Part 45 (1/2)
”That we arrived in time. No wrong hath been done, Frank,” says Colonel Esmond, turning round to young Castlewood, who stood at the door as the talk was going on. ”See! here is a paper whereon his Majesty has deigned to commence some verses in honor, or dishonor, of Beatrix. Here is 'Madame' and 'Flamme,' 'Cruelle' and 'Rebelle,' and 'Amour' and 'Jour'
in the Royal writing and spelling. Had the Gracious lover been happy, he had not pa.s.sed his time in sighing.” In fact, and actually as he was speaking, Esmond cast his eyes down towards the table, and saw a paper on which my young Prince had been scrawling a madrigal, that was to finish his charmer on the morrow.
”Sir,” says the Prince, burning with rage (he had a.s.sumed his Royal coat una.s.sisted by this time), ”did I come here to receive insults?”
”To confer them, may it please your Majesty,” says the Colonel, with a very low bow, ”and the gentlemen of our family are come to thank you.”
”Malediction!” says the young man, tears starting into his eyes with helpless rage and mortification. ”What will you with me, gentlemen?”
”If your Majesty will please to enter the next apartment,” says Esmond, preserving his grave tone, ”I have some papers there which I would gladly submit to you, and by your permission I will lead the way;”
and, taking the taper up, and backing before the Prince with very great ceremony, Mr. Esmond pa.s.sed into the little Chaplain's room, through which we had just entered into the house:--”Please to set a chair for his Majesty, Frank,” says the Colonel to his companion, who wondered almost as much at this scene, and was as much puzzled by it, as the other actor in it. Then going to the crypt over the mantel-piece, the Colonel opened it, and drew thence the papers which so long had lain there.
”Here, may it please your Majesty,” says he, ”is the Patent of Marquis sent over by your Royal Father at St. Germains to Viscount Castlewood, my father: here is the witnessed certificate of my father's marriage to my mother, and of my birth and christening; I was christened of that religion of which your sainted sire gave all through life so s.h.i.+ning example. These are my t.i.tles, dear Frank, and this what I do with them: here go Baptism and Marriage, and here the Marquisate and the August Sign-Manual, with which your predecessor was pleased to honor our race.”
And as Esmond spoke he set the papers burning in the brazier. ”You will please, sir, to remember,” he continued, ”that our family hath ruined itself by fidelity to yours: that my grandfather spent his estate, and gave his blood and his son to die for your service; that my dear lord's grandfather (for lord you are now, Frank, by right and t.i.tle too) died for the same cause; that my poor kinswoman, my father's second wife, after giving away her honor to your wicked perjured race, sent all her wealth to the King; and got in return, that precious t.i.tle that lies in ashes, and this inestimable yard of blue ribbon. I lay this at your feet and stamp upon it: I draw this sword, and break it and deny you; and, had you completed the wrong you designed us, by heaven I would have driven it through your heart, and no more pardoned you than your father pardoned Monmouth. Frank will do the same, won't you, cousin?”
Frank, who had been looking on with a stupid air at the papers, as they flamed in the old brazier, took out his sword and broke it, holding his head down:--”I go with my cousin,” says he, giving Esmond a grasp of the hand. ”Marquis or not, by ---, I stand by him any day. I beg your Majesty's pardon for swearing; that is--that is--I'm for the Elector of Hanover. It's all your Majesty's own fault. The Queen's dead most likely by this time. And you might have been King if you hadn't come dangling after Trix.”
”Thus to lose a crown,” says the young Prince, starting up, and speaking French in his eager way; ”to lose the loveliest woman in the world; to lose the loyalty of such hearts as yours, is not this, my lords, enough of humiliation?--Marquis, if I go on my knees will you pardon me?--No, I can't do that, but I can offer you reparation, that of honor, that of gentlemen. Favor me by crossing the sword with mine: yours is broke--see, yonder in the armoire are two;” and the Prince took them out as eager as a boy, and held them towards Esmond:--”Ah! you will? Merci, monsieur, merci!”
Extremely touched by this immense mark of condescension and repentance for wrong done, Colonel Esmond bowed down so low as almost to kiss the gracious young hand that conferred on him such an honor, and took his guard in silence. The swords were no sooner met, than Castlewood knocked up Esmond's with the blade of his own, which he had broke off short at the sh.e.l.l; and the Colonel falling back a step dropped his point with another very low bow, and declared himself perfectly satisfied.
”Eh bien, Vicomte!” says the young Prince, who was a boy, and a French boy, ”il ne nous reste qu'une chose a faire:” he placed his sword upon the table, and the fingers of his two hands upon his breast:--”We have one more thing to do,” says he; ”you do not divine it?” He stretched out his arms:--”Embra.s.sons nous!”
The talk was scarce over when Beatrix entered the room:--What came she to seek there? She started and turned pale at the sight of her brother and kinsman, drawn swords, broken sword-blades, and papers yet smouldering in the brazier.
”Charming Beatrix,” says the Prince, with a blush which became him very well, ”these lords have come a-horseback from London, where my sister lies in a despaired state, and where her successor makes himself desired. Pardon me for my escapade of last evening. I had been so long a prisoner, that I seized the occasion of a promenade on horseback, and my horse naturally bore me towards you. I found you a Queen in your little court, where you deigned to entertain me. Present my homages to your maids of honor. I sighed as you slept, under the window of your chamber, and then retired to seek rest in my own. It was there that these gentlemen agreeably roused me. Yes, milords, for that is a happy day that makes a Prince acquainted, at whatever cost to his vanity, with such a n.o.ble heart as that of the Marquis of Esmond. Mademoiselle, may we take your coach to town? I saw it in the hangar, and this poor Marquis must be dropping with sleep.”
”Will it please the King to breakfast before he goes?” was all Beatrix could say. The roses had shuddered out of her cheeks; her eyes were glaring; she looked quite old. She came up to Esmond and hissed out a word or two:--”If I did not love you before, cousin,” says she, ”think how I love you now.” If words could stab, no doubt she would have killed Esmond; she looked at him as if she could.
But her keen words gave no wound to Mr. Esmond; his heart was too hard.
As he looked at her, he wondered that he could ever have loved her.