Chapter XIV

Those who murder fame,
Kill more than life-destroyers.

Castleton, for the first few days at Sandford, led a listless, lounging, watering-place kind of life. Lady Gayland was not yet come; nor did he, among the many casual acquaintances that he encountered, find any one calculated to be a resource. On the contrary, one unexpectedly crossed his path here, the renewal of whose acquaintance was most unwelcome; he would even have given much to avoid it. In passing, at dusk one afternoon, by a trinket-shop on the cliff, he heard his name uttered, inquiringly, out of a dark-coloured chaise, with rose-coloured blinds. So summoned, he approached, and, though the light was already too far gone to give more than a general view of the features of the person who addressed him, yet a disagreeable conviction at once occurred to him, through the concurrent accumulation of rouge and wrinkles, that he once more beheld Lady Madelina Manfred. She addressed him in the sickly tone of resuscitated sentiment, and requested him to call upon her the next day.

There was hardly any thing that he would not rather have done, and yet there was hardly any thing that he could not better refuse to do; and next morning saw him unwillingly winding his way towards a cottage _orné_ on the cliff, which, with the dark-coloured chariot, had been the produce of her recruited finances. Poor Manfred had, at length, drank himself to death in the Bench; she had therefore come upon the entailed property for her settled jointure; had quarrelled with, and left Captain O’Connor in Connaught; and, with somewhat diminished powers, was trying whom she could captivate here, to use either as an agreeable _passe-temps_, or as a permanent settlement.

For Castleton she had always retained a lingering partiality; their connexion, such as it was, had taken its date just at that period of her life, when a woman of her description is peculiarly sensible of the admiration of a very young man. He was since married, and therefore she could not look forward to any renewal of their _liaison_; but as she was not conscious of any other change, least of all in herself, she still expected from him much devotion of manner. But Castleton’s feelings towards her were now, on the contrary, under the influence of that most powerful of all re-actions, the thorough consciousness of having, with very little excuse, made a very great fool of himself. He was now perfectly aware of all those faults in her character, to which he had formerly been wofully blind; and he could not even discover the traces of those personal attractions which had alone been the cause of that blindness. Therefore, though her reception of him was evidently studied; her address to him tender and languishing; and the effect of her appearance, assisted by the softened light that oozed through the triply-folded curtains; yet, in spite of all this, his manner was as cold as it was constrained.

Lady Madelina had always had a passion for presents; and on this occasion, several trinkets, said to have been sent to her for choice, were artfully displayed upon the table. Castleton could not mistake the hint intended; but he hesitated at first, between a dislike to take this particular method of checking her expectations, and the danger of encouraging these too far, by acceding to her evident wish. At last, as the best way of making good his retreat out of the room, he begged her acceptance of the article which seemed most to have tempted her fancy; accompanying his exit with an expression of his regret that he was so much occupied at present, that he could have but few opportunities of repeating his visit.

This occupation, which was imaginary at the time that it was so pleaded, was soon afterwards realized; for Lady Gayland arrived the next day, and was followed almost immediately by St. Clair and some other young men; as well as by two or three families, who having latterly been staying at the country-house where she has been on a visit, near Somersby, had been principally tempted by her to take Sandford in their way homewards.

Under these circumstances, Castleton found it very difficult now to see her alone; a difficulty which she seemed by no means anxious to remove. How wise would he have thought this determination in any other case: how little justice did he do to its discretion in his own. A man, under the influence of an unhappy passion, feeling the obligation, but not having the power to resist it, is often the most senseless animal in creation: always prone to misconstrue the actions of the object of his devotion; unreasonable in his expectations of demonstrations towards himself, and fastidiously criticising her deportment towards any one else; equally ready to exact in the one case, or exaggerate in the other.

In spite, however, of her previous determination to avoid it, the intimate footing of society at a small watering place, and the tacit acquiescence, if not expressed understanding, by which, on these occasions, those two people are allowed to be most together whose society is supposed to be the most agreeable to each other, led to interviews which dangerously reminded them both of past times, and produced some little gossip even beyond their immediate circle.

