CHAPTER XIV. Harry in England
When the famous Trojan wanderer narrated his escapes and adventures toQueen Dido, her Majesty, as we read, took the very greatest interestin the fascinating story-teller who told his perils so eloquently. Ahistory ensued, more pathetic than any of the previous occurrences inthe life of Pius Aeneas, and the poor princess had reason to rue the daywhen she listened to that glib and dangerous orator. Harry Warringtonhad not pious Aeneas's power of speech, and his elderly aunt, we maypresume, was by no means so soft-hearted as the sentimental Dido;but yet the lad's narrative was touching, as he delivered it with hisartless eloquence and cordial voice; and more than once, in the courseof his story, Madam Bernstein found herself moved to a softness to whichshe had very seldom before allowed herself to give way. There were notmany fountains in that desert of a life--not many sweet, refreshingresting-places. It had been a long loneliness, for the most part, untilthis friendly voice came and sounded in her ears and caused her heart tobeat with strange pangs of love and sympathy. She doted on this lad,and on this sense of compassion and regard so new to her. Save once,faintly, in very very early youth, she had felt no tender sentiment forany human being. Such a woman would, no doubt, watch her own sensationsvery keenly, and must have smiled after the appearance of this boy, tomark how her pulses rose above their ordinary beat. She longed afterhim. She felt her cheeks flush with happiness when he came near. Hereyes greeted him with welcome, and followed him with fond pleasure. "Ah,if she could have had a son like that, how she would have loved him!""Wait," says Conscience, the dark scoffer mocking within her, "wait,Beatrix Esmond! You know you will weary of this inclination, as you haveof all. You know, when the passing fancy has subsided, that the boy mayperish, and you won't have a tear for him; or talk, and you weary ofhis stories; and that your lot in life is to be lonely--lonely." Well?suppose life be a desert? There are halting-places and shades, andrefreshing waters; let us profit by them for to-day. We know that wemust march when to-morrow comes, and tramp on our destiny onward.
She smiled inwardly, whilst following the lad's narrative, to recognisein his simple tales about his mother, traits of family resemblance.Madam Esmond was very jealous?--Yes, that Harry owned. She was fond ofColonel Washington? She liked him, but only as a friend, Harry declared.A hundred times he had heard his mother vow that she had no otherfeeling towards him. He was ashamed to have to own that he himself hadbeen once absurdly jealous of the Colonel. "Well, you will see that myhalf-sister will never forgive him," said Madam Beatrix. "And you neednot be surprised, sir, at women taking a fancy to men younger thanthemselves; for don't I dote upon you; and don't all these Castlewoodpeople crevent with jealousy?"
However great might be their jealousy of Madame de Bernstein's newfavourite, the family of Castlewood allowed no feeling of illwill toappear in their language or behaviour to their young guest andkinsman. After a couple of days' stay in the ancestral house, Mr.Harry Warrington had become Cousin Harry with young and middle-aged.Especially in Madame Bernstein's presence, the Countess of Castlewoodwas most gracious to her kinsman, and she took many amiable privateopportunities of informing the Baroness how charming the young Huronwas, of vaunting the elegance of his manners and appearance, andwondering how, in his distant province, the child should ever havelearned to be so polite?
These notes of admiration or interrogation, the Baroness took withequal complacency (speaking parenthetically, and, for his own part, thepresent chronicler cannot help putting in a little respectful remarkhere, and signifying his admiration of the conduct of ladies towards oneanother, and of the things which they say, which they forbear to say,and which they say behind each other's backs. With what smiles andcurtseys they stab each other! with what compliments they hate eachother! with what determination of long-suffering they won't be offended!with what innocent dexterity they can drop the drop of poison into thecup of conversation, hand round the goblet, smiling, to the whole familyto drink, and make the dear, domestic circle miserable!)--I burst out ofmy parenthesis. I fancy my Baroness and Countess smiling at each othera hundred years ago, and giving each other the hand or the cheek, andcalling each other, My dear, My dear creature, My dear Countess, My dearBaroness, My dear sister--even, when they were most ready to fight.
