Valerie

“I heard something of that sort, a kind of friendly arrangement, at which Madame Bathurst had good cause to be content. I’m sure I should have been, had I been so fortunate; and now you are residing with Lady R—, may I inquire, without presuming too much, in what capacity you are with Lady R—.”

“I went there as an amanuensis, but I have never written a line. Lady R— is pleased to consider me as a companion, and I must say that she has behaved to me with great kindness and consideration.”

“I have no doubt of it,” replied Lady M—; “but still it appears to me (excuse the liberty I take, or ascribe it to a feeling of good-will), that your position with Lady R— is not quite what those who have an interest in you would wish. Everyone knows how odd she is, to say the least of it, and you may not be perhaps aware, that occasionally her tongue outruns her discretion. In your presence she of course is on her guard, for she is really good-natured, and would not willingly offend anyone or hurt their feelings, but when led away by her desire to shine in company, she is very indiscreet. I have been told that at Mrs W—’s dinner-party the other day, to which you were not invited, on your name being brought up, she called you her charming model, I think was the phrase; and on an explanation being demanded of the term, she said you stood for her heroines, putting yourself in postures and positions while she drew from nature, as she termed it; and that, moreover, on being complimented on the idea, and some of the young men offering, or rather intimating, that they would be delighted to stand or kneel at your feet, as the hero of the tale, she replied that she had no occasion for their services, as she had a page or footman, I forget which, who did that portion of the work. Surely this cannot be true, my dear Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf?”

Oh! how my blood boiled when I heard this.

How far it was true, the reader already knows; but the manner in which it was conveyed by Lady M—, quite horrified me. I coloured up to the temples, and replied, “Lady M—, that Lady R— has very often, when I have been sitting, and she has been writing, told me that she was taking me as a model for her heroine, is very true, but I have considered it as a mere whim of hers, knowing how very eccentric she is. I little thought from my having good-naturedly yielded to her caprice, that I should have been so mortified as I have been by what you have communicated to me. That she must have been indiscreet, is certain, for it was known only to herself and me.”

“And the footman.”

“Footman, my lady? There is a boy—a sort of page there.”

“Exactly; a lad of fifteen or sixteen, a precocious, pert boy, who is much indulged by Lady R—, and, if report says true, is nearer related to her than she is willing to acknowledge. Did you never observe that there is a strong likeness?”

“Good heavens, my lady, you surprise me.”

“And, I fear, have also annoyed you; but,” continued Lady M—, laying her hand on mine, “I thought it kinder to let you know your peculiar position than to sneer and ridicule, as others do, behind your back. This is a sad world in one respect; if there is any scandal or false report spread against us, it is known to everyone but ourselves. We cannot find, but rarely, a friend who is so really our friend as to tell us of it. The poison is allowed to circulate without the power being given to us of applying an antidote—so hollow is friendship in this world. My dear mademoiselle, I have done otherwise; whether you thank me for it or not, I cannot tell; perhaps not, for those who communicate unpleasant intelligence, are seldom looked kindly upon.”

“Lady M—,” replied I, “I do thank you most heartily. I do consider that you have acted a friendly part. That I have been dreadfully shocked and mortified, I admit,” continued I, wiping away the tears that forced their passage; “but I shall not give an opportunity for future unjust insinuations or remarks, as I have made up my mind that I shall leave Lady R— as soon as possible.”

“My dear mademoiselle, I did not venture to make you acquainted with what I knew would, to a person of your sensitive mind, be the cause of your quitting the protection of Lady R— without having considered whether an equivalent could not be offered to you; and I am happy to say that I can offer you a home, and I trust comfort and consideration, if you will accept of them. The fact is, that had I known that you had any idea of quitting Madame Bathurst, I should have made the offer then—now I do so with all sincerity;—but at present you are agitated and annoyed, and I will say no more. If I send the carriage for you to-morrow at two o’clock, will you do me the favour to come and see me? I would call upon you, but of course the presence of Lady R— would be a check to our free converse. Say, my dear, will you come?”

I replied in the affirmative, and Lady M— then rose, and giving me her arm, we walked back to the bench which I had left, where I found Lady R— in a hot dispute with a member of Parliament. I sat down by her unnoticed, and Lady M— having smiled an adieu, I was left to my own reflections, which were anything but agreeable. My head ached dreadfully, and I looked so ill that Lady R—’s warm antagonist perceived it, and pointed it out to her, saying, “Your protégée is not well, I fear, Lady R—.”

I replied to Lady R—, “that I had a violent headache, and wished to get home if it were possible.”

She immediately consented, and showed great concern. As soon as we were home, I need hardly say, that I hastened to my room.

I sat down and pressed my forehead with my hands: my knowledge of the world was increasing too fast. I began to hate it—hate men, and women even more than men. What lessons had I learnt within the last year. First Madame d’Albret, then Madame Bathurst, and now Lady R—. Was there no such thing as friendship in the world—no such thing as generosity? In my excited state it appeared to me that there was not. All was false and hollow. Self was the idol of mankind, and all worshipped at its altar. After a time I became more composed, I thought of little Madame Gironac, and the recollection of her disinterested kindness put me in a better frame of mind. Mortified as I was, I could not help feeling that it was only the vanity of Lady R— and her desire to shine, to which I had been made a sacrifice, and that she had no intention of wounding my feelings. Still, to remain with her after what had been told to me by Lady M— was impossible.

And then I reflected upon what steps I should take. I did not like to tell Lady R— the real grounds of my leaving her. I thought it would be prudent to make some excuse and part good friends. At last it occurred to me that her intention of going to France would be a good excuse. I could tell her that I was afraid of meeting my relatives.

