A Terrible Temptation: A Story of To-Day
Lady Bassett complied with the letter, but, goose or not, evaded the
spirit of Sir Charles's command with considerable dexterity.
“DEAR MR. OLDFIELD--You may guess what trouble I am in. Sir Charles
will soon have to appear in open court, and be talked against by some
great orator. That anonymous letter Mr. Bassett wrote me was very base,
and is surely some justification of the violent epithets my dear
husband, in an unhappy moment of irritation, has applied to him. The
brave lady has it. I am sure she will not refuse to send it me. I wish
I dare ask her to give it me with her own hand; but I must not, I
suppose. Pray tell her how unhappy I am, and perhaps she will favor us
with a word of advice as well as the letter.
“I remain, yours faithfully,
“BELLA BASSETT.”
This letter was written at the brave lady; and Mr. Oldfield did what
was expected, he sent Miss Somerset a copy of Lady Bassett's letter,
and some lines in his own hand, describing Sir Charles's difficulty in
a more businesslike way.
In due course Miss Somerset wrote him back that she was in the country,
hunting, at no very great distance from Huntercombe Hall; she would
sent up to town for her desk; the letter would be there, if she had
kept it at all.
Oldfield groaned at this cool conjecture, and wrote back directly,
urging expedition.
This produced an effect that he had not anticipated.
One morning Lord Harrowdale's foxhounds met at a large covert, about
five miles from Huntercombe, and Sir Charles told Lady Bassett she must
ride to cover.
“Yes, dear. Charles, love, I have no spirit to appear in public. We
shall soon have publicity enough.”
“That is my reason. I have not done nor said anything I am ashamed of,
and you will meet the county on this and on every public occasion.”
“I obey,” said Bella.
“And look your best.”
“I will, dearest.”
“And be in good spirits.”
“Must I?”
“Yes.”
“I will try. Oh!--oh!--oh!”
“Why, you poor-spirited little goose! Dry your eyes this moment.”
“There. Oh!”
“And kiss me.”
“There. Ah! kissing you is a great comfort.”
“It is one you are particularly welcome to. Now run away and put on
your habit. I'll have two grooms out; one with a fresh horse for me,
and one to look after you.”
“Oh, Charles! Pray don't make me hunt.”
“No, no. Not so tyrannical as that; hang it all!”
“Do you know what I do while you are hunting? I pray all the time that
you may not get a fall and be hurt; and I pray God to forgive you and
all the gentlemen for your cruelty in galloping with all those dogs
after one poor little inoffensive thing, to hunt it and kill it--kill
it twice, indeed; once with terror, and then over again with mangling
its poor little body.”
“This is cheerful,” said Sir Charles, rather ruefully. “We cannot all
be angels, like you. It is a glorious excitement. There! you are too
good for this world; I'll let you off going.”
“Oh no, dear. I won't be let off, now I know your wish. Only I beg to
ride home as soon as the poor thing runs away. You wouldn't get me out
of the thick covers if I were a fox. I'd run round and round, and call
on all my acquaintances to set them running.”
As she said this her eyes turned toward each other in a peculiar way,
and she looked extremely foxy; but the look melted away directly.
The hounds met, and Lady Bassett, who was still the beauty of the
county, was surrounded by riders at first; but as the hounds began to
work, and every now and then a young hound uttered a note, they
cantered about, and took up different posts, as experience suggested.
At last a fox was found at the other end of the cover, and away
galloped the hunters in that direction, all but four persons, Lady
Bassett, and her groom, who kept respectfully aloof, and a lady and
gentleman who had reined their horses up on a rising ground about a
furlong distant.
Lady Bassett, thus left alone, happened to look round, and saw the lady
level an opera-glass toward her and look through it.
As a result of this inspection the lady cantered toward her. She was on
a chestnut gelding of great height and bone, and rode him as if they
were one, so smoothly did she move in concert with his easy,
magnificent strides.
When she came near Lady Bassett she made a little sweep and drew up
beside her on the grass.
There was no mistaking that tall figure and commanding face. It was the
brave lady. Her eyes sparkled; her cheek was slightly colored with
excitement; she looked healthier and handsomer than ever, and also more
feminine, for a reason the sagacious reader may perhaps discern if he
attends to the dialogue.
_“So,”_ said she, without bowing or any other ceremony, “that little
rascal is troubling you again.”
Lady Bassett colored and panted, and looked lovingly at her, before she
could speak. At last she said, “Yes; and you have come to help us
again.”
“Well, the lawyer said there was no time to lose; so I have brought you
the anonymous letter.”
“Oh, thank you, madam, thank you.”
“But I'm afraid it will be of no use unless you can prove Mr. Bassett
wrote it. It is in a disguised hand.”
“But you found him out by means of another letter.”
“Yes; but I can't give you that other letter to have it read in a court
of law, because--Do you see that gentleman there?”
“Yes.”
“That is Marsh.”
“Oh, is it?”
“He is a fool; but I am going to marry him. I have been very ill since
I saw you, and poor Marsh nursed me. Talk of women nurses! If ever you
are ill in earnest, as I was, write to me, and I'll send you Marsh. Oh,
I have no words to tell you his patience, his forbearance, his
watchfulness, his tenderness to a sick woman. It is no use--I must
marry him; and I could have no letter published that would give him
pain.”
