Book: Helen

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> Helen




But temper will get the better of all prudence. Piqued by some little
preference which Lady Cecilia had shown to Helen's taste in the choice of
the colour of a dress, an occasion offered of signalising her revenge,
which could not be resisted. It was a question to be publicly decided,
whether blue, green, or white should be adopted for the ladies' uniform
at an approaching _fete_. She was deputed to collect the votes. All the
company were assembled; Lady Davenant, out of the circle, as it was a
matter that concerned her not, was talking to the gentlemen apart.

Lady Katrine went round canvassing. "Blue, green, or white? say blue,
_pray_." But when she came to Helen, she made a full stop, asked no
question--preferred no prayer, but after fixing attention by her pause,
said, "I need not ask Miss Stanley's vote or opinion, as I know my
cousin's, and with Miss Stanley it is always 'I say ditto to Lady Cecilia;'
therefore, to save trouble, I always count two for Cecilia--one for herself
and one for her _double_."

"Right, Lady Katrine Hawksby," cried a voice from afar, which made her
start; "you are quite right to consider Helen Stanley as my daughter's
double, for my daughter loves and esteems her as her second self--her
better self. In this sense Helen is Lady Cecilia's double, but if you
mean----"

"Bless me! I don't know what I meant, I declare. I could not have conceived
that Lady Davenant----Miss Stanley, I beg a thousand million of pardons."

Helen, with anxious good-nature, pardoned before she was asked, and
hastened to pass on to the business of the day, but Lady Davenant would not
so let it pass; her eye still fixed she pursued the quailing enemy--"One
word more. In justice to my daughter, I must say her love has not been won
by flattery, as none knows better than the Lady Katrine Hawksby."

The unkindest cut of all, and on the tenderest part. Lady Katrine could not
stand it. Conscious and trembling, she broke through the circle, fled into
the conservatory, and, closing the doors behind her, would not be followed
by Helen, Cecilia, or any body.

Lady Castlefort sighed, and first breaking the silence that ensued, said,
"'Tis such a pity that Katrine will always so let her wit run away with
her--it brings her so continually into----for my part, in all humility I
must confess, I can't help thinking that, what with its being unfeminine
and altogether so incompatible with what in general is thought amiable
--I cannot but consider wit in a woman as a real misfortune. What say the
gentlemen? they must decide, gentlemen being always the best judges."

With an appealing tone of interrogation she gracefully looked up to the
gentlemen; and after a glance towards Granville Beauclerc, unluckily
unnoticed or unanswered, her eyes expected reply from Horace Churchill. He,
well feeling the predicament in which he stood, between a fool and a _femme
d'esprit_, answered, with his ambiguous smile, "that no doubt it was a
great misfortune to have '_plus d'esprit qu'on ne sait mener.'"

"This is a misfortune," said Lady Davenant, "that may be deplored for a
great genius once in an age, but is really rather of uncommon occurrence.
People complain of wit where, nine times in ten, poor wit is quite
innocent; but such is the consequence of having kept bad company. Wit and
ill-nature having been too often found together, when we see one we expect
the other; and such an inseparable false association has been formed, that
half the world take it for granted that there is wit if they do but see
ill-nature."

At this moment Mr. Mapletofft, the secretary, entered with his face full
of care, and his hands full of papers. Lady Katrine needed not to feign or
feel any further apprehensions of Lady Davenant; for, an hour afterwards,
it was announced that Lord and Lady Davenant were obliged to set off for
town immediately. In the midst of her hurried preparations Lady Davenant
found a moment to comfort Helen with the assurance that, whatever happened,
she would see her again. It might end in Lord Davenant's embassy being
given up. At all events she would see her again--she hoped in a few
weeks, perhaps in a few days. "So no leave-takings, my dear child, and no
tears--it is best as it is. On my return let me find----"

"Lord Davenant's waiting, my lady," and she hurried away.




CHAPTER IV.


Absent or present, the guardian influence of a superior friend is one of
the greatest blessings on earth, and after Lady Davenant's departure Helen
was so full of all she had said to her, and of all that she would approve
or disapprove, that every action, almost every thought, was under the
influence of her friend's mind. Continually she questioned her motives as
well as examined her actions, and she could not but condemn some of her
conduct, or if not her conduct, her manner, towards Horace Churchill; she
had been flattered by his admiration, and had permitted his attentions
more than she ought, when her own mind was perfectly made up as to his
character. Ever since the affair of the poetess, she had been convinced
that she could never make the happiness or redeem the character of one so
mean.

