True, said Evan, for Im going to London to-night.
Not to London, the Countess returned, with a conquering glance, but to Beckley Court-and with me.
To London, Louisa, with Mr. Goren.
Again the Countess eyed him largely; but took, as it were, a side-path from her broad thought, saying: Yes, fortunes are made in London, if you would they should be rapid.
She meditated. At that moment Dandy knocked at the door, and called outside: Please, master, Mr. Goren says theres a gentleman in the shop-wants to see you.
Very well, replied Evan, moving. He was swung violently round.
The Countess had clutched him by the arm. A fearful expression was on her face.
Whither do you go? she said.
To the shop, Louisa.
Too late to arrest the villanous word, she pulled at him. Are you quite insane? Consent to be seen by a gentleman there? What has come to you? You must be lunatic! Are we all to be utterly ruineddisgraced?
Is my mother to starve? said Evan.
Absurd rejoinder! No! You should have sold everything here before this. She can live with Harrietsheonce out of this horrible elementshe would not show it. But, Evan, you are getting away from me: you are not going?speak!
I am going, said Evan.
The Countess clung to him, exclaiming: Never, while I have the power to detain you! but as he was firm and strong, she had recourse to her womans aids, and burst into a storm of sobs on his shouldera scene of which Mrs. Mel was, for some seconds, a composed spectator.
What s the matter now? said Mrs. Mel.
Evan impatiently explained the case. Mrs. Mel desired her daughter to avoid being ridiculous, and making two fools in her family; and at the same time that she told Evan there was no occasion for him to go, contrived, with a look, to make the advice a command. He, in that state of mind when one takes bitter delight in doing an abhorred duty, was hardly willing to be submissive; but the despair of the Countess reduced him, and for her sake he consented to forego the sacrifice of his pride which was now his sad, sole pleasure. Feeling him linger, the Countess relaxed her grasp. Hers were tears that dried as soon as they had served their end; and, to give him the full benefit of his conduct, she said: I knew Evan would be persuaded by me.
Evan pitifully pressed her hand, and sighed.
Tea is on the table down-stairs, said Mrs. Mel. I have cooked something for you, Louisa. Do you sleep here to-night?
Can I tell you, Mama? murmured the Countess. I am dependent on our Evan.
Oh! well, we will eat first, said Mrs. Mel, and they went to the table below, the Countess begging her mother to drop titles in designating her to the servants, which caused Mrs. Mel to say:
There is but one. I do the cooking; and the Countess, ever disposed to flatter and be suave, even when stung by a fact or a phrase, added:
And a beautiful cook you used to be, dear Mama!
At the table, awaiting them, sat Mrs. Wishaw, Mrs. Fiske, and Mr. Goren, who soon found themselves enveloped in the Countesss graciousness. Mr. Goren would talk of trade, and compare Lymport business with London, and the Countess, loftily interested in his remarks, drew him out to disgust her brother. Mrs. Wishaw, in whom the Countess at once discovered a frivolous pretentious woman of the moneyed trading class, she treated as one who was alive to society, and surveyed matters from a station in the world, leading her to think that she tolerated Mr. Goren, as a lady-Christian of the highest rank should tolerate the insects that toil for us. Mrs. Fiske was not so tractable, for Mrs. Fiske was hostile and armed. Mrs. Fiske adored the great Mel, and she had never loved Louisa. Hence, she scorned Louisa on account of her late behaviour toward her dead parent. The Countess saw through her, and laboured to be friendly with her, while she rendered her disagreeable in the eyes of Mrs. Wishaw, and let Mrs. Wishaw perceive that sympathy was possible between them; manoeuvring a trifle too delicate, perhaps, for the people present, but sufficient to blind its keen-witted author to the something that was being concealed from herself, of which something, nevertheless, her senses apprehensively warned her: and they might have spoken to her wits, but that mortals cannot, unaided, guess, or will not, unless struck in the face by the fact, credit, what is to their minds the last horror.
I came down in the coach, quite accidental, with this gentleman, said Mrs. Wishaw, fanning a cheek and nodding at Mr. Goren. Im an old flame of dear Mels. I knew him when he was an apprentice in London. Now, wasnt it odd? Your motherI suppose I must call you my lady?
The Countess breathed a tender Spare me, with a smile that added, among friends!
Mrs. Wishaw resumed: Your mother was an old flame of this gentlemans, I found out. So there were two old flames, and I couldnt help thinking! But I was so glad to have seen dear Mel once more:
Ah! sighed the Countess.
