Lionel,” said I.
“No, you didn’t, but still I know you like to hear me: you can’t deny that. Now to use my lady’s style, I am to tell the coachman to put a girdle round the park in forty minutes;” so saying, the lad vanished, as he usually did, in a second.
The lad was certainly right when he said that I did like to hear him talk, for he amused me so much, that I forgave his impudence and familiarity. Shortly afterwards, we went out in the carriage, and having driven two or three times round the park, returned home to dinner. At ten o’clock, we went to Mrs Allwood’s party. I was introduced to a great many great literary stars, whom I had never before heard of; but the person who attracted the most attention was a Russian Count, who had had his ears and nose cut off by the Turks. It certainly did not add to his beauty, however it might have to his interest. However, Lionel was right. It was a very stupid party to me: all talking at once and constantly on the move to find fresh listeners; itwasall buzz, buzz, buzz, and I was glad when the carriage was announced. Such were the events of the first day which I passed under the roof of Lady R—.
Indeed, this first day may be taken as a sample of most others, and a month passed rapidly away. Each day, however, was marked with some peculiar eccentricity on her part, but these diverted me. I was often requested to do strange things in my position as a model, but with all her oddities Lady R— was a gentlewoman in manner and in feeling, and what I should certainly have refused to anyone else, I did for her without reluctance. I now called her Sempronia, as she requested, and, moreover, I became very intimate with Master Lionel, who would be intimate, whether or no, and who, like Lady R—, was a source of great amusement. At times, when I was alone and communed with myself, I could not help surveying my peculiar position. I was engaged at a large salary—for what? to look handsome, to put myself in attitudes, and to do nothing. This was not flattering to my talents (such as I had), but still I was treated with kindness and confidence; was the companion of her ladyship; was introduced and taken to all the parties to which she was asked, and never made to feel my dependence. I had already imbibed a strong friendship for Lady R—, and I was, therefore, content to remain. One morning she said to me, “My dear Valerie, do me the favour to tighten the laces of my stays.”
She was, as usual, writing in her dressing-gown.
“Oh, tighter yet; as tight as you can draw them. That will do nicely.”
“Why you can hardly breathe, Sempronia.”
“But I can write, my dear child, and, as I before observed, the mind and the body influence each other. I am about to write a strictly moral dialogue, and I never could do it unless I am strait-laced. Now I feel fit for the wife of Cato and of Rome.”
A few days afterwards she amused me still more. After writing about half-an-hour, she threw down her pen—
“I never can do it; come upstairs, my dear Valerie, and help me off with my stays. I must beá l’abandon.”
I followed her, and having removed these impediments we returned to the boudoir.
“There,” said she, sitting down, “I think I shall manage it now: I feel as if I could.”
“Manage what?” inquired I.
“My dear, I am about to write a love scene, very warm and impassioned, and I could not do it, confined as I was. Now that I am loose, I can give loose to the reins of my imagination, and delineate with the arrow of Cupid’s self. My heroine is reclining, with her hand on her cheek; put yourself in that attitude, my dear dear Valerie, as if you were meditating upon the prolonged absence of one dear to you. Exactly—beautiful—true to nature—but I forgot, a page enters—don’t move, I’ll ring the bell.”
Lionel answered quickly, as usual.
“Here, Lionel, I want you to play the page.”
“I’ve no time for play, my lady; I’m page in earnest. There’s all the knives to clean.”
“Never mind the knives just now. Observe, Lionel, you are supposed to be sent a message to that lovely girl, who is sitting absorbed in a soft reverie. You enter her presence unperceived, and are struck with her beauty; you lean against a tree, in a careless but graceful attitude, with your eyes fixed upon her lovely features. Now lean against the door, as I have described, and then I shall be able to write.”
I could not help smiling at the absurdity of this scene, the more so as Lionel, just passing his fingers through his hair, and then pulling up his shirt collar, took his position, saying, “Now, Miss Valerie, we’ll see who performs best: I think you will be sooner tired of sitting than I shall be of looking at you.”
“Excellent, Lionel!—exactly the position that I wished,” said Lady R—, scribbling as fast as she could; “that stare of yours is true to nature—Cymon and Iphigenia—a perfect tableau!—don’t move, I beg; I only require ten minutes.”
I looked up at Master Lionel, and he made such a grimace, that I could hardly keep my countenance, and I did not exactly feel satisfied at thus performing, as it were, with a servant; but still, that servant was Lionel, who was very unlike other servants. In ten minutes, as promised, we were released, much to my satisfaction. Lionel went off to clean his knives, and I took up my book, and really when I perceived the delight of Lady R—, at what she called her success, I no longer felt anything like annoyance at having complied with her wishes.
One morning, when Lady R— had walked out, and the page Lionel was in the room, I entered into conversation with him, and asked how it was that he had been so much better educated than were lads in his position in general?
