Kitabı oku: «Secresy; or, Ruin on the Rock», sayfa 20

LETTER XXI
FROM CAROLINE ASHBURN TO SIBELLA VALMONT

(Inclosed in the preceding.)

Your Caroline Ashburn, My Sibella, your own Caroline, who loves you with her whole heart, sends Murden to your relief. Need I add a stronger recommendation? Ah, no! Thus commissioned, you will instantly assure yourself he is benevolent, noble, just, and has not one fault in his nature, that counteracts the propriety of choosing him for your protector.

I have lately been in the castle, Sibella. I have seen your cruel uncle, your insensible aunt: but she for whose sake I encountered them was secluded from my view. I know every particular of your situation. Yes, my love, every particular. – There, you have endured enough. Come away! Follow the footsteps of your guide! They will conduct you to liberty. Happiness may overtake us by and by.

My own hand should lead you to the dreary hermit's cell – My smiles should cheer you – for Murden is not apt now to smile, yet, believe me, his heart will rejoice in your deliverance, though his eye may talk of nothing but woe – But I dare not come. Your uncle has spied. Were he to find me in the neighbourhood, he would suspect a plan to relieve you; and by some new manoeuvre counteract it. We have but this one means in our power, for your uncle is irreconcileable.

When Murden gives you this letter, commit yourself wholly to his direction. He will bring you, my Sibella, with all convenient dispatch to a little village called Croom, fifteen miles from your uncle's castle. There your Caroline's arms will receive you; and my affection tells me we shall never again be separated. A short farewel, Sibella.

CAROLINE ASHBURN

LETTER XXII
FROM GEORGE VALMONT TO CLEMENT MONTGOMERY

Sir,

On the very day I received your answer to my last letter, I discovered a circumstance which rendered that answer quite unnecessary, except to prove that you are not only a villain but a cowardly villain.

I should have given to myself the satisfaction of telling you thus much before, but I delayed for two reasons; the first, till I had completely banished every struggling effort of the affection I once had for you, almost the only affection I ever had in my life; and the second, perhaps a very consoling one to you, until I had executed the deed which comes herewith, by which under certain annexed conditions you are entitled to the possession of 200l. for life. However you may be obliged by the action, you have but little obligation to the motive. – I hate and detest you cordially; but I would not, for my honour's sake, give up to absolute beggary, my own – my only son.

Yes, sir, my son. Not legitimate, I confess, but natural in the strongest acceptance of the term. I cared not ten straws for your mother; yet, from your birth, I felt a strange propensity to love you. I schemed and planned for your advantage. For your sake alone, I contrived a project by which all the united wealth of the Valmont house would have been showered on your head. I intended, mark me, sir, I determined you should marry my niece, and take my name, burying the disgrace of your birth in the nobleness of my possessions. And, as I abhorred that a man who bore my name should abandon himself to the love of society, I sent you into the world as poor and adopted, that you might experience its disappointments and know how to value your proper happiness. – Amply have you rewarded my extreme love and constant labour!

I patiently undergo this statement, because I would have you see exactly where you might have stood, and where you stand now. – The conditions of your present independence are, that you never come into my presence: If you once intrude by letter or otherwise I wipe away the allowance and every trace of consideration for you: Also, the instant you form any species of intercourse with Miss Valmont, the deed is cancelled. Even this paltry sum, as it is mine shall not help to support infamy, ingratitude, and treachery. – Make the comparison, Sir, between 200l. and 18,000l. per annum! – Ha! does it gall you? – So may it ever! May rest fly from your pillow and contentment from your heart; and men you will know what I have experienced, since I discovered the indelible stain you have fixed on my family.

My equally worthless niece, perhaps, may, when she is her own mistress, be inclined to reward your conduct with her hand; for, if I may judge by her reception of your letter when I gave it her, she is not more the fool of inclination than of credulity. – Remember, she never possesses one penny of mine.

If you really have any friend of the name of Murden, pray offer him my very sincere thanks. But for his timely interference, I might have given you a part of your intended inheritance before I discovered your scoundrel-like conduct.

In the moment of acknowledging you my son, I renounce you for ever. I cast you from my affection and memory. And, should you henceforth think of me, know that you have an inveterate implacable enemy, in your father,

G. VALMONT

LETTER XXIII
FROM ARTHUR MURDEN TO CAROLINE ASHBURN

Madam,

I date my letter from the farm. Richardson is my confidant. He has a sincere generous mind. I stood before him confessed in all my folly. He will give me his utmost aid.

