_ VOLUME THE THIRD
CHAPTER VIII
That knowing French minister, Louvois, whose power is said to have been maintained by his surpassing skill in collecting and spreading secret and swift intelligence, had in his pay various classes of unsuspected agents, dancing-masters, fencing-masters, language-masters, milliners, hairdressers and barbers--dentists, he would have added, had he lived to our times; and not all Paris could have furnished him with a person better suited to his purpose than the most fashionable London dentist of the day, St. Leger Swift. Never did Frenchman exceed him in volubility of utterance, or in gesture significant, supplying all that words might fear or fail to tell; never was he surpassed by prattling barber or privileged hunchback in ancient or modern story, Arabian or Persian; but he was not a malicious, only a coxcomb scandal-monger, triumphing in his
scavoir dire. St. Leger Swift was known to everybody--knew everybody in London that was to be or was not to be known, every creature dead or alive that ever had been, or was about to be celebrated, fashionable, or rich, or clever, or notorious,
roue or murderer, about to be married or about to be hanged--for that last class of persons enjoys in our days a strange kind of heroic celebrity, of which Voltaire might well have been jealous. St, Leger was, of course, hand and glove with all the royal family; every illustrious personage--every most illustrious personage--had in turn sat in his chair; he had had all their heads, in their turns, in his hands, and he had capital anecdotes and sayings of each, with which he charmed away the sense of pain in loyal subjects. But with scandal for the fair was he specially provided. Never did man or woman skim the surface tittle-tattle of society, or dive better, breathless, into family mysteries; none, with more careless air, could at the same time talk and listen--extract your news and give you his
on dit, or tell the secret which you first reveal. There was in him and about him such an air of reckless, cordial coxcombry, it warmed the coldest, threw the most cautious off their guard, brought out family secrets as if he had been one of your family--your secret purpose as though lie had been a secular father confessor; as safe every thing told to St. Leger Swift, he would swear to you, as if known only to yourself: he would swear, and you would believe, unless peculiarly constituted, as was the lady who, this morning, took her seat in his chair--
Miss Clarendon. She was accompanied by her aunt, Mrs. Pennant.
"Ha! old lady and young lady, fresh from the country. Both, I see, persons of family--of condition," said St. Leger to himself. On that point his practised eye could not mistake, even at first glance; and accordingly it was really doing himself a pleasure, and these ladies, as he conceived it, a pleasure, a service, and an honour, to put them, immediately on their arrival in town,
au courant du jour. Whether to pull or not to pull a tooth that had offended, was the professional question before him.
Miss Clarendon threw back her head, and opened her mouth.
"Fine teeth, fine! Nothing to complain of here surely," said St. Leger. "As fine a show of ivory as ever I beheld. 'Pon my reputation, I know many a fine lady who would give--all but her eyes for such a set."
"I must have this tooth out," said Miss Clarendon, pointing to the offender.
"I see; certainly, ma'am, as you say."
"I hope, sir, you don't think it necessary," said her tender-hearted aunt: "if it could be any way avoided----"
"By all means, madam, as you say. We must do nothing without consideration."
"I have considered, my dear aunt," said Miss Clarendon. "I have not slept these three nights.
"But you do not consider that you caught cold getting up one night for me; and it may be only an accidental cold, my dear Esther. I should be so sorry if you were to lose a tooth. Don't be in a hurry; once gone, you cannot get it back again."
"Never was a truer, wiser word spoken, madam," said St. Leger, swiftly whisking himself round, and as if looking for some essential implement. "May be a mere twinge, accidental cold, rheumatism; or may be----My dear madam" (to the aunt), "I will trouble you; let me pass. I beg pardon--one word with you," and with his back to the patient in the chair, while he rumaged among ivory-handled instruments on the table, he went on in a low voice to the aunt--"Is she nervous? is she nervous, eh, eh, eh?"
Mrs. Pennant looked, but did not hear, for she was a little deaf.
"Yes, yes, yes; I see how it is. A word to the wise," replied he, with a nod of intelligence. "Every lady's nervous now-a-days, more or less. Where the deuce did I put this thing? Yes, yes--nerves;--all the same to me; know how to manage. Make it a principle--professional, to begin always by talking away nerves. You shall see, you shall see, my dearest madam; you shall soon see--you shall hear, you shall hear how I'll talk this young lady--your niece--out of her nerves fairly. Beg pardon, Miss----, one instant. I am searching for--where have I put it?"
"I beg your pardon, sir: I am a little deaf," said Mrs. Pennant.
