Book: Helen

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> Helen




Helen stood for some moments fixed to the spot where they left her. She
questioned her inmost thoughts. "Why was I struck so much, so strangely,
with that beauty--so painfully? It cannot be envy; I never was envious
of any one, though so many I have seen so much handsomer than myself.
Jealousy? surely not; for there is no reason for it--no possibility of
danger. Yet now, alas! when he has so much cause to doubt me! perhaps he
might change. He seemed so displeased last night, and he has never been
here all the morning!" She recollected the look and accent of Madame de St.
Cymon, as she said the words "_au revoir_." Helen did not like the
words, or the look. She did not like anything about Madame de St. Cymon:
"Something so assured, so impertinent! And all that unintelligible message
about those cameos!--a mere excuse for making this unseasonable pushing
visit--just pushing for the acquaintance. The general will never permit
it, though--that is one comfort. But why do I say comfort?" Back went the
circle of her thoughts to the same point.--"What can I do?--the general
will return, he will find I have not obeyed him. But what can be done till
Cecilia returns? If she were but here, I could mark--we could settle. O
Cecilia! where are you? But," thought she, "I had better look at the whole.
I will, have courage to read these horrible letters." To prevent all hazard
of further interruption, she now went into an inner room, bolted the doors,
and sat down to her dreaded task. And there we leave her.




CHAPTER V.


That Fortune is not nice in her morality, that she frequently favours
those who do not adhere to truth more than those who do, we have early had
occasion to observe. But whether Fortune may not be in this, as in all the
rest, treacherous and capricious; whether she may not by her first smiles
and favours lure her victims on to their cost, to their utter undoing at
last, remains to be seen.

It is time to inquire what has become of Lady Cecilia Clarendon. Before we
follow her on her very early morning visit to her cousin's, we must take
leave to pause one moment to remark, not in the way of moralising by any
means, but simply as a matter of history, that the first little fib in
which Lady Cecilia, as a customary licence of speech, indulged herself
the moment she awoke this morning, though it seemed to answer its purpose
exactly at the time, occasioned her ladyship a good deal of superfluous
toil and trouble during the course of the day. In reply to the first
question her husband had asked, or in evasion of that question, she had
answered, "My dear love, don't ask me any questions, for I have such a
horrid headache, that I really can hardly speak."

Now a headache, such as she had at that moment, certainly never silenced any
woman. Slighter could not be--scarce enough to swear by. There seemed no
great temptation to prevarication either, for the general's question was
not of a formidable nature, not what the lawyers call a leading question,
rather one that led to nothing. It was only, "Had you a pleasant party at
Lady Castlefort's last night, my dear Cecilia?" But with that prescience
with which some nicely foresee how the truth, seemingly most innocent,
may do harm, her ladyship foreboded that, if she answered straight
forward--"no"--that might lead to--why? how? or wherefore?--and this
might bring out the history of the strange rude manner in which _la belle
fiancee_ had been received. That need not necessarily have followed, but,
even if it had, it would have done her no harm,--rather would have served
at once her purpose in the best manner possible, as time will show. Her
husband, unsuspicious man, asked no more questions, and only gave her
the very advice she wished him to give, that she should not get up to
breakfast--that she should rest as long as she could. Farther, as if to
forward her schemes, even without knowing them, he left the house
early, and her headache conveniently going off, she was dressed with all
despatch--carriage at the door as soon as husband out of sight, and away
she went, as we have seen, without Helen's hearing, seeing, or suspecting
her so well contrived and executed project.