Lady Madelina had, ever since Castleton’s visit, and consequent _cadeau_, pestered him with incessant pointedly-expressed rose-coloured notes; which, after a time, he was rather apt to leave unanswered. The cause of this she was anxious to discover. Her position in the world was a doubtful one; she had been avoided, never excluded; no record had ever appeared against her: Captain O’Connor, and Connaught, were equally distant and unknown. She, therefore, at a watering place, hovered sufficiently within the outskirts of society to have occasional opportunities of observing Castleton. At a raffle, which was held at one of the libraries, she met him with Lady Gayland hanging on his arm, and addressing him with an easy assurance, which she probably had acquired in the western province of the sister country, said,

“Introduce me to your _new_ friend.”

“Excuse me;” was the laconic reply, pointedly expressed.

“This from _you_ to _me_!” was the equally concise retort, as she floated by.

There is nothing in the world so vindictive as an irritated fool; and an unexpected opportunity occurred of venting, in a congenial manner, her spiteful feelings.

The maid whom Lucy had been obliged to dismiss from Morden Bay, was landed at Sandford, and sought what might for her too truly be termed a suitable service with Lady Madelina Manfred. It had always been Lady Madelina’s custom to confide much in her maid, though the services which she had required had generally been in aid of a softer passion than hatred. The information that her new attendant had been living with Lady Castleton, gave her an immediate clue to all the discoveries that she most wished to make; and she was not a little surprised to find, upon inquiry, that his present wife could be no other than the little girl whom they had together seen, during their excursions on the shores of Morden Bay. The details given by Mrs. Jenkins, of the state of the establishment during the time that she lived with the Castletons, and particularly of the present family union at Bankside Farm, furnished ample food for mischief, had Lady Madelina possessed powers equal to her desire, to wield the weapons thus placed in her hands.

But there is one device, the attempt of which is open to the poorest, the effects of which may content the most rancorous spirit. An anonymous letter is a mode of moral murder, which, using only a pen for a poniard, and an inkstand for a bowl, poisons confidence, and stabs characters without fear of detection. A man who thus “filches from me my good name,” is free from any dread of having the stolen goods found upon him; and malignity, thus refined by cowardice, feasts satisfactorily upon the mere distant imagination of the success of its designs. This was the sort of revenge which it occurred to Lady Madelina to take; and, collecting some topics for mischief from her maid, she concocted the following epistle for Lucy in a feigned hand; a disguise by no means complete, since the highly-scented vellum paper, which was made use of, would have suggested to any one less artless than Lucy, the sort of person from whom it came. It began with those assurances with which every anonymous letter abounds.

“_A friend_, deeply _interested_ in the welfare of Lady Castleton, begs most anxiously to warn her of the doubly dangerous precipice on which she at present stands. On one side her character is cruelly traduced, and spies set over her to endeavour to collect proofs of her criminal attachment to _one_ whom it is unnecessary to name, but for whom the person who thus cautions her, feels assured that she only entertains an innocent regard. At the same time attempts are carrying on here by the same artful woman, who is thus working her ruin, to rob her of her husband’s affections. This object, the friend who now writes is afraid will be more likely to be accomplished than the first part of the scheme. At any rate, why is Lady Castleton not here? In regard alike for her reputation and her happiness, she ought not to delay her return another instant: already her absence is represented as arising from indifference to Lord Castleton, and partiality for another. She is young in the world, and has much to learn; and will not suffer by taking this hint from her sincere friend,--Experience.”

Whatever might be the extent of the malice with which this was written, the degree of misery which it inflicted on the poor girl to whom it was addressed, must have excited some compunction if it could have been witnessed by its author; especially as Lucy was not herself so much the object, as the means, of attack upon the other two intended victims.

Lucy, with this death-warrant of her happiness, as she considered it, in her hand, felt as solitary in the centre of her family, as she had done in the midst of the strange society to which she had been transplanted. To whom could she willingly confide insinuations so degrading to herself, so injurious to her husband? The experience of the short time that had elapsed since her return to Bankside, had served to convince her how little the greater part of what she had lately learnt, could be understood by those amongst whom she had previously lived. She could not, therefore, for the world acknowledge to her father, still less to her cousin, that she could believe that there was any foundation in that which was asserted about her husband: and as little, she knew, would they credit what was said about herself. Nay, she even shrunk from showing the odious letter to her aunt, with whom she felt that she could have no half confidences. And yet to herself she could not deny, that she thought she ought, if possible, to follow the advice it contained, of an immediate return to her husband--but on what grounds to explain to her family such a previously unmentioned design?

An occasion, however, offered the very next day, while she was repining in secret over the contents of the hateful communication, which enabled her to attribute to the peculiar convenience of the opportunity, her intention to avail herself of it.

