Secresy; or, Ruin on the Rock

It must require all your faith, Madam, to believe that I lived thus without the shadow of a motive beyond sometimes seeing and sometimes hearing her: in the strictest sincerity, I assure you I had no other. Although I loved her to dotage, although I feel an internal testimony that I cannot live without her, yet was she, and is to this moment, more effectually banished from my wishes by her contract with Montgomery, than she could have been by age, disease, or any possible deformity, circumstance or accident might inflict.

The sweetly soothing promise of speedy dissolution, produced temporary vigour. It enabled me to quit that vague and idle mode of life, unsatisfactory to myself and cruel to Sibella; to brave the censures of Montgomery; to ask your pity; and finally determined me to retire to a romantic and fit retreat for sorrow I once saw on the banks of the Danube.

One absurdity more, and I have done. By the little fawn I sent my farewel to your friend, and waited only for darkness to revisit farmer Richardson's. Night came and with it rain and such an impervious mist that I could not see my hand when I stretched it out, nor was I so lost to common prudence as not to foresee the danger of attempting my descent under such circumstance. Morning might afford me opportunity. The sword I brought from Valmont's armoury still lay on the floor of my cell; and a temptation arose of bearing it back to its original station: to be a last time under the same roof with Sibella, to offer a farewel prayer as near her as I dared approach. – Things so apparently unsatisfactory of themselves as these acquire an infinity of importance when the heart is assured they never, never can be reacted. The hour of night made me bold. I ventured beyond the armoury. I even intended seeking the room you once spoke of, and stealing from it her portrait. My beard and gown gave me the privilege of spirits, I thought to walk undisturbed; but hardly had I trodden ten paces beyond the armoury door when I met three men, and, what was still worse, considering the imagined security of my disguise, one of them pursued me. Apprehension gave me wings. I flew back; and had secured the pannel before he entered the armoury; then regained my cell with all possible expedition. This accident prevented my quitting the park by day-light, least I should be watched.

On the next morning, when Nina came panting down to my cell, I heard a voice calling her back, to which every nerve vibrated throughout my frame. I went up into the chapel. Sibella was there. I was shocked to see her pale and wan. – She heard me with patience, she looked on me with pity. Above all, she gave me very good advice. In the dusk of that evening, I left Valmont park.

As eager now to quit this place as I had formerly been to seek it, I would not even allow myself to rest one night at the farm; but, although the evening was dark and chilling, I mounted my horse and bade Richardson farewel. My strength failed me, my head became dizzy, and the bridle frequently dropped from my hand. When I reached the first village on my road, I stopped at an inn, and ordered a chaise to be got ready for me. They showed me into a room where three or four other persons were seated at a table drinking. I drew a chair close to the fire and turned my face from them. For a minute after my entrance they remained silent; but observing, I imagine, that I did not appear disposed to give them any attention they resumed their conversation, and little should I have known of their subject had not the name of Miss Valmont struck upon my ear. I turned round involuntarily and found the speaker was a dark young man, smartly dressed; he was evidently in a state of intoxication, and his auditors not more sober than himself were the landlord of the inn and two countrymen.

'If I was to tell you all I know about it,' said the man, 'you would stare sure enough. And it is all true as the gospel – it is. My friend, the nobleman I told you of, knows all the business as well as I do – ay, ay, and he'll marry her too. Such a devilish fine girl deserves a lord for her husband.'

This speech, interlarded with many oaths, had also frequent interruptions from the effects of his inebriety, so that my chaise was announced just as he spoke the last word. I sat still, and called for wine. They again recollected the presence of a stranger; another silence ensued; and, while I lingered over my wine, the young man and one other of the company dropped asleep.

My interest in that name would not suffer me to depart. I grew restless and uneasy, I shifted my chair, stirred the fire; and in so doing doubtless roused the sleeper, for he started up and vociferated a great oath. 'Not see it,' added he, 'why I saw it myself, with my own eyes, the Lord defend us! – no wonder! no wonder! I wouldn't sleep in old Valmont's skin to have twenty fine castles. To cheat his own brother's daughter out of such a fine fortune! 'Tis enough to make the ghosts of all her grandfather's walk out of their graves. Forty thousand is the least penny. – Well, well,' said he rising, 'I shall see the day yet when a certain Lord that I know will have her and her fifty thousand pounds too. Come, landlord, here's a safe deliverance to Miss Valmont and her money out of the claws of her old griping uncle.'