She was now in good spirits. The infection of fear which she had caught,
perhaps from the too sensitive Helen, last night, she had thrown off this
morning. It was a sunny day, and the bright sunshine dispelled, as ever
with her, any black notions of the night, all melancholy ideas whatsoever.
She had all the constitutional hopefulness of good animal spirits. But
though no fears remained, curiosity was as strong as ever. She was
exceedingly eager to know what had been the cause of all these strange
appearances. She guessed it must be some pitiful jealousy of Lady
Katrine's--some poor spite against Helen. Anything that should really give
Beauclerc uneasiness, she now sincerely believed to be out of the question.
Nonsense--only Helen and Beauclerc's love of tormenting themselves--quite
nonsense! And nonsense! three times ejaculated, quite settled the matter,
and assured her in the belief that there could be nothing serious to be
apprehended. In five minutes she should be at the bottom of all things,
and in half an hour return triumphant to Helen, and make her laugh at her
cowardly self. The carriage rolled on, Lady Cecilia's spirits rising as she
moved rapidly onwards, so that by the time she arrived at Lady Castlefort's
she was not only in good but in high spirits. To her askings, "Not at home"
never echoed. Even at hours undue, such as the present, she, privileged,
penetrated. Accordingly, unquestioned, unquestioning, the alert step was
let down, opened wide was the hall-door, and lightly tripped she up the
steps; but the first look into the hall told her that company was in the
house already--yes--a breakfast--all were in the breakfast-room, except
Lady Castlefort, not yet come down--above, the footman believed, in her
boudoir. To the boudoir Cecilia went, but Lady Castlefort was not there,
and Cecilia was surprised to hear the sound of music in the drawing-room,
Lady Castlefort's voice singing. While she waited in the next room for the
song to be finished, Cecilia turned over the books on the table, richly
gilt and beautifully bound, except one in a brown paper parcel, which
seemed unsuited to the table, yet excited more attention than all the
others, because it was directed _"Private--for Lady Katherine Hawksby--to
be returned before two o'clock."_ What could it be? thought Lady Cecilia.
But her attention was now attracted by the song which Lady Castlefort
seemed to be practising; the words were distinctly pronounced, uncommonly
distinctly, so as to be plainly heard--

"Had we never loved so kindly,
Hail we never loved so blindly,
Never met, or never parted.
We had ne'er been broken-hearted."

As Cecilia listened, she cast her eyes upon a card which lay on the
table--"Lord Beltravers," and a new light flashed upon her, a light
favourable to her present purpose; for since the object was altered with
Lady Castlefort, since it was not Beauclerc any longer, there would be no
further ill-will towards Helen. Lady Castlefort was not of the violent
vindictive sort, with her there was no long-lasting _depit amoureux_.
She was not that fury, a woman scorned, but that blessed spirit, a woman
believing herself always admired. "Soft, silly, sooth--not one of the hard,
wicked, is Louisa," thought Cecilia. And as Lady Castlefort, slowly opening
the door, entered, timid, as if she knew some particular person was in the
room, Cecilia could not help suspecting that Louisa had intended her
song for other ears than those of her dear cousin, and that the superb
negligence of her dress was not unstudied; but that well-prepared,
well-according sentimental air, changed instantly on seeing--not the person
expected, and with a start, she exclaimed, "Cecilia Clarendon!"

"Louisa Castlefort!" cried Lady Cecilia, answering that involuntary start
of confusion with a well-acted start of admiration. "Louisa Castlefort, _si
belle, si belle_, so beautifully dressed!"

"Beautifully dressed--nothing extraordinary!" said Lady Castlefort,
advancing with a half embarrassed, half _non-chalant_ air,--"One must
make something of a _toilette de matin_, you know, when one has people to
breakfast."

"So elegant, so negligent!" continued Lady Cecilia.

"There is the point," said Lady Castlefort. "I cannot bear any thing
that is studied in costume, for dress is really a matter of so little
consequence! I never bestow a thought upon it. Angelique rules my toilette
as she pleases."

"Angelique has the taste of an angel fresh from Paris," cried Lady Cecilia.

"And now tell me, Cecilia," pursued Lady Castlefort, quite in good humour,
"tell me, my dear, to what do I owe this pleasure? what makes you so
_matinale?_ It must be something very extraordinary."

"Not at all, only a little matter of curiosity."

Then, from Lady Castlefort, who had hitherto, as if in absence of mind,
stood, there was a slight "Won't you sit?" motion.

"No, no, I can't sit, can't stay," said Lady Cecilia.

A look quickly visible, and quickly suppressed, showed Lady Castlefort's
sense of relief; then came immediately greater pressing to sit down, "Pray
do not be in such a hurry.

"But I am keeping you; have you breakfasted?"

"Taken coffee in my own room," said Lady Castlefort "But you have people to
breakfast; must not you go down?"

"No, no, I shall not go down for this is Katrine's affair, as I will
explain to you."

Lady Cecilia was quite content, without any explanation; and sitting down,
she drew her chair close to Lady Castlefort, and said, "Now, my dear, my
little matter of curiosity."

"Stay, my dear, first I must tell you about Katrine--now
confidentially--very."

Lady Cecilia ought to have been aware that when once her dear cousin
Louisa's little heart opened, and she became confidential, very, it was
always of her own domestic grievances she began to talk, and that, once the
sluice opened, out poured from the deep reservoir the long-collected minute
drops of months and years.

"You have no idea what a life I lead with Katrine--now she is grown blue."

"Is she?" said Lady Cecilia, quite indifferent.

