Valerie

“‘Why, who has been telling you anything?’ said she, looking at me through her spectacles.

“‘Ah,’ replied I, ‘that’s what I must keep to myself, for I’m under a promise of secrecy.’

“‘Mercy on me, it couldn’t be—no, that’s impossible,’ muttered the old woman, as she opened the letter and took out a bank-note, which she crumpled up in her hand. She then commenced reading the letter; I walked a little way from her, and stood between her and the window. Every now and then she held the letter up to the candle, and when the light was strong upon it, I could read a line from where I stood, for I have been used to her ladyship’s writing, as you know. One line I read was, ‘remains still at Culverwood Hall;’ another was, ‘the only person now left in Essex.’ I also saw the words ‘secrecy’ and ‘ignorant’ at the bottom of the page. The old woman finished the letter at last, but it took her a good while to get through it.

“‘Well,’ says she, ‘have you anything more to say?’

“‘No,’ says I; ‘you are well paid for your secrecy, Mrs Green.’

“‘What do you mean?’ said she.

“‘Oh, I’m not quite so ignorant as you suppose,’ replied I.

“‘Ignorant,’ said she, confused, ‘ignorant of what?’

“‘When were you last in Essex?’ said I.

“‘When, why? what’s that to you, you impudent boy?’

“‘Nay, then, I’ll put another question to you. How long is it since you were at Culverwood Hall?’

“‘Culverwood Hall! What do you know about Culverwood Hall? the boy’s mad, I believe; go away, you’ve done your message; if you don’t, I’ll tell her ladyship.’

“‘Certainly, Mrs Green,’ said I. ‘I wish you a good-night.’

“I left the room, slamming the door, but not allowing the catch to fall in, so that I held it a little ajar, and then I heard Mrs Green say to the other woman,

“‘Somebody’s been with that boy; I wonder who it can be? He’s put me in such a flurry. Well, these things will out.’

“‘Yes, yes, it’s like murder,’ replied the other; ‘not that I know what it’s all about, only I see there’s a secret—perhaps you’ll tell me, Mrs Green?’

“‘All I dare tell you is that there is a secret,’ replied Mrs Green, ‘and the boy has got an inkling of it somehow or another. I must see my lady—no, I had better not,’ added she; ‘for she is so queer that she’ll swear that I’ve told him. Now there’s only one besides myself and her ladyship who knows anything, and I’ll swear that he could not have been with the boy, for he’s bedridden. I’m all of a puzzle, and that’s the truth. What a wind there is; why the boy has left the door open. Boys never shut doors.’

“Mrs Green got up and slammed the door to, and I walked off; and now, Miss Valerie, that’s all that I know of the matter; but why I should be sent to a good school and wear pepper and salt, and to be taken away to be made first a page, and now a footman, I can’t tell; but you must acknowledge that there is some mystery, after what I have told you.”

“It certainly is strange, Lionel,” replied I, “but my advice is that you remain patiently till you can find it out, which by leaving Lady R— you are not likely to do.”

“I don’t know that, Miss Valerie; let me get down to Culverwood Hall, and I think I would find out something, or my wits were given me to no purpose. But I hear her ladyship coming upstairs: so good-bye, Miss Valerie.”

And Lionel made a hasty retreat.

Lady R— slowly ascended the stairs, and came into the room. Her violence had been exhausted, but she looked sullen and moody, and I could hardly recognise her; for I must do her the justice to say, that I had never before seen her out of temper. She sat down in her chair, and I asked her whether I should bring her her writing materials.

“A pretty state I am in to write,” replied she, leaning her elbows on the table, and pressing her hands to her eyes. “You don’t know what a rage I have been in, and how I have been venting it upon innocent people. I struck that poor boy—shame on me! Alas! I was born with violent passions, and they have been my curse through life. I had hoped that years had somewhat subdued them, but they will occasionally master me. What would I not give to have had your placid temper, Valerie! How much unhappiness I should have been spared! How much error should I have avoided! I was going to say, how much crime.”

Lady R— was evidently more talking to herself than to me when she said the last words, and I therefore made no reply. A silence of more than a quarter of an hour followed, which was broken by Lionel coming in, and announcing the carriage of Lady M—.

“That woman is the cause of all this,” said Lady R—; “I am sure that she is. Pray do not wait, Valerie. Go and see her. I shall be better company when you come back.”

I made no reply, but left the room, and putting on my bonnet, was driven to Lady M—’s. She received me with great cordiality, and so did her daughters, who were in the room; but they were dismissed by their mother, who then said, “I told you last night, my dear Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, that I wished you to reside with me. You may say in what capacity, and I acknowledge that I hardly know what answer to give. Not as governess, certainly, for I consider it an odious position, and one that I could not offer you; indeed, my girls do not require teaching, as they have finished their studies; in only one thing you could be of advantage to them in that respect, which is in music and singing. But I wish you to come as their companion, as I am convinced that they will gain much by your so doing. I wish you, therefore, to be considered by others as a visitor at the house, but at the same time I must insist that from the advantages my girls will derive from your assisting them in music and singing, you will accept the same salary per annum which you have from Lady R—. Do you understand me: I wish you to remain with me, not as a model after the idea of Lady R—, but as a model for my girls to take pattern by. I shall leave it to yourself to act as you please. I am sure my girls like you already, and will like you better. I do not think that I can say more, except that I trust you will not refuse my offer.”

