Valerie Part 20

The first and most important was this: I went every Sunday to the Catholic Chapel with Madame Gironac, and of course I joined in the singing. On the third Sunday as I was going out, I was touched on the arm by one of the priests, who requested to speak with me in the vestry.

Madame Gironac and I followed him, and he requested us to sit down.

"Who have I the pleasure of addressing?" said he to me.

"Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, sir," replied I.

"I am not aware of your circ.u.mstances, mademoiselle," said he, "but the name is one well known in France. Still those who hold our best names are very often not in affluent circ.u.mstances in this country. I trust, let it be as it may, that you will not be offended, but the fact is, your singing has been much admired, and we would wish for your service, gratuitous, if you are in good circ.u.mstances, but well paid for, if you are not, in the choir."

"Mademoiselle Chatenoeuf is not, I am sorry to say, in good circ.u.mstances, monsieur," replied Madame Gironac.

"Then I will promise that she shall be well rewarded for her exertions, if she will consent to sing in the chapel--but do you consent?"

"I have no objection, sir," replied I.

"Allow me, then, to call the gentleman who presides over the choir,"

said the priest, going out.

"Accept by all means, Mademoiselle Valerie. It will be an introduction for you as a music-mistress, and very advantageous."

"I agree with you," replied I, "and I like singing sacred music."

The priest returned with a gentleman, who told me that he had listened with great pleasure to my singing, and begged, as a favour, that I would sing him a solo, which he had brought with him.

As I could sing at sight, I did so. He was satisfied, and it was agreed that I should come on Sat.u.r.day, at twelve, to practice with the rest of the choir. The following Sunday I sang with them, and also sang the solos. After the service was over, I received three guineas for my performance, and was informed that a similar sum would be given to me every Sunday on which I sang. My voice was much admired; and, when it was known that I gave lessons, I very soon had engagements from many Catholic families. My charges to them were moderate, five shillings a lesson of one hour.

The next channel was through Monsieur and Madame Gironac. He recommended me to a gentleman whom he taught, as a music-mistress for his sisters and daughters, and she to all her various customers and employers. I soon obtained several pupils by her exertions. The third was from an intimacy I had formed with an acquaintance of Madame Gironac, with a Mademoiselle Adele Chabot, who was of a good French family, but earning her livelihood as a French teacher in one of the most fashionable schools in Kensington.

Through her recommendation, I obtained the teaching of the young ladies at the school, but of her more hereafter. The fourth channel was through the kindness of Mr Selwyn, the lawyer, to whom I shall now again revert. I had several visits from Mr Selwyn after I had left Baker Street, and on one of these he informed me, that upon the proofs of Lionel Dempster's ident.i.ty being examined by the legal advisers of Mr Dempster, of Yorkshire, they were considered so positive that the aforenamed gentleman immediately came to terms, agreeing to give up the property to Lionel, provided, in consequence of the great improvements he had made, he was not come upon for arrears of income arising from it.

That Mr Selwyn advised this offer to be accepted, as it would prevent any exposure of Lady R--, and the circ.u.mstances under which Lionel had been brought up, from being made public. Lionel had written to say that he was anxious that any sacrifice should be made rather than the affair should be exposed; and the terms were consented to, and Lionel came into possession of further property, to the amount of 900 pounds per annum.

As we became more intimate, Mr Selwyn asked me many particulars relative to myself, and, by his habit of cross-examining, soon gained the best portion of my history; only one point I did not mention to him,--that my family supposed that I was dead.

CHAPTER TEN.

One day he came, accompanied by Mrs Selwyn, who joined him very earnestly in requesting me to pa.s.s a day or two with them at their country house at Kew. I accepted the invitation, and they called for me in their carriage on their way down. It was summer time, and I was very glad to be out of London for a day or two. I found a charming family of two sons and three daughters, grown up, and who appeared very accomplished. Mr Selwyn then, for the first time, asked me whether I was settled or not.

I told him no,--that I was giving lessons in music--that I sang at the chapel, and that I was laying by money.

He said I was right, and that he hoped to be able to procure me pupils; "But now," said he, "as I did not know that you had a voice, I must be permitted to hear it, as otherwise I shall not be able to make my report."