According to the ladies' code, a woman is never to understand that a
gentleman's attentions mean anything more than common civility; she is
supposed never to see his mind, however he may make it visible, till he
declares it in words. But, as Helen could not help understanding his
manner, she thought it was but fair to make him understand her by her
manner. She was certain that if he were once completely convinced, not
only that he had not made any impression, but that he never could make any
impression, on her heart, his pursuit would cease. His vanity, mortified,
might revenge itself upon her, perhaps; but this was a danger which she
thought she ought to brave; and now she resolved to be quite sincere, as
she said to herself, at whatever hazard (probably meaning at the hazard of
displeasing Cecilia) she would make her own sentiments clear, and put an
end to Mr. Churchill's ambiguous conduct: and this should be done on the
very first opportunity.

An opportunity soon occurred--Horace had a beautiful little topaz ring
with which Lady Katrine Hawksby fell into raptures; such a charming
device!--Cupid and Momus making the world their plaything.

It was evident that Lady Katrine expected that the seal should be presented
to her. Besides being extravagantly fond of baubles, she desired to have
this homage from Horace. To her surprise and mortification, however, he was
only quite flattered by her approving of his taste:--it was his favourite
seal, and so "he kept the topaz, and the rogue was bit."

Lady Katrine was the more mortified by this failure, because it was
witnessed by many of the company, among whom, when she looked round,
she detected smiles of provoking intelligence. Soon afterwards the
dressing-bell rang and she quitted the room; one after another every one
dropped off, except Helen, who was finishing a letter, and Horace, who
stood on the hearth playing with his seal. When she came to sealing-time,
he approached and besought her to honour him by the acceptance of this
little seal. "If he could obliterate Momus--if he could leave only Cupid,
it would be more appropriate. But it was a device invented for him by a
French friend, and he hoped she would pardon his folly, and think only of
his love!"

This was said so that it might pass either for mere jest or for earnest;
his look expressed very sentimental love, and Helen seized the moment to
explain herself decidedly.

It was a surprise--a great surprise to Mr. Churchill, a severe
disappointment, not only to his vanity but to his heart, for he had one. It
was some comfort, however, that he had not quite committed himself, and he
recovered--even in the moment of disappointment he recovered himself time
enough dexterously to turn the tables upon Helen.

He thanked her for her candour--for her great care of his happiness, in
anticipating a danger which might have been so fatal to him; but he really
was not aware that he had said anything which required so serious an
answer.

Afterwards he amused himself with Lady Katrine at Miss Stanley's
expense, representing himself as in the most pitiable case of Rejected
Addresses--rejected before he had offered. He had only been guilty of
Folly, and he was brought in guilty of Love.

Poor Helen had to endure not only this persiflage, which was soon made to
reach her ear, but also the reproaches of Lady Cecilia, who said, "I should
have warned you, Helen, not to irritate that man's relentless vanity; now
you see the consequences."

"But, after all, what harm can he do me?" thought Helen. "It is very
disagreeable to be laughed at, but still my conscience is satisfied, and
that is a happiness that will last; all the rest will soon be over. I am
sure I did the thing awkwardly, but I am glad it is done."

Mr. Churchill soon afterwards received an invitation--a command to join a
royal party now at some watering-place; an illustrious person could not
live another day without Horace _le desire_. He showed the note, and acted
despair at being compelled to go, and then he departed. To the splendid
party he went, and drowned all recollections of whatever love he had felt
in the fresh intoxication of vanity--a diurnal stimulus which, however
degrading, and he did feel it degrading, was now become necessary to his
existence.

His departure from Clarendon Park was openly regretted by Lady Cecilia,
while Lady Katrine secretly mourned over the downfall of her projects, and
Beauclerc attempted not to disguise his satisfaction.

He was all life and love, and would then certainly have declared his
passion, but for an extraordinary change which now appeared in Helen's
manner towards him. It seemed unaccountable; it could not be absolute
caprice, she did not even treat him as a friend, and she evidently avoided
explanation. He thought, and thought, and came as near the truth without
touching it as possible. He concluded that she had understood his joy at
Churchill's departure; that she now clearly perceived his attachment;
and was determined against him. Not having the slightest idea that she
considered him as a married man, he could not even guess the nature of her
feelings. And all the time Helen did not well understand herself; she
began to be extremely alarmed at her own feelings--to dread that there
was something not quite right. This dread, which had come and gone by
fits,--this doubt as to her own sentiments,--was first excited by the
death of her dove--Beauclerc's gift. The poor dove was found one morning
drowned in the marble vase in which it went to drink. Helen was very
sorry--that was surely natural; but she was wonderfully concerned. Lady
Katrine scoffingly said; and before everybody, before Beauclerc, worse than
all, her ladyship represented to the best of her ability the attitude in
which she had found Helen mourning over her misfortune, the dove in her
hand pressed close to her bosom--"And in tears--absolutely." She would
swear to the tears.

