Valerie

“‘No, sir, he is in his usual health, but he has something very heavy on his conscience, and he begs your presence immediately that he may reveal an important secret.’

“‘Well, my lad, go back to him and say that I will be there in two hours. You are his grandson, I believe?’

“‘I will go and tell him, sir,’ replied I, evading the last question.

“I returned to old Roberts, and informed him that the clergyman would be with him in an hour or two, but I found the old man already hesitating and doubting again:—

“‘You didn’t tell him what it was for, did you? for perhaps—’

“‘Yes, I did. I told him you had an important secret to communicate that lay heavy on your conscience.’

“‘I’m sadly puzzled,’ said the old man, musing.

“‘Well,’ replied I, ‘I’m not puzzled; and if you don’t confess, I must. I won’t have my conscience loaded, poor fellow that I am; and if you choose to die with the sin upon you of depriving the orphan, I will not.’

“‘I’ll tell—tell it all—it’s the best way,’ replied old Roberts, after a pause.

“‘There now,’ said I, ‘the best thing to be done is for me to get paper and pen, and write it all down for Mr Sewell to read when he comes; then you need not have to repeat it all again.’

“‘Yes, that will be best, for I couldn’t face the clergyman.’

“‘Then how can you expect to face the Almighty?’ replied I.

“‘True—very true: get the paper,’ said he.

“I went to the inn and procured writing materials, and then returned and took down his confession of what I have now told you, Miss Valerie. When Mr Sewell came, I had just finished it, and I then told him that I had written it down, and handed it to him to read. Mr Sewell was much surprised and shocked, and said to Roberts, ‘You have done right to make this confession, Roberts, for it may be most important; but you must now swear to it in the presence of a magistrate and me. Of course, you have no objection?’

“‘No, sir; I’m ready to swear to the truth of every word.’

“‘Well, then, let me see. Why, there is no magistrate near us just now but Sir Thomas Moystyn; and as it concerns his own nephew, there cannot be a more proper person. I will go up to the Hall immediately, and ask him to come with me to-morrow morning.’

“Mr Sewell did so; and the next day, he and Sir Thomas Moystyn came down in a phaeton, and went up to old Roberts. I rather turned away, that my uncle, as he now proves to be, might not, when I was regularly introduced to him, as I hope to be, as his nephew, recognise me as the sailor lad who passed off as the grandson of old Roberts.”

“Then, you admit that you have been playing a very deceitful game?”

“Yes, Miss Valerie. I have a conscience; and I admit that I have been playing what may be called an unworthy game; but when it is considered how much I have at stake, and how long I have been defrauded of my rights by the duplicity of others, I think I may be excused if I have beat them at their own weapons.”

“I admit that there is great truth in your observations, Lionel; and that is all the answer I shall give.”

“I remained outside the door while old Roberts signed the paper, and the oath was administered. Sir Thomas put many questions afterwards. He inquired the residence of his daughter, Mrs Green, and then they both went away. As soon as they were gone, I went in to old Roberts, and said, ‘Well now, sir, do you not feel happier that you have made the confession?’

“‘Yes,’ replied he, ‘I do, boy; but still I am scared when I think of Lady R— and your aunt Green; they’ll be so angry.’

“‘I’ve been thinking that I had better go up to Mrs Green,’ I said, ‘and prepare her for it. I can pacify her, I’m sure, when I explain matters. I must have gone away the day after to-morrow, and I’ll go up to London to-morrow.’

“‘Well, perhaps it will be as well,’ replied old Roberts, ‘and yet I wish you could stay and talk to me—I’ve no one to talk to me now.’

“Thinks I, I have made you talk to some purpose, and have no inclination to sit by your bed-side any longer; however, I kept up the appearance to the last, and the next morning set off for London. I arrived three days before I saw you first, which gave me time to change my sailor’s dress for the suit I now wear. I have not yet been to Mrs Green, for I thought I would just see you, and ask your advice. And now, Miss Valerie, you have my whole history.”

“I once more congratulate you, with all my heart,” replied I, offering my hand to Lionel. He kissed it respectfully, and as he was in the act, one of the maids opened the door, and told me that Lady M— had been some time waiting to see me. I believe I coloured up, although I had no cause for blushing; and wishing Lionel good-bye, I desired him to call on Sunday afternoon, and I would remain at home to see him.

It was on Thursday that this interview took place with Lionel, and on the Saturday I received a letter from Lady R—’s solicitor, by which I was shocked by the information of her ladyship having died at Caudebec, a small town on the river Seine; and begging to know whether I could receive him that afternoon, as he was anxious to communicate with me. I answered by the person who brought the letter, that I would receive him at three o’clock; and he made his appearance at the hour appointed.

He informed me that Lady R— had left Havre in a fishing boat, with the resolution of going up to Paris by that strange conveyance; and having no protection from the weather, she had been wet for a whole day, without changing her clothes; and, on her arrival at Caudebec, had been taken with a fever, which, from the ignorance of the faculty in that sequestered place, had proved fatal. Her maid had just written the intelligence, enclosing the documents from the authorities substantiating the fact.