I sat down immediately and sang, and he and Mrs Selwyn, as well as the daughters, were highly pleased with my performance. During my stay, Mr Selwyn treated me in, I may say, almost a parental manner, and extracted something more from me relative to my previous life, and he told me that he thought I had done wisely in remaining independent, and not again trusting to Lady M--or Madame d'Albret. I went afterwards several times to their town house, being invited to evening parties, and people who were there and heard my singing, sent for me to teach their daughters.

In six months after I had taken up my residence with the Gironacs, I was in flourishing circ.u.mstances. I had twenty-eight pupils, ten at five shillings per lesson, and eight at seven shillings, and they took lessons twice a week. I had also a school for which I received about five guineas per week, and the singing at the chapel, for which I received three. In fact, I was receiving about eighteen pounds a week during the winter season; but it must be confessed that I worked hard for it, and expended two or three pounds a week in coach hire.

Nevertheless, although I now spent more money on my appearance, and had purchased a piano, before the year was over I had paid 250 pounds into Mr Selwyn's hands to take care of for me. When I thought of what might have still been my position had it not been for the kindness of poor Lady R--; when I reflected how I had been cast upon the world, young and friendless, by Madame d'Albret, and that I was now making money rapidly by my own exertions, and that at such an early age (for I was but little past twenty years old), had I not reason to be grateful? I was so, and most truly so, and moreover, I was happy, truly happy. All my former mirth and vivacity, which had been checked during my sojourn in England, returned. I improved every day in good looks, at least so everybody told me but Mr Selwyn; and I gained that, which to a certain degree my figure required, more roundness and expansion. And this was the poor Valerie, supposed to have been drowned in the river Seine!

I forgot to say, that about three weeks after Lionel went to Paris, I received a letter from Madame d'Albret, in which she thanked me warmly for my having introduced the young Englishman to her, as she took it as a proof of my really having forgiven her what she never should forgive herself. She still indulged the hope that she might one day embrace me.

With respect to Lionel, she said that he appeared a modest, una.s.suming young lad, and that it should not be her fault if he did not turn out an accomplished gentleman; that he had already the best fencing and music-masters, and was working very hard at the language. As soon as he could speak French tolerably, he was to commence German and Italian.

She had procured him a _pension_ in an excellent French family, and he appeared to be very happy.

I could not help reflecting, as I read the contents of this letter, upon the change which had taken place in Lionel Dempster, as soon as he found himself established in his rights. From an impudent, talkative page, he at once became a modest, respectful, and silent young man. What could have caused this change? Was it because, when a page, he felt himself above his condition; and now, that he had gained a name and fortune, that he felt himself beneath it? I decided, when I remembered how anxious he was to improve himself, that such was the case; and I further inferred that it showed a n.o.ble, generous, and sensitive mind. And I now felt very glad that I had written to Madame d'Albret, and all my objections to seeing her again were removed; why so? because I was independent. It was my dependence that made me so proud and unforgiving. In fact, I was on better terms with the world, now that I had somewhat raised myself in it. I was one day talking over my life with Mr Selwyn, and after pointing out how I had been taken in by my ignorance and confidence, how much wiser I had become already from experience, and my hopes that I should one day cease to be a dupe, he replied, "My dear Miss Valerie, do not say so. To have been a dupe is to have lived; we are dupes when we are full of the hope and warmth of youth. I am an old man; my profession has given me great knowledge of the world; knowledge of the world has made me cautious and indifferent, but this has not added to my happiness, although it may have saved my pocket. No, no; when we arrive at that point, when we warm before no affection, doubting its truth; when we have gained this age-bought experience, which has left our hearts as dry as the remainder biscuits after a long voyage--there is no happiness in this, Valerie. Better to be deceived, and trust again. I almost wish that I could now be the dupe of a woman or a false friend, for I should then feel as if I were young again."

"But, sir," replied I, "your conduct is at variance with your language; why else such kindness shown to me, a perfect stranger, and one without claims upon you?"

"You over-rate my little attention, my dear Valerie; but that proves that you have a grateful heart. I speak of myself as when in contact with the world. You forget that I have domestic ties to which the heart is ever fresh. Were it not for home and the natural affections, we men would be brutes indeed. The heart, when in conflict with the world, may be compared to a plant scorched by the heat of the sun; but, in the shade of domestic repose, it again recovers its freshness for the time."

