Henry Esmond; The English Humourists; The Four Georges Part 23

"I wish Mr. Tusher would whip you too," says Beatrix.

My lady only said: "I hope you will tell none of these silly stories elsewhere than at home, Francis."

"'Tis true, on my word," continues Frank: "look at Harry scowling, mother, and see how Beatrix blushes as red as the silver-clocked stockings."

"I think we had best leave the gentlemen to their wine and their talk,"

says Mistress Beatrix, rising up with the air of a young queen, tossing her rustling, flowing draperies about her, and quitting the room, followed by her mother.

Lady Castlewood again looked at Esmond, as she stooped down and kissed Frank. "Do not tell those silly stories, child," she said: "do not drink much wine, sir; Harry never loved to drink wine." And she went away, too, in her black robes, looking back on the young man with her fair, fond face.

"Egad! it's true," says Frank, sipping his wine with the air of a lord.

"What think you of this Lisbon-real Collares? 'Tis better than your heady port: we got it out of one of the Spanish ships that came from Vigo last year: my mother bought it at Southampton, as the ship was lying there-the _Rose_, Captain Hawkins."

"Why, I came home in that ship," says Harry.

"And it brought home a good fellow and good wine," says my lord. "I say, Harry, I wish thou hadst not that cursed bar sinister."

"And why not the bar sinister?" asks the other.

"Suppose I go to the army and am killed-every gentleman goes to the army-who is to take care of the women? 'Trix will never stop at home; mother's in love with you,-yes, I think mother's in love with you. She was always praising you, and always talking about you; and when she went to Southampton, to see the ship, I found her out. But you see it is impossible: we are of the oldest blood in England; we came in with the Conqueror; we were only baronets,-but what then? we were forced into that.

James the First forced our great-grandfather. We are above t.i.tles; we old English gentry don't want 'em; the queen can make a duke any day. Look at Blandford's father, Duke Churchill, and d.u.c.h.ess Jennings, what were they, Harry? d.a.m.n it, sir, what are they, to turn up their noses at us? Where were they, when our ancestor rode with King Henry at Agincourt, and filled up the French king's cup after Poictiers? 'Fore George, sir, why shouldn't Blandford marry Beatrix? By G--! he _shall_ marry Beatrix, or tell me the reason why. We'll marry with the best blood of England, and none but the best blood of England. You are an Esmond, and you can't help your birth, my boy. Let's have another bottle. What! no more? I've drunk three parts of this myself. I had many a night with my father; you stood to him like a man, Harry. You backed your blood; you can't help your misfortune, you know,-no man can help that."

The elder said he would go in to his mistress's tea-table. The young lad, with a heightened colour and voice, began singing a s.n.a.t.c.h of a song, and marched out of the room. Esmond heard him presently calling his dogs about him, and cheering and talking to them; and by a hundred of his looks and gestures, tricks of voice and gait, was reminded of the dead lord, Frank's father.

And so, the Sylvester Night pa.s.sed away; the family parted long before midnight, Lady Castlewood remembering, no doubt, former New-Year's Eves, when healths were drunk, and laughter went round in the company of him to whom years, past, and present, and future, were to be as one; and so cared not to sit with her children and hear the cathedral bells ringing the birth of the year 1703. Esmond heard the chimes as he sat in his own chamber, ruminating by the blazing fire there, and listened to the last notes of them, looking out from his window towards the city, and the great grey towers of the cathedral lying under the frosty sky, with the keen stars shining above.

The sight of these brilliant orbs no doubt made him think of other luminaries. "And so her eyes have already done execution," thought Esmond-"on whom?-who can tell me?" Luckily his kinsman was by, and Esmond knew he would have no difficulty in finding out Mistress Beatrix's history from the simple talk of the boy.

Chapter VIII. Family Talk

What Harry admired and submitted to in the pretty lad, his kinsman, was (for why should he resist it?) the calmness of patronage which my young lord a.s.sumed, as if to command was his undoubted right, and all the world (below his degree) ought to bow down to Viscount Castlewood.

"I know my place, Harry," he said. "I'm not proud-the boys at Winchester College say I'm proud: but I'm not proud. I am simply Francis James Viscount Castlewood in the peerage of Ireland. I might have been (do you know that?) Francis James Marquis and Earl of Esmond in that of England.

The late lord refused the t.i.tle which was offered to him by my G.o.dfather, his late Majesty. You should know that-you are of our family, you know-you cannot help your bar sinister, Harry, my dear fellow; and you belong to one of the best families in England, in spite of that; and you stood by my father, and by G--! I'll stand by you. You shall never want a friend, Harry, while Francis James Viscount Castlewood has a shilling. It's now 1703-I shall come of age in 1709. I shall go back to Castlewood; I shall live at Castlewood; I shall build up the house. My property will be pretty well restored by then. The late viscount mismanaged my property, and left it in a very bad state. My mother is living close, as you see, and keeps me in a way hardly befitting a peer of these realms; for I have but a pair of horses, a governor, and a man that is valet and groom. But when I am of age, these things will be set right, Harry. Our house will be as it should be. You'll always come to Castlewood, won't you? You shall always have your two rooms in the court kept for you; and if anybody slights you, d-- them! let them have a care of _me_. I shall marry early-'Trix will be a d.u.c.h.ess by that time, most likely; for a cannon-ball may knock over his grace any day, you know."