"You wonder, my dear Maria, that the boy should be so polite?" criesMadame de Bernstein. "His mother was bred up by two very perfectgentlefolks. Colonel Esmond had a certain grave courteousness, and agrand manner, which I do not see among the gentlemen nowadays."
"Eh, my dear, we all of us praise our own time! My grandmamma used todeclare there was nothing like Whitehall and Charles the Second."
"My mother saw King James the Second's court for a short while, andthough not a court-educated person, as you know,--her father was acountry clergyman--yet was exquisitely well-bred. The Colonel, hersecond husband, was a person of great travel and experience, as well asof learning, and had frequented the finest company of Europe. They couldnot go into their retreat and leave their good manners behind them, andour boy has had them as his natural inheritance."
"Nay, excuse me, my dear, for thinking you too partial about yourmother. She could not have been that perfection which your filialfondness imagines. She left off liking her daughter--my dear creature,you have owned that she did--and I cannot fancy a complete woman who hasa cold heart. No, no, my dear sister-in-law! Manners are very requisite,no doubt, and, for a country parson's daughter, your mamma was verywell--I have seen many of the cloth who are very well. Mr. Sampson, ourchaplain, is very well. Dr. Young is very well. Mr. Dodd is very well;but they have not the true air--as how should they? I protest, I begpardon! I forgot my lord bishop, your ladyship's first choice. But, as Isaid before, to be a complete woman, one must have, what you have, whatI may say and bless Heaven for, I think I have--a good heart. Withoutthe affections, all the world is vanity, my love! I protest I only live,exist, eat, drink, rest, for my sweet, sweet children!--for my wickedWilly, for my self-willed Fanny, dear naughty loves!" (Sherapturously kisses a bracelet on each arm which contains the miniaturerepresentations of those two young persons.) "Yes, Mimi! yes, Fanchon!you know I do, you dear, dear little things! and if they were to die,or you were to die, your poor mistress would die too!" Mimi and Fanchon,two quivering Italian greyhounds, jump into their lady's arms, and kissher hands, but respect her cheeks, which are covered with rouge. "No,my dear! For nothing do I bless Heaven so much (though it puts meto excruciating torture very often) as for having endowed me withsensibility and a feeling heart!"
"You are full of feeling, dear Anna," says the Baroness. "You arecelebrated for your sensibility. You must give a little of it to ourAmerican nephew--cousin--I scarce know his relationship."
"Nay, I am here but as a guest in Castlewood now. The house is my LordCastlewood's, not mine, or his lordship's whenever he shall choose toclaim it. What can I do for the young Virginian that has not been done?He is charming. Are we even jealous of him for being so, my dear? andthough we see what a fancy the Baroness de Bernstein has taken for him,do your ladyship's nephews and nieces--your real nephews and nieces--cryout? My poor children might be mortified, for indeed, in a few hours,the charming young man has made as much way as my poor things have beenable to do in all their lives: but are they angry? Willy hath taken himout to ride. This morning, was not Maria playing the harpsichord whilstmy Fanny taught him the minuet? 'Twas a charming young group, I assureyou, and it brought tears into my eyes to look at the young creatures.Poor lad! we are as fond of him as you are, dear Baroness!"
Now, Madame de Bernstein had happened, through her own ears or hermaid's, to overhear what really took place in consequence of thisharmless little scene. Lady Castlewood had come into the room where theyoung people were thus engaged in amusing and instructing themselves,accompanied by her son William, who arrived in his boots from thekennel.
"Bravi, bravi! Oh, charming!" said the Countess, clapping her hands,nodding with one of her best smiles to Harry Warrington, and darting a
look at his partner, which my Lady Fanny perfectly understood; andso, perhaps, did my Lady Maria at her harpsichord, for she played withredoubled energy, and nodded her waving curls, over the chords.