He was always a martial-looking man, and laid out, he was quite imposing. I declare, I cried so, as it reminded me of when I couldnt have him, for he had nothing but his legs and armsand I married Wishaw. But its a comfort to think I have been of some service to dear, dear Mel! for Wishaw s a man of accounts and payments; and I knew Mel had cloth from him, and, the lady suggested bills delayed, with two or three nods, you know! and Ill do my best for his son.
You are kind, said the Countess, smiling internally at the vulgar creatures misconception of Evans requirements.
Did he ever talk much about Mary Fence? asked Mrs. Wishaw. Polly Fence, he used to say, sweet Polly Fence!
Oh! I think so. Frequently, observed the Countess.
Mrs. Fiske primmed her mouth. She had never heard the great Mel allude to the name of Fence.
The Goren-croak was heard
Painters have painted out Melchisedec this afternoon. Yes,ah! In and out-as the saying goes.
Here was an opportunity to mortify the Countess.
Mrs. Fiske placidly remarked: Have we the other put up in its stead? It s shorter.
A twinge of weakness had made Evan request that the name of Evan Harrington should not decorate the shopfront till he had turned his back on it, for a time. Mrs. Mel crushed her venomous niece.
What have you to do with such things? Shine in your own affairs first, Ann, before you meddle with others.
Relieved at hearing that Melchisedec was painted out, and unsuspicious of the announcement that should replace it, the Countess asked Mrs. Wishaw if she thought Evan like her dear Papa.
So like, returned the lady, that I would not be alone with him yet, for worlds. I should expect him to be making love to me: for, you know, my dearI must be familiarMel never could be alone with you, without! It was his nature. I speak of him before marriage. But, if I can trust myself with him, I shall take charge of Mr. Evan, and show him some London society.
That is indeed kind, said the Countess, glad of a thick veil for the utterance of her contempt. Evan, thoughI fearwill be rather engaged. His friends, the Jocelyns of Beckley Court, willI fearhardly dispense with him and Lady Splendersyou know her? the Marchioness of Splenders? No?by repute, at least: a most beautiful and most fascinating woman; report of him alone has induced her to say that Evan must and shall form a part of her autumnal gathering at Splenders Castle. And how he is to get out of it, I cannot tell. But I am sure his multitudinous engagements will not prevent his paying due court to Mistress Wishaw.
As the Countess intended, Mistress Wishaws vanity was reproved, and her ambition excited: a pretty doublestroke, only possible to dexterous players.
The lady rejoined that she hoped so, she was sure; and forthwith (because she suddenly seemed to possess him more than his son), launched upon Mels incomparable personal attractions. This caused the Countess to enlarge upon Evans vast personal prospects. They talked across each other a little, till the Countess remembered her breeding, allowed Mrs. Wishaw to run to an end in hollow exclamations, and put a finish to the undeclared controversy, by a traverse of speech, as if she were taking up the most important subject of their late colloquy. But Evan is not in his own handshe is in the hands of a lovely young woman, I must tell you. He belongs to her, and not to us. You have heard of Rose Jocelyn, the celebrated heiress?
Engaged? Mrs. Wishaw whispered aloud.
The Countess, an adept in the lie impliedpractised by her, that she might not subject herself to future punishment (in which she was so devout a believer, that she condemned whole hosts to it)deeply smiled.
Really! said Mrs. Wishaw, and was about to inquire why Evan, with these brilliant expectations, could think of trade and tailoring, when the young man, whose forehead had been growing black, jumped up, and quitted them; thus breaking the harmony of the table; and as the Countess had said enough, she turned the conversation to the always welcome theme of low society. She broached death and corpses; and became extremely interesting, and very sympathetic: the only difference between the ghostly anecdotes she related, and those of the other ladies, being that her ghosts were all of them titled, and walked mostly under the burden of a coronet. For instance, there was the Portuguese Marquis de Col. He had married a Spanish wife, whose end was mysterious. Undressing, on the night of the anniversary of her death, and on the point of getting into bed, he beheld the dead woman lying on her back before him. All night long he had to sleep with this freezing phantom! Regularly, every fresh anniversary, he had to endure the same penance, no matter where he might be, or in what strange bed. On one occasion, when he took the live for the dead, a curious thing occurred, which the Countess scrupled less to relate than would men to hint at. Ghosts were the one childish enjoyment Mrs. Mel allowed herself, and she listened to her daughter intently, ready to cap any narrative; but Mrs. Fiske stopped the flood.
You have improved on Peter Smithers, Louisa, she said.
The Countess turned to her mildly.