There was a delicacy and kindness in this proposal on the part of Lady M— which I felt gratefully; but it appeared to me that after all it was only an excuse to offer me an asylum without any remuneration on my part, and I stated my feeling on that point.

“Do not think so,” replied Lady M—. “I avoided saying so, because I would not have you styled a music-mistress; but on that one point alone you will more than earn your salary, as I will prove to you by showing you the annual payments to professors for lessons; but you will be of great value to me in other points, I have no doubt. May I, therefore, consider it as an affaire arrangée?” After a little more conversation, I acquiesced, and having agreed that I would come as soon as Lady R— went to the continent, or at all events in three weeks, when Lady M— quitted London, I took my leave, and was conveyed back to Lady R—, in the carriage which had been sent for me.

On my return, I found Lady R— seated where I had left her.

“Well,” said she, “so you have had your audience; and I have no doubt but that you were most graciously received. Oh! I know the woman; and I have been reflecting upon it during your absence, and I have discovered what she wants you for; but this she has not mentioned, not even hinted at. She knows better; but when once in her house, you will submit to it, rather than be again in search of a home.”

“I really do not know what you mean, Lady R—,” said I.

“Has not Lady M— asked you to come as a visitor, without specifying any particular employment?”

“No, she has not. She has proposed my staying in the house to give lessons to her daughters in music, and to be their companion; but there is nothing stated as to a fixed residence with her.”

“Well, Valerie, I know that I am odd; but you will soon find out whether you have gained by the change.”

“Lady R—, I really do not consider you should be so sarcastic or unkind towards me. I do not like to go to France with you for reasons which I have fully explained, at the expense of disclosing family affairs, which I had much rather not have mentioned. You leave me by myself, and I must seek protection somewhere. It is kindly offered by Lady M—, and in my unfortunate position I have not to choose. Be just and be generous.”

“Well, well, I will,” said Lady R—, the tears starting in her eyes; “but you do not know how much I am annoyed at your leaving me. I had hoped, with all my faults, that I had created in you a feeling of attachment to me—God knows, that I have tried. If you knew all my history, Valerie, you would not be surprised at my being strange. That occurred when I was of your age which would have driven some people to despair or suicide. As it is, it has alienated me from all my relations, not that I have many. My brother, I never see or hear from, and have not for years. I have refused all his invitations to go down to see him, and he is now offended with me; but there are causes for it, and years cannot wipe away the memory of what did occur.”

“I assure you, Lady R—, I have been very sensible of your kindness to me,” replied I, “and shall always remember it with gratitude; and if you think I have no regard for you, you are mistaken; but the subject has become painful—pray let us say no more.”

“Well, Valerie, be it so; perhaps it is the wisest plan—”

To change the conversation, I said—“Is not your brother the present baronet?”

“Yes,” replied Lady R—

“And where does he reside?”

“In Essex, at Culverwood Hall, the seat of all my misfortunes.”

I started a little at the mention of the place, as it was the one which the reader may remember was spoken of by Lionel. I then turned the conversation to other matters, and by dinner-time Lady R— had recovered herself, and was as amiable as ever.

From that day until Lady R— set off for Paris, there was not a word said relative to Lady M—. She was kind and polite, but not so warm and friendly as she had been before, and in her subdued bearing towards me was more agreeable. Her time was now employed in making preparations for her tour. Lionel was the only one who was to accompany her except her own maid. At last she fixed the day of her departure, and I wrote to Lady M—, who returned an answer that it suited her exactly, as she would go to the country the day after. The evening before Lady R— was to start was passed very gloomily.

I felt great sorrow at our separation, more than I could have imagined; but when you have been associated with a person who is good-tempered and kind, you soon feel more for them than you would suppose until you are about to quit them.

Lady R— was very much dispirited, and said to me, “Valerie, I have a presentiment that we never shall meet again, and yet I am anything but superstitious. I can truly say that you are the only person to whom I have felt real attachment since my youth, and I feel more than I can describe. Something whispers to me, ‘Do not go to France,’ and yet something impels me to go. Valerie, if I do come back I trust that you will consider my house your home, if at any time you cannot place yourself more to your satisfaction; I will not say more, as I know that I am not exactly a lovable person, and my ways are odd; but do pray look upon me as your sincere friend, who will always be ready to serve you. I have to thank you for a few happy months, and that is saying much. God bless you, my dear Valerie.”

I was moved to tears by what Lady R— said, and I thanked her with a faltering voice.

“Come now,” said she, “I shall be off too early in the morning to see you: let us take our farewell.”

Lady R— put a small packet into my hand, kissed me on the forehead, and then hastened up to her own room.

That people love change is certain, but still there is a mournfulness connected with it; even in a change of residence, the packing up, the litter attending it, the corded trunks and packages, give a forlorn appearance to the house itself. To me it was peculiarly distressing; I had changed so often within the last year, and had such a precarious footing wherever I went, I felt myself to be the sport of fortune, and a football to the whims and caprices of others. I was sitting in my bedroom, my trunks packed but not yet closed down, thinking of Lady R—’s last conversation, and very triste. The packet was lying on the table before me, unopened, when I was roused by a knock at the door. I thought it was Lady R—’s maid, and I said, “Come in.”