"Deaf--hey? Ha! a little deaf. So everybody is now-a-days; even the most illustrious personages, more or less. Death and deafness common to all--
mors omnibus. I have it. Now, my dear young lady, let us have another look and touch at these beautiful teeth. Your head will do very--vastly well, my dear ma'am--Miss----um, um, um!" hoping the name would be supplied. But that Miss Clarendon did not tell.
So raising his voice to the aunt as he went on looking, or seeming to look, at the niece's tooth, he continued rapidly--"From Wales you are, ma'am? a beautiful country Wales, ma'am. Very near being born there myself, like, ha, ha, ha! that Prince of Wales--first Prince--Caernarvon Castle--you know the historical anecdote. Never saw finer teeth, upon my reputation. Are you ladies, may I ask, for I've friends in both divisions--are you North or South Wales, eh, eh?"
"South, sir. Llansillen."
"Ay, South. The most picturesque certainly. Llansillen, Llansillen; know it; know everybody ten miles round. Respectable people--all--very; most respectable people come up from Wales continually. Some of our best blood from Wales, as a great personage observed lately to me,--Thick, thick! not thicker blood than the Welsh. His late Majesty,
a-propos, was pleased to say to me once--"
"But," interrupted Miss Clarendon, "what do you say to my tooth?"
"Sound as a roach, my dear ma'am; I will insure it for a thousand pounds."
"But that, the tooth you touch, is not the tooth I mean: pray look at this, sir?"
"Excuse me, my dear madam, a little in my light," said he to the aunt. "May I beg the favour of your name?"
"Pennant! ah! ah! ah!" with his hands in uplifted admiration--"I thought so--Pennant. I said so to myself, for I know so many Pennants--great family resemblance--Great naturalist of that name--any relation? Oh yes--No--I thought so from the first. Yes--and can assure you, to my private certain knowledge, that man stood high on the pinnacle of favour with a certain royal personage,--for, often sitting in this very chair--
"Keep your mouth open--a little longer--little wider, my good Miss Pennant. Here's a little something for me to do, nothing of any consequence--only touch and go--nothing to be taken away, no, no, must not lose one of these fine teeth. That most illustrious personage said one day to me, sitting in this very chair--'Swift,' said he, 'St. Leger Swift,' familiarly, condescendingly, colloquially--'St. Leger Swift, my good fellow,' said he--
"But positively, my dear Miss--um, um, if you have not patience--you must sit still--pardon me, professionally I must be peremptory. Impossible I could hurt--can't conceive--did not touch--only making a perquisition--inquisition--say what you please, but you are nervous, ma'am; I am only taking a general survey.
"A-propos--general survey--General--a friend of mine, General Clarendon is just come to town. My ears must have played me false, but I thought my man said something like Clarendon when he showed you up."
No answer from Miss Clarendon, who held her mouth open wide, as desired, resolved not to satisfy his curiosity, but to let him blunder on. "Be that as it may, General Clarendon's come to town--fine teeth he has too--and a fine kettle of fish--not very elegant, but expressive still--he and his ward have made, of that marriage announced. Fine young man, though, that Beauclerc--finest young man, almost, I ever saw!"
But here Mr. St. Leger Swift, starting suddenly, withdrawing his hand from Miss Clarendon's mouth, exclaimed,--
"My finger, ma'am! but never mind, never mind, all in the day's work. Casualty--contingencies--no consequence. But as I was saying, Mr. Granville Beauclerc----"
Then poured out, on the encouragement of one look of curiosity from Mrs. Pennant, all the
on dits of Lady Katrine Hawksby, and all her chorus, and all the best authorities; and St. Leger Swift was ready to pledge himself to the truth of every word. He positively knew that the marriage was off, and thought, as everybody did, that the young gentleman was well off too; for besides the young lady's great fortune turning out not a
sous--and here he supplied the half-told tale by a drawn-up ugly face and shrugging gesture.
"Shocking! shocking! all came to an
eclat--esclandre; a scene quite, last night, I am told, at my friend Lady Castlefort's. Sad--sad--so young a lady! But to give you a general idea, love letters to come out in the Memoirs of that fashionable Roue--friend of mine too--fine fellow as ever breathed--only a little--you understand; Colonel D'Aubigny--Poor D'Atibigny, heigho!--only if the book comes out--Miss Stanley--"
Mrs. Pennant looked at her niece in benevolent anxiety; Miss Clarendon was firmly silent; but St. Leger, catching from the expression of both ladies' countenances, that they were interested in the contrary direction to what he had anticipated, turned to the right about, and observed,--
"This may be all scandal, one of the innumerable daily false reports that are always flying about town; scandal all, I have no doubt--Your head a little to the right, if you please--And the publication will be stopped, of course, and the young lady's friends--you are interested for her, I see; so am I--always am for the young and fair, that's my foible; and indeed, confidentially I can inform you--If you could keep your head still, my dear madam."
