Lady Anne Granard/Chapter 40
CHAPTER XL.
The heat of the room in which the fancy fair was held had caused a very considerable number of persons to leave the place at the same time Lord Meersbrook did, but two or three like himself, struck with the distingué air of the gentleman in black, turned again in order to find out who he was. In a very few minutes he followed their example. His entrances and exits were now unnoticed; the "Who is he?" "Who can he be?" heard on every side, referred to a man old enough to be his father.
Several gentlemen were at the duchess's stand, every one of whom bent their regards on the stranger advancing towards them. "Bless my life!" exclaimed one, "here is Lucien Buonaparte, without a single friend or attendant; but every one makes way for him—that is something."
"It is not the Prince of Canino," said the duchess, "though the features much resemble his. I have seen several of the family: all are handsome, but not one has so good a figure as the person approaching us, by a great deal."
At this moment the Count's eye fell on her grace, and, seeing she was not the lady he sought, he turned towards the opposite centre, and fixed his eyes on Lady Anne. "Could that fair, tall, gauky girl be the Georgiana of whom Isabella was so fond of talking? or that round dumpling be the married sister they praised so highly? Impossible!"
But the lady par excellence was really Lady Anne, faded but still beautiful, and wearing, though with a constrained and artificial air, those smiles with which she had been wont to greet him at Granard Park, where she was most remarkable for the haughtiness which offended, or the condescension which mortified, the country friends of her husband. "Poor Lady Anne! times were changed as well as circumstances; but she was still a fine woman, and dressed most admirably and expensively. Her daughters had been needlessly alarmed for her: 'so much the better.'"
Riccardini had time to make these silent comments, as there was a closely wedged circle round the stand so polite a man could not find easy to pierce, and the thoughts of purchasing had not entered his mind; for though he had been told that the fancy fair was for a charitable institution, no farther explanation was given. He was amused by the pains taken to dispose of their wares by the ladies, especially Lady Penrhyn, who had been about to return to her own stand, when she perceived the fine-looking foreigner approach Lady Anne's, and she determined that no one else should be sales woman to him. She had seen the full, dark eye of the duchess dart across the company as if she would have arrested the new and noble-looking customer, and she was determined to seize and keep him to herself.
This became every moment more difficult, for his having been pronounced "Lucien Buonaparte " by a nobleman at the duchess's stand had sent a whisper round the room, and every one was pressing towards the spot where he stood; but Lady Penrhyn was not easily foiled. Stepping on a part of the wooden stool provided to raise the bride, she stretched her hand forward, with a small pincushion in it, and said—"I believe you want a heart, sir! Allow me to recommend this."
"If, fair lady, you are determined to rob me of my own," said the Count, gallantly, "surely you do not think such a thing as that will replace it!"
"We have them of all sizes and shapes; purses, card-cases, thread-papers, watch-pockets; every thing gentlemen have occasion for. May I ask what you desire?"
"I want my friend of long time, Lady Anne Granard; she is my object."
"Come round to us, my good sir. Go to the bottom of the room, and give the man this card; there is no possibility of speaking to Lady Anne, at this moment, but by coming round."
As this was very evident, the Count, gracefully bowing, departed, followed by all eyes, also by the steps of the person on whom Lord Meersbrook had been looking earnestly for some minutes. Whilst the Count had been speaking to Lady Penrhyn, the bedizened man had made his way to the duchess's box, bought a card-case of her youngest daughter, and on the near approach of her grace, had said in a low voice,—
"No offence, marm, but I believe you are my Lady Anne Granard."
"No," said the duchess, "I am not. Lady Anne's stand is opposite."
"I beg pardon, my lady; but I was told to look out for a fine woman in the centre box, an' I did."
"l am the Duchess of C; the duke, my husband, is in the room, and."
"I beg your grace's pardon most humbly," said the man, retreating, for he had now become sensible that there were two centre stands, similarly ornamented, and, from drawing as close as possible to the opposite one, heard what was said by Lady Penrhyn to the Count, whom he followed so closely, that the keeper of the private passage admitted them as a foreigner and his attendant, who continued to tread in the Count's steps, though not quite at his ease, until a fair hand, putting aside a curtain, admitted the former into Lady Anne's little inclosure.
"I am a stranger, but not willing to believe myself quite forgotten, Lady Anne?" said Riccardini, the tones of his rich voice vibrating with that tenderness natural to his awakened feelings.
"Signor Manuello!" cried Lady Anne; "is it possible I see you in England?"
"You do, indeed, see that bereaved man; but this is not the place to talk of our past histories, suffice to say, your dear daughters in Italy are well and have."
"You are Lady Anne Granard, I presume;" said a person, moving the curtain.
"There is no entrance this way; you must go back instantly."