“Of course not. Oh, madam, do you think I am capable of doing anything
that would give you pain, or dear Mr. Marsh either?”
“No, no; you are a good woman.”
“Not half so good as you are.”
“You don't know what you are saying.”
“Oh yes, I do.”
“Then I say no more; it is rude to contradict. Good-by, Lady Bassett.”
“Must you leave me so soon? Will you not visit us? May I not know the
name of so good a friend?”
“Next week I shall be _Mrs. Marsh.”_
“And you will give me the great pleasure of having you at my house--you
and your husband?”
The lady showed some agitation at this--an unusual thing for her. She
faltered: “Some day, perhaps, if I make him as good a wife as I hope
to. What a lady you are! Vulgar people are ashamed to be grateful; but
you are a born lady. Good-by, before I make a fool of myself; and they
are all coming this way, by the dogs' music.”
“Won't you kiss me, after bringing me this?”
“Kiss you?” and she opened her eyes.
“If you please,” said Lady Bassett, bending toward her, with eyes full
of gratitude and tenderness.
Then the other woman took her by the shoulders, and plunged her great
gray orbs into Bella's.
They kissed each other.
At that contact the stranger seemed to change her character all in a
moment. She strained Bella to her bosom and kissed her passionately,
and sobbed out, wildly, “O God! you are good to sinners. This is the
happiest hour of my life--it is a forerunner. Bless you, sweet dove of
innocence! You will be none the worse, and I am all the better--Ah!
Sir Charles. Not one word about me to him.”
And with these words, uttered with sudden energy, she spurred her great
horse, leaped the ditch, and burst through the dead hedge into the
wood, and winded out of sight among the trees.
Sir Charles came up astonished. “Why, who was that?”
Bella's eyes began to rove, as I have before described; but she replied
pretty promptly, “The brave lady herself; she brought me the anonymous
letter for your defense.”
“Why, how came she to know about it?”
“She did not tell me that. She was in a great hurry. Her fiance was
waiting for her.”
“Was it necessary to kiss her in the hunting-field?” said Sir Charles,
with something very like a frown.
“I'd kiss the whole field, grooms and all, if they did you a great
service, as that dear lady has,” said Bella. The words were brave, but
the accent piteous.
“You are excited, Bella. You had better ride home,” said Sir Charles,
gently enough, but moodily.
“Thank you, Charles,” said Bella, glad to escape further examination
about this mysterious lady. She rode home accordingly. There she found
Mr. Oldfield, and showed him the anonymous letter.
He read it, and said it was a defense, but a disagreeable one. “Suppose
he says he wrote it, and the facts were true?”
“But I don't think he will confess it. He is not a gentleman. He is
very untruthful. Can we not make this a trap to catch him, sir? _He_
has no scruples.”
Oldfield looked at her in some surprise at her depth.
“We must get hold of his handwriting,” said he. “We must ransack the
local banks; find his correspondents.”
“Leave all that to me,” said Lady Bassett, in a low voice.
Mr. Oldfield thought he might as well please a beautiful and loving
woman, if he could; so he gave her something to do for her husband.
“Very well; collect all the materials of comparison you can--letters,
receipts, etc. Meantime I will retain the two principal experts in
London, and we will submit your materials to them the night before the
trial.”
Lady Bassett, thus instructed, drove to all the banks, but found no
clerk acquainted with Mr. Bassett's handwriting. He did not bank with
anybody in the county.
She called on several persons she thought likely to possess letters or
other writings of Richard Bassett. Not a scrap.
Then she began to fear. The case looked desperate.
Then she began to think. And she thought very hard indeed, especially
at night.
In the dead of night she had an idea. She got up, and stole from her
husband's side, and studied the anonymous letter.
Next day she sat down with the anonymous letter on her desk, and
blushed, and trembled, and looked about like some wild animal scared.
She selected from the anonymous letter several words--“character,
abused, Sir, Charles, Bassett, lady, abandoned, friend, whether, ten,
slanderer” etc.--and wrote them on a slip of paper. Then she locked up
the anonymous letter. Then she locked the door. Then she sat down to a
sheet of paper, and, after some more wild and furtive glances all
around, she gave her whole mind to writing a letter.
And to whom did she write, think you?
To Richard Bassett.
CHAPTER XI.
“MR. BASSETT--I am sure both yourself and my husband will suffer in
public estimation, unless some friend comes between you, and this
unhappy lawsuit is given up.
“Do not think me blind nor presumptuous; Sir Charles, when he wrote
that letter, had reason to believe you had done him a deep injury by
unfair means. Many will share that opinion if this cause is tried. You
are his cousin, and his heir at law. I dread to see an unhappy feud
inflamed by a public trial. Is there no personal sacrifice by which I
can compensate the affront you have received, without compromising Sir
Charles Bassett's veracity, who is the soul of honor?
“I am, yours obediently,
“BELLA BASSETT.”
She posted this letter, and Richard Bassett had no sooner received it
than he mounted his horse and rode to Wheeler's with it.
That worthy's eyes sparkled. “Capital!” said he. “We must draw her on,
and write an answer that will read well in court.”
He concocted an epistle just the opposite of what Richard Bassett, left
to himself, would have written. Bassett copied, and sent it as his own.
“LADY BASSETT--I thank you for writing to me at this moment, when I am
weighed down by slander. Your own character stands so high that you
would not deign to write to me if you believed the abuse that has been