“That’s a question that I often ask myself, Miss Valerie,” replied he, “as they say in some autobiographies. The first recollection I have of myself was finding myself walking two-and-two, in a suit of pepper-and-salt, along with about twenty other very little boys, at a cheap preparatory school, kept by the Misses Wiggins. There I remained—nobody came to see me: other boys talked of their papas and mammas—I had none to talk about: they went home at the holidays, and brought back toys and plum-cakes; I enjoyed my holidays alone, scraping holes in the gravel, for want of better employment, between my meals, and perhaps not opening my mouth, or hearing the sound of my own voice, more than three or four times in the twenty-four hours. As I had plenty of time for reflection during the vacations, as I grew bigger I began to imagine that somehow or another I must have had a father and mother, like the other boys, and began to make very impertinent (as I was told) inquiries about them. The Misses Wiggins gave me a good wigging, as they call it, for my unwarranted curiosity, pointing out the indelicacy of entering upon such subjects, and thus was my mouth stopped.
“At last I grew up too big for the school, and was not to be managed by two old maids, and I presume it was through their representations that I was at last honoured by a visit from an old housekeeper, a woman above fifty, whom I never saw before. I ventured to put the forbidden questions to her, and she replied that I had neither father nor mother, that they were both dead, and that I was educated by the kindness of a great lady, whose dependents they had been, and that the great lady would call and see me perhaps, or if she did not, would send for me and do something for me. Well, about four years ago (I was then twelve years old, I was told, but my idea is that I am older than they say), I was sent for by Lady R—, and at first I was dressed in a turban and red jacket, and sat on the floor. I was told that I was to be her page, and I liked it very much, as I did nothing but run messages and read books, which I was very fond of; and Lady R— took some pains with me; but as I grew bigger, so did I fall off from my high estate, and by degrees descended from the drawing-room to the kitchen.
“My finery was not renewed; at first I had a plain suit and did my work under the footman, and two years ago, when the footman was sent away, rather than be under the orders of another, I volunteered to do the work, which I have done ever since, and now receive high wages, and wear sugar-loaf buttons, as you perceive. Now, Miss Valerie, that’s all I know ofmyself; but I suspect that Lady R— knows more; still it may be that what the old woman told me was correct, and that I was the child of one of her favourite dependents, and was educated by her in the manner that I was, for you know how many odd things she does.”
“What is your other name, Lionel?”
“Bedingfield, I am told, is my name,” replied he.
“Have you ever spoken to Lady R—,” inquired I, “relative to your parents?”
“I once did; but she said they were Sir Richard’s people, not hers (that is, her father’s, the late baronet’s), and that she knew nothing about them, except that my father was a steward or bailiff to him in the country, and that he had left directions that she should do something for me. Her ladyship did not appear to be inclined to talk about them much, and sent me away as soon as she had told me what I now repeat to you; however, I have found out something since that—but there’s her ladyship’s knock”—so saying, Lionel vanished.
Soon after her ladyship’s return, Madame Gironac, who had called upon me two or three times, was announced. I went out of the room, and when I met her in the dining-parlour, she told me that she had brought some of her imitations of flowers on wax, to show them to her ladyship. I immediately went up, and asked Lady R— if she would like to see them, to which proposal she assented. When Madame Gironac displayed her performances, which were very natural and beautiful, her ladyship was delighted, and purchased several of them, after which I again went downstairs, and had a long conversation with my warm-hearted little friend.
“I don’t like this situation of yours, mademoiselle,” said she, “nor does my husband. Now I was thinking, Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, that it would not be a bad plan if you were to learn how to make those flowers. I will teach you for nothing; and I will teach you what I never teach my pupils, which is how to prepare the wax, and a great many other little secrets which are worth knowing.”
“I shall be very glad to learn, my dear madame,” replied I, “but I can afford to pay you for your time and trouble, and must insist upon doing so; if not, I will not be your pupil.”
“Well, well, we must not quarrel about that. I know that no one likes to be under an obligation, especially one like you—but learn you must—so let us arrange for the lessons.”
I did so; and from that day until I quitted Lady R—
I applied myself so assiduously to the art, that, with the unreserved communications of Madame Gironac, I became a proficient, and could equal her own performances—Madame Gironac declared that I excelled her, because I had more taste—but to return.
After I had parted with Madame Gironac, I went upstairs, and found Lady R— sitting at the table, looking at the purchases she had made.
“My dear Valerie,” cried she, “you don’t know how you have obliged me by introducing that little woman and her flowers. What a delightful and elegant employment for a heroine to undertake—so lady-like! I have determined that mine shall support herself by imitating flowers in wax. I am just at the point of placing her in embarrassed circumstances, and did not well know how she was to gain her livelihood, but, thanks to you, that is selected, and in a most charming and satisfactory manner. It is so hard to associate poverty with clean hands.”
About a fortnight afterwards, after some other conversation, Lady R— said, “My dear Valerie, I have a surprise for you. The season is nearly over, and, what is more important, my third volume will be complete in a fortnight. Last night as I was wooing Somnus in vain, an idea came into my head. I proposed going to pass the autumn at Brighton, as you know, but last night I made up my mind that we would go over the water; but whether it is to be Havre, or Dieppe, or Paris, or anywhere else I cannot say, but certainly La Belle France. How do you like the idea? I think of making a sort of sentimental journey. We will seek adventures. Shall we go like Rosamond and Celia? I with ‘gallant curtal axe,’ dressed as a youth. Shall we be mad, Valerie? What say you?”