"Deep blue! shocking: and this is a blue breakfast, and all the people at
it are true bores, and a blue bore is, as Horace Churchill says, one of
the most mischievous creatures breathing; and he tells me the only way of
hindering them from doing mischief is by _ringing_ them; but first you must
get rings. Now, in this case, for Katrine not a ring to be had for love or
money. So there is no hope for me."

"No hope for me," thought Lady Cecilia, throwing herself back in her chair,
submissive, but not resigned.

"If it had but pleased Heaven," continued Lady Castlefort, "in its mercy,
to have sent Katrine a husband of any kind, what a blessing it would have
been! If she could but have been married to any body--now any body--"

"Any body is infinitely obliged to you," said Cecilia, "but since that is
out of the question, let us say no more about it--no use."

"No use! that is the very thing of which I complain; the very thing which
must ever--ever make me miserable."

"Well, well, my dear," cried Lady Cecilia, no longer capable of patience;
"do not be miserable any more just now; never mind Katrine just now."

"Never mind her! Easy for you to say, Cecilia, who do not live with Katrine
Hawksby, and do not know what it is to have such a plague of a sister,
watching one,--watching every turn, every look one gives--worse than a
jealous husband. Can I say more?"

"No," cried Cecilia; "therefore say no more about it. I understand it all
perfectly, and I pity you from the bottom of my heart, so now, my dear
Louisa----"

"I tell you, my dear Cecilia," pursued Lady Castlefort, continuing her own
thoughts, "I tell you, Katrine is envious of me. Envy has been her fault
from a child. Envy of poor me! Envy, in the first place, of whatever good
looks it pleased Providence to give me." A glance at the glass.--"And now
Katrine envies me for being Lady Castlefort, Heaven knows! now, Cecilia,
and you know, she need not envy me so when she looks at Lord Castlefort;
that is, what she sometimes says herself, which you know is very wrong of
her to say to me--unnecessary too, when she knows I had no more hand in my
marriage----"

"Than heart!" Cecilia could not forbear saying.

"Than heart!" readily responded Lady Castlefort; "never was a truer word
said. Never was there a more complete sacrifice than my mother made of me;
you know, Cecilia, a poor, young, innocent, helpless sacrifice, if ever
there was one upon earth."

"To a coronet," said Lady Cecilia.

"Absolutely dragged to the altar," continued Lady Castlefort.

"In Mechlin lace, that was some comfort," said Cecilia laughing, and she
laughed on in hope of cutting short this sad chapter of sacrifices. But
Lady Castlefort did not understand raillery upon this too tender point. "I
don't know what you mean by Mechlin lace," cried she pettishly. "Is this
your friendship for me, Cecilia?"

Cecilia, justly in fear of losing the reward of all her large lay-out of
flattery, fell to protesting the tenderest sympathy. "But only now it was
all over, why make her heart bleed about what could not be helped?"

"Cannot be helped! Oh! there is the very thing I must ever, ever mourn."

The embroidered cambric handkerchief was taken out of the bag; no tears,
indeed, came, but there were sobs, and Cecilia not knowing how far it
might go, apprehending that her ladyship meditated hysterics, seized a
smelling-bottle, threw out the stopper, and presented it close under the
nostrils. The good "_Sels poignans d'Angleterre,_" of which Felicie always
acknowledged the unrivalled potency, did their business effectually. Back
went the head, with an exclamation of "That's enough! Oh, oh! too much! too
much, Cecilia!"

"Are you better, my dear?" inquired Cecilia; "but indeed you must not
give way to low spirits; indeed, you must not: so now to change the
conversation, Louisa----"

"Not so fast, Lady Cecilia; not yet;" and now Louisa went on with a medical
maundering. "As to low spirits, my dear Cecilia, I must say I agree with
Sir Sib Pennyfeather, who tells me it is not mere common low spirits, but
really all mind, too much mind; mind preying upon my nerves. Oh! I knew it
myself. At first he thought it was rather constitutional; poor clear Sir
Sib! he is very clever, Sir Sib; and I convinced him he was wrong; and so
we agreed that it was all upon my mind--all; all----"

At that instant a green parrot, who had been half asleep in the corner,
awoke on Lady Castlefort's pronouncing, in an elevated tone, "All, all!"
and conceiving himself in some way called upon, answered, "Poll! Poll!
bit o'sugar Poll!" No small difficulty had Lady Cecilia at that moment in
keeping her risible muscles in order; but she did, for Helen's sake,
and she was rewarded, for after Lady Castlefort had, all unconscious of
ridicule, fed Poll from her amber bonbonniere, and sighed out once more
"Mind! too much mind!" she turned to Cecilia, and said, "But, my dear, you
wanted something; you had something to ask me."