Helen blushed, tried to laugh, and acknowledged it was very foolish. Well,
that passed off as only foolish, and she did not at first feel that it was
a thing much to be ashamed of in any other way. But she was sorry that
Beauclere was by when Lady Katrine mimicked her; most sorry that he should
think her foolish. But then did he? His looks expressed tenderness. He was
very tender-hearted. Really manly men always are so; and so she observed to
Lady Cecilia. Lady Katrine heard the observation, and smiled--her odious
smile--implying more than words could say. Helen was not quite clear,
however, what it meant to say.

Some days afterwards Lady Katrine took up a book, in which Helen's name was
written in Beauclerc's hand. "_Gage d'amitie?_" said her ladyship; and
she walked up and down the room, humming the air of an old French song;
interrupting herself now and then to ask her sister if she could recollect
the words. "The _refrain_, if I remember right, is something like this--

Sous le nom d'amitie--sous le nom d'amitie,
La moitie du monde trompe l'autre moitie,
Sous le nom, sous le nom, sous le nom d'amitie.

And it ends with

Sous le nom d'amitie, Damon, je vous adore,
Sous le nom, sous le nom d'amitie.

Miss Stanley, do you know that song?" concluded her malicious ladyship.
No--Miss Stanley had never heard it before; but the marked emphasis with
which Lady Katrine sung and looked, made Helen clear that she meant to
apply the words tauntingly to her and Beauclerc,--but which of them her
ladyship suspected was cheating, or cheated--"_sous le nom d'amitie_,"
she did not know. All was confusion in her mind. After a moment's cooler
reflection, however, she was certain it could not be Beauclerc who was to
blame--it must be herself, and she now very much wished that every body,
and Lady Katrine in particular, should know that Mr. Beauclerc was engaged
--almost married; if this were but known, it would put an end to all such
imputations.

The first time she could speak to Cecilia on the subject, she begged to
know how soon Mr. Beauclerc's engagement would be declared. Lady Cecilia
slightly answered she could not tell--and when Helen pressed the question
she asked,--

"Why are you so anxious, Helen?"

Helen honestly told her, and Lady Cecilia only laughed at her for minding
what Lady Katrine said,--"When you know yourself, Helen, how it is, what
can it signify what mistakes others may make?"

But Helen grew more and more uneasy, for she was not clear that she did
know how it was, with herself at least. Her conscience faltered, and she
was not sure whether she was alarmed with or without reason. She began to
compare feelings that she had read of, and feelings that she had seen in
others, and feelings that were new to herself, and in this maze and mist
nothing was distinct--much was magnified--all alarming.

One day Beauclerc was within view of the windows on horseback, on a very
spirited horse, which he managed admirably; but a shot fired suddenly in an
adjoining preserve so startled the horse that it----oh! what it did Helen
did not see, she was so terrified: and why was she so much terrified? She
excused herself by saying it was natural to be frightened for any human
creature. But, on the other hand, Tom Isdall was a human creature, and she
had seen him last week actually thrown from his horse, and had not felt
much concern. But then he was not a friend; and he fell into a soft ditch:
and there was something ridiculous in it which prevented people from caring
about it. With such nice casuistry she went on pretty well; and besides,
she was so innocent--so ignorant, that it was easy for her to be deceived.
She went on, telling herself that she loved Beauclerc as a brother--as she
loved the general. But when she came to comparisons, she could not but
perceive a difference. Her heart never bounded on the general's appearance,
let him appear ever so suddenly, as it did one day when Beauclerc returned
unexpectedly from Old Forest. Her whole existence seemed so altered by his
approach, his presence, or his absence. Why was this? Was there any thing
wrong in it? She had nobody whose judgment she could consult--nobody to
whom she could venture to describe her feelings, or lay open her doubts
and scruples. Lady Cecilia would only laugh; and she could not quite trust
either her judgment or her sincerity, though she knew her affection.
Besides, after what Cecilia had said of her being safe; after all she had
told her of Beauclerc's engagement, how astonished and shocked Cecilia
would be!