I hardly knew what to say. Lady R— appeared to have a most unusual freak in her head, and to be a little more odd than usual. Now I had no wish to go to France, as I might fall in with people whom I did not wish to see; and moreover, from what I had heard of her ladyship’s adventures in Italy, I was convinced that she was one of many, I may say, who fancy that they may do as they please out of their own country, and I certainly did not wish to figure in her train; I therefore replied, “I know my own country well, Lady R—, and there cannot be a less eligible one for a masquerade. We should meet with too manydésagrémens, if unprotected by male society, and our journey would be anything but sentimental. But if you do go to France, does Lionel accompany you?”
“Well, I do not know, but I should like him to learn the language. I think I shall take him. He is a clever boy.”
“Very,” replied I; “where did you pick him up?”
“He is a son of my late father’s”—(‘a son of—’ exclaimed I)—“tenant, or something I was going to say,” continued Lady R—, colouring; “but I could not recollect exactly what the man was. Bailiff, I think. I know nothing about his father, but he was recommended to me by Sir Richard before he died.”
“Recommended as a servant?” replied I; “he appears to me to be too good for so menial a position.”
“I have made him above his position, Valerie; not that he was recommended as a servant, but recommended to my care. Perhaps some day I may be able to do more for him. You know that we are to go to Lady G—’s ball to-night. It will be a very brilliant affair. She gives but one during the season, and she always does the thing in good style. Bless me, how late it is! The carriage will be round in two minutes; I’ve a round of visits to pay.”
“Will you excuse me? I have promised to take a lesson of Madame Gironac.”
“Very true; then I must enter upon my melancholy task alone. What can be so absurd as a rational and immortal soul going about distributing pasteboard!”
We went to Lady G—’s ball, which was very splendid. I had been dancing, for although I was not considered probably good enough among the young aristocrats to be made a partner for life, as a partner in a waltz or quadrille I was rather in request, for the odium of governess had not yet been attached to my name, having never figured in that capacity in the metropolis, where I was unknown. I had but a short time taken my seat by Lady R—, when the latter sprang off in a great hurry, after what I could not tell, and her place was immediately occupied by a lady, who I immediately recognised as a Lady M—, who had, with her daughters, composed a portion of the company at Madame Bathurst’s country seat.
“Have you forgotten me, Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf?” said Lady M—, extending her hand.
“No, my lady, I am glad to see you looking so well. I hope your daughters are also quite well?”
“Thank you; they look very well in the evening, but rather pale in the morning. It is a terrible thing a London season, very trying to the constitution, but what can we do? We must be out and be seen everywhere, or we lose caste—so many balls and parties every night. The fact is, that if girls are not married during the three first seasons after they come out, their chance is almost hopeless, for all the freshness and charm of youth, which are so appetising to the other sex, are almost gone. No constitution can withstand the fatigue. I’ve often compared our young ladies to the carriage horses—they are both worked to death during the season, and then turned out to grass in the country to recover themselves, and come up fresh for the next winter. It really is a horrible life, but girls must be got off. I wish mine were, for what with fatigue and anxiety I’m worn to a shadow. Come, Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, let us go into the next room. It is cooler, and we shall be more quiet; take my arm: perhaps we shall meet the girls.”
I accepted her ladyship’s invitation, and we went into the next room, and took a seat upon a sofa in a recess.
“Here we can talk without being overheard,” said Lady M—; “and now, my dear young lady, I know that you have left Madame Bathurst, but why I do not know. Is it a secret?”
“No, my lady; when Caroline went away I was of no further use, and therefore I did not wish to remain. You may perhaps know that I went to Madame Bathurst’s on a visit, and that an unforeseen change of circumstances induced me to remain for some time as instructress to her niece.”
“I heard something of that sort, a kind of friendly arrangement, at which Madame Bathurst had good cause to be content. I’m sure I should have been, had I been so fortunate; and now you are residing with Lady R—, may I inquire, without presuming too much, in what capacity you are with Lady R—.”
“I went there as an amanuensis, but I have never written a line. Lady R— is pleased to consider me as a companion, and I must say that she has behaved to me with great kindness and consideration.”
“I have no doubt of it,” replied Lady M—; “but still it appears to me (excuse the liberty I take, or ascribe it to a feeling of good-will), that your position with Lady R— is not quite what those who have an interest in you would wish. Everyone knows how odd she is, to say the least of it, and you may not be perhaps aware, that occasionally her tongue outruns her discretion. In your presence she of course is on her guard, for she is really good-natured, and would not willingly offend anyone or hurt their feelings, but when led away by her desire to shine in company, she is very indiscreet. I have been told that at Mrs W—’s dinner-party the other day, to which you were not invited, on your name being brought up, she called you her charming model, I think was the phrase; and on an explanation being demanded of the term, she said you stood for her heroines, putting yourself in postures and positions while she drew from nature, as she termed it; and that, moreover, on being complimented on the idea, and some of the young men offering, or rather intimating, that they would be delighted to stand or kneel at your feet, as the hero of the tale, she replied that she had no occasion for their services, as she had a page or footman, I forget which, who did that portion of the work. Surely this cannot be true, my dear Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf?”
Oh! how my blood boiled when I heard this.
How far it was true, the reader already knows; but the manner in which it was conveyed by Lady M—, quite horrified me. I coloured up to the temples, and replied, “Lady M—, that Lady R— has very often, when I have been sitting, and she has been writing, told me that she was taking me as a model for her heroine, is very true, but I have considered it as a mere whim of hers, knowing how very eccentric she is. I little thought from my having good-naturedly yielded to her caprice, that I should have been so mortified as I have been by what you have communicated to me. That she must have been indiscreet, is certain, for it was known only to herself and me.”
