Henrietta Temple: A Love Story
who was to restore the house. He looked at the bars of his windows, it
was a dreadful sight. His poor father, his fond mother, he was quite
sure their hearts would break. They never could survive all this misery,
this bitter disappointment of all their chopes. Little less than a year
ago and he was at Bath, and they were all joy and triumph. What a wild
scene had his life been since! O Henrietta! why did we ever meet? That
fatal, fatal morning! The cedar tree rose before him, he recalled, he
remembered everything. And poor Glastonbury--it was a miserable end. He
could not disguise it from himself, he had been most imprudent, he
had been mad. And yet so near happiness, perfect, perfect happiness!
Henrietta might have been his, and they might have been so happy!
This confinement was dreadful; it began to press upon his nerves. No
occupation, not the slightest resource. He took up the Racing Calendar,
he threw it down again. He knew all the caricatures by heart, they
infinitely disgusted him. He walked up and down the room till he was so
tired that he flung himself upon the hard sofa. It was intolerable.
A gaol must be preferable to this. There must be some kind of wretched
amusement in a gaol; but this ignoble, this humiliating solitude, he was
confident he should go mad if he remained here. He rang the bell again.
‘Yes, sir,’ said the little waiter.
‘This place is intolerable to me,’ said Captain Armine. ‘I really am
quite sick of it. What can I do?’
The waiter looked a little perplexed.
‘I should like to go to gaol at once,’ said Ferdinand.
‘Lord! sir!’ said the little waiter.
‘Yes! I cannot bear this,’ he continued; ‘I shall go mad.’
‘Don’t you think your friends will call soon, sir?’
‘I have no friends,’ said Ferdinand. ‘I hope nobody will call.’
‘No friends!’ said the little waiter, who began to think Ferdinand was
not such a nob as he had imagined. ‘Why, if you have no friends, sir, it
would be best to go to the Fleet, I think.’
‘By Jove, I think it would be better.’
‘Master thinks your friends will call, I am sure.’
‘Nobody knows I am here,’ said Ferdinand.
‘Oh!’ said the little waiter, ‘You want to let them know, do you, sir?’
‘Anything sooner; I wish to conceal my disgrace.’
‘O sir! you are not used to it; I dare say you never were nabbed
before?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘There it is; if you will be patient, you will see everything go well.’
‘Never, my good fellow; nothing can go well.’
‘O sir! you are not used to it. A regular nob like you, nabbed for the
first time, and for such a long figure, sir, sure not to be diddled.
Never knowed such a thing yet. Friends sure to stump down, sir.’
‘The greater the claim, the more difficulty in satisfying it, I should
think,’ said Ferdinand.
‘Lord! no, sir: you are not used to it. It is only poor devils nabbed
for their fifties and hundreds that are ever done up. A nob was never
nabbed for the sum you are, sir, and ever went to the wall. Trust my
experience. I never knowed such a thing.’
Ferdinand could scarcely refrain from a smile. Even the conversation of
the little waiter was a relief to him.
‘You see, sir,’ continued that worthy, ‘Morris and Levison would never
have given you such a deuce of a tick unless they knowed your resources.
Trust Morris and Levison for that. You done up, sir! a nob like you,
that Morris and Levison have trusted for such a tick! Lord! sir,
you don’t know nothing about it. I could afford to give them fifteen
shillings in the pound for their debt myself and a good day’s business,
too. Friends will stump down, sir, trust me.’
‘Well, it is some satisfaction for me to know that they will not, and
that Morris and Levison will not get a farthing.’
‘Well, sir,’ said the incredulous little functionary, ‘when I find
Morris and Levison lose two or three thousand pounds by a nob who is
nabbed for the first time, I will pay the money myself, that is all I
know.’
Here the waiter was obliged to leave Ferdinand, but he proved his
confidence in that gentleman’s fortunes by his continual civility, and
in the course of the day brought him a stale newspaper. It seemed to
Ferdinand that the day would never close. The waiter pestered him about
dinner, eulogising the cook, and assuring him that his master was famous
for champagne. Although he had no appetite, Ferdinand ordered dinner in
order to ensure the occurrence of one incident. The champagne made him
drowsy; he was shown to his room; and for a while he forgot his cares in
sleep.
CHAPTER XIX.
_The Crisis Rapidly Advances_.
HENRIETTA TEMPLE began once more to droop. This change was not unnoticed
by her constant companion Lord Montfort, and yet he never permitted her
to be aware of his observation. All that he did was still more to study
her amusement; if possible, to be still more considerate and tender.
Miss Grandison, however, was far less delicate; she omitted no
opportunity of letting Miss Temple know that she thought that Henrietta
was very unwell, and that she was quite convinced Henrietta was thinking
of Ferdinand. Nay! she was not satisfied to confine these intimations to
Miss Temple; she impressed her conviction of Henrietta’s indisposition
on Lord Montfort, and teased him with asking his opinion of the cause.
‘What do you think is the cause, Miss Grandison?’ said his lordship,
very quietly.
‘Perhaps London does not agree with her; but then, when she was ill
before she was in the country; and it seems to me to be the same
illness. I wonder you do not notice it, Lord Montfort. A lover to be so
insensible, I am surprised!’
‘It is useless to notice that which you cannot remedy.’
‘Why do you not call in those who can offer remedies?’ said Miss
Grandison. ‘Why not send for Sir Henry?’
‘I think it best to leave Henrietta alone,’ said Lord Montfort.
‘Do you think it is the mind, then?’ said Miss Grandison.
‘It may be,’ said Lord Montford.
‘It may be! Upon my word, you are very easy.’