But Miss Clarendon could bear it no longer; starting from under his hand, she exclaimed, "No more, thank you--no more at present, sir: we can call another day--no more:" and added as she hastily left the room, "Better bear the toothache," and ran down stairs. Mrs. Pennant slipped into the dentist's hand, as he pulled the bell, a double fee; for though she did not quite think he deserved it much, yet she felt it necessary to make amends for her niece's way of running off, which might not be thought quite civil.
"Thank you, ma'am--thank ye, ma'am--not the least occasion--don't say a word about it--Young lady's nervous, said so from the first. Nerves! nerves! all--open the door there--Nerves all," were the last words, at the top of the stairs, St. Leger Swift was heard to say.
And the first words of kind Mrs. Pennant, as soon as she was in the carriage and had drawn up the glass, were, "Do you know, Esther, my dear, I am quite sorry for this poor Miss Stanley. Though I don't know her, yet, as you described her to me, she was such a pretty, young, interesting creature! I am quite sorry."
"I don't believe a word of it," said Miss Clarendon.
"But even to have such things said must be so distressing to her and to her lover, your friend Mr. Beauclerc--so very distressing!"
"I hope they are not such fools as to be distressed about such stuff. All this insufferable talking man's invention, I dare say."
"Why do people tell such things?" said Mrs. Pennant. "But, my dear Esther, even supposing it to be all false, it is shocking to have such things spoken of. I pity the poor young lady and her lover. Do you not think, my dear, we shall be able to inquire into the truth of the matter from your brother this evening? He must know, he ought to know about it: whether the report be true or false, he should hear of it. He can best judge what should be done, if any thing should be done, my dear."
Miss Clarendon quite agreed with all this; indeed she almost always agreed with this aunt of hers, who, perhaps from the peculiar gentleness of her manner, joined to a simplicity and sincerity of character she could never doubt, had an ascendency over her, which no one, at first view, could have imagined. They had many country commissions to execute this morning, which naturally took up a good deal of aunt Pennant's attention. But between each return from shop to carriage, in the intervals between one commission off her hands and another on her mind, she returned regularly to "that poor Miss Stanley, and those love-letters!" and she sighed. Dear kind-hearted old lady! she had always a heart, as well as a hand, open as day to melting charity--charity in the most enlarged sense of the word: charity in judging as well as charity in giving. She was all indulgence for human nature, for youth and love especially.
"We must take care, my dear Esther," said she, "to be at General Clarendon's early, as you will like to have some little time with him to yourself before any one else arrives--shall you not, my dear?"
"Certainly," replied Miss Clarendon; "I shall learn the truth from my brother in five minutes, if Lady Cecilia does not come between us."
"Nay, my dear Esther, I cannot think so ill of Lady Cecilia; I cannot believe--"
"No, my dear aunt, I know you cannot think ill of any body. Stay till you know Lady Cecilia Clarendon as I do. If there is any thing wrong in this business, you will find that some falsehood of hers is at the bottom of it."
"Oh, my dear, do not say so before you know; perhaps, as you thought at first, we shall find that it is all only a mistake of that giddy dentist's; for your brother's sake try to think as well as you can of his wife; she is a charming agreeable creature, I am sure."
"You've only seen her once, my dear aunt," said Miss Clarendon. "For my brother's sake I would give up half her agreeableness for one ounce--for one scruple--of truth."
"Well, well, take it with some grains of allowance, my dear niece; and, at any rate, do not suffer yourself to be so prejudiced as to conceive she can be in fault in this business."
"We shall see to-day," said Miss Clarendon; "I will not he prejudiced; but I remember hearing at Florence that this Colonel D'Aubigny had been an admirer of Lady Cecilia's. I will get at the truth."
With this determination, and in pursuance of the resolve to be early, they were at General Clarendon's full a quarter of an hour before the arrival of any other company; but Lady Cecilia entered so immediately after the general, that Miss Clarendon had no time to speak with her brother alone. Determined, however, as she was, to get at the truth, without preface, or even smoothing her way to her object, she rushed into the middle of things at once. "Have you heard any reports about Miss Stanley, brother?"
"Yes."
"And you, Lady Cecilia?"
"Yes."
"What have you heard?"