“And the footman.”
“Footman, my lady? There is a boy—a sort of page there.”
“Exactly; a lad of fifteen or sixteen, a precocious, pert boy, who is much indulged by Lady R—, and, if report says true, is nearer related to her than she is willing to acknowledge. Did you never observe that there is a strong likeness?”
“Good heavens, my lady, you surprise me.”
“And, I fear, have also annoyed you; but,” continued Lady M—, laying her hand on mine, “I thought it kinder to let you know your peculiar position than to sneer and ridicule, as others do, behind your back. This is a sad world in one respect; if there is any scandal or false report spread against us, it is known to everyone but ourselves. We cannot find, but rarely, a friend who is so really our friend as to tell us of it. The poison is allowed to circulate without the power being given to us of applying an antidote—so hollow is friendship in this world. My dear mademoiselle, I have done otherwise; whether you thank me for it or not, I cannot tell; perhaps not, for those who communicate unpleasant intelligence, are seldom looked kindly upon.”
“Lady M—,” replied I, “I do thank you most heartily. I do consider that you have acted a friendly part. That I have been dreadfully shocked and mortified, I admit,” continued I, wiping away the tears that forced their passage; “but I shall not give an opportunity for future unjust insinuations or remarks, as I have made up my mind that I shall leave Lady R— as soon as possible.”
“My dear mademoiselle, I did not venture to make you acquainted with what I knew would, to a person of your sensitive mind, be the cause of your quitting the protection of Lady R— without having considered whether an equivalent could not be offered to you; and I am happy to say that I can offer you a home, and I trust comfort and consideration, if you will accept of them. The fact is, that had I known that you had any idea of quitting Madame Bathurst, I should have made the offer then—now I do so with all sincerity;—but at present you are agitated and annoyed, and I will say no more. If I send the carriage for you to-morrow at two o’clock, will you do me the favour to come and see me? I would call upon you, but of course the presence of Lady R— would be a check to our free converse. Say, my dear, will you come?”
I replied in the affirmative, and Lady M— then rose, and giving me her arm, we walked back to the bench which I had left, where I found Lady R— in a hot dispute with a member of Parliament. I sat down by her unnoticed, and Lady M— having smiled an adieu, I was left to my own reflections, which were anything but agreeable. My head ached dreadfully, and I looked so ill that Lady R—’s warm antagonist perceived it, and pointed it out to her, saying, “Yourprotégéeis not well, I fear, Lady R—.”
I replied to Lady R—, “that I had a violent headache, and wished to get home if it were possible.”
She immediately consented, and showed great concern. As soon as we were home, I need hardly say, that I hastened to my room.
I sat down and pressed my forehead with my hands: my knowledge of the world was increasing too fast. I began to hate it—hate men, and women even more than men. What lessons had I learnt within the last year. First Madame d’Albret, then Madame Bathurst, and now Lady R—. Was there no such thing as friendship in the world—no such thing as generosity? In my excited state it appeared to me that there was not. All was false and hollow. Self was the idol of mankind, and all worshipped at its altar. After a time I became more composed, I thought of little Madame Gironac, and the recollection of her disinterested kindness put me in a better frame of mind. Mortified as I was, I could not help feeling that it was only the vanity of Lady R— and her desire to shine, to which I had been made a sacrifice, and that she had no intention of wounding my feelings. Still, to remain with her after what had been told to me by Lady M— was impossible.
And then I reflected upon what steps I should take. I did not like to tell Lady R— the real grounds of my leaving her. I thought it would be prudent to make some excuse and part good friends. At last it occurred to me that her intention of going to France would be a good excuse. I could tell her that I was afraid of meeting my relatives.
Having decided upon this point, I then canvassed the words of Lady M—. What could she offer me in her house? She had three daughters, but they were all out, as the phrase is, and their education supposed to be completed. This was a mystery I could not solve, and I was obliged to give up thinking about it, and at last I fell asleep. The next moment I woke up, jaded in mind, and with a bad headache, but I dressed and went down to breakfast. Lady R— asked after my health, and then said, “I observed you talking very confidentially with Lady M—. I was not aware that you knew her. Between ourselves, Valerie, she is one of my models.”
“Indeed,” replied I, “I do not think that her ladyship is aware of the honour conferred upon her.”
“Very likely not, but in the last work she was portrayed to the life. Lady M— is a schemer, always plotting; her great object now is to get her three daughters well married.”
“I believe that most mothers wish that, Lady R—.”
“I grant it, and perhaps manoeuvre as much, but with more skill than she does, for every one sees the game that she is playing, and the consequence is, that the young men shy off, which they probably would not if she were quiet, for they are really clever, unaffected, and natural girls, very obliging, and without any pride; but how came you to be so intimate with Lady M—?”
“Lady M— and her eldest daughter were staying for some time with Madame Bathurst in the country when I was there.”
“Oh, I understand, that accounts for it.”
“I am going to call upon Lady M—, if she sends her carriage for me,” replied I. “She told me that she would, if she could, at two o’clock. She has proposed my paying her a visit; I presume it will be after she leaves town.”