At once, and as fast as she could speak, Lady Cecilia poured out her
business about Helen Stanley. She told of the ill-bred manner in which
Helen had been received last night; inquired why the words _promessi sposi_
and _belle fiancee_ were so oddly repeated, as if they had been watchwords,
and asked what was meant by all those strange whisperings in the sanctum
sanctorum.

"Katrine's set," observed Lady Castlefort coolly. "Just like them; just
like her!"

"I should not care about it in the least," said Lady Cecilia, "if it were
only Katrine's ill-nature, or their ill-breeding. Ill-breeding always
recoils on the ill-bred, and does nobody else any harm. But I should be
glad to be quite clear that there is nothing more at the bottom."

Lady Castlefort made no reply, but took up a bunch of seals, and looked at
each of them one after another. Lady Cecilia more afraid now than she had
yet been that there was something at the bottom, still bravely went on,
"What is it? If you know, tell me at once."

"Nay, ask Katrine," said Lady Castlefort.

"No, I ask you, I would rather ask you, for you are good-natured,
Louisa--so tell me."

"But I dare say it is only slander," said the good-natured Louisa.

"Slander!" repeated Lady Cecilia, "slander did you say?"

"Yes; what is there to surprise you so much in that word? did you never
hear of such a thing? I am sure I hear too much of it; Katrine lives and
breathes and fattens upon it; as Churchill says, she eats slander, drinks
slander, sleeps upon slander."

"But tell me, what of Helen? that is all I want to hear," cried Lady
Cecilia: "Slander! of Helen Stanley! what is it that Katrine says about
poor Helen? what spite, what vengeance, can she have against her, tell me,
tell me."

"If you would ask one question at a time, I might be able to answer you,"
said Lady Castlefort. "Do not hurry me so; you fidget my nerves. First as
to the spite, you know yourself that Katrine, from the beginning, never
could endure Helen Stanley; for my part, I always rather liked her than
otherwise, and shall defend her to the last."

"Defend her!"

"But Katrine was always jealous of her, and lately worse than ever, for
getting into her place, as she says, with you; that made her hate her all
the more."

"Let her hate on, that will never make me love Helen the less."

"So I told her; and besides, Miss Stanley is going to be married."

"To be sure;--well?"

"And Katrine naturally hates every body that is going to be married. If
you were to see the state she is in always reading the announcements
of Marriages in High Life! Churchill, I do believe, had Miss Stanley's
intended match put into every paper continually, on purpose for the
pleasure of plaguing Katrine; and if you could have seen her long face,
when she saw it announced in the Court Gazette--good authority, you
know--really it was pitiable."

"I don't care, I don't care about that--Oh pray go on to the facts about
Helen."

"Well, but the fact is as I tell you; you wanted to know what sufficient
cause for vengeance, and am not I telling you? If you would not get into
such a state of excitement!--as Sir Sib says excitements should be avoided.
La! my dear," continued Lady Castlefort, looking up at her with unfeigned
astonishment, "what agitation! why, if it were a matter that concerned
yourself----"

"It concerns my friend, and that is the same thing."

"So one says; but--you look really, such a colour."

"No matter what colour I look," cried Cecilia; "go on."

"Do you never read the papers?" said Lady Castlefort.

"Sometimes," said Lady Cecilia; "but I have not looked at a paper these
three days; was there any thing particular? tell me."

"My dear! tell you! as if I could remember by heart all the scandalous
paragraphs I read." She looked round the room, and not seeing the papers,
said, "I do not know what has become of those papers; but you can find them
when you go home."

She mentioned the names of two papers, noted for being personal,
scandalous, and scurrilous.

"Are those the papers you mean?" cried Lady Cecilia; "the general never
lets them into the house."

"That is a pity--that's hard upon you, for then you never are, as you see,
_au courant du jour_, and all your friends might be abused to death without
your knowing it, if some kind person did not tell you."

"Do tell me, then, the substance; I don't want the words."

"But the words are all. Somehow it is nothing without the words."

In her now excited state of communicativeness, Lady Castlefort rose and
looked all about the room for the papers, saying, "They were here, they
were there, all yesterday; Katrine had them showing them to Lady Masham in
the morning, and to all her blue set afterwards--Lord knows what she has
done with them. So tiresome looking for things! how I hate it."