Having swallowed his bumper, he staggered out of the room, and the landlord was instantly summoned to assist him to bed. From one of the remaining guests, I learned that this man had lately come from London; but his name was unknown to them. Finding my intelligence at an end, I stepped into my chaise and proceeded towards Barlowe Hall.

During my journey, I often, almost indeed perpetually, thought of the conversation I had heard in the inn. And when I had arrived at Barlowe Hall, and sat in the same apartment where I first heard you speak of Sibella, I also recollected that colonel Ridson, who had been in habits of intimacy with her father, expressed both doubt and surprise when you said Miss Valmont was dependent on her uncle. This recollection added new force to the assertions of the young man in the village. I became persuaded that some injury was intended to Miss Valmont; and resolved if possible to develop the mystery. I journeyed back again to the village, where my suspicions had first been excited. The young man had departed the day before; and no one could tell me of his route.

I now determined to put it in Sibella's own power to demand an explanation of her uncle. Again, but without my hermit's disguise, I crossed the moat and ascended the rock. When I approached her in the wood, she looked on me sorrowfully; but, Miss Ashburn, there was no welcome in her eye. I had neither power nor inclination to hold her long in conversation. I briefly related to her my suspicions: and as I told you before, she bade me wait her return in the cell.

She returned no more. Have I then seen her for the last time? – I sicken. Never, never, never, to behold her! – Oh for a potion, powerful in its nature, rapid in its effect, that would overwhelm these dregs of existence, giving me but time to know the relief of dying when life has become hateful!

In continuation

The carriage, in which I instantly return to Barlowe Hall, stands waiting before my window. I do not fly through fear; but if Mr. Valmont knows my secret visits, and punishes her for my faults, he may release her when I am gone.

Write to me, I beseech you, Miss Ashburn, and say why Sibella suffers. She is a prisoner, madam. She has quarrelled with her uncle.

It is said he struck her. – Heaven forbid! It is said she attempted suicide! – But she will tell you all; and for pity's sake relieve my suspence, though you cannot quell my anxiety! Respectfully your's

A. MURDEN

P.S. My authority is derived from John Thomas. – He was not, nor is any person but the family, suffered to cross the draw-bridge. All the servants have been interrogated, and some discharged, for the supposed admission of a stranger. Sibella is not allowed to quit her apartment.

LETTER VII

FROM LORD FILMAR TO SIR WALTER BOYER

To the last hour I have lingered here, sometimes in hope, sometimes in fear, still bold in plan, but irresolute in attempt; and now, when the sun of my success begins to beam upon me, now must I come to London, to sign deeds to my shame and to pay money for my folly. Yet, Walter, though I must come to London, hither I mean to return again; for, as I told you before, the sun of my success begins to shine.

Know, dear knight, that things are all en train. We are in great alarm, great inquietude, and considerable trepidation: but as you may not be perfectly able of yourself to reconcile these assertions, be patient while I lend you my assistance.

Yesterday (being about to quit the country to-day) I thought proper to pay a visit of duty to my uncle elect. My footman rode up, and sounded the bell of approach. – Roar, said the shaggy Cerberus on the other side of the moat; while the leaden-headed porter, crawling out of his den, bawled out for our business.

'My Lord Filmar to visit Mr. Valmont,' answered George. The porter walked away. – 'D – n the fellow,' said I, 'he has not let down the bridge!' – 'No, my Lord,' – replied George: and then I swore again.

In a quarter of an hour or something less the porter came back – 'Mr. Valmont's compliments to Lord Filmar, and he is engaged.'

Now, Walter, as you dote on discoveries, tell me what does your algebraic head make out of this? – 'That he – .' No indeed, Walter. – 'Then he – .' Nor that neither, Walter. Now I discovered it in an instant: keen-eyed, cool and penetrating, I saw at once that Mr. Valmont – did not choose to see me. – 'Ay: but why?' – That's quite another matter.

'Lord Filmar,' said my father, 'you are the most impertinent prevaricating puppy I ever knew in my life.'