“But that you will not be able to do, Valerie; you forget our trip to France.”
“I did not think that you were serious,” replied I; “you mentioned it as the resolution of a night, and I did not know that you might not think differently upon further consideration.”
“Oh no, my resolutions are hastily formed, but not often given up. Go to Paris we certainly shall.”
“If you are determined upon going, Lady R—, I am afraid that I cannot accompany you.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed her ladyship, in surprise. “May I ask why not?”
“Simply because I might meet those I am most anxious to avoid; there is a portion of my history that you are not acquainted with, Lady R—, which I will now make known to you.”
I then told her as much as I thought necessary relative to my parents, and stated my determination not to run the risk of meeting them. Lady R— argued, persuaded, coaxed, and scolded, but it was all in vain; at last she became seriously angry, and left the room. Lionel soon afterwards made his appearance, and said to me, in his usual familiar way, “What’s the matter, Miss Valerie? The governess is in a rage about something; she gave me a box on the ear.”
“I suppose you deserved it, Lionel,” replied I.
“Well, there may be differences of opinion about that,” replied the boy. “She went on scolding me at such a rate that I was quite astonished, and all about nothing. She blew up cook—didn’t she—blew her half up the chimney—and then she was at me again. At last I could bear it no longer, and I said, ‘Don’t flare up, my lady.’”
“‘Don’t my lady me,’ cried she, ‘or I’ll box your ears.’”
“Well, then, as she is always angry if you call her my lady, I thought she was angry with me for the same reason, so I said, ‘Sempronia, keep your temper,’—and didn’t I get a box on the ear.”
I could not help laughing at this recital of his cool impudence, the more so as he narrated it with such an air of injured innocence.
“Indeed, Lionel,” said I at last, “you well deserved the box on the ear. If you ever quit the service of Lady R—, you will find that you must behave with proper respect to those above you; if not, you will not remain an hour in any other house. Lady R— is very odd and very good-tempered, and permits more liberties than any other person would. I will, however, tell you why Lady R— is displeased. It is because she wishes me to go to France with her and I have refused.”
“Then you are going to leave us?” inquired Lionel, mournfully.
“I suppose so,” replied I.
“Then I shall go, too,” said the boy. “I’m tired of it.”
“But why should you go, Lionel? You may not find another situation half so comfortable.”
“I shall not seek one. I have only stayed here with the hope that I may find out from her ladyship who and what my parents were, and she will not tell me. I shall live by my wits, never fear; ‘the world’s my oyster,’ as Shakespeare says, and I think I’ve wit enough to open it.”
I had not forgotten the observations of Lady M— relative to Lionel, and what the lad now said made me surmise that there was some mystery, and, on examination of his countenance, therewasa family likeness to Lady R—. I also called to mind her unwillingness to enter upon the subject when I brought it up.
“But, Lionel,” said I, after a pause, “what is it that makes you suppose that Lady R— conceals who were your parents—when we last talked on the subject, you said you had found out something—she told me that your father was a bailiff, or steward to Sir Richard.”
“Which I have proved to be false. She told me that my father was Sir Richard’s butler; that I have also discovered to be false, for one day the old housekeeper, who called upon me at school, came here, and was closeted with Lady R— for half-an-hour. When she went away, I called a hackney-coach for her, and getting behind it, went home with her to her lodgings. When I found out where she lived, I hastened back immediately that I might not be missed, intending to have made a call upon her. The next day Lady R— gave me a letter to put in the twopenny-post; it was directed to a Mrs Green, to the very house where the hackney-coach had stopped, so I knew it was for the old housekeeper. Instead of putting the letter in the post, I kept it till the evening, and then took it myself.
“‘Mrs Green,’ said I, for I found her at home with another old woman, sitting over their tea, ‘I have brought you a letter from Lady R—.’ This is about a year ago, Miss Valerie.
“‘Mercy on me,’ said she, ‘how strange that Lady R— should send you here.’
“‘Not strange that she should send a letter by a servant,’ said I, ‘only strange that I should be a servant.’
“I said this, Miss Valerie, as a random throw, just to see what answer she would make.
“‘Why, who has been telling you anything?’ said she, looking at me through her spectacles.
“‘Ah,’ replied I, ‘that’s what I must keep to myself, for I’m under a promise of secrecy.’
“‘Mercy on me, it couldn’t be—no, that’s impossible,’ muttered the old woman, as she opened the letter and took out a bank-note, which she crumpled up in her hand. She then commenced reading the letter; I walked a little way from her, and stood between her and the window. Every now and then she held the letter up to the candle, and when the light was strong upon it, I could read a line from where I stood, for I have been used to her ladyship’s writing, as you know. One line I read was, ‘remains still at Culverwood Hall;’ another was, ‘the only person now left in Essex.’ I also saw the words ‘secrecy’ and ‘ignorant’ at the bottom of the page. The old woman finished the letter at last, but it took her a good while to get through it.
“‘Well,’ says she, ‘have you anything more to say?’
“‘No,’ says I; ‘you are well paid for your secrecy, Mrs Green.’
“‘What do you mean?’ said she.
“‘Oh, I’m not quite so ignorant as you suppose,’ replied I.
“‘Ignorant,’ said she, confused, ‘ignorant of what?’
“‘When were you last in Essex?’ said I.