"Infernal young Choctaw! Is he teaching Fanny the war-dance? and is Fangoing to try her tricks upon him now?" asked Mr. William, whose temperwas not of the best.
And that was what Lady Castlewood's look said to Fanny. "Are you goingto try your tricks upon him now?"
She made Harry a very low curtsey, and he blushed, and they both stoppeddancing, somewhat disconcerted. Lady Maria rose from the harpsichord andwalked away.
"Nay, go on dancing, young people! Don't let me spoil sport, and let meplay for you," said the Countess; and she sate down to the instrumentand played.
"I don't know how to dance," says Harry, hanging his head down, with ablush that the Countess's finest carmine could not equal.
"And Fanny was teaching you? Go on teaching him, dearest Fanny!"
"Go on, do!" says William, with a sidelong growl.
"I--I had rather not show off my awkwardness in company," adds Harry,recovering himself. "When I know how to dance a minuet, be sure I willask my cousin to walk one with me."
"That will be very soon, dear Cousin Warrington, I am certain," remarksthe Countess, with her most gracious air.
"What game is she hunting now?" thinks Mr. William to himself, whocannot penetrate his mother's ways; and that lady, fondly calling herdaughter to her elbow, leaves the room.
They are no sooner in the tapestried passage leading away to theirown apartment, but Lady Castlewood's bland tone entirely changes. "Youbooby!" she begins to her adored Fanny. "You double idiot! What areyou going to do with the Huron? You don't want to marry a creature likethat, and be a squaw in a wigwam?"
"Don't, mamma!" gasps Lady Fanny. Mamma was pinching her ladyship's armblack-and-blue. "I am sure our cousin is very well," Fanny whimpers,"and you said so yourself."
"Very well! Yes; and heir to a swamp, a negro, a log-cabin and a barrelof tobacco! My Lady Frances Esmond, do you remember what your ladyship'srank is, and what your name is, and who was your ladyship's mother,when, at three days' acquaintance, you commence dancing--a pretty dance,indeed--with this brat out of Virginia?"
"Mr. Warrington is our cousin," pleads Lady Fanny.
"A creature come from nobody knows where is not your cousin! How do weknow he is your cousin? He may be a valet who has taken his master'sportmanteau, and run away in his postchaise."
"But Madame de Bernstein says he is our cousin," interposes Fanny; "andhe is the image of the Esmonds."
"Madame de Bernstein has her likes and dislikes, takes up people andforgets people; and she chooses to profess a mighty fancy for this youngman. Because she likes him to-day, is that any reason why she shouldlike him to-morrow? Before company, and in your aunt's presence,your ladyship will please to be as civil to him as necessary; but, inprivate, I forbid you to see him or encourage him."
"I don't care, madam, whether your ladyship forbids me or not!" criesout Lady Fanny, wrought up to a pitch of revolt.
"Very good, Fanny! then I speak to my lord, and we return to Kensington.If I can't bring you to reason, your brother will."
At this juncture the conversation between mother and daughter stopped,or Madame de Bernstein's informer had no further means of hearing orreporting it.
It was only in after days that she told Harry Warrington a part of whatshe knew. At present he but saw that his kinsfolks received him notunkindly. Lady Castlewood was perfectly civil to him; the young ladiespleasant and pleased; my Lord Castlewood, a man of cold and haughtydemeanour, was not more reserved towards Harry than to any of the restof the family; Mr. William was ready to drink with him, to ride withhim, to go to races with him, and to play cards with him. When heproposed to go away, they one and all pressed him to stay. Madame deBernstein did not tell him how it arose that he was the object ofsuch eager hospitality. He did not know what schemes he was serving ordisarranging, whose or what anger he was creating. He fancied he waswelcome because those around him were his kinsmen, and never thoughtthat those could be his enemies out of whose cup he was drinking, andwhose hand he was pressing every night and morning.