“You are not, perhaps, aware, miss, that you are left her executrix.”

“I her executrix!” exclaimed I, with astonishment.

“Yes,” replied Mr Selwyn. “Before she left town, she made an alteration in her will; and stated to me that you would be able to find the party most interested in it, and that you had a document in your hands which would explain everything.”

“I have a sealed paper which she enclosed to me, desiring I would not open it, unless I heard of her death, or had her permission.”

“It must be that to which she refers, I presume,” replied he. “I have the will in my pocket: it will be as well to read it to you, as you are her executrix.”

Mr Selwyn then produced the will, by which Lionel Dempster, her nephew, was left her sole heir; and by a codicil, she had, for the love she bore me, as she stated in her own handwriting, left me 500 pounds as her executrix, and all her jewels and wearing apparel.

“I congratulate you on your legacy, Miss de Chatenoeuf,” said he; “and now, perhaps, you can tell me where I can find this nephew; for I must say it is the first that I ever heard of him.”

“I believe that I can point him out, sir,” replied I; “but the most important proofs, I suspect, are to be found in the paper which I have not yet read.”

“I will then, if you please, no longer trespass on you,” said Mr Selwyn, “when you wish me to call again, you will oblige me by sending word, or writing by post.”

The departure of Mr Selwyn was quite a relief to me. I longed to be alone, that I might be left to my own reflections, and also that I might peruse the document which had been confided to me by poor Lady R—. I could not help feeling much shocked at her death—more so, when I considered her liberality towards me, and the confidence she reposed in one with whom she had but a short acquaintance. It was like her, nevertheless; who but Lady R— would ever have thought of making a young person so unprotected and so unacquainted as I was with business—a foreigner to boot—the executrix of her will; and her death occasioned by such a mad freak—and Lionel now restored to his position and his fortune—altogether it was overwhelming, and after a time I relieved myself with tears. I was still with my handkerchief to my eyes when Lady M— came into the room.

“Crying, Miss Chatenoeuf,” said her ladyship, “it is at the departure of a very dear friend.”

There was a sort of sneer on her face as she said this; and I replied—

“Yes, my lady, it is for the departure of a dear friend, for Lady R— is dead.”

“Mercy, you don’t say so; and what are these gentlemen who have been calling upon you?”

“One is her solicitor, madam,” replied I, “and the other is a relative of hers.”

“A relation; but what has the solicitor called upon you for? if it is not an intrusive question.”

“No, my lady; Lady R— has appointed me her executrix.”

“Executrix! well, I now do believe that Lady R— was mad!” exclaimed Lady M—. “I wanted you to come up to my boudoir to consult you about the pink satin dress, but I fear your important avocation will not allow you at present, so I will leave you till you are a little recovered.”

“I thank you, my lady,” said I, “I will be more myself to-morrow, and will then be at your disposal.”

Her ladyship then left the room. I was not pleased at her manner, which was very different from her usual courtesy towards me, but I was not in a state of mind to weigh well all that she said, or how she said it. I hastened to my room to look for the paper which Lady R— had enclosed to me previous to her departure. I will give the whole contents to my readers.

“My dear Valerie,

“I will not attempt to account for the extreme predilection which I, an old woman in comparison, immediately imbibed for you before we had been an hour in company. Some feelings are unaccountable and inexplicable, but I felt a sympathy, a mesmeric attraction, if I may use the term, which was uncontrollable at our first meeting, and which increased every day during our residence together. It was not the feeling of a mother towards a child—at least I think not, for it was mingled with a certain degree of awe and presentiment of evil if ever we parted again. I felt as if you were my fate, and never has this feeling departed from me. On the contrary, now that we separate, it has become stronger than ever. How little do we know of the mysteries of the mind as well as of the body! We know that we are fearfully and wonderfully made, and that is all. That there are influences and attractions uncontrollable and unexplained I feel certain. Often have I reflected and wondered on this as I have lain in bed and meditated ‘even to madness,’ but have been unable to remove the veil. (Alas, poor Lady R—, thought I, I doubt it not, you were madder than I thought you were.) Imagine, then, my grief and horror when I found that you were determined to leave me, dear Valerie. It was to me as the sentence of death; but I felt that I could not resist; it was my fate, and who can oppose its decrees? It would indeed have pained your young and generous heart if you knew how I suffered, and still suffer from your desertion; but I considered it as a judgment on me—a visitation upon me for the crimes of my early years, and which I am now about to confide to you, as the only person in whom I feel confidence, and that justice may be done to one whom I have greatly injured. I would not die without reparation, and that reparation I entrust to you, as from my own pen I can explain that without which, with all my good intentions towards the party, reparation might be difficult. But I must first make you acquainted with the cause of crime, and to do this you must hear the events of my early life.