“‘When, why? what’s that to you, you impudent boy?’
“‘Nay, then, I’ll put another question to you. How long is it since you were at Culverwood Hall?’
“‘Culverwood Hall! What do you know about Culverwood Hall? the boy’s mad, I believe; go away, you’ve done your message; if you don’t, I’ll tell her ladyship.’
“‘Certainly, Mrs Green,’ said I. ‘I wish you a good-night.’
“I left the room, slamming the door, but not allowing the catch to fall in, so that I held it a little ajar, and then I heard Mrs Green say to the other woman,
“‘Somebody’s been with that boy; I wonder who it can be? He’s put me in such a flurry. Well, these things will out.’
“‘Yes, yes, it’s like murder,’ replied the other; ‘not that I know what it’s all about, only I see there’s a secret—perhaps you’ll tell me, Mrs Green?’
“‘All I dare tell you is that there is a secret,’ replied Mrs Green, ‘and the boy has got an inkling of it somehow or another. I must see my lady—no, I had better not,’ added she; ‘for she is so queer that she’ll swear that I’ve told him. Now there’s only one besides myself and her ladyship who knows anything, and I’ll swear that he could not have been with the boy, for he’s bedridden. I’m all of a puzzle, and that’s the truth. What a wind there is; why the boy has left the door open. Boys never shut doors.’
“Mrs Green got up and slammed the door to, and I walked off; and now, Miss Valerie, that’s all that I know of the matter; but why I should be sent to a good school and wear pepper and salt, and to be taken away to be made first a page, and now a footman, I can’t tell; but you must acknowledge that there is some mystery, after what I have told you.”
“It certainly is strange, Lionel,” replied I, “but my advice is that you remain patiently till you can find it out, which by leaving Lady R— you are not likely to do.”
“I don’t know that, Miss Valerie; let me get down to Culverwood Hall, and I think I would find out something, or my wits were given me to no purpose. But I hear her ladyship coming upstairs: so good-bye, Miss Valerie.”
And Lionel made a hasty retreat.
Lady R— slowly ascended the stairs, and came into the room. Her violence had been exhausted, but she looked sullen and moody, and I could hardly recognise her; for I must do her the justice to say, that I had never before seen her out of temper. She sat down in her chair, and I asked her whether I should bring her her writing materials.
“A pretty state I am in to write,” replied she, leaning her elbows on the table, and pressing her hands to her eyes. “You don’t know what a rage I have been in, and how I have been venting it upon innocent people. I struck that poor boy—shame on me! Alas! I was born with violent passions, and they have been my curse through life. I had hoped that years had somewhat subdued them, but they will occasionally master me. What would I not give to have had your placid temper, Valerie! How much unhappiness I should have been spared! How much error should I have avoided! I was going to say, how much crime.”
Lady R— was evidently more talking to herself than to me when she said the last words, and I therefore made no reply. A silence of more than a quarter of an hour followed, which was broken by Lionel coming in, and announcing the carriage of Lady M—.
“That woman is the cause of all this,” said Lady R—; “I am sure that she is. Pray do not wait, Valerie. Go and see her. I shall be better company when you come back.”
I made no reply, but left the room, and putting on my bonnet, was driven to Lady M—’s. She received me with great cordiality, and so did her daughters, who were in the room; but they were dismissed by their mother, who then said, “I told you last night, my dear Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, that I wished you to reside with me. You may say in what capacity, and I acknowledge that I hardly know what answer to give. Not as governess, certainly, for I consider it an odious position, and one that I could not offer you; indeed, my girls do not require teaching, as they have finished their studies; in only one thing you could be of advantage to them in that respect, which is in music and singing. But I wish you to come as their companion, as I am convinced that they will gain much by your so doing. I wish you, therefore, to be considered by others as a visitor at the house, but at the same time I must insist that from the advantages my girls will derive from your assisting them in music and singing, you will accept the same salary per annum which you have from Lady R—. Do you understand me: I wish you to remain with me, not as a model after the idea of Lady R—, but as a model for my girls to take pattern by. I shall leave it to yourself to act as you please. I am sure my girls like you already, and will like you better. I do not think that I can say more, except that I trust you will not refuse my offer.”
There was a delicacy and kindness in this proposal on the part of Lady M— which I felt gratefully; but it appeared to me that after all it was only an excuse to offer me an asylum without any remuneration on my part, and I stated my feeling on that point.
“Do not think so,” replied Lady M—. “I avoided saying so, because I would not have you styled a music-mistress; but on that one point alone you will more than earn your salary, as I will prove to you by showing you the annual payments to professors for lessons; but you will be of great value to me in other points, I have no doubt. May I, therefore, consider it as anaffaire arrangée?” After a little more conversation, I acquiesced, and having agreed that I would come as soon as Lady R— went to the continent, or at all events in three weeks, when Lady M— quitted London, I took my leave, and was conveyed back to Lady R—, in the carriage which had been sent for me.
On my return, I found Lady R— seated where I had left her.
“Well,” said she, “so you have had your audience; and I have no doubt but that you were most graciously received. Oh! I know the woman; and I have been reflecting upon it during your absence, and I have discovered what she wants you for; but this she has not mentioned, not even hinted at. She knows better; but when once in her house, you will submit to it, rather than be again in search of a home.”