Do not again call me inexorable, dear Miss Ashburn. I have yielded greatly indeed to you. I consulted a physician at Barlowe-Hall. As we are so speedily to meet, it would be useless to conceal from you that, wherever it had its beginning, the disorder is not now confined to my mind. Youth, the physician said, was in my favour. The continent might do me service. He ordered some medicine; regulated my diet; and, when I told him of my leaving the Hall immediately, he shook my hand: – Conviction speaking from his countenance, that it was his last salute to me.

A few restorative medicines furnished me with strength to reach the farm. – Here my purpose nerves me. – But why do you bid me fortify my heart? Oh, my dear madam, it has been long since fortified! From the fatal night when she gave herself to the arms of Clement, my heart became callous, impenetrable to the dart of any new calamity.

And sometimes too I smile, Miss Ashburn. It is amazing into what familiar habits of intimacy I and the misery that abides with me have fallen.

Fear me not, madam. – In this enterprise, I have all the determination of will – all the vigour of health. – Everything is prepared – last night, accompanied by Richardson, who from his zealous apprehensions for my safety, would not suffer me to go alone, I visited the rock. – No interrupters have been there. The cell, the stone, and the passage are still at our devotion. – Richardson is too honest to make an improper use of the secret of this Ruin; nay, he was the first to remind me, it would be just when our purpose was effected to give Mr. Valmont its description.

Again I repeat, every thing is prepared – I only wait for you to inform me of the nearest connection between her apartments and the armoury. A blunder might be fatal. When you have given me this necessary information, quit London to meet us instantly; for the night succeeding the receipt of your letter Sibella shall bid adieu to her oppressor's dungeon. Direct to Richardson – Stantorfarm, W – .

A. MURDEN

N.B. You blame, with great justice, the little power I possess of detaching myself from the affairs of my heart. – Last time I wrote, it escaped me till my letter was gone, and now I have torn open the seal to tell you that Mademoiselle Laundy is an abandoned woman, Montgomery's mistress in Paris; and, though I have no positive proof, I venture to assert she holds the same station in London. If it suits you to inform Mrs. Ashburn of her companion's principles, on the authority of my name, it is wholly at your service.

LETTER XXIV
FROM JANETTA LAUNDY TO CLEMENT MONTGOMERY

I ought to reproach you; but, dear and irresistible as you are, your image, Montgomery, banishes every thing but sensations of pleasure. What can be the reason of your sudden gloom and distraction? I am sure the loss of your money cannot be all, because you know how easily you may be supplied by Mrs. Ashburn till you have further remittances. Why should you hesitate, when I assure you she would be obliged by your making the demand? Recollect her own words the evening she compelled you to use her pocket-book at the faro table; and, if you will not allow me to urge you on another point, at least be persuaded to spare yourself fruitless anxiety about your losses at play.

Still I fear there is something else; and will you not tell it to Janetta, to your own Janetta, who has sacrificed her peace to you, what it is that thus distresses you? Do you remember how you behaved last night? I was terrified to death at your appearance. I asked if you were ill. You struck your hand on your forehead, and said you were undone. 'Is the beauteous Sibella inconstant?' asked Mrs. Ashburn. – I shall never forget the manner of your answer. You spoke through your shut teeth. 'Damnation, madam! she has ruined me!' Then, whirling round, you caught my hand, and exclaimed, 'Oh Laundy! I am indeed undone!'

How I trembled! – I tremble now to think of it. For God's sake, my dear beloved Montgomery, be careful! The hated, the prying Miss Ashburn was by; and if she never suspected us before, I am sure she does now. You went up to Lady Barlowe and asked her fiercely for her nephew.

'Mr. Murden, Sir,' said Miss Ashburn looking at you with such scorn I could have killed her, 'Mr. Murden, Sir, is at present a sort of wandering knight errant. Sometime within a fortnight you will hear certain tidings of him. He may be in London.'

It seemed as if you came only to ask this question; for you went away soon after; and, though you strove to be gayer, you sighed so deeply I could scarcely contain myself. I wept all night; and now I am writing instead of dressing. How dear to me every employment that has a concern with my charming Montgomery! – I know not what excuse I shall make at dinner for my melancholy appearance; but fears for my own safety are swallowed up in my apprehensions for you.

Luckily, the Dutchess is confined with a cold. – I will visit her to-night; and, on my way, call on you. So prepare to confide all your griefs to the sympathizing bosom of your Janetta.