"How?" says Harry.

"Hush, my dear!" says my lord viscount. "You are of the family-you are faithful to us, by George, and I tell you everything. Blandford will marry her-or --" and here he put his little hand on his sword-"you understand the rest. Blandford knows which of us two is the best weapon. At small-sword, or back-sword, or sword and dagger, if he likes: I can beat him. I have tried him, Harry; and begad, he knows I am a man not to be trifled with."

"But you do not mean," says Harry, concealing his laughter, but not his wonder, "that you can force my Lord Blandford, the son of the first man of this kingdom, to marry your sister at sword's point?"

"I mean to say that we are cousins by the mother's side, though that's nothing to boast of. I mean to say that an Esmond is as good as a Churchill; and when the king comes back, the Marquis of Esmond's sister may be a match for any n.o.bleman's daughter in the kingdom. There are but two marquises in all England, William Herbert, Marquis of Powis, and Francis James, Marquis of Esmond; and hark you, Harry, now swear you'll never mention this. Give me your honour as a gentleman, for you _are_ a gentleman, though you are a--"

"Well, well," says Harry, a little impatient.

"Well, then, when after my late viscount's misfortune, my mother went up with us to London, to ask for justice against you all (as for Mohun, I'll have his blood, as sure as my name is Francis Viscount Esmond), we went to stay with our cousin my Lady Marlborough, with whom we had quarrelled for ever so long. But when misfortune came, she stood by her blood:-so did the dowager viscountess stand by her blood,-so did you. Well, sir, whilst my mother was pet.i.tioning the late Prince of Orange-for I will never call him king-and while you were in prison, we lived at my Lord Marlborough's house, who was only a little there, being away with the army in Holland.

And then ... I say, Harry, you won't tell, now?"

Harry again made a vow of secrecy.

"Well, there used to be all sorts of fun, you know: my Lady Marlborough was very fond of us, and she said I was to be her page; and she got 'Trix to be a maid of honour, and while she was up in her room crying, we used to be always having fun, you know; and the d.u.c.h.ess used to kiss me, and so did her daughters, and Blandford fell tremendous in love with 'Trix, and she liked him; and one day he-he kissed her behind a door-he did though,-and the d.u.c.h.ess caught him, and she banged such a box of the ear both to 'Trix and Blandford-you should have seen it! And then she said that we must leave directly, and abused my mamma, who was cognizant of the business; but she wasn't-never thinking about anything but father. And so we came down to Walcote. Blandford being locked up, and not allowed to see 'Trix. But _I_ got at him. I climbed along the gutter, and in through the window, where he was crying.

" 'Marquis,' says I, when he had opened it and helped me in, 'you know I wear a sword,' for I had brought it.

" 'Oh, viscount,' says he-'oh, my dearest Frank!' and he threw himself into my arms and burst out a-crying. 'I do love Mistress Beatrix so, that I shall die if I don't have her.'

" 'My dear Blandford,' says I, 'you are young to think of marrying;' for he was but fifteen, and a young fellow of that age can scarce do so, you know.

" 'But I'll wait twenty years, if she'll have me,' says he. 'I'll never marry-no never, never, never, marry anybody but her. No, not a princess, though they would have me do it ever so. If Beatrix will wait for me, her Blandford swears he will be faithful.' And he wrote a paper (it wasn't spelt right, for he wrote: 'I'm ready to _sine with my blode_', which you know, Harry, isn't the way of spelling it), and vowing that he would marry none other but the Honourable Mistress Gertrude Beatrix Esmond, only sister of his dearest friend Francis James, fourth Viscount Esmond. And so I gave him a locket of her hair."

"A locket of her hair!" cries Esmond.

"Yes. 'Trix gave me one after the fight with the d.u.c.h.ess that very day. I am sure I didn't want it; and so I gave it him, and we kissed at parting, and said-'Good-bye, brother.' And I got back through the gutter; and we set off home that very evening. And he went to King's College, in Cambridge, and _I'm_ going to Cambridge soon; and if he doesn't stand to his promise (for he's only wrote once),-he knows I wear a sword, Harry.

Come along, and let's go see the c.o.c.king-match at Winchester.

"....But I say," he added laughing, after a pause, "I don't think 'Trix will break her heart about him. Law bless you! Whenever she sees a man, she makes eyes at him; and young Sir Wilmot Crawley of Queen's Crawley, and Anthony Henley of Alresford, were at swords drawn about her, at the Winchester a.s.sembly, a month ago."