Having decided upon this point, I then canvassed the words of Lady M—. What could she offer me in her house? She had three daughters, but they were all out, as the phrase is, and their education supposed to be completed. This was a mystery I could not solve, and I was obliged to give up thinking about it, and at last I fell asleep. The next moment I woke up, jaded in mind, and with a bad headache, but I dressed and went down to breakfast. Lady R— asked after my health, and then said, “I observed you talking very confidentially with Lady M—. I was not aware that you knew her. Between ourselves, Valerie, she is one of my models.”

“Indeed,” replied I, “I do not think that her ladyship is aware of the honour conferred upon her.”

“Very likely not, but in the last work she was portrayed to the life. Lady M— is a schemer, always plotting; her great object now is to get her three daughters well married.”

“I believe that most mothers wish that, Lady R—.”

“I grant it, and perhaps manoeuvre as much, but with more skill than she does, for every one sees the game that she is playing, and the consequence is, that the young men shy off, which they probably would not if she were quiet, for they are really clever, unaffected, and natural girls, very obliging, and without any pride; but how came you to be so intimate with Lady M—?”

“Lady M— and her eldest daughter were staying for some time with Madame Bathurst in the country when I was there.”

“Oh, I understand, that accounts for it.”

“I am going to call upon Lady M—, if she sends her carriage for me,” replied I. “She told me that she would, if she could, at two o’clock. She has proposed my paying her a visit; I presume it will be after she leaves town.”

“But that you will not be able to do, Valerie; you forget our trip to France.”

“I did not think that you were serious,” replied I; “you mentioned it as the resolution of a night, and I did not know that you might not think differently upon further consideration.”

“Oh no, my resolutions are hastily formed, but not often given up. Go to Paris we certainly shall.”

“If you are determined upon going, Lady R—, I am afraid that I cannot accompany you.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed her ladyship, in surprise. “May I ask why not?”

“Simply because I might meet those I am most anxious to avoid; there is a portion of my history that you are not acquainted with, Lady R—, which I will now make known to you.”

I then told her as much as I thought necessary relative to my parents, and stated my determination not to run the risk of meeting them. Lady R— argued, persuaded, coaxed, and scolded, but it was all in vain; at last she became seriously angry, and left the room. Lionel soon afterwards made his appearance, and said to me, in his usual familiar way, “What’s the matter, Miss Valerie? The governess is in a rage about something; she gave me a box on the ear.”

“I suppose you deserved it, Lionel,” replied I.

“Well, there may be differences of opinion about that,” replied the boy. “She went on scolding me at such a rate that I was quite astonished, and all about nothing. She blew up cook—didn’t she—blew her half up the chimney—and then she was at me again. At last I could bear it no longer, and I said, ‘Don’t flare up, my lady.’”

“‘Don’t my lady me,’ cried she, ‘or I’ll box your ears.’”

“Well, then, as she is always angry if you call her my lady, I thought she was angry with me for the same reason, so I said, ‘Sempronia, keep your temper,’—and didn’t I get a box on the ear.”

I could not help laughing at this recital of his cool impudence, the more so as he narrated it with such an air of injured innocence.

“Indeed, Lionel,” said I at last, “you well deserved the box on the ear. If you ever quit the service of Lady R—, you will find that you must behave with proper respect to those above you; if not, you will not remain an hour in any other house. Lady R— is very odd and very good-tempered, and permits more liberties than any other person would. I will, however, tell you why Lady R— is displeased. It is because she wishes me to go to France with her and I have refused.”

“Then you are going to leave us?” inquired Lionel, mournfully.

“I suppose so,” replied I.

“Then I shall go, too,” said the boy. “I’m tired of it.”

“But why should you go, Lionel? You may not find another situation half so comfortable.”

“I shall not seek one. I have only stayed here with the hope that I may find out from her ladyship who and what my parents were, and she will not tell me. I shall live by my wits, never fear; ‘the world’s my oyster,’ as Shakespeare says, and I think I’ve wit enough to open it.”

I had not forgotten the observations of Lady M— relative to Lionel, and what the lad now said made me surmise that there was some mystery, and, on examination of his countenance, there was a family likeness to Lady R—. I also called to mind her unwillingness to enter upon the subject when I brought it up.

“But, Lionel,” said I, after a pause, “what is it that makes you suppose that Lady R— conceals who were your parents—when we last talked on the subject, you said you had found out something—she told me that your father was a bailiff, or steward to Sir Richard.”

“Which I have proved to be false. She told me that my father was Sir Richard’s butler; that I have also discovered to be false, for one day the old housekeeper, who called upon me at school, came here, and was closeted with Lady R— for half-an-hour. When she went away, I called a hackney-coach for her, and getting behind it, went home with her to her lodgings. When I found out where she lived, I hastened back immediately that I might not be missed, intending to have made a call upon her. The next day Lady R— gave me a letter to put in the twopenny-post; it was directed to a Mrs Green, to the very house where the hackney-coach had stopped, so I knew it was for the old housekeeper. Instead of putting the letter in the post, I kept it till the evening, and then took it myself.

“‘Mrs Green,’ said I, for I found her at home with another old woman, sitting over their tea, ‘I have brought you a letter from Lady R—.’ This is about a year ago, Miss Valerie.

“‘Mercy on me,’ said she, ‘how strange that Lady R— should send you here.’

“‘Not strange that she should send a letter by a servant,’ said I, ‘only strange that I should be a servant.’

“I said this, Miss Valerie, as a random throw, just to see what answer she would make.