'My Lord,' replied I bowing modestly, 'I am told I have the honour greatly to resemble your lordship.'

'Sir, you – this is all going from the point, Sir. – Did – you – ever – .' beating time on one hand with a letter he held in the other, – 'directly or indirectly talk to any one about Miss Valmont?'

'Yes, Sir.'

'You did, Sir!' – fierce attitude – 'And pray what did you say?'

'I said, my Lord – that Miss Valmont – was a young lady.'

'Mighty well, Lord Filmar! – 'Tis mighty well! – Go on, Sir, – Ridicule your father for all his acts of kindness to you!'

'Ridicule, my Lord, is out of the question; but indeed I never shall be serious without knowing why, and your interrogatories of the last half hour are so vague, I cannot understand them. You ask me if I did ever talk of Miss Valmont? – As a young man naturally talks of a young woman, so may I have talked of Miss Valmont. The other day, for instance, I was riding with Miss Monckton – 'I should like of all things,' said she, 'to see the wild girl of the castle. – Twice I have visited there with my mother; but Valmont won't suffer her to be introduced.' 'The Earl,' replied I, 'declares she is handsome, and I too should be charmed to see her. – Perhaps, my Lord, I may have made a score such speeches, and if they are any thing to the purpose, I will endeavour to recollect them in form, and circumstance. – Let me see – Last Friday se'night – .'

'Psha,' cried the Earl, 'they are nothing to my purpose.'

'Why then, will you be pleased, my Lord, to tell me what is?'

A pause succeeded, during which he appeared to seek instruction from the contents of the letter in his hand.

'If there is any thing in that letter, my Lord,' said I, stretching out my hand to receive it, 'which relates to me, suffer me to read it; then I can answer straight forward to the charge.'

It was not enough simply to refuse, Walter. – The Earl crammed the letter into his pocket. 'Hem! hem!' said the Earl. 'Before we came to Sir Gilbert's I remember, Lord Filmar, you thought fit to wind, and pry into the state of Miss Valmont's fortune. Now if you took upon you to assert any thing to any one, from that conversation, remember you told a falsehood, Sir, – an absolute falsehood. – She has no fortune whatever, Sir – not a penny.'

'No fortune whatever, Sir! – not a penny!' repeated I, slowly, and fixing my eyes on his. He had the grace almost to blush. – 'Be that as it may, I never told any falsehoods in consequence of that conversation, my Lord. – I might have said, if I had thought proper, that you deemed 5 or 6000l. a year a suitable portion for me, and meant to propose me to Miss Valmont.'

'Oh, Sir, if you mean to put your own construction on every unguarded disjointed expression a man drops in conversation, you may make something out of nothing, at any time.'

'True, Sir, the discourse was disjointed and unguarded enough; but the design was, I believe, perfectly regular. – I am sorry, truly sorry, the plan failed. – Has your lordship any further commands for me?' said I, rising.

'You are piqued, my Lord,' replied my father drawing the letter out of his pocket. – 'I have cause enough to be irritated, I am sure. My character as a gentleman is at stake. Mr. Valmont here makes charges against me which I don't quite understand.'

I held out my hand again for the letter, and he again drew it away.

'Nay, my Lord,' said I: – 'But perhaps you would rather read it to me. The best information and advice in my power is altogether at your lordship's devotion; and, if it is secresy you require, I am dumb as the grave.'

The Earl looked somewhat doubtful. At length he suffered me to take the letter.

Now, Walter, read this letter, with attention.

TO THE EARL OF ELSINGS

My Lord,

As I took you to be a man of honour, I fully relied on your word, and never for an instant supposed you could depart from the strict performance of the promise you gave with so much readiness and solemnity of concealing from all the world the real situation of Miss Valmont's circumstances till the time when I, her uncle, guardian, and her only surviving relation, should no longer deem such a concealment necessary.

You knew, my Lord, I could have no sinister design in teaching Miss Valmont to believe herself dependent upon me. My well-known integrity forbids the possibility of such a surmise: and, my Lord, at once, in compliance alone with my own opinion of its propriety did I resign to you the entire care of her estate, reserving to myself the guardianship of her person and the direction of her education, to which cares the brother of her father had the most undoubted claim.