She rang the bell and inquired from the footman if he knew what had become
of the papers. Of course he did not know, could not imagine--servants never
know, nor can imagine what have become of newspapers--but he would inquire.
While he went to inquire, Lady Castlefort sank down again into her
_bergere_, and again fell into admiration of Cecilia's state of impatience.

"How curious you are! Now I am never really curious about any thing that
does not come home to myself; I have so little interest about other
people."

This was said in all the simplicity of selfishness, not from candour, but
from mere absence of shame, and utter ignorance of what others think--what
others feel, which always characterises, and often betrays the selfish,
even where the head is best capable of supplying the deficiencies of the
heart. But Louisa Castlefort had no head to hide her want of heart; while
Cecilia, who had both head and heart, looked down upon her cousin with
surprise, pity, and contempt, quick succeeding each other, in a sort of
parenthesis of feeling, as she moved her eyes for a moment from the door
on which they had been fixed, and to which they recurred, while she stood
waiting for the appearance of those newspapers. The footman entered with
them. "In Mr. Landrum's room they were, my lady."

Lady Cecilia did not hear a word that was said, nor did she see that the
servant laid a note on the table. It was well that Louisa had that note
to read, and to answer, while Cecilia looked at the paragraphs in these
papers; else her start must have been seen, her exclamation must have been
heard: it must have been marked, that the whole character of her emotion
changed from generous sympathy with her friend, to agony of fear for
herself. The instant she cast her eyes on that much-read paper, she saw
the name of Colonel D'Aubigny; all the rest swam before her eyes. Lady
Castlefort, without looking up from her writing, asked--What day of the
month? Cecilia could not answer, but recalled to herself by the sound of
the voice, she now tried to read--she scarcely read the words, but some way
took the sense into her mind at a glance.




CHAPTER VI.


The first of these paragraphs caught the eye by its title in capital
letters.

"LA BELLE FIANCEE.

"Though quite unknown in the London world, this young lady cannot fail to
excite some curiosity among our fashionables as the successful rival of one
whom the greatest painter of the age has pronounced to be _the fairest of
the fair_--the Lady B. F. This new _Helen_ is, we understand, of
a respectable family, niece to a late dean, distinguished for piety much
and virtu more. It was reported that the niece was a great heiress, but
after the proposal had been made, it was discovered that Virtu had made
away with every shilling of her fortune. This made no difference in the
eyes of her inamorato, who is as rich as he is generous, and who saw with
the eyes of a youth 'Of Age to-morrow.' His guardian, a wary general,
demurred--but _nursery tactics_ prevailed. The young lady, though she had
never been out, bore the victory from him of many campaigns. The day for
the marriage was fixed as announced by us--But we are concerned to
state that a _postponement_ of this marriage for _mysterious reasons_ has
taken place. Delicacy forbids us to say more at present."

Delicacy, however, did not prevent their saying in the next paper in a
paragraph headed, "MYSTERY SOLVED," "We understand that in the course of
a few days will appear the 'Memoirs of the late Colonel D----y; or,
_Reminiscences of a Roue_, well known in the Fashionable World.' This
little volume bids fair to engross the attention of the higher circles, as
it contains, besides innumerable curious, personal, and secret anecdotes,
the original love letters of a certain _belle fiancee_, now residing with a
noble family in Grosvenor Square."

Lady Cecilia saw at once the whole dreadful danger--her own letters to
Colonel D'Aubigny they must he! How could they have got them? They would be
seen by her husband--published to the whole world--if the general found
out they were hers, he would cast her off for ever. If they were believed
to be Helen's--Helen was undone, sacrificed to her folly, her cowardice.
"Oh! if I had but told Clarendon, he would have stopped this dreadful,
dreadful publication." And what falsehoods it might contain, she did not
even dare to think. All was remorse, terror, confusion--fixed to the spot
like one stupified, she stood. Lady Castlefort did not see it--she had
been completely engrossed with what she had been writing, she was now
looking for her most sentimental seal, and not till she had pressed
that seal down and examined the impression, did she look up or notice
Cecilia--Then struck indeed with a sense of something unusual--"My dear,"
said she, "you have no idea how odd you look--so strange, Cecilia--quite
_ebahie!_" Giving two pulls to the bell as she spoke, and her eyes on the
door, impatient for the servant, she added--"After all, Cecilia, Helen
Stanley is no relation even--only a friend. Take this note--" to the
footman who answered the bell; and the moment he left the room, continuing,
in the same tone, to Lady Cecilia, she said--"You will have to give her up
at last--that's all; so you had better make your mind up to it."

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