‘I am not indifferent, Miss Grandison. There is nothing that I would not
do for Henrietta’s welfare.’
‘Oh! yes, there is; there is something,’ said Miss Grandison, rather
maliciously.
‘You are really an extraordinary person, Miss Grandison,’ said Lord
Montfort. ‘What can you mean by so strange an observation?’
‘I have my meaning; but I suppose I may have a mystery as well as
anybody else.’
‘A mystery, Miss Grandison?’
‘Yes! a mystery, Lord Montfort. There is not a single individual in the
three families who has not a mystery, except myself; but I have found
out something. I feel quite easy now: we are all upon an equality.’
‘You are a strange person.’
‘It may be so; but I am happy, for I have nothing on my mind. Now that
poor Ferdinand has told Sir Ratcliffe we are not going to marry, I have
no part to play. I hate deception; it is almost as bitter as marrying
one who is in love with another person.’
‘That must indeed be bitter. And is that the reason that you do not
marry your cousin?’ enquired Lord Montfort.
‘I may be in love with another person, or I may not,’ said Miss
Grandison. ‘But, however that may be, the moment Ferdinand very candidly
told me he was, we decided not to marry. I think we were wise; do not
you. Lord Montfort?’
‘If you are happy, you were wise,’ said Lord Montfort.
‘Yes, I am pretty happy: as happy as I can well be when all my best
friends are miserable.’
‘Are they?’
‘I think so: my aunt is in tears; my uncle in despair; Ferdinand
meditates suicide; Henrietta is pining away; and you, who are the
philosopher of the society, you look rather grave. I fancy I think we
are a most miserable set.’
‘I wish we could be all happy,’ said Lord Montfort.
‘And so we might, I think,’ said Miss Grandison; ‘at least, some of us.’
‘Make us, then,’ said Lord Montfort.
‘I cannot make you.’
‘I think you could, Miss Grandison.’
At this moment Henrietta entered, and the conversation assumed a
different turn.
‘Will you go with us to Lady Bellair’s, Kate?’ said Miss Temple. ‘The
duchess has asked me to call there this morning.’
Miss Grandison expressed her willingness: the carriage was waiting, and
Lord Montfort offered to attend them. At this moment the servant entered
with a note for Miss Grandison.
‘From Glastonbury,’ she said; ‘dear Henrietta, he wishes to see me
immediately. What can it be? Go to Lady Bellair’s, and call for me on
your return. You must, indeed; and then we can all go out together.’
And so it was arranged. Miss Temple, accompanied by Lord Montfort,
proceeded to Bellair House.
‘Don’t come near me,’ said the old lady when she saw them; ‘don’t come
near me; I am in despair; I do not know what I shall do; I think I shall
sell all my china. Do you know anybody who wants to buy old china? They
shall have it a bargain. But I must have ready money; ready money I must
have. Do not sit down in that chair; it is only made to look at. Oh!
if I were rich, like you! I wonder if my china is worth three hundred
pounds. I could cry my eyes out, that I could. The wicked men; I should
like to tear them to pieces. Why is not he in Parliament? and then they
could not take him up. They never could arrest Charles Fox. I have known
him in as much trouble as anyone. Once he sent all his furniture to my
house from his lodgings. He lodged in Bury-street. I always look at the
house when I pass by. Don’t fiddle the pens; I hate people who fiddle.
Where is Gregory? where is my bell’ Where is the page? Naughty boy! why
do not you come? There, I do not want anything; I do not know what to
do. The wicked men! The greatest favourite I had: he was so charming!
Charming people are never rich; he always looked melancholy. I think I
will send to the rich man I dine with; but I forget his name. Why do not
you tell me his name?’
‘My dear Lady Bellair, what is the matter?’
‘Don’t ask me; don’t speak to me. I tell you I am in despair. Oh! if I
were rich, how I would punish those wicked men!’
‘Can I do anything?’ said Lord Montfort.
‘I do not know what you can do. I have got the tic. I always have the
tic when my friends are in trouble.’
‘Who is in trouble, Lady Bellair?’
‘My dearest friend; the only friend I care about. How can you be so
hard-hearted? I called upon him this morning, and his servant was
crying. I must get him a place; he is such a good man, and loves
his master. Now, do you want a servant? You never want anything. Ask
everybody you know whether they want a servant, an honest man, who loves
his master. There he is crying down stairs, in Gregory’s room. Poor,
good creature! I could cry myself, only it is of no use.’
‘Who is his master?’ said Lord Montfort.
‘Nobody you know; yes! you know him very well. It is my dear, dear
friend; you know him very well. The bailiffs went to his hotel
yesterday, and dragged him out of bed, and took him to prison. Oh! I
shall go quite distracted. I want to sell my china to pay his debts.
Where is Miss Twoshoes?’ continued her ladyship; ‘why don’t you answer?
You do everything to plague me.’
‘Miss Grandison, Lady Bellair?’
‘To be sure; it is her lover.’
‘Captain Armine?’
‘Have I not been telling you all this time? They have taken him to
prison.’
Miss Temple rose and left the room.
‘Poor creature! she is quite shocked. She knows him, too,’ said her
ladyship. ‘I am afraid he is quite ruined. There is a knock. I will make
a subscription for him. I dare say it is my grandson. He is very rich,
and very good-natured.’
‘My dear Lady Bellair,’ said Lord Montfort, rising, ‘favour me by not
saying a word to anybody at present. I will just go in the next room to
Henrietta. She is intimate with the family, and much affected. Now, my
dear lady, I entreat you,’ continued his lordship, ‘do not say a word.