To the period when Miss Valmont should have attained the age of twenty, I limited your secresy, my Lord; and this adds another proof, if another could be necessary, to the goodness of my intentions. By her father's will, she becomes independent of her guardians at twenty-one. At twenty, I intended that herself and her possessions should be given to the husband for whom I have purposely educated her; and from whom, for the security of their future happiness, I would carefully have hidden the knowledge of her fortune till that period.

My precautions were taken with such order and contrivance, that I have reason to believe it has not even been suspected by any creature that Miss Valmont is an heiress.

Do not slumber, dear Walter; read that line again – Miss Valmont is an heiress.

Yet now, my Lord, my niece herself is apprized of it; and has with more zeal than either judgment or duty demanded an explanation of my motives for treating her as my dependent. It is you only who can have conveyed this intelligence to her: you, my Lord, who, I am sorry to say, since you formed the design of uniting Miss Valmont to your son have forgotten honour and integrity.

I believe your son has found entrance into my castle by means a gentleman should scorn to use; but, neither in his own nor in his feigned name, shall he gain another admission. My vigilance is awakened; and, in his behalf, it shall not slumber a second time.

My Lord, I have returned the accounts you sent for my inspection, together with the necessary acquittals; and I request we may not meet any more, as the business till Miss Valmont is of age may be transacted by any agent you choose to appoint.

I remain, my Lord, henceforth a stranger to you and your's

GEORGE VALMONT

'Is there not,' said I, and in truth, Walter, I did not very well know what to say, so dizzy had I become in reading Mr. Valmont's incontrovertible acknowledgement of his niece's fortune, together with the unlooked for charge against me of having stolen into his castle – 'Is there not,' said I, 'something like a challenge implied here, my Lord?'

'No indeed,' replied my father with sufficient eagerness. 'Don't you see he desires we may not meet again. – But I am rather in doubt, Filmar, whether we ought or ought not to send Mr. Valmont a challenge?'

'So am I, my Lord; but if your will allow me an hour to consider the case I will settle it if possible.'

'Do – do!' said the Earl. 'But what can he mean about you and the castle?'

'No one, Sir, but himself can decide that matter, I believe.'

The problem I had now to solve, consisted, Walter, of three parts. First, how Miss Valmont could have arrived at the knowledge of her fortune? – Secondly, how Mr. Valmont could know I had been in the castle? – Lastly, and of most importance, whether all circumstances duly considered it would be proper that I or my father should challenge Mr. Valmont?

My researches on the first part of my problem showed me that it is highly probable I shall never know how Miss Valmont came by her information till she herself shall be in my power to tell me; and further that her knowledge of the affair will greatly tend to forward my projects, for no longer a dependent but a prisoner she will be rejoiced to free herself at any hazard from her uncle's galling tyranny. – Do you not perceive, Walter, how much my prospects are amended by this disaster? On the second part, I discovered that Mr. Valmont can have but an obscure and imperfect idea of my being in the castle, from his mention of a feigned name. I bore no name at all. Certainly my agents would not betray me. And Valmont must have spoken at random as to the means.

Out of the foregone conclusions arises the answer to the third part of my problems.

It would be highly improper for either me or my father to challenge Mr. Valmont.

What a blessing it is, Sir Knight, to find sympathy in our griefs! – From the moment my father confided to me this important business, he seemed to have forgotten its nature and my apparent concern therein. – He was lighter than Gossamer. – And valiant too! – talked big and bluff about honour, – and satisfaction – and could but just be prevailed on by my intreaties only to write the following pacific answer, in which, were he not a gentleman, the Earl of Elsings, and my honoured father, you or I might be bold enough to say – He tells a falsehood, an absolute falsehood.

TO GEORGE VALMONT ESQ

Sir,

The charge you are pleased to make against me reflects infinitely more disgrace on yourself by its injustice than on me. Such an imputation deserves nothing but scorn, yet I will answer it so far as to say that neither my son, nor any person breathing has received from me the smallest intimation of Miss Valmont's fortune. My son never was in Valmont castle under any other name than that of Lord Filmar, where his behaviour kept pace with the dignity of his name, which will never suffer him to intrude himself or his alliance where it will not be rather courted than accepted.

