Rattlin the Reefer Part 41

"Ralph," said the lady, when we were again alone, "I have, through the whole of my life, always detested scenes, and, to the utmost of my power, ever repelled all violent emotions. I am not now going to give you a history of my life--to make my confessions, and ask pardon of you and G.o.d, and then die--nonsense; but I must say that your fate has been somewhat strangely connected with my own. I acknowledge to you, at once, that I am a fallen woman--but, as I never had the beauty, so I never had the repentance, of a Magdalen. I fell to one of the greatest upon the earth. I still think that it was a glorious fate. I know that you are going to wound me deeply. I will take it meekly; may it be, in some measure, looked upon as a small expiation for my one great error!

But, spare me, as long as you are able, the name of this person you have described with such bitterness--it may not, after all, be he who has been almost the only bitterness that has yet poisoned my cup of a too pleasurable existence--'tis pleasurable, alas! until, even in this, my eleventh hour. Tell me all, and then I shall be able to judge how much it may be my duty to reveal to you."

It was a fine study, that of observing the gradual emotion of this worldly and magnificent woman, as I proceeded with my eventful tale. I took it up only at that period when Joshua Daunton first made his application to me to be allowed to enter the _Eos_. The beginning of my narrative fell coldly upon her, and her features were strung up to that tension which I had often before observed in persons who were bracing up their nerves to undergo a dangerous surgical operation. They were certainly not impa.s.sive, for, in the fixed eyes that glared upon me, there was a strange restlessness, though not of motion.

The first symptoms of emotion that I could perceive took place when I described the lash descending upon the shrinking shoulders of Daunton.

She clasped her hands firmly together, and upturned her eyes, as if imploring Heaven for mercy, or entreating it for vengeance. I perceived, as I proceeded, that I was gradually losing ground in her affections--that she was, in spite of herself, espousing the cause of my pledged enemy; and when I told her of the defiance that I had received in the sick-bay, she murmured forth, "Well done! well done!" followed by a name that was not mine.

When I related to her the doc.u.ments that he had shown me to convince me that he was no impostor, she said, "Ralph, it is enough--it is of little consequence now what name you may give him. _He is my son_!"

"And my half-brother?"

"Oh no, no, young sir! Disgraced as he has been, a n.o.bler blood than that of Rattlin flows in his veins. Degraded, disgraced as he is, neither on the side of the father nor of the mother need he blush for his parentage. But you are his sworn enemy--I can now listen more calmly to what you have to say. But, graceless as he is, he should not have denied his own mother."

"Mrs Causand," said I, in a tone of voice more cold than any with which I had yet addressed her, "it seems that you have, and that most unreasonably too, taken part against me. In no point have I sinned against you or yours. I have all along been the attacked, the aggrieved party. I will no longer offend your ears, or wring your heart, by a recapitulation of your son's delinquencies. He has done me much wrong; he is contemplating more--only place me in a situation to do myself justice, and silence on the past shall seal my lips for ever; but know that he has stolen all my doc.u.ments, and intends pa.s.sing himself to whomever may be my father, as his legitimate son, as myself."

"This must not be--foolish, mad, wicked boy! That I, his mother, must stand up his accuser! must act against him as his enemy! but I have long ago discarded him--almost cursed him. Oh, Ralph, Ralph! had he been but like you--but, from his youth upwards, he has been inclined to wickedness--no fortune could have supplied his extravagance--he has exhausted even a mother's love. I refused him money, and he stole my papers--I never dreamt of the vile use that he intended to put them to.