Lady Cecilia was silent, looked at the general, and left it to him to speak as much or as little as he pleased. She trusted to his laconic mode of answering, which, without departing from truth, defied curiosity. Her trust in him upon the present occasion was, however, a little disturbed by her knowledge of his being at this moment particularly displeased with Helen. But, had she known the depths as well as she knew the surface of his character, her confidence in his caution would have been increased, instead of being diminished by this circumstance: Helen was lost in his esteem, but she was still under his protection; her secrets were not only sacred, but, as far as truth and honour could admit, he would still serve and save her. Impenetrable, therefore, was his look, and brief was his statement to his sister. A rascally bookseller had been about to publish a book, in which were some letters which paragraphs in certain papers had led the public to believe were Miss Stanley's; the publication had been stopped, the offensive chapter suppressed, and the whole impression destroyed."
"But, brother," pursued Miss Clarendon, "were the letters Miss Stanley's, or not? You know I do not ask from idle curiosity, but from regard for Miss Stanley;" and she turned her inquiring eyes full upon Lady Cecilia.
"I believe, my dear Esther," said Lady Cecilia, "I believe we had better say no more; you had better inquire no further."
"That must be a bad case which can bear no inquiry," said Miss Clarendon; "which cannot admit any further question, even from one most disposed to think well of the person concerned--a desperately bad case."
"Bad! no, Esther. It would be cruel of you so to conclude: and falsely it would be--might be; indeed, Esther! my dear Esther!----" Her husband's eyes were upon Lady Cecilia, and she did not dare to justify Helen decidedly; her imploring look and tone, and her confusion, touched the kind aunt, hut did not stop the impenetrable niece.
"Falsely, do you say? Do you say, Lady Cecilia, that it would be to conclude falsely? Perhaps not falsely though, upon the data given to me. The data may be false."
"Data! I do not know what you mean exactly, Esther," said Lady Cecilia, in utter confusion.
"I mean exactly what I say," pursued Miss Clarendon; "that if I reason wrong, and come to a false conclusion, or what you call a cruel conclusion, it is not my fault, but the fault of those who do not plainly tell me the facts."
She looked from Lady Cecilia to her brother, and from her brother to Lady Cecilia. On her brother no effect was produced: calm, unalterable, looked he; as though his face had been turned to stone. Lady Cecilia struggled in vain to be composed. "I wish I could tell you, Esther," said she; "but facts cannot always--all facts--even the most innocent--that is, even with the best intentions--cannot always be all told, even in the defence of one's best friend."
"If this be the best defence you can make for your best friend, I am glad you will never have to defend me, and I am sorry for Helen Stanley."
"Oh, my dear Esther!" said her aunt, with a remonstrating look; for, though she had not distinctly heard all that was said, she saw that things were going wrong, and that Esther was making them worse. "Indeed, Esther, my dear, we had better let this matter rest."
"Let this matter rest!" repeated Miss Clarendon; "that is not what you would say, my dear aunt, if you were to hear any evil report of me. If any suspicion fell like a blast on my character you would never say 'let it rest.'"
Fire lighted in her brother's eyes, and the stone face was all animated, and he looked sudden sympathy, and he cried, "You are right, sister, in principle, but wrong in--fact."
"Set me right where only I am wrong then," cried she.
He turned to stone again, and her aunt in a low voice, said, "Not now."
"Now or never," said the sturdy champion; "it is for Miss Stanley's character. You are interested for her, are not you, aunt?" "Certainly, I am indeed; but we do not know all the circumstances--we cannot--"
"But we must. You do not know, brother, how public these reports are. Mr. St. Leger Swift, the dentist, has been chattering to us all morning about them. So, to go to the bottom of the business at once, will you, Lady Cecilia, answer me one straight-forward question?"
Straight-forward question! what is coming? thought Lady Cecilia: her face flushed, and taking up a hand-screen, she turned away, as if from the scorching fire; but it was not a scorching fire, as everybody, or at least as Miss Clarendon, could see. The face turned away from Miss Clarendon was full in view of aunt Pennant, who was on her other side; and she, seeing the distressed state of the countenance, pitied, and gently laying her hand upon Lady Cecilia's arm, said, in her soft low voice, "This must be a very painful subject to you, Lady Cecilia. I am sorry for you."
"Thank you," said Lady Cecilia, pressing her hand with quick gratitude for her sympathy. "It is indeed to me a painful subject, for Helen has been my friend from childhood, and I have so much reason for loving her!"