Then Helen resolved that she would keep a strict watch over herself, and
repress all emotion, and be severe with her own mind to the utmost: and it
was upon this resolution that she had changed her manner, without knowing
how much, towards Beauclerc; she was certain he meant nothing but
friendship. It was her fault if she felt too much pleasure in his company;
the same things were, as she wisely argued, right or wrong according to the
intention with which they were said, done, looked, or felt. Rigidly she
inflicted on herself the penance of avoiding his delightful society, and to
make sure that she did not try to attract, she repelled him with all
her power--thought she never could make herself cold, and stiff, and
disagreeable enough to satisfy her conscience.

Then she grew frightened at Beauclerc's looks of astonishment--feared he
would ask explanation--avoided him more and more. Then, on the other hand,
she feared he might guess and interpret _wrong_, or rather _right_, this
change; and back she changed, tried in vain to keep the just medium--she
had lost the power of measuring--altogether she was very unhappy, and so
was Beauclerc; he found her incomprehensible, and thought her capricious.
His own mind was fluttered with love, so that he could not see or judge
distinctly, else he might have seen the truth; and sometimes, though free
from conceit, he did hope it might be all love. But why then so determined
to discourage him? he had advanced sufficiently to mark his intentions,
she could not doubt his sincerity. He would see farther before he ventured
farther. He thought a man was a fool who proposed before he had tolerable
reason to believe he should not be refused.

Lord Beltravers and his sisters were now expected at Old Forest
immediately, and Beauclerc went thither early every morning, to press
forward the preparations for the arrival of the family, and he seldom
returned till dinner-time; and every evening Lady Castlefort contrived to
take possession of him. It appeared to be indeed as much against his will
as it could be between a well-bred man and a high-bred belle; but to do her
bidding, seemed if not a moral, at least a polite necessity. She had been
spoiled, she owned, by foreign attentions, not French, for that is all gone
now at Paris, but Italian manners, which she so much preferred. She did not
know how she could live out of Italy, and she must convince Lord Castlefort
that the climate was necessary for her health. Meanwhile she adopted, she
acted, what she conceived to be foreign manners, and with an exaggeration
common with those who have very little sense and a vast desire to be
fashionable with a certain set. Those who knew her best (all but her sister
Katrine, who shook her head,) were convinced that there was really no harm
in Lady Castlefort, "only vanity and folly." How frequently folly leads
farther than fools ever, or wise people often foresee, we need not here
stop to record. On the present occasion, all at Clarendon Park, even those
most inclined to scandal, persons who, by the by, may be always known by
their invariable preface of, "I hate all scandal," agreed that "no one _so
far_ could behave better than Granville Beauclerc--so far,"--"as yet."
But all the elderly who had any experience of this world, all the young
who had any intuitive prescience in these matters, could not but fear that
things could not long go on as they were now going. It was sadly to be
feared that so young a man, and so very handsome a man, and such an admirer
of beauty, and grace, and music, and of such an enthusiastic temper, must
be in danger of being drawn on farther than he was aware, and before he
knew what he was about.

The general heard and saw all that went on without seeming to take heed,
only once he asked Cecilia how long she thought her cousins would stay. She
did not know, but she said "she saw he wished them to be what they were
not--cousins once removed--and quite agreed with him." He smiled, for a man
is always well pleased to find his wife agree with him in disliking her
cousins.

One night--one fine moonlight night--Lady Castlefort, standing at the
conservatory door with Beauclerc, after talking an inconceivable quantity
of nonsense about her passion for the moon, and her notions about the
stars, and congenial souls born under the same planet, proposed to him a
moonlight walk.

The general was at the time playing at chess with Helen, and had the best
of the game, but at that moment he made a false move, was check-mated, rose
hastily, threw the men together on the board, and forgot to regret his
shameful defeat, or to compliment Helen upon her victory. Lady Castlefort,
having just discovered that the fatality nonsense about the stars would
not quite do for Beauclerc, had been the next instant seized with a sudden
passion for astronomy; she must see those charming rings of Saturn, which
she had heard so much of, which the general was showing Miss Stanley the
other night; she must beg him to lend his telescope; she came up with her
sweetest smile to trouble the general for his glass. Lord Castlefort,
following, objected strenuously to her going out at night; she had been
complaining of a bad cold when he wanted her to walk in the daytime, she
would only make it worse by going out in the night air. If she wanted to
see Saturn and his rings, the general, he was sure, would fix a telescope
at the window for her.

