Paul Clifford — Complete
adorer. And it was not till he found himself able to eat three good
dinners consecutively, with a tolerable appetite, that Mauleverer
recollected that he was violently in love. As soon as this idea was
fully reinstated in his memory, and he had been permitted by his doctor
to allow himself “a little cheerful society,” Mauleverer resolved to go
to the rooms for an hour or two.
It may be observed that most great personages have some favourite place,
some cherished Baiae, at which they love to throw off their state, and
to play the amiable instead of the splendid; and Bath at that time,
from its gayety, its ease, the variety of character to be found in
its haunts, and the obliging manner in which such characters exposed
themselves to ridicule, was exactly the place calculated to please a man
like Mauleverer, who loved at once to be admired and to satirize. He was
therefore an idolized person at the city of Bladud; and as he entered
the rooms he was surrounded by a whole band of imitators and sycophants,
delighted to find his lordship looking so much better and declaring
himself so convalescent. As soon as the earl had bowed and smiled,
and shaken hands sufficiently to sustain his reputation, he sauntered
towards the dancers in search of Lucy. He found her not only exactly in
the same spot in which he had last beheld her, but dancing with exactly
the same partner who had before provoked all the gallant nobleman's
jealousy and wrath. Mauleverer, though not by any means addicted to
preparing his compliments beforehand, had just been conning a delicate
speech for Lucy; but no sooner did the person of her partner flash on
him than the whole flattery vanished at once from his recollection.
He felt himself grow pale; and when Lucy turned, and seeing him near,
addressed him in the anxious and soft tone which she thought due to her
uncle's friend on his recovery, Mauleverer bowed, confused and silent;
and that green-eyed passion, which would have convulsed the mind of
a true lover, altering a little the course of its fury, effectually
disturbed the manner of the courtier.
Retreating to an obscure part of the room, where he could see all
without being conspicuous, Mauleverer now employed himself in watching
the motions and looks of the young pair. He was naturally a penetrating
and quick observer, and in this instance jealousy sharpened his
talents; he saw enough to convince him that Lucy was already attached to
Clifford; and being, by that conviction, fully persuaded that Lucy was
necessary to his own happiness, he resolved to lose not a moment in
banishing Captain Clifford from her presence, or at least in instituting
such inquiries into that gentleman's relatives, rank, and respectability
as would, he hoped, render such banishment a necessary consequence of
the research.
Fraught with this determination, Mauleverer repaired at once to the
retreat of the squire, and engaging him in conversation, bluntly asked
him who the deuce Miss Brandon was dancing with.
The squire, a little piqued at this brusquerie, replied by a long
eulogium on Paul; and Mauleverer, after hearing it throughout with the
blandest smile imaginable, told the squire, very politely, that he was
sure Mr. Brandon's good-nature had misled him. “Clifford!” said he,
repeating the name,--“Clifford! It is one of those names which are
particularly selected by persons nobody knows,--first, because the name
is good, and secondly, because it is common. My long and dear friendship
with your brother makes me feel peculiarly anxious on any point relative
to his niece; and, indeed, my dear William, overrating, perhaps, my
knowledge of the world and my influence in society, but not my affection
for him, besought me to assume the liberty of esteeming myself a friend,
nay, even a relation of yours and Miss Brandon's; so that I trust you do
not consider my caution impertinent.”
The flattered squire assured him that he was particularly honoured, so
far from deeming his lordship (which never could be the case with people
so distinguished as his lordship was, especially!) impertinent.
Lord Mauleverer, encouraged by this speech, artfully renewed, and
succeeded, if not in convincing the squire that the handsome captain was
a suspicious character, at least in persuading him that common prudence
required that he should find out exactly who the handsome captain was,
especially as he was in the habit of dining with the squire thrice a
week, and dancing with Lucy every night.
“See,” said Mauleverer, “he approaches you now; I will retreat to the
chair by the fireplace, and you shall cross-examine him,--I have no
doubt you will do it with the utmost delicacy.”
So saying, Mauleverer took possession of a seat where he was not
absolutely beyond hearing (slightly deaf as he was) of the ensuing
colloquy, though the position of his seat screened him from sight.
Mauleverer was esteemed a man of the most punctilious honour in private
life, and he would not have been seen in the act of listening to other
people's conversation for the world.
Hemming with an air and resettling himself as Clifford approached, the
squire thus skilfully commenced the attack “Ah, ha! my good Captain
Clifford, and how do you do? I saw you (and I am very glad, my friend,
as every one else is, to see you) at a distance. And where have you left
my daughter?”
“Miss Brandon is dancing with Mr. Muskwell, sir,” answered Clifford.
“Oh! she is! Mr. Muskwell,--humph! Good family the Muskwells,--came from
Primrose Hall. Pray, Captain, not that I want to know for my own sake,
for I am a strange, odd person, I believe, and I am thoroughly convinced
(some people are censorious, and others, thank God, are not!) of your
respectability,--what family do you come from? You won't think my--my
caution impertinent?” added the shrewd old gentleman, borrowing that
phrase which he thought so friendly in the mouth of Lord Mauleverer.