Spare me for a little while, and I will let you know all; but should you once get his neck under your heel, oh! tread lightly on my poor William!" She had evidently another and a most severe attack of her complaint, which pa.s.sed rapidly over like the rest; but she now had, for the first time in my observation, recourse to her medicines. When sufficiently recovered, she continued:

"Ralph, neither you nor any one else shall know my private history. It is enough for you to understand that I was almost from infancy destined to a.s.sociate with the greatest of the sterner s.e.x. Early was I involved in this splendid--degradation, the austere would call it, though degradation I never held it to be. Even appearances were preserved; for, before my wretched son was born, I was married to one of the pages of a German court, who was sixty years of age, and properly submissive and distant. To the English ear, this sounds like a confession of infamy. Let me not, Ralph, endeavour to justify it to you--I was taught otherwise--now, if I could, I would not regret it. Your father, then an only son, sometimes visited at the house of the person over whose establishment I presided, and--and, mark me, Ralph, injuriously as you must now think of me, I presided over but one. Deride me not when I tell that to that distinguished personage I was chaste."

She paused, and I thought that her voice faltered strangely, and that the a.s.sertion died upon her lips, and I made no reply. I was by no means astonished at this detail. I could only look upon her most anxiously, and await her future disclosures.

"I have," she continued, "lived for the world, and found it a glorious one. The husband of my heart, and the husband of ceremony, have long both been dead. I enjoy a competency--nay, much more--and yet, they talk to me of dying. To-morrow will decide upon my fate. I have lived a good life, according to my capabilities--it is no delusion--but, should the sentence of to-morrow's consultation be fatal, then the lawyer and the clergyman--"

"And why not to-day?"

"Because it is ours, Ralph, or rather, yours. Well, your mother was of good, though not of exalted, family--the daughter of a considerable freeholder in our neighbourhood. She was the eldest of many children, and the most beautiful born of all in the county. Her father sent her to London; and she became thus, for her station and the period, over educated. She foolishly preferred the fas.h.i.+onable, and refined, and luxurious service in a n.o.bleman's family to a n.o.ble independence in her honest father's s.p.a.cious house. It was her mistake and her ruin.

"Ralph! I loved your mother--you know it--but as a governess in the Duke of E's family, I hated and feared her. I don't think that she was more beautiful than I, but he--he whom I will never mention--began to be of that opinion--at least, I trembled. Reginald Rathelin loved her-- wooed her; I entered with eagerness into his schemes--his success was my security. Miss Daventry at first repulsed me; but, at length, I overcame her repugnance--many ladies, notwithstanding my ambiguous position, awed by the rank of my protector, received me--we became friends. The beautiful governess eloped--I managed everything--they were married. I was myself a witness of the ceremony."

"Thank G.o.d!" I exclaimed, fervently.

"Reginald was wild and dissipated, poor and unprincipled--he cajoled his wife, and suffered her again to return to her menial station in the duke's family. In due time there was another journey necessary. It was when you were born at Reading. 'A little while, and yet a little while,' was the constant plea of the now solicited husband, 'and I will own you, my dear Elizabeth, and boast of you before all the world.'"

"My poor mother!"

"About two years after this marriage, Sir Luke, the father of Reginald, fell ill, and the neglect of the husband became only something a little short of actual desertion. Your mother had a proud as well as a loving spirit. She wrote to the father of Reginald--she interested the duke in her favour--she was now as anxious for publicity as concealment; but the expectant heir defied us all. He confessed himself a villain, and avowed that he had entrapped your mother by a fict.i.tious marriage."

"And _he_ my father!--but you, _you, her friend_?"

"He deceived me also. He declared the man who pretended to perform the marriage ceremony was not in holy orders. He dared us to prove it. His father, bred up in prejudice of birth and family, did not urge the son to do justice to your mother, but satisfied his conscience by providing very amply for yourself: he first took credit to himself for thus having done his duty, then the sacrament, and died.

"Your father, now Sir Reginald, in due time proposed for the richest heiress in the three adjacent counties, and was rejected with scorn. We made a strong party against him--the seat of his ancestors became hateful to him--he went abroad. His princely mansion was locked up--his estates left to the management of a grinding steward; and the world utterly forgot the self-created alien from his country."

"Then, alas! after all, I am illegitimate."

"And if you were?--but, methinks, that you are now feeling more for yourself than your mother."

"Oh no, no! tell me of her!"