Many contending emotions struggled in Cecilia's countenance, and she could say no more: but what she had said, what she had looked, had been quite enough to interest tenderly in her favour that kind heart to which it was addressed; and Cecilia's feeling was true at the instant; she forgot all but Helen; the screen was laid down; tears stood in her eyes--those beautiful eyes! "If I could but tell you the whole--oh if I could! without destroying----"
Miss Clarendon at this moment placed herself close opposite to Cecilia, and, speaking so low that neither her brother nor her aunt could hear her, said, "Without destroying yourself, or your friend--which?"
Lady Cecilia could not speak.
"You need not--I am answered," said Miss Clarendon; and returning to her place, she remained silent for some minutes.
The general rang, and inquired if Mr. Beauclerc had come in.
"No."
The general made no observation and then began some indifferent conversation with Mrs. Pennant, in which Lady Cecilia forced herself to join; she dreaded even Miss Clarendon's silence--that grim repose,--and well she might.
"D'Aubigny's Memoirs, I think, was the title of the book, aunt, that the dentist talked of? That is the book you burnt, is not it, brother?--a chapter in that book?"
"Yes," said the general.
And again Miss Clarendon was silent; for though she well recollected what she had heard at Florence, and however strong were her suspicions, she might well pause; for she loved her brother before every thing but truth and justice,--she loved her brother too much to disturb his confidence. "I have no proof," thought she; "I might destroy his happiness by another word, and I may be wrong."
"But shall not we see Miss Stanley?" said Mrs. Pennant.
Lady Cecilia was forced to explain that Helen was not very well, would not appear till after dinner--nothing very much the matter--a little faintish.
"Fainted," said the general.
"Yes, quite worn out--she was at Lady Castlefort's last night--such a crowd!" She went on to describe its city horrors.
"But where is Mr. Beauclerc all this time?" said Miss Clarendon: "has he fainted too? or is he faintish?"
"Not likely," said Lady Cecilia; "faint heart never won fair lady. He is not of the faintish sort."
At this moment a thundering knock at the door announced the rest of the company, and never was company more welcome. But Beauclerc did not appear. Before dinner was served, however, a note came from him to the general. Lady Cecilia stretched out her hand for it, and read,
"MY DEAR FRIENDS,--I am obliged to dine out of town. I shall not return to-night, but you will see me at breakfast-time to-morrow. Yours ever, GRANVILLE BEAUCLERC."
Cockburn now entered with a beautiful bouquet of hot-house flowers, which, he said, Mr. Beauclerc's man had brought with the note, and which were, he said, for Miss Stanley. Lady Cecilia's countenance grew radiant with joy, and she exclaimed, "Give them to me,--I must have the pleasure of taking them to her myself."
And she flew off with them. Aunt Pennant smiled on her as she passed, and, turning to her niece as Lady Cecilia left the room, said, "What a bright creature! so warm, so affectionate!" Miss Clarendon was indeed struck with the indisputably natural sincere satisfaction and affection in Cecilia's countenance; and, herself of such a different nature, could not comprehend the possibility of such contradiction in any character: she could not imagine the existence of such variable, transitory feelings--she could not believe any human being capable of sacrificing her friend to save herself, while she still so loved her victim, could still feel such generous sympathy for her. She determined at least to suspend her judgment; she granted Lady Cecilia a reprieve from her terrific questions and her as terrific looks. Cecilia recovered her presence of mind, and dinner went off delightfully, to her at least, with the sense of escape in recovered self-possession, and "spirits light, to every joy in tune."
From the good-breeding of the company there was no danger that the topic she dreaded should be touched upon. Whatever reports might have gone forth, whatever any one present might have heard, nothing would assuredly be said of her friend Miss Stanley, to her, or before her, unless she or the general introduced the subject; and she was still more secure of his discretion than of her own. The conversation kept safe on London-dinner generalities and frivolities. Yet often things that were undesignedly said touched upon the
taboo'd matter; and those who knew when, where, and how it touched, looked at or from one another, and almost equally dangerous was either way of looking. Such perfect neutrality of expression is not given to all men in these emergencies as to General Clarendon.
The dessert over, out of the dinner-room and in the drawing-room, the ladies alone together, things were not so pleasant to Lady Cecilia. Curiosity peeped out more and more in great concern about Miss Stanley's health; and when ladies trifled over their coffee, and saw through all things with their half-shut eyes, they asked, and Lady Cecilia answered, and parried, and explained, and her conscience winced, and her countenance braved, and Miss Clarendon listened with that dreadfully good memory, that positive point-blank recollection, which permits not the slightest variation of statement. Her doubts and her suspicions returned, but she was silent; and sternly silent she remained the rest of the evening. _