You are certainly thinking of Peter Smithers, Mrs. Fiske continued, bracing her shoulders. Surely, you remember poor Peter, Louisa? An old flame of your own! He was going to kill himself, but married a Devonshire woman, and they had disagreeables, and SHE died, and he was undressing, and saw her there in the bed, and wouldnt get into it, and had the mattress, and the curtains, and the counterpanes, and everything burnt. He told us it himself. You must remember it, Louisa?
The Countess remembered nothing of the sort. No doubt could exist of its having been the Portuguese Marquis de Col, because he had confided to her the whole affair, and indeed come to her, as his habit was, to ask her what he could possibly do, under the circumstances. If Mrs. Fiskes friend, who married the Devonshire person, had seen the same thing, the coincidence was yet more extraordinary than the case. Mrs. Fiske said it assuredly was, and glanced at her aunt, who, as the Countess now rose, declaring she must speak to Evan, chid Mrs. Fiske, and wished her and Peter Smithers at the bottom of the sea.
No, no, Mama, said the Countess, laughing, that would hardly be proper, and before Mrs. Fiske could reply, escaped to complain to Evan of the vulgarity of those women.
She was not prepared for the burst of wrath with which Evan met her. Louisa, said he, taking her wrist sternly, you have done a thing I cant forgive. I find it hard to bear disgrace myself: I will not consent to bring it upon others. Why did you dare to couple Miss Jocelyns name with mine?
The Countess gave him out her arms length. Speak on, Van, she said, admiring him with a bright gaze.
Answer me, Louisa; and dont take me for a fool any more, he pursued. You have coupled Miss Jocelyns name with mine, in company, and I insist now upon your giving me your promise to abstain from doing it anywhere, before anybody.
If she saw you at this instant, Van, returned the incorrigible Countess, would she desire it, think you? Oh! I must make you angry before her, I see that! You have your fathers frown. You surpass him, for your delivery is more correct, and equally fluent. And if a woman is momentarily melted by softness in a man, she is for ever subdued by boldness and bravery of mien.
Evan dropped her hand. Miss Jocelyn has done me the honour to call me her friend. That was in other days. His lip quivered. I shall not see Miss Jocelyn again. Yes; I would lay down my life for her; but thats idle talk. No such chance will ever come to me. But I can save her from being spoken of in alliance with me, and what I am, and I tell you, Louisa, I will not have it. Saying which, and while he looked harshly at her, wounded pride bled through his eyes.
She was touched. Sit down, dear; I must explain to you, and make you happy against your will, she said, in another voice, and an English accent. The mischief is done, Van. If you do not want Rose Jocelyn to love you, you must undo it in your own way. I am not easily deceived. On the morning I went to her house in town, she took me aside, and spoke to me. Not a confession in words. The blood in her cheeks, when I mentioned you, did that for her. Everything about you she must knowhow you bore your grief, and all. And not in her usual free manner, but timidly, as if she feared a surprise, or feared to be wakened to the secret in her bosom she half suspectsTell him! she said, I hope he will not forget me.
The Countess was interrupted by a great sob; for the picture of frank Rose Jocelyn changed, and soft, and, as it were, shadowed under a veil of bashful regard for him, so filled the young man with sorrowful tenderness, that he trembled, and was as a child.
Marking the impression she had produced on him, and having worn off that which he had produced on her, the Countess resumed the art in her style of speech, easier to her than nature.
So the sweetest of Roses may be yours, dear Van; and you have her in a gold setting, to wear on your heart. Are you not enviable? I will notno, I will not tell you she is perfect. I must fashion the sweet young creature. Though I am very ready to admit that she is much improved by thisshall I call it, desired consummation?
Evan could listen no more. Such a struggle was rising in his breast: the effort to quench what the Countess had so shrewdly kindled; passionate desire to look on Rose but for one lightning flash: desire to look on her, and muffled sense of shame twin-born with it: wild love and leaden misery mixed: dead hopelessness and vivid hope. Up to the neck in Purgatory, but his soul saturated with visions of Bliss! The fair orb of Love was all that was wanted to complete his planetary state, and aloft it sprang, showing many faint, fair tracts to him, and piling huge darknesses.
As if in search of something, he suddenly went from the room.
I have intoxicated the poor boy, said the Countess, and consulted an attitude by the evening light in a mirror. Approving the result, she rang for her mother, and sat with her till dark; telling her she could not and would not leave her dear Mama that night. At the supper-table Evan did not appear, and Mr. Goren, after taking counsel of Mrs. Mel, dispersed the news that Evan was off to London. On the road again, with a purse just as ill-furnished, and in his breast the light that sometimes leads gentlemen, as well as ladies, astray.