"Yes, my lady; but his Majesty's officers, when about their duty, go any where so they breaks no locks. I means no offence, I'd scorn for to act unlike a gen'lman, specially to a unprotected female, so please come out here, and then nobody will know is your ladyship arrested."
The hand laid on her arm drew her unresistingly towards the speaker, and the curtain hid both for a moment, but the Count instantly followed, and eagerly inquired, "Where she was going?—What was the matter?"
"This here lady, sir, is arrested on the suit of Thomas Plumpound, grocer, for the sum of ninety-three pounds, seventeen and sixpence, sir, that's all; if your honour and any other 'sponsible person pleases to give bail, I'll accept it. I wouldn't go to distress a lady, not I, indeed."
"Come with me to the hotel, and I will give you the money."
"You speak very like a gen'lman, sir, but it is my duty not to lose sight of my prisoner."
The Count strode away as if he had secured seven-league boots, and in less time than it seemed possible, though it was an age to Lady Anne (who could not forbear to consider him in some measure cognizant of the dreadful incident, and taking this means of revenging himself upon her for all the contemptuous slanders which she had heaped on his name in days past), he returned with two bank of England notes in his hand, which he put into the bailiff's, saying,—"There's your money for yourself and all. You have proper behavour, and will make no say of this littel matter."
"Sir, you are a real gen'lman, therefore I cannot help telling you, there will be another writ against my lady to-morrow, for it was thought she would take so much money at the stand, she could pay easy."
"Come to me at the Clarence hotel; ask for the Italian Count."
"I will, sir; and I shall say this was all a mistake, for it is true I did make one since I came in."
"What shall I do for you, dear Lady Anne? Where is there a seat?"
"Within," said she, attempting to withdraw the curtain, but trembling so violently, she was unable to do it—in another minute she was carefully seated in a chair, and the handsome foreigner seen to he leaning over her, talking of her daughters. Lady Penrhyn readily took the cue given by the Count; she said "the meeting with a kind friend unexpectedly had been too much for her dear Lady Anne, joined to the excessive heat of the room," sent to order her own carriage, and deluged the place with eau de Cologne, but all would not do; the mortification in the first instance, the revulsion of feeling in the next, a dread of exposure, a deep sense of contrition towards Riccardini (and in the melèe of awakened emotion, thankfulness to God might have part), were altogether too much for her, and she would have fallen prostrate in a swoon, if the watchful eyes of Lady Penrhyn and the arms of the Count had not saved her.
Lord Meersbrook, with the agility of his age, was in a moment over the counter, and assisting in bearing her to the door, where the air soon effected her restoration. She was loath to leave the rooms, as feeling with Mrs. Candour, that "she left her character behind her," but at the earnest entreaty of Lady Jemima (who insisted on accompanying her with a kindness of heart that made her accent musical), she consented to go, and the ladies drove off together in Lady Penrhyn's chariot.
"I hope," said Lord Meersbrook to the Count, whom he now understood to be a relation, "you have not brought Lady Anne bad news from her daughters?"
"On the contrary, I left her daughters in Italy, perfectly well, only seventeen days since, and she told me herself Helen was well, save indisposed by labouring too much for this fair. Georgiana may have some ache of the heart, perhaps, but not of the health."
"Then the heat alone caused her faintness?"
"Yes, the heat, of which there is so littel here, nobody received it well; besides, the room is in very bad state, full of malaria. Lady Anne is not so young as she was, like myself, and cannot go through the fatigue as she wont."
"It is a dreadful fatigue; I have seen several ladies leave the room within the last hour. It was a very pretty spectacle in the morning, but you were late."
"I did leave Dieppe at four this morning only, and was in fortune to see it at all. To me it is spectacle melancholique, to see the ancient nobility train up their children, even their females to the trades; it is prudent, certainly, to prepare them for the misfortune, but yet it is melancholique."
"My good sir, you mistake; the ladies you have seen undertake all this trouble for the sake of charity. This is in aid of the dispensary."
"You are young, my lord; I hope you will escape that which I have seen, but I must question that you will, when I witness such preparation for revolutions as the scene of this day supplies. Depend on it, this is the mode taken to teach the young how they will live when come some violent overthrow of government, some revolution, as in France; some civil war, as in Spain; some invasion, as in Italy: yes, yes, the English are prudent, but it is sight for sorrow."
"Upon my word, sir, it is all for charity, there is no prudence in it, save that of making a little money go a long way."
"Then the English have change their character exceeding much; they did not use to burn candels before their gifts, neither to wheedel one anoder into the kind action. No, no, altogether it is allied to the sorrow."