“I really do not know what you mean, Lady R—,” said I.
“Has not Lady M— asked you to come as a visitor, without specifying any particular employment?”
“No, she has not. She has proposed my staying in the house to give lessons to her daughters in music, and to be their companion; but there is nothing stated as to a fixed residence with her.”
“Well, Valerie, I know that I am odd; but you will soon find out whether you have gained by the change.”
“Lady R—, I really do not consider you should be so sarcastic or unkind towards me. I do not like to go to France with you for reasons which I have fully explained, at the expense of disclosing family affairs, which I had much rather not have mentioned. You leave me by myself, and I must seek protection somewhere. It is kindly offered by Lady M—, and in my unfortunate position I have not to choose. Be just and be generous.”
“Well, well, I will,” said Lady R—, the tears starting in her eyes; “but you do not know how much I am annoyed at your leaving me. I had hoped, with all my faults, that I had created in you a feeling of attachment to me—God knows, that Ihave tried. If you knew all my history, Valerie, you would not be surprised at my being strange. That occurred when I was of your age which would have driven some people to despair or suicide. As it is, it has alienated me from all my relations, not that I have many. My brother, I never see or hear from, and have not for years. I have refused all his invitations to go down to see him, and he is now offended with me; but there are causes for it, and years cannot wipe away the memory of what did occur.”
“I assure you, Lady R—, I have been very sensible of your kindness to me,” replied I, “and shall always remember it with gratitude; and if you think I have no regard for you, you are mistaken; but the subject has become painful—pray let us say no more.”
“Well, Valerie, be it so; perhaps it is the wisest plan—”
To change the conversation, I said—“Is not your brother the present baronet?”
“Yes,” replied Lady R—
“And where does he reside?”
“In Essex, at Culverwood Hall, the seat of all my misfortunes.”
I started a little at the mention of the place, as it was the one which the reader may remember was spoken of by Lionel. I then turned the conversation to other matters, and by dinner-time Lady R— had recovered herself, and was as amiable as ever.
From that day until Lady R— set off for Paris, there was not a word said relative to Lady M—. She was kind and polite, but not so warm and friendly as she had been before, and in her subdued bearing towards me was more agreeable. Her time was now employed in making preparations for her tour. Lionel was the only one who was to accompany her except her own maid. At last she fixed the day of her departure, and I wrote to Lady M—, who returned an answer that it suited her exactly, as she would go to the country the day after. The evening before Lady R— was to start was passed very gloomily.
I felt great sorrow at our separation, more than I could have imagined; but when you have been associated with a person who is good-tempered and kind, you soon feel more for them than you would suppose until you are about to quit them.
Lady R— was very much dispirited, and said to me, “Valerie, I have a presentiment that we never shall meet again, and yet I am anything but superstitious. I can truly say that you are the only person to whom I have felt real attachment since my youth, and I feel more than I can describe. Something whispers to me, ‘Do not go to France,’ and yet something impels me to go. Valerie, if I do come back I trust that you will consider my house your home, if at any time you cannot place yourself more to your satisfaction; I will not say more, as I know that I am not exactly a lovable person, and my ways are odd; but do pray look upon me as your sincere friend, who will always be ready to serve you. I have to thank you for a few happy months, and that is saying much. God bless you, my dear Valerie.”
I was moved to tears by what Lady R— said, and I thanked her with a faltering voice.
“Come now,” said she, “I shall be off too early in the morning to see you: let us take our farewell.”
Lady R— put a small packet into my hand, kissed me on the forehead, and then hastened up to her own room.
That people love change is certain, but still there is a mournfulness connected with it; even in a change of residence, the packing up, the litter attending it, the corded trunks and packages, give a forlorn appearance to the house itself. To me it was peculiarly distressing; I had changed so often within the last year, and had such a precarious footing wherever I went, I felt myself to be the sport of fortune, and a football to the whims and caprices of others. I was sitting in my bedroom, my trunks packed but not yet closed down, thinking of Lady R—’s last conversation, and verytriste. The packet was lying on the table before me, unopened, when I was roused by a knock at the door. I thought it was Lady R—’s maid, and I said, “Come in.”
The door opened, and Lionel made his appearance.
“Is it you, Lionel? What do you want?”
“I knew that you were up, and I recollected as we leave before you do, to-morrow, that you would have no one to cord your luggage, so I thought I would come up and do it for you to-night, Miss Valerie, if it is ready.”
“Thank you, Lionel, it is very considerate of you. I will lock the trunks up, and you can cord them outside.”
Lionel took out the trunks and corded them in the passage. When he had finished he said to me, “Good bye, Miss Valerie. You will see me again very soon.”
“See you very soon, Lionel! I am afraid there is no chance of that, for Lady R— intends to stay abroad for six months.”
“I do not,” replied he.
“Why, Lionel, it would be very foolish for you to give up such a good situation. You have such unusual wages: twenty pounds a year, is it not?”
“Yes, Miss Valerie. I should not get half that in another situation, but that is one reason why I am going to leave. Why should she give me twenty pounds a year. I must find out why, and find out I will, as I said to you before. She don’t give me twenty pounds for my beauty, although she might give you a great deal more, and yet not pay you half enough.”
“Well, Lionel, I think you have been here long enough. It is too late to sit up to pay compliments. Fare you well.”