But that would not do, she must have a moonlight walk; she threw open the
conservatory door, beckoned to Mr. Beauclerc, and how it ended Helen did
not stay to see. She thought that she ought not even to think on the
subject, and she went away as fast as she could. It was late, and she went
to bed wishing to be up early, to go on with a drawing she was to finish
for Mrs. Collingwood--a view by the river side, that view which had struck
her fancy as so beautiful the day she went first to Old Forest. Early the
next morning--and a delightful morning it was--she was up and out, and
reached the spot from which her sketch was taken. She was surprised to find
her little camp-stool, which she had looked for in vain in the hall, in its
usual place, set here ready for her, and on it a pencil nicely cut.

Beauclerc must have done this. But he was not in general an early riser.
However, she concluded that he had gone over thus early to Old Forest, to
see his friend Lord Beltravers, who was to have arrived the day before,
with his sisters. She saw a boat rowing down the river, and she had no
doubt he was gone. But just as she had settled to her drawing, she heard
the joyful bark of Beauclerc's dog Nelson, who came bounding towards her,
and the next moment his master appeared, coming down the path from the
wood. With quick steps he came till he was nearly close to her, then
slackened his pace.

"Good morning!" said Helen; she tried to speak with composure, but her
heart beat--she could not help feeling surprise at seeing him--but it was
only surprise.

"I thought you were gone to Old Forest?" said she.

"Not yet," said he.

His voice sounded different from usual, and she saw in him some suppressed
agitation. She endeavoured to keep her own manner unembarrassed--she
thanked him for the nicely-cut pencil, and the exactly well-placed seat. He
advanced a step or two nearer, stooped, and looked close at her drawing,
but he did not seem to see or know what he was looking at.

At this moment Nelson, who had been too long unnoticed, put up one paw on
Miss Stanley's arm, unseen by his master, and encouraged by such gentle
reproof as Helen gave, his audacious paw was on the top of her drawing-book
the next moment, and the next was upon the drawing--and the paw was wet
with dew.--"Nelson!" exclaimed his master in an angry tone.

"O do not scold him," cried Helen, "do not punish him; the drawing is not
spoiled--only wet, and it will be as well as ever when it is dry."

Beauclerc ejaculated something about the temper of an angel while she
patted Nelson's penitent head.

"As the drawing must be left to dry," said Beauclerc, "perhaps Miss Stanley
would do me the favour to walk as far as the landing-place, where the boat
is to meet me--to take me--if--if I MUST go to Old Forest!" and he sighed.

She took his offered arm and walked on--surprised--confused;--wondering
what he meant by that sigh and that look--and that strong emphasis on
_must_. "If I _must_ go to Old Forest." Was not it a pleasure?--was it not
his own choice?--what could he mean?--What could be the matter?

A vague agitating idea rose in her mind, but she put it from her, and they
walked on for some minutes, both silent. They entered the wood, and feeling
the silence awkward, and afraid that he should perceive her embarrassment,
and that he should suspect her suspicion, she exerted herself to speak--to
say something, no matter what.

"It is a charming morning!"

After a pause of absence of mind, he answered,

"Charming!--very!"

Then stopping short, he fixed his eyes upon Helen with an expression that
she was afraid to understand. It could hardly bear any interpretation but
one--and yet that was impossible--ought to be impossible--from a man in
Beauclerc's circumstances--engaged--almost a married man, as she had been
told to consider him. She did not know at this moment what to think--still
she thought she must mistake him, and she should be excessively ashamed of
such a mistake, and now more strongly felt the dread that he should see and
misinterpret or interpret too rightly her emotion; she walked on quicker,
and her breath grew short, and her colour heightened. He saw her
agitation--a delightful hope arose in his mind. It was plain she was not
indifferent--he looked at her, but dared not look long enough--feared that
he was mistaken. But the embarrassment seemed to change its character even
as he looked, and now it was more like displeasure--decidedly, she appeared
displeased. And so she was; for she thought now that he must either be
trifling with her, or, if serious, must be acting most dishonourably;--her
good opinion of him must be destroyed for ever, if, as now it seemed, he
wished to make an impression upon her heart--yet still she tried not to
think, not to see it. She was sorry, she was very wrong to let such an idea
into her mind--and still her agitation increased.

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