So far as Lady Anne was concerned, the conclusion for the present appeared right, for she continued very unwell, and being obliged to consult a medical man, was consigned to her bed; and an anodyne, which, although it prevented her from receiving the Count, perhaps gave her the more of his society in her dreams, when he appeared in every possible guise, but always as a friend and protector. He rescued her from the burning house and the shipwrecked vessel; was the Perseus who delivered his Andromeda from the monster, and the warrior who broke the doors of her prison; and so agreeable did she find the pleasant land of "idlesse and dreamyhood," that nothing less than the desire of seeing and thanking the object of her thoughts would have induced her to arise, and prepare for another day of fatigue and triumph.
She must make her appearance on this day, and look well upon it also, or she would give occasion to a thousand reports connected with the appearance of the strange man, and the circumstance of the foreign gentleman flying through the streets with bank-notes in his hand. How far the words of either the enemy or the friend were heard by those in the neighbouring stands she knew not, but she could not doubt that Lady Penrhyn guessed the fact pretty nearly, and would henceforward hold her in fetters as the price of keeping it; but the great object of dread was the Duchess, to whom she had herself seen the creature approach
"That monster dire, abhorr'd of gods and men;"
and who could say how far he had revealed his terrific mission?
Whilst sipping her chocolate, the Count was announced, and Fanchette saw with surprise her lady’s countenance suffused with the same sort of blush she had observed spread over the face of the fair Louisa, when the name of Charles Penrhyn was abruptly mentioned. "How is this?" said the penetrating Frenchwoman, "is the old lady caught at last? I shall make a pretty penny out of her if that is the case; she must pay for making up, I can tell her."
With very little circumlocution, the Count proceeded to tell Lady Anne, that a second writ had been out against her, the evils of which he had most happily averted, and he had himself seen the man leave the town; he hoped she had no other creditor whose claims were of the same, or nearly the same amount.
"She owed a gentleman about the same sum, but then he was a gentleman."
"I fear he will not wait as patiently as the coal-merchant have done; he was very good person, that John Whiteman."
Lady Anne tossed her head, but it was gently, and she overwhelmed the Count with thanks; she "did really believe, that if the same thing had occurred again it would have killed her, and that he should have come so opportunely to her relief at the hour, nay, the minute, when he was wanted, was something so singular, so romantic, something in short to, to—"
"To thank God for," said the Count, his fine features taking the character of serious devotion; "yes! to thank Him for, who thus saved you from that affliction you would feel the most acutely. You must thank your good daughters, too, who caused me to set out this long journey in two days, that I might find if you were in distress, and relieve you: oh! they are very good."
"I cannot imagine how those in Italy should know any thing about me."
"They have great common sense, and great love too;—the first tell them, that if their dear mamma spend two years of income in one, the next she will have no income to spend; and their love urge them to take all the moneys they have for live, and send all to mamma. That make angry the husben, that never do, so I relieve them, (whom I will love so much,) and I bring three hundred of pounds for the convenience of you. I tell you the true of the matter, so you must manage according. I am no longer Signor Manuello, who earn the little wage, and only have the monies two times in the year; but neither is Count Riccardini, the rich noble, or the wealthy merchant of your own land, where I am come for live and die."
"I understand you, dear Count, and can assure you, that the sum you name, though small, will greatly relieve me; and since my affairs are known, or at least guessed at, by my daughters, I should hope Glentworth would think it only right to send me a few hundreds, for he is rich enough."
"He also know the value of money, for he have been without it, and worked for it, he have take two daughters from you, he have provided for a third, and when the good young sailor marry a fourth, he will give bridal present, so will I, but Castello Riccardini is for the son of Margarita; but we will not talk more; you must dress, so must I. If you look so handsome as you do yesterday, the pretty companion who do the coquette will be fear of you."
These words so effectually palliated whatever had been offensive in any which preceded them, that, together with the fascinating smile and graceful bow, an impression was left of the most grateful and endearing description. It was perfectly plain, that fast and far as scandal flies, Lady Anne's words, when derogatory to the Count, and that beloved wife, for whose sake they would have been most resented, had never reached their retreat in Devonshire, much less followed them to distant Italy. She had always treated him with distinction personally, and had never seen him since his marriage with Margaret Granard, which was certainly a fault she had punished severely, without, perhaps, examining, as she ought to have done, how far it was one. At this time, she was perfectly willing to retract all she had said about "buying the fellow a monkey and a dulcimer," to the amusement of her friends and the mortification of her husband.
"It is by no means wise to be witty and malicious," said Lady Anne, "for we little know whom we may have occasion for as we travel through life; a pauper emigrant has discharged my debts; the brother of that young sailor taken my house, and paid for it beforehand, and helped Riccardini to carry me out with the care and kindness of a son: how the people must have looked at beholding two such men, carrying such a woman as me, though apparently lifeless."
Lady Anne, at that moment, unquestionably realized the feelings of her whom Pope has immortalized, when she exclaimed,
"One would not sure be frightful when one's dead."