Miss Ashburn, two hours ago, received a letter which seemed to give her great pleasure; and, while she was reading it, Lord Filmar came in. When she had finished the letter, she turned to him. 'Didn't I hear you speak of some one being ill, my Lord?'

'Oh, yes, madam, I was enquiring whether Montgomery came here last night to seek physicians or a nurse. I called on him yesterday morning and the servant said, his master was very bad, dreadfully bad, too bad to be seen. I sent after dinner, and he was worse. I drove to his lodgings, just now, to make my adieus, before I leave town, and still he was so bad I could not be let in. Yet I met Miss Trevors, who tells me he was of the party here last evening; a little out of spirits, indeed, but quite as handsome as ever.'

'That he is bad, my Lord,' replied Miss Ashburn fixing her eyes on me, I can very well credit. And, ere long, I shall endeavour to point out some persons who have the same infectious disorders.'

Unless you had seen her look, you can't tell half the meaning this conveyed. – After reading her letter again, she told Mrs. Ashburn she was going out of town immediately; and being asked where, she said, that could not be explained till her return. Her chaise is ordered; and I am delighted to think she can't interrupt us when she is away.

Dear, too dear Montgomery, expect at nine, thy ever faithful

JANETTA LAUNDY

LETTER XXV
FROM CAROLINE ASHBURN TO ARTHUR MURDEN

The long narrow passage where you met those three men you spoke of connects the tower with the south wing. There you will find a flight of stone stairs, by which she used to descend to the armoury. Those stairs will conduct you into the gallery belonging to Sibella's apartments. Her uncle, fond of magnificence, appropriated to her use solely all the suite of rooms on that floor of the wing. She may be secured by lock and key, but I do not suppose any one is permitted to sleep near her. Of that you must run the hazard.

Do not wonder my lines are uneven, for I actually tremble while I follow you in imagination to that gallery. Were I writing to any one but yourself I should bid you blend boldness and caution. You have done it already.

Ah, my sweet friend, my Sibella! – but I forgot that you are a stranger, my Sibella, to nervous apprehension. – The first word of his errand will bless you!

No, Murden, mere assertion though aided by the authority of your name, will not convince Mrs. Ashburn of her companion's proflicacy. If I cannot fairly and fully detect her practices, I can never remove her. The affair must rest till my return; and then I will try my utmost. I thank you for your information, and I have this morning given Miss Laundy an information that I understand her. A surprising alteration is displayed in Montgomery. Mr. Valmont, I conclude, has begun his discipline. – Explanation is approaching; and do you, my friend, school yourself, before you and he meet, and then you will not cease to befriend him though he may cease to befriend himself.

Adieu! ere this arrives at the farm, I shall be at my station.

CAROLINE ASHBURN

LETTER XXVI
FROM CLEMENT MONTGOMERY TO JANETTA LAUNDY

And is it come to this? You urged the secret from me I would fain have withheld; and now do you also give me up to despair? Oh Janetta! Janetta! have I deserved it of you? What was there in that cruel letter of Mr. Valmont's which should chill the ardour of love? His anger has blasted all the fair promises of my life; but it could not transform me into age or ugliness. Still am I, though wretched and desperate, thy Montgomery; still adoring thy beauty, panting for thy charms.

Forgive me if these reproaches are injurious to your tenderness. If you yet love me, forgive me. Alas! you love me not! You turn from me with an averted eye. You repulse my caresses! You give me up to misery and despair; and the wretched Montgomery dies under your neglect.

Farewel, my Janetta! Oh farewel, farewel, then, to all the blooming pleasures which I gathered with an eager hand! My sentence is without appeal. Mr. Valmont – that a father should be so cruel! dooms me to poverty and disgrace. Can I exist in poverty? No, by heaven! Shall I languish in a sordid dwelling, with there food and covering, and sicken over the remembrance of past enjoyments? Shall I live to crawl along with steps enfeebled by misfortune, and view the splendid equipages of those who were once my associates pass me unheeded? No, I cannot endure it. Some way or other I must end it. All the means of making life desirable are denied me. I blush at my unmerited disgrace. I would hide myself from every eye save your's, Janetta; and, when the fatal tidings are divulged abroad, I shall surely expire with torture.

Yet, be once more kind, my charmer: – if thou hast no kindness for the unfortunate Montgomery, this once, at least affect it. Thou hast known misfortune. Have pity on me! Come and listen to my sighs: let me breathe a sorrowful farewel on thy bosom. I shall not ask this indulgence a second time. I will fly, to bury in solitude the short remnant of a miserable existence. – Then come, and once more bid my heart throb with rapturous sensations! Bid me for a moment forget my doom, remembering only what I have been! – The blissful moment ended, farewel, Janetta! farewel to all!