Clifford coloured for a moment, but replied with a quiet archness of
look, “Family! oh, my dear sir, I come from an old family,--a very old
family indeed.”
“So I always thought; and in what part of the world?”
“Scotland, sir,--all our family come from Scotland; namely, all who live
long do,--the rest die young.”
“Ay, particular air does agree with particular constitutions. I, for
instance, could not live in all countries; not--you take me--in the
North!”
“Few honest men can live there,” said Clifford, dryly.
“And,” resumed the squire, a little embarrassed by the nature of his
task, and the cool assurance of his young friend,--“and pray, Captain
Clifford, what regiment do you belong to?”
“Regiment?--oh, the Rifles!” answered Clifford. (“Deuce is in me,”
muttered he, “if I can resist a jest, though I break my neck over it.”)
“A very gallant body of men,” said the squire.
“No doubt of that, sir!” rejoined Clifford.
“And do you think, Captain Clifford,” renewed the squire, “that it is a
good corps for getting on?”
“It is rather a bad one for getting off,” muttered the Captain; and then
aloud, “Why, we have not much interest at court, sir.”
“Oh! but then there is a wider scope, as my brother the lawyer says--and
no man knows better--for merit. I dare say you have seen many a man
elevated from the ranks?”
“Nothing more common, sir, than such elevation; and so great is the
virtue of our corps, that I have also known not a few willing to
transfer the honour to their comrades.”
“You don't say so!” exclaimed the squire, opening his eyes at such
disinterested magnanimity.
“But,” said Clifford, who began to believe he might carry the equivoke
too far, and who thought, despite of his jesting, that it was possible
to strike out a more agreeable vein of conversation--“but, sir, if you
remember, you have not yet finished that youthful hunting adventure of
yours, when the hounds were lost at Burnham Copse.”
“Oh, very true,” cried the squire, quite forgetting his late suspicions;
and forthwith he began a story that promised to be as long as the
chase it recorded. So charmed was he, when he had finished it, with the
character of the gentleman who had listened to it so delightedly, that
on rejoining Mauleverer, he told the earl, with an important air,
that he had strictly examined the young captain, and that he had fully
convinced himself of the excellence of his family, as well as the
rectitude of his morals. Mauleverer listened with a countenance of
polite incredulity; he had heard but little of the conversation that had
taken place between the pair; but on questioning the squire upon sundry
particulars of Clifford's birth, parentage, and property, he found him
exactly as ignorant as before. The courtier, however, seeing further
expostulation was in vain, contented himself with patting the squire's
shoulder, and saying, with a mysterious urbanity, “Ah, sir, you are too
good!”
With these words he turned on his heel, and, not yet despairing, sought
the daughter. He found Miss Brandon just released from dancing, and
with a kind of paternal gallantry, he offered his arm to parade the
apartments. After some preliminary flourish, and reference for the
thousandth time to his friendship for William Brandon, the earl spoke
to her about that “fine-looking young man who called himself Captain
Clifford.”
Unfortunately for Mauleverer, he grew a little too unguarded, as
his resentment against the interference of Clifford warmed with his
language, and he dropped in his anger one or two words of caution, which
especially offended the delicacy of Miss Brandon.
“Take care how I encourage, my lord!” said Lucy, with glowing cheeks,
repeating the words which had so affronted her, “I really must beg
you--”
“You mean, dear Miss Brandon,” interrupted Mauleverer, squeezing her
hand with respectful tenderness, “that you must beg me to apologize
for my inadvertent expression. I do most sincerely. If I had felt less
interest in your happiness, believe me, I should have been more guarded
in my language.”
Miss Brandon bowed stiffly, and the courtier saw, with secret rage, that
the country beauty was not easily appeased, even by an apology from Lord
Mauleverer. “I have seen the time,” thought he, “when young unmarried
ladies would have deemed an affront from me an honour! They would have
gone into hysterics at an apology!” Before he had time to make his
peace, the squire joined them; and Lucy, taking her father's arm,
expressed her wish to return home. The squire was delighted at the
proposition. It would have been but civil in Mauleverer to offer his
assistance in those little attentions preparatory to female departure
from balls. He hesitated for a moment. “It keeps one so long in those
cursed thorough draughts,” thought he, shivering. “Besides, it is just
possible that I may not marry her, and it is no good risking a cold
(above all, at the beginning of winter) for nothing!” Fraught with this
prudential policy, Mauleverer then resigned Lucy to her father, and
murmuring in her ear that “her displeasure made him the most wretched of
men,” concluded his adieu by a bow penitentially graceful.
About five minutes afterwards, he himself withdrew. As he was wrapping
his corporeal treasure in his roquelaire of sables, previous to
immersing himself in his chair, he had the mortification of seeing Lucy,
who with her father, from some cause or other, had been delayed in the
hall, handed to the carriage by Captain Clifford. Had the earl watched
more narrowly than in the anxious cares due to himself he was enabled
to do, he would, to his consolation, have noted that Lucy gave her hand
with an averted and cool air, and that Clifford's expressive features
bore rather the aspect of mortification than triumph.
He did not, however, see more than the action; and as he was borne