That night Mr. Harry's sleep was by no means so pleasant or sweet as it had been on the first two evenings after his arrival at Walcote. "So the bright eyes have been already shining on another," thought he, "and the pretty lips, or the cheeks at any rate, have begun the work which they were made for. Here's a girl not sixteen, and one young gentleman is already whimpering over a lock of her hair, and two country squires are ready to cut each other's throats that they may have the honour of a dance with her. What a fool am I to be dallying about this pa.s.sion, and singeing my wings in this foolish flame. Wings!-why not say crutches? There is but eight years' difference between us, to be sure; but in life I am thirty years older. How could I ever hope to please such a sweet creature as that, with my rough ways and glum face? Say that I have merit ever so much, and won myself a name, could she ever listen to me? She must be my lady marchioness, and I remain a nameless b.a.s.t.a.r.d. O my master, my master!" (here he fell to thinking with a pa.s.sionate grief of the vow which he had made to his poor dying lord); "O my mistress, dearest and kindest, will you be contented with the sacrifice which the poor orphan makes for you, whom you love, and who so loves you?"

And then came a fiercer pang of temptation. "A word from me," Harry thought, "a syllable of explanation, and all this might be changed; but no, I swore it over the dying bed of my benefactor. For the sake of him and his; for the sacred love and kindness of old days; I gave my promise to him, and may kind Heaven enable me to keep my vow!"

The next day, although Esmond gave no sign of what was going on in his mind, but strove to be more than ordinarily gay and cheerful when he met his friends at the morning meal, his dear mistress, whose clear eyes it seemed no emotion of his could escape, perceived that something troubled him, for she looked anxiously towards him more than once during the breakfast, and when he went up to his chamber afterwards she presently followed him, and knocked at his door.

As she entered, no doubt the whole story was clear to her at once, for she found our young gentleman packing his valise, pursuant to the resolution which he had come to over-night of making a brisk retreat out of this temptation.

She closed the door very carefully behind her, and then leant against it, very pale, her hands folded before her, looking at the young man, who was kneeling over his work of packing. "Are you going so soon?" she said.

He rose up from his knees, blushing, perhaps, to be so discovered, in the very act, as it were, and took one of her fair little hands-it was that which had her marriage ring on-and kissed it.

"It is best that it should be so, dearest lady," he said.

"I knew you were going, at breakfast. I-I thought you might stay. What has happened? Why can't you remain longer with us? What has Frank told you-you were talking together late last night?"

"I had but three days' leave from Chelsea," Esmond said, as gaily as he could. "My aunt-she lets me call her aunt-is my mistress now; I owe her my lieutenancy and my laced coat. She has taken me into high favour; and my new general is to dine at Chelsea to-morrow-General Lumley, madam-who has appointed me his aide de camp, and on whom I must have the honour of waiting. See, here is a letter from the dowager; the post brought it last night; and I would not speak of it, for fear of disturbing our last merry meeting."

My lady glanced at the letter, and put it down with a smile that was somewhat contemptuous. "I have no need to read the letter," says she-(indeed, 'twas as well she did not; for the Chelsea missive, in the poor dowager's usual French jargon, permitted him a longer holiday than he said. "_Je vous donne_," quoth her ladyship, "_oui jour, pour vous fatigay parfaictement de vos parens fatigans_")-"I have no need to read the letter," says she. "What was it Frank told you last night?"

"He told me little I did not know," Mr. Esmond answered. "But I have thought of that little, and here's the result; I have no right to the name I bear, dear lady; and it is only by your sufferance that I am allowed to keep it. If I thought for an hour of what has perhaps crossed your mind too--"

"Yes, I did, Harry," said she; "I thought of it; and think of it. I would sooner call you my son than the greatest prince in Europe-yes, than the greatest prince. For who is there so good and so brave, and who would love her as you would? But there are reasons a mother can't tell."

"I know them," said Mr. Esmond, interrupting her with a smile.-"I know there's Sir Wilmot Crawley of Queen's Crawley, and Mr. Anthony Henley of the Grange, and my Lord Marquis of Blandford, that seems to be the favoured suitor. You shall ask me to wear my lady marchioness's favours and to dance at her ladyship's wedding."

"Oh, Harry, Harry, it is none of these follies that frighten me," cried out Lady Castlewood. "Lord Churchill is but a child, his outbreak about Beatrix was a mere boyish folly. His parents would rather see him buried than married to one below him in rank. And do you think that I would stoop to sue for a husband for Francis Esmond's daughter; or submit to have my girl smuggled into that proud family to cause a quarrel between son and parents, and to be treated only as an inferior? I would disdain such a meanness. Beatrix would scorn it. Ah! Henry, 'tis not with you the fault lies, 'tis with her. I know you both, and love you: need I be ashamed of that love now? No, never, never, and 'tis not you, dear Harry, that is unworthy. 'Tis for my poor Beatrix I tremble-whose headstrong will frightens me; whose jealous temper (they say I was jealous too, but, pray G.o.d, I am cured of that sin) and whose vanity no words or prayers of mine can cure-only suffering, only experience, and remorse afterwards. Oh, Henry, she will make no man happy who loves her. Go away, my son, leave her: love us always, and think kindly of us: and for me, my dear, you know that these walls contain all that I love in the world."

In after-life, did Esmond find the words true which his fond mistress spoke from her sad heart? Warning he had: but I doubt others had warning before his time, and since: and he benefited by it as most men do.