CLEMENT MONTGOMERY

LETTER XXVII
FROM JANETTA LAUNDY TO CLEMENT MONTGOMERY

It is very strange I should express myself so ill as to have my emotions of sorrow and regret mistaken, by you, for coldness and aversion. It is cruel, Montgomery, thus to accuse your Janetta. Could I but describe the anguish I suffered both on your account and my own, you would pity me. Yes, Montgomery; 'tis I should ask for pity. I, who never till now knew how strong are the ties by which my rival held you. Barbarous as she is, I fear you still love her. She thinks only how she can most effectually work your ruin; while you charge with neglect and unkindness the faithful Janetta, who is labouring to redress your misfortunes.

Montgomery, there is but one way. To talk of dying is absurd. You may feel a temporary languor, the effect of vapour and indigestion; but the bloom and vigour of a constitution like your's is not so easily undermined. Trust me, you will live to a good old age, even with the despicable 200l. per annum your hard hearted father bestows on you. But it is in your power, Montgomery, to live surrounded by riches and splendor, to command the perpetual succession of pleasures which riches and splendor can procure.

Remember the proposal I made you one day, half in earnest half in jest. Think of it. Embrace it. And send Mr. Valmont back his paltry annuity in disdain. You cannot be so blind, so mad as to reject this only means of your happiness. Renounce it, and I shall believe you reserve yourself for my rival, the faithless and barbarous Sibella. Accept it, and all the delights which Janetta's love can bestow are your's for ever.

Why should you hide yourself? That form and face were given for better purposes. Bloom in success and victory! And leave to those who possess not your advantages to mope in dull obscurity! You owe to yourself this triumph over the malice of Mr. Valmont and the cruelty of her who has so wantonly betrayed you to his wrath. Throw off your foibles and your sorrow; and call up those alluring graces of your mien which are so irresistible. Exchange your sighs for smiles; and, aided by the advantages of dress you well know how to choose, come here to dinner. I have contrived that we shall dine alone. Weigh well what I advise and its motives; and then ask yourself, if I deserve to be accused of unkindness – Ask yourself what that love must be which can content itself with secret confessions, and can yield its open triumph to another in order to secure your advantage. Consider these things with attention, dearest Montgomery: and convince me that you deserve all I am willing to do for you by your instant compliance. I cannot, do not, doubt you. Be here by six.

Ever your's, if you wish me to be so,

JANETTA LAUNDY

LETTER XXVIII
FROM GEORGE VALMONT TO CLEMENT MONTGOMERY

Scoundrel,

By means I cannot divine, Sibella has escaped me. I have no doubt you or some of your diabolical agents are concerned in the business. – The deed, Sir, I have burned. – Your draught of it must help to amuse you.

It delights me to think she is not yet nineteen, and that you are pennyless. Beg at my gates if you dare! – The worst of indignities are better than your deservings. – You seal your union under happy auspices. – I give you joy. – Would I could give you destruction!

GEORGE VALMONT

LETTER XXIX
FROM CLEMENT MONTGOMERY TO GEORGE VALMONT

Since, Sir, you have extended my punishment to the utmost, I can incur no heavier penalty by thus intruding myself before you.

I could offer many excuses, Sir, for my first fault; but it is now too late. Only, I must say your harshness and severity drove us to that measure, which, in justice to myself, I must also inform you Miss Valmont proposed, and with which I but reluctantly complied.

But, Sir, your further charge is without foundation. I have neither any concern in, nor any knowledge of Miss Valmont's flight; and, further to prove that I would have obeyed you if I could, I shall refuse to protect her. – Indeed, Sir, your last letter has driven me immediately to ratify an engagement that precludes the possibility of any further intercourse with Miss Valmont.

I remain, Sir,

Your unhappy and repentant son,

CLEMENT MONTGOMERY

LETTER XXX
FROM ARTHUR MURDEN TO CAROLINE ASHBURN

There she is, Madam! – She walks and sighs: – and one little room, a small circumference, contains only Murden and Sibella. When the waiter shut the door and withdrew, I would have given an eye to have detained him. – She knows not I am writing to you; for she would have taken the office on herself, and that would not satisfy me. – It is a relief, madam, to write – tho' any thing upon earth would be preferable to hearing – I mean, seeing her.

Miss Ashburn, till I saw her, I did not understand you. – Well might you warn me!