Lord Stayinmore had had his yacht down to Scotland, to convey him Southward, but having, before its arrival, changed his mind, and being anxious to give some plausible reason for so doing, he had sent it back, with an elaborately civil note to Lady Castleton, saying that “he had desired his vessel might call at the Bay where she had landed, (he had forgotten its name,) to express his hope that she would do him the honour to avail herself of it to return home again, to gladden the sight of the living world.”

Lucy, considering this arrival as almost providential, signified her intention of immediately availing herself of the offer. In vain her father and her aunt endeavoured to dissuade her, she showed a fixed determination to abide by her intention, for which they could not account. She, who was generally so gentle and pliable, was on this occasion positive and unalterable. She refused, even, to detain the vessel till the next morning; merely urging as a reason that, as it was a convenience offered, and a favour conferred, she felt it right to avail herself of it, without delay, if at all.

George had stood by in silence during the time that this little family debate was carried on in the garden in the front of the house, not wishing to obtrude his opinion in opposition to what appeared to be Lucy’s decided intention; but he watched the while, with some inquietude, indications of the weather, which his general nautical experience, and previous knowledge of the signs to be remarked on that particular spot, combined to make him fear promised but a rough and disagreeable passage for a delicate female.

The season was now far advanced: autumn, though still gleaming with an insidious smile, appeared generally in its own blustering nakedness. As they stood in the little garden, amongst the now bare and lifeless bushes, the fallen leaves rustled round them in fitful eddies. The wind, though not loud or high, was unsteady. The little vessel, although moored within the sheltered bay, in smooth, and apparently unruffled waters, heaved slowly and solemnly under the influence of a heavy ground swell from without; and though, with the exception of some light, fleecy clouds, whose fantastic shapes seemed to sport in the sunshine, the sky was generally clear, yet a low, thick bank at sea, which lingered in the offing, appeared to George to threaten some unpleasant weather at night, should the little skiff not be able to make the port of Sandford before dark. Danger he did not himself contemplate; and he wished not to prognosticate evil, when she seemed so determined not to be dissuaded from starting; he therefore merely urged that, if she intended to depart that day, there would be no unnecessary delay. She thanked him, with an expressive glance, for not having opposed himself to her wishes.

“One night more, dear Lucy,” said her father, as she turned to prepare for her departure.

“My dear father, trust me, I would not refuse what I should myself so much wish, had I not reasons, which I cannot explain, but which convince me of the necessity of no delay.”

“You will at least, though, allow me to accompany you as far as Sandford,” said George. “Quite alone with strange sailors, you cannot think of undertaking the voyage.”

Lucy hesitated how to reply to this request. The perfect purity of her own mind, and the correctness of her conduct, made it difficult for her to fancy that any one could believe the insinuation in the anonymous letter, of her continued attachment to her cousin. Sometimes the recollection of past feelings would, perhaps, raise a sigh to what might have been; but she never had thought of those times and her cousin, but as referring to prospects which her conduct had closed for ever against her; still if such reports had been spread, the idea of returning to her husband in company with George, caused her more fear than the alternative of braving the dangers of the voyage alone. She therefore answered, “I had rather go by myself, dear George.”

But her father was not so easily satisfied: the experience of an unexpected bereavement, to one previously so prosperous, had made him, for the present, morbidly alive to danger. “I’m not now,” he said, “the fool-hardy swaggerer that I used to be; who just thought no harm could happen, because it hadn’t happened afore. Yet even now Richard Darnell’s fears are not to be slighted; and I shall jist have no rest, unless you take George wi’ you.” To the desire thus urged by her father, and seconded by her aunt’s entreaties, Lucy gave way, and consented that George should accompany her. He immediately proceeded to facilitate preparations for their departure; but even with his exertions they were rather tardy, and it was much later than he could have wished before they embarked.

Richard Darnell, and his sister, once more stood side by side to watch the departure of their beloved Lucy, though under different circumstances. Their fears were complicated, and their hopes were chastened, since they had marked her borne away from the church by her noble bridegroom. They had ascended the cliff, and reached the ledge on which the farm-house was situated, just as the little bark cleared the promontory of the bay; and as the freshening breeze met them on their ascent to the upper land, they turned again to watch the progress of a vessel that bore a freight so precious to them both; and they observed, with no little anxiety, that she, at the same moment began to pitch sharply and violently as she cut through the increasing foam of the now unsheltered waters.