"After this _expose_, she lived some few years respected in the duke's family; but she changed her name--home to her father's she would never go--no tidings ever reached her of the man she looked upon as her seducer. It must be confessed, however, that he took great care of his child--he appointed agents to watch over your welfare, though I firmly believe that he never saw you in his life."

"I think that he once made the attempt when I was at Roots' school; but, before I was brought to him, his conscience smote him, and he fled like a craven from his only and injured son."

"Most probably. Rumour said that he had made several visits to England under a strict incognito. But I must pause--the evening is fast waning--let me repose a little, and then we will have lights and dinner." She fell back upon her couch, and appeared again to slumber.

CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT.

RALPH THINKS SERIOUSLY ABOUT CHANGING HIS NAME--GETS A LITTLE UNWILLING JUSTICE DONE TO HIMSELF, AND GAINS MUCH INFORMATION--THE WHOLE WOUND UP SUDDENLY AND SORROWFULLY.

It was nearly dark. As I sat for more than half an hour by the side of the impenitent beauty, I could not conceive that she was in any danger.

Whilst she discoursed with me so fully, her voice was firm, though not loud, and, were it not for a short and sudden check, sometimes in the middle of a word, I should say that I never before heard her converse more fluently or more musically.

Whilst she yet reclined, the servants brought in lights, and made preparations for our little dinner, a small table being laid close to Mrs Causand's couch. When this exquisite repast was ready, and Miss Tremayne made her appearance, Mrs Causand rose, apparently much renovated. She looked almost happy: without a.s.sistance, she walked from her sofa, and took her place at the table.

"There, f.a.n.n.y," said she, quite triumphantly--"and not a single attack!

This dear Ralph has surely brought health with him. Yesterday, this exertion would have killed me."

"Do not, however," said the lady, "try yourself too much."

We dined cheerfully: she seemed to have forgotten her son, and I my much-injured mother. After the dinner was concluded, and Miss Tremayne had retired, and my hostess had returned to her sofa, she sent for her writing-desk, and then proceeded with her narrative.

"Your mother, my dear Ralph, yearned for your society. She had saved a considerable sum of money--she wished for a home, to procure which, she married that little ugly, learned Frenchman, Cherfeuil--but even that she did not do until it was currently reported, and generally believed, that your father was dead."

"I admire the delicacy of the scruple--I honour her for it."

"Sip your wine, Ralph--you'll find it excellent--I will indulge in one gla.s.s, let Dr Hewings say what he will--to your health, my little lover, and may I soon hail you as Sir Ralph Rathelin!"

"How is it possible?"

"You shall hear. We were talking about your good mother. When she had married this Cherfeuil, who was the French a.s.sistant at a large school, she found out the agents to whom you were entrusted, and soon arranged with them that you should be domesticated under her own roof--you were removed to Stickenham, and she and you were happy."

"Oh, how happy!"

"Well, you know it was in those happy days that I had first the pleasure of forming an acquaintance with the inimitable Ralph Rattlin."

"But why Rattlin?--my name must be either Daventry or Rathelin."

"Rathelin, of a surety--it was first of all corrupted to Rattlin by that topmost of all top-sawyers, Joe Brandon--it having thus been so established, for many reasons, concealment among the rest, your mother thought it best for you to retain it. Now, Ralph, mark this--about eight, or rather seven, months ago, I took a short trip to my native country in Germany. Never was my health more redundant. I left your mother prosperous and happy, and beautiful as ever--she had heard of you, and heard much in your favour, though you never once condescended to write to any one of us. Whilst I was in--your father returned, a changed man--changed in everything, even in religion: he had turned penitent and a Catholic; and so had his travelling companion, the very man who had married him to your sweet mother."

"Then he was in holy orders?"

"He was."

"G.o.d of infinite justice, I thank you."

"The Reverend Mr Thomas came here to my very house, when I was away, with a long and repentant letter from his patron--full of inquiries for yourself; and for your mother, Lady Rathelin."