I shut my door upon him gently, and then went to bed. As usual after excitement, I slept long and soundly. When I awoke the next morning, I found it was broad day, and nearly ten o’clock. I rang the bell, and it was answered by the cook, who told me that she and I were the only people in the house. I rose, and as I passed by my table, I perceived another package lying by the side of the one which Lady R— had given me. It was addressed to me and I opened it. It contained a miniature of Lady R— when she was about my age, and very beautiful she must have been. It was labelled “Sempronia at eighteen. Keep it for my sake, dear Valerie, and do not open the paper accompanying it until you have my permission, or you hear of my being no more.”
I laid the miniature down and opened the first packet given me by Lady R—. It contained bank-notes to the amount of one hundred pounds, nearly double the salary due to me. The contents of both these packets only made me feel more melancholy, and I sighed heavily as I put them in my dressing-case; but time ran on, and I had agreed to be at Lady M—’s at one o’clock, when the carriage would be sent for me. I therefore hastened my toilet, closed the remainder of my luggage, and went down to the breakfast which the cook had prepared for me. While I was at breakfast a letter was brought by the post. It had been directed to Madame Bathurst, and was redirected to Lady R—’s address. It was from Madame Paon, and as follows:—
“My dear Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf,—
“As I take it for granted that you do not see the French papers, I write to tell you that your predictions relative to Monsieur G—, have all proved correct. A month after the marriage, he neglected madame, and spent his whole time at the gaming-table, only returning home to obtain fresh supplies from her. These were at last refused, and in his rage he struck her. A suit for separation of person and property was brought into court last week, and terminated in favour of Madame d’Albret, who retains all her fortune, and is rid of a monster. She came to me yesterday morning, and showed me the letter which you had written to her, asking me whether I did not correspond with you, and whether I thought, that after her conduct you could be prevailed upon to return to her. Of course I could not give any opinion, but I am convinced that if you only say that you forgive her, that she will write to you and make the request. I really do not well see how you can do otherwise, after the letter which you wrote to her, but of course you will decide for yourself. I trust, mademoiselle, you will favour me with a speedy answer, as Madame d’Albret is here every day, and is evidently very impatient,—I am, my dear mademoiselle, yours,
“Emile Paon.
“Née Mercé.”
To this letter I sent the following reply by that day’s post:—
“My dear Madame Paon,
“That I sincerely forgive Madame d’Albret is true; I do so from my heart; but although I forgive her, I cannot listen to any proposal to resume the position I once held. Recollect that she has driven all over Paris, and accused me among all her friends of ingratitude and slander. How then, after having been discarded for such conduct, could I again make my appearance in her company. Either I have done as she has stated, and if so, am unworthy of her patronage, or I have not done so, and therefore have been cruelly used: made to feel my dependence in the bitterest way, having been dismissed and thrown upon the world with loss of character. Could I ever feel secure or comfortable with her after such injustice? or could she feel at her ease on again presenting one as herprotégée, whom she had so ill-treated? would she not have to blush every time that she met with any of our former mutual friends and acquaintances? It would be a series of humiliations to us both. Assure her of my forgiveness and good-will, and my wishes for her happiness; but to return to her is impossible. I would rather starve. If she knew what I have suffered in consequence of her hasty conduct towards me, she would pity me more than she may do now; but what is done is done. There is no remedy for it. Adieu, Madame Paon. Many thanks for your kindness to one so fallen as I am.
“Yours truly and sincerely,
“Valerie.”
I wrote the above under great depression of spirits, and it was with a heavy heart that I afterwards alighted at Lady M—’s residence in St James’s Square. If smiles, however, and cordial congratulations, and shakes of the hand could have consoled me, they were not wanting on the part of Lady M— and her daughters. I was shown all the rooms below, then Lady M—’s room, the young ladies’ rooms, and lastly my own, and was truly glad when I was at last left alone to unpack and arrange my things.
The room allotted to me was very comfortable, and better furnished than those in which the young ladies slept, and as far as appearances went, I was in all respects treated as a visitor and not as a governess. The maid who attended me was very civil, and as she assisted and laid my dresses in the wardrobe, made no attempt to be familiar. I ought to have informed the reader that Lady M— was a widow, Lord M— having died about two years before. Her eldest son, the present Lord M—, was on the continent. Dinner was announced; there were only two visitors, and I was treated as one of the company. In fact, nothing could be more gratifying than the manner in which I was treated. In the evening, I played and sang. The young ladies did the same; their voices were good, but they wanted expression in their singing, and I perceived that I could be useful.
Lady M— asked me, when we were not overheard, “what I thought of her daughters’ singing?”
I told her frankly.
“It is impossible to doubt the truth of what you say, my dear Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, after having heard your performance. I knew that you were considered a good performer, but I had no idea of the perfection which you have arrived at.”
“If your daughters are really fond of music, they would soon do as well, my lady,” replied I.
“Impossible,” exclaimed her ladyship; “but still they must gain something from listening to you. You look fatigued. Do you wish to go to bed? Augusta will go up with you.”
“I have a nervous headache,” replied I, “and I will accept your ladyship’s considerate proposal.”
Augusta, the eldest daughter, lighted a chamber-candle, and went up with me into my room. After a little conversation, she wished me good-night, and thus passed the first day in St James’s Square.