Part 25 (1/2)
”Why, now I think of it, he said that he would call upon me to-morrow, so I can give him this music when he calls.”
At this intelligence Caroline's face brightened up, and she went away.
Mr Selwyn called the next day, and I delivered the music and the note.
He informed me that he had now all his father's private as well as Chancery business, and wished to know whether he was to consider himself my legal adviser. I replied, ”Certainly; but that he could not expect the business of a teacher of music to be very profitable.”
”No, nor do I intend that it shall be, but it will be a great pleasure,”
replied he, very gallantly. ”I hope you have some money to put by.”
”Yes,” replied I, ”I have some, but not quite enough; by the end of the year I hope to have 500 pounds.”
”I am glad that you have told me, as a profitable investment may occur before that time, and I will secure it for you.”
He asked permission to read Caroline's note, and then said that he would find the other piece of music, and leave it at Monsieur Gironac's in the course of a day or two--after which he took his leave. I received that evening a letter from Lionel, which had a great effect upon me. In it, he stated that at the fencing-school he had made acquaintance with a young officer, a Monsieur Auguste de Chatenoeuf,--that he had mentioned to him that he knew a lady of his name in England; that the officer had asked him what the age of the lady might be, and he had replied.
”Strange,” said the officer; ”I had a very dear sister, who was supposed to be drowned, although the body was never found. Can you tell me the baptismal name of the lady you mention?”
”It then occurred to me,” continued Lionel, ”that I might be imprudent if I answered, and I therefore said that I did not know, but I thought you had been called by your friends, Annette.”
”'Then it cannot be she,' replied he, 'for my sister's name was Valerie.
But she may have changed her name--describe to me her face and figure.'
”As I at once felt certain that you were the party, and was aware, that the early portion of your life was never referred to by you, I thought it advisable to put him off the scent, until I had made this communication. I therefore replied, 'That' (excuse me) 'you were very plain, with a pug nose, and very short and fat.'
”'Then it must be somebody else,' replied the officer. 'You made my heart beat when you first spoke about her, for I loved my sister dearly, and have never ceased to lament her loss.'
”He then talked a great deal of you, and gave me some history of your former life. I took the opportunity to ask whether your unnatural mother was alive, and he said, 'Yes, and that your father was also alive and well.'
”I did not dare to ask more. Have I done right or wrong, my dear Mademoiselle Chatenoeuf? If wrong, I can easily repair the error. Your brother, for such I presume he is, I admire very much. He is very different from the officers of the French army in general, quite subdued, and very courteous, and there is a kind spirit in all he says, which makes me like him more. You have no idea of the feeling he showed, when he talked about you--that is, if it is you--which I cannot but feel almost certain that it is. One observation of his, I think it right to make known to you, which is, that he told me that since your supposed death, your father had never held up his head; indeed, he said that he had never seen him smile since.”
The above extract from Lionel's letter created such a revulsion, that I was obliged to retire to my chamber to conceal my agitated feelings from Madame Gironac. I wept bitterly for some time. I thought of what my poor father must have suffered, and the regrets of poor Auguste at my supposed death; and I doubted whether I was justified in the act I had committed, by the treatment I had received from my mother. If she had caused me so much pain, was I right in having given so much to others who loved me? My poor father, he had never smiled since! Should I permit him to wear out his days in sorrowing for my loss--oh, no! I no longer felt any animosity against others who had ill-treated me.
Surely, I could forgive even my mother, if not for love of her, at all events for love of my father and my brother. Yes, I would do so, I was now independent of my mother and all the family. I had nothing to fear from her; I could a.s.sist my family, if they required it.
Such were my first feelings--but then came doubts and fears. Could not my mother claim me? insist upon my living with her? prevent my earning my livelihood? or if I did employ myself, could she not take from me all my earnings? Yes, by the law of France, I thought she could. Then again, would she forgive me the three years of remorse? the three years during which she had been under the stigma of having, by her barbarity, caused her child to commit self-destruction? the three years of reproach which she must have experienced from my father's clouded brow? Would she ever forgive me for having obtained my independence by the very talents which she would not allow me to cultivate? No, never, unless her heart was changed.
After many hours of reflection, I resolved that I would make known my existence to Auguste, and permit him to acquaint my father, under a promise of secrecy, but that I would not trust myself in France, or allow my mother to be aware of my existence, until I could ascertain what her power might be over me. But before I decided upon any thing, I made up my mind that I would make a confidant, and obtain the opinion of Judge Selwyn. By the evening's post I wrote a note to him, requesting that he would let me know when I might have an interview.
An answer arrived the next day, stating, that Judge Selwyn would call and take me down with him to Kew, where I should sleep, and return to town with him on the following morning. This suited me very well, and, as soon as the carriage was off the stones, I said that I was now about to confide to him that portion of my life with which he was unacquainted, and ask his advice how I ought to proceed, in consequence of some intelligence lately communicated by Lionel. I then went into the whole detail, until I arrived at my being taken away from the barracks by Madame d'Albret; the remainder of my life he knew sufficient of, and I then gave him Lionel's letter to read, and when he had done so, I stated to him what my wishes and what my fears were, and begged him to decide for me what was best to be done.
”This is an eventful history, Valerie,” said the old gentleman. ”I agree with you on the propriety of making your existence known to your brother, and also to your father, who has been sufficiently punished for his cowardice. Whether your father will be able to contain his secret, I doubt very much; and from what you have told me of your mother, I should certainly not trust myself in France. I am not very well informed of the laws of the country, but it is my impression that children are there under the control of their parents until they are married. Go to France I therefore would not, unless it were as a married woman: then you will be safe. When does Lionel come over?”
”He will come at any time if I say I wish it.”
”Then let him come over, and invite your brother to come with him, then you can arrange with him. I really wish you were married, Valerie, and I wish also that my son was married; I should like to be a grandfather before I die.”
”With respect to my marrying, sir, I see little chance of that; I dislike the idea, and, in fact, it would be better to be with my mother at once, for I prefer an old tyranny to a new one.”
”It does not follow, my dear Valerie; depend upon it there are many happy marriages. Am I a tyrant in my own house? Does my wife appear to be a slave?”
”There are many happy exceptions, my dear sir,” replied I. ”With respect to your son's marrying, I think you need not despair of that; for it is my opinion that he very soon will be--but this is a secret, and I must say no more.”