It will be three hours before we reach you. – I send this letter by a man and horse; because, in knowing that we are safe, you will have at least half an hour of less anxiety.

The place where we are now is only a village, five miles out of the road to Valmont. – Richardson advised me to make this sweep for fear of a pursuit. – He brought us here through cross roads on his own horses. I have sent him back; and the only chaise this little inn maintains is engaged for a two hours airing for some invalid in the village. – Have patience, madam. – Your friend is safe.

Richardson and myself possessed ourselves of the cell at half past nine last night. – Then in our disguises we prowled around the castle till about eleven, and heard the locking of doors, and saw in the upper windows light after light die away as their possessors yielded themselves to rest.

We would not venture too early. I believe it was past two before we left the armoury. – All was hushed. – The stairs! – the gallery! – her apartments! – I seized Richardson by the arm, as he attempted to turn the lock. – It seemed profanation. I feared every thing! – I would have gone back. – Richardson forbade me.

We entered the antichamber. We crossed two others. The door of a third stood open. – In that there was a fire, a candle, and a bed. – The curtains were undrawn; and I caught a glimpse of her face. Instantly, I drew the door so close as only to admit my hand, holding out your letter. – I gasped. – 'Speak for me,' I said to Richardson; 'Say, Miss Ashburn.'

'Rise, dear Miss Valmont,' said he, 'Miss Ashburn sends you this.'

I heard her start from the bed. – 'Who? – What?'

'Miss Ashburn,' repeated Richardson, 'Miss Ashburn, it is a letter from Miss Ashburn.'

She took or rather snatched the letter; and, as I withdrew my hand, she shut the door hastily.

I heard her utter an exclamation – I could hear her too burst into sobs and bless you. – I heard her also name another.

At length she asked, without opening the door, if I was indeed Mr. Murden, and if I could take her from the castle.

'O yes, yes,' said I, 'Come away.'

'Stay,' she replied.

She was dressed in an instant. She opened the door. She came out to us. – 'Ah! what, what is the matter?' cried she, extending her arms as if to save me from falling. – Why were you not more explicit in your letter, Miss Ashburn? – I recoiled from her, from the remembrance of her Clement – and, as I leaned on Richardson's shoulder, I closed my dim eyes, and wished they might never more open upon recollection.

'Shame!' whispered Richardson, 'you are unmanned!'

And so I am, Miss Ashburn. I think too, I should love revenge. I feel a rankling glow of satisfaction, as she walks past my chair, that I have so placed it I cannot look up and behold her.

I recovered strength and courage while my horror remained unabated. – She saw I could hear, and she began to pour forth the effusions of her gratitude upon you and us. – She knew you had been in the castle. Her cruel uncle had informed her of it. – 'And then,' said she, 'I fancied I must die without seeing any one that ever loved me.' – As she spoke, I turned my eyes from her now haggard and jaundiced face to my own, reflected in the mirror by which I was standing. 'Moving corpses!' said I to myself – 'Why encumber ye the fair earth?'

'He showed me a letter too,' added she. 'He said Clement had renounced me. – Ah, Mr. Valmont! deceiving Mr. Valmont!' – and she waved her hand gracefully – 'had you known Sibella's heart as she knows Clement's, you – .'

'Come away!' said I.

'Have you no other preparation to make, madam?' asked Richardson; 'the night is very cold.'

This reminded her of a cloak. – She enquired if she must swim across the moat; and said she was sure she could swim; – for she knew why she had failed before. – I bade Richardson lead her.

I expected to have seen her much more surprised at the strange path through which she had to go. – From the armoury to the cell she never spoke. Her mind was overcharged with swelling emotions. – At times we were obliged to stand still. She even panted for freer respiration. The —

I heard wheels. – I expected our chaise. – It is some travellers who have stopped to bait.

After we had safely crossed the moat, she alternately grasped our hands in a tumult of joy; named you, named me, but talked on the never-failing theme of her Clement.

She rode behind Richardson. – I see she is much worse for the journey; yet her burning eye and vehement spirits would persuade me otherwise.

She kindly ceased her torturing questions concerning Clement, imagining, by my abrupt answers, I was too ill to talk. – She says you will heal me – for you have healed her. – Miss Ashburn, how ardently she loves you!

I find you will receive this letter an hour before we come. – Won't you thank, and praise me? – It is written with a shaking hand, and throbbing temples. I know it would be difficult to keep Sibella from mounting the same horse, if she were informed of the messenger. When we enter the chaise, I will tell her what I have done.

A. MURDEN