I have stated, that through the recommendation and influence of a Mademoiselle Adele Chabot, I taught music at an establishment for young ladies at Kensington. It was what is called a finishing-school. The terms were very high, and the young ladies did not always sit down to boiled mutton; but, from what I learnt from Adele, in other points it was not better than schools in general; but it had a reputation, and that was sufficient.

One day, I was informed by Mrs Bradshaw, the proprietress of the establishment, that I was to have a new pupil the next quarter, which was very near; and when it did arrive, and the young lady was brought in, who should it be but Caroline, my former companion and pupil at Madame Bathurst's?

"Valerie!" exclaimed she, rushing into my arms.

"My dear Caroline, this is an unexpected pleasure," said I; "but how came you here?"

"I will tell you some day," replied Caroline, not wishing to talk about her family while the teacher, who came in with her, was present.

"I hope Madame Bathurst is well?" inquired I.

"Quite well, when I saw her last," said Caroline.

"Well, my dear, we must work, and not talk, for my time is valuable,"

said I; "so sit down, and let me hear whether you have improved since I last gave you a lesson."

The teacher then left the room, and Caroline, having run over a few bars, stopped, and said, "I never can play till I have talked to you, Valerie. You asked me how I came here. At my own request; or, if a girl may use such language, because I insisted upon it. I was so uncomfortable at home, that I could bear it no longer. I must speak against my father and mother--I cannot help it; for it is impossible to be blind; they are so strange, so conceited, so spoiled by prosperity, so haughty and imperious, and so rude and uncouth to any whom they consider beneath them, that it is painful to be in their company.

Servants will not remain a month in the house--there is nothing but exchange, and everything is uncomfortable. After having lived with my aunt Bathurst, who you will acknowledge to be a lady in every respect, I really thought that I was in a _Hopital de Fous_. Such a.s.sumption, such pretension, such absurdities, to all which they wished to make me a party. I have had a wilderness of governesses, but not one would or could submit to the humiliations which they were loaded with. At last, by rebelling in every way, I gained my point, and have escaped to school. I feel that I ought not to speak disparagingly of my parents, but still I must speak the truth to you, although I would say nothing to others; so do not be angry with me, Valerie."

"I am more sorry that it is so, than that you should tell me of it, Caroline; but from what I saw during my short visit, I can fully give credit to all you have said."

"But is it not a hard case, Valerie, when you cannot respect your parents?" replied Caroline, putting her handkerchief to her eyes.

"It is, my dear; but still on the whole, it is perhaps for the best.

You were taken from your parents, and were well brought up; you return to them, and find them many degrees below you in the scale of refinement, and therefore you cannot respect them. Now, if you had never left them, you would, of course, have remained down at their level, and would have respected them, having imbibed the same opinions, and perceiving nothing wrong in their conduct. Now which of the two would you prefer, if you had the power to choose?"

"Most certainly to be as I am," replied Caroline, "but I cannot but grieve that my parents should not have been like my aunt Bathurst."

"I agree with you in that feeling, but what is--is, and we must make the best of it. You must excuse your parents' faults as much as you can, since your education will not permit you to be blind to them, and you must treat them with respect from a sense of duty."

"That I have always done," replied Caroline; "but it too often happens that I have to decide between the respect I would show to my parents, and a sense of justice or a love of truth opposed to it--that is the greatest difficulty."

"Very true," replied I, "and in such cases you must act according to the dictates of your own conscience."

"Well," replied Caroline, "I think I have done wisely in getting away altogether. I have seen little of my aunt Bathurst, since you took me to my father's house; for, although some advances were made towards a reconciliation, as soon as my aunt was told that my father and mother had stated that I had been most improperly brought up by her, she was so angry at the false accusation, that all intercourse is broken off, I fear, for ever. Oh, how I have longed to be with my aunt again! But Valerie, I never heard why you left her. Some one did say that you had gone, but why was not known."

"I went away, Caroline, because I was no longer of any use in the house after you had been removed, and I did not choose to be an inc.u.mbrance to your aunt. I preferred gaining my livelihood by my own exertions, as I am now doing, and to which resolution on my part, I am indebted for the pleasure of our again meeting."

"Ah, Valerie, I never loved you so much as I did after I had lost you,"

said Caroline.