I am quite as desirous as you, Sir, can be of dropping the acquaintance; and till the time you mention I shall (as I have ever done) sacredly guard my trust – wishing you may do the same, I remain, Sir,

Your humble servant,ELSINGS

Didst thou never, dear Walter, see two curs pop unexpectedly on one another within a yard and half of a bone? – Er-er-rar – says one, softly setting down his lifted fore foot. – Er-er-rar, replies t'other; and each clapping his cowardly tail between his legs slinks backward a little way; then ventures to turn round, and scampers off like a hero. – If thou has wit to find the moral, thou mayst also apply it. – As for me, having reached the top round of my information, I beg leave to resign you to your cogitations and am as I am.

FILMAR

P.S. She is a girl of spirit! And, on my soul, 'tis infamous she should be thus treated! – Had the Earl a grain of kindness, he would rescue her; but no; he asserts he cannot possibly think of interfering. In two years, she will be of age; and then, if she should demand his protection, it will be a different matter. – Ah! – but I won't say what. – You are to know, Boyer, that Griffiths has accidentally met his dear friend the butler. It was she herself spoke to her uncle of having seen a stranger; and what she further told him (which the butler does not know) irritated him to strike her. – Instantly, she rushed from his presence into the park; but, finding herself pursued, changed her direction which was toward her favourite wood, and flew to the other side of the park, where the wall not being very perfect she climbed it rapidly, and in sight of her pursuers threw herself headlong into the moat. She was taken up unhurt; and is locked within her own apartments. Either from disappointment, terror, or real indisposition, she confines herself to her bed, and preserves a perfect silence whenever Andrew or her female domestic approaches. Mr. Valmont has not seen her since. The prevaricating confusion of some of the servants made Mr. Valmont suspect them of being bribed to admit a stranger; but the butler, being quite positive no one living soul more than he knows of has been within the walls, he and others think Miss Valmont has seen the spirit again and is disordered in her intellects.

I am completely puzzled. – That hermit! – Miss Monckton has seen Montgomery, and calls him a fine elegant fellow, who makes love to every pretty woman he meets. If that's his forte, he would scarcely be content to creep like a snail out of his shell for a few stolen moments at midnight. – But what has set me to doubt and conjecture is, that Griffiths has heard of a very handsome man who lodges at a farm hard by, and wanders about the country night and day. The people say it is a pity such a sweet gentleman should go mad for love. Yet is it possible any one should know so well how to enter and escape, but those who had lived in the secrets of the castle? – Psha! —

In ten hours after you receive this letter, I hope to sup in your new lodgings.

LETTER VIII

FROM GEORGE VALMONT TO CLEMENT MONTGOMERY

What does this mean, Clement Montgomery? Sibella talks of a marriage with you. – Have you dared, Sir, to form a marriage without my concurrence? I should dispute the possibility; but I find, from the avarice and ignorance of the wretches; in my household, people have been admitted for one purpose, and perhaps others may have been admitted for another purpose. I command you instantly to tell me how far you have proceeded, Sir, against the obedience due to

G. VALMONT

LETTER IX

FROM CLEMENT MONTGOMERY TO GEORGE VALMONT

Dear Sir,

An attempt would be vain to express my astonishment at the contents of your last favour, or my concern at your supposing me guilty of so flagrant a commission of ingratitude to him, who has been my more than father.

Miss Valmont's mode of expression is strong and vehement. She may call the early union of our affections a marriage, for I know of none other. – No, Sir; however my wishes might urge me forward, however painful the struggle might be and was betwixt my love of her and my duty to you, I sacrificed my hopes in my obedience.

I flatter myself you will rely on this assurance, and consider the assertions of your lovely niece as romantic as they really are.

My time, Sir, had not probably been spent to as much advantage as it might have been, but I dare venture to pronounce it not totally thrown away. It is true, I have not yet attached myself to any particular profession, although you may expect I should tell you of my progress therein; but, without a guide or director, I feared rashly to engage lest I should afterwards discover my abilities unfitted to the part I had chosen. A general knowledge of the nature and professors of each, previously gained according to your advice, I deemed might hereafter save me the time at present expended. Thus have I been employed, Sir; and thus I plead my excuse for not having written to you sooner.