Secresy; or, Ruin on the Rock

By this good fire I had sat five or perhaps ten minutes, when Griffiths entered. 'My Lord! my Lord!' said he, and turned back to shut the door; 'I have seen the strangest sight, my Lord! I have seen a gentleman – ' At that moment a tea-kettle was brought into the room; and Griffiths grew downright pettish with the damsel who bore the kettle, because she did not quit the room with sufficient speed.

His information, Walter, amounted to thus much – that in the passage he had seen the gentleman who occupied the land-lady's best parlour; and that this gentleman, of whom Griffiths had had a very distinct view, certainly was, or Griffiths was much deceived, the very identical spright who reminded some of us of our devotions in the narrow passage of the west tower at Valmont castle. ''Tis impossible!' said I.

'My Lord, 'tis true,' said Griffiths. I should know him among a thousand. I know his eyes and nose as well as I know your's, my Lord.'

This you will allow, Walter, was but a very vague sort of a supposition to ground any belief upon; for, as eyes and noses are the common lot of all mankind, it may happen now and then that two or more may be greatly alike. Yet, so diligent is hope and imagination, I could not persuade myself these eyes and this nose had any owner but the spright of the castle. – It was Miss Valmont and her hermit, my fancy said. I blessed my stars. I cursed my stars. I wondered how and why they should come hither. Then, I remembered, that fancy, though sometimes a prophetess, is rarely an oracle, and I thought it might not be Miss Valmont and her hermit. – I consulted much with Griffiths; and, at length, had recourse to the waiter, a dapper shabby-coated fellow with a wooden leg.

They came, he said, on horseback before seven o'clock. A man, who conducted them, did not alight. They were impatient to be gone. They waited for a chaise. They had ordered a breakfast which neither of them had tasted. The lady did not appear, he thought, equipped for travelling. The gentleman was melancholy, and the lady restless and agitated.

Miss Valmont: whispered I to myself.

'They are a fine couple,' said the waiter.

I asked if he thought they were a married pair. He answered, he was sure she must be a married lady. I enquired if the gentleman seemed to be very fond of her.

'Not at all,' replied the waiter. 'The gentleman sits writing, Sir, with his back to her. She walks about the room, muttering to herself. When I carried in the breakfast, he leaned his head against the wall, and groaned with his eyes shut.'

It cannot be Miss Valmont and her hermit, thought I.

'Is the lady handsome?' I asked.

The waiter thought she was too pale to be very handsome; but he added that in all his born days he never beheld such a head of hair.

'Of what colour is it?' I asked.

It was neither black, nor brown, nor as red as Jenny's; – he thought it was not any colour, but it shone as if gold threads were among it.

Miss Valmont: whispered my forward heart. I rose and walked hastily across the room.

'What did they talk about?' said I.

'They don't talk at all, Sir. The poor gentleman seems very bad; and as I told your honor before, she walks about muttering. When they first came, as I was lighting a fire for them, the lady pulled off her hat just as if she was in a passion, and then she shook her fine waving locks, as though she was wond'rous proud of them. And she said her head ached with that – cumbrance; and she said something more about customs and cumbrances, but I forget what, your honor. While she talked, the gentleman looked so kind and pretty at her it did my heart good to see him; but he is either very ill or very whimmy, for, immediately, while she took off her cloak, he laid his head on the table with his face downward and sighed as if his heart was breaking.'

I asked if he had heard her call him by any name, and the waiter replied he had heard her twice name somebody as she walked about the room; but to my great disappointment at that moment, his memory had not retained the name.

At this part of our conference, the parlour bell rang, and the waiter disappeared; not, though, till I had sealed him mine by a bribe, and given him orders to return instantly. However, Griffiths, who was most zealous on this occasion, thought proper to follow him. Fortunate was it that he did; for, my waiter, dull at a hint, had received a letter from the guest in the parlour, which, without consulting my will and pleasure, he was quietly bearing to a courier ready mounted and waiting for it at the inn door. Griffiths with a careless air took the letter from his hand. It was addressed, Walter, to —Miss Ashburn.

I began to stalk, to exclaim, to ejaculate. Go on, Filmar, cried I, and prosper! Henceforward be plot and stratagem sanctified! for Miss Ashburn deigns to plot.

Griffiths prudently reminded me that it would be quite as well at present to think of Miss Valmont, and leave Miss Ashburn alone till another opportunity.

'Right,' said I.

''Tis folly! 'Tis madness, but to think for a moment of such a project!', said I, ten minutes after, and turning myself half round in my chair, throwing one arm across its back and one leg over the other. No! no! I'll have nothing to do with it!' and I fell to shaking the uppermost leg furiously. 'It might be very easily managed though,' said Griffiths; 'and then your Lordship – '

'Would have nothing to do but to digest Montgomery's bullets and Miss Ashburn's harder words. – Oh that Miss Ashburn can find words to lash like scorpion's stings! Say no more of it, Griffiths, I have given her up.'

'As you please, my Lord.'

'Ay! ay!' muttered I to myself. 'Let her go to her Montgomery! There are men who perhaps are worthy of being loved as himself, and might perhaps be more capable of constancy. There are other women too in the world, thank heaven! – Strange,' continued I, 'that Miss Ashburn with her understanding, and who must know the imbecility of Montgomery's love, could dream of joining in any plot whose object was to bear Miss Valmont to Montgomery!' For, Walter, I had by this time concluded that the quondam hermit was some righteous go-between of Miss Valmont and her lover; and I felt inclined to be mortally offended with her, because Montgomery had so well concealed from my penetration their mutual intelligence. I shifted to the other side of my seat; and I did not sigh; but I blew my breath from me with much more force than usual.

I mused during the greater part of an hour. 'Your chaise is waiting, my Lord,' said Griffiths; 'and, as you have quite done with this affair, if your Lordship thinks proper it is as well not to keep the horses in the cold. – Well, I must say 'twas a fine opportunity!'

'Do you think so, Griffiths?' said I mildly.

The rogue exultingly smiled; and, to change my wavering into downright resolution, he recapitulated all the probabilities that awaited my attempt, and noticed the trifling hazard that would accrue (provided I adopted his plan for the purpose), should the attempt fail: nor did he forget an oblique glance or two at certain prospects which he knew put no inconsiderable weight into the balance.

'Away! away!' I cried, 'give the driver his directions; let him draw up close to the door, before the other chaise; and let him be sure to keep his chaise door open, but not the step down.'

Signifies it to thee, Walter, of what Griffiths' plan consisted? Surely not. Nothing could be more easy than, at the instant of their departure, to request a moment's conversation with the gentleman; nothing more simple than to invent a tale of a pursuit, to be delivered into the attentive ear of Miss Valmont's guide: nothing could promise fairer, and surely never did fulment better follow promise.

Our casement looked upon a garden, and there the melancholy conductor of Miss Valmont came to walk for a few minutes. There needed no screen to hide us from his glance. His arms were folded, and his eyes intensely fixed on the earth. His hat shaded the upper part of his face, so that I could see no part of his said resemblance to the bearded youth of the armoury; but I observed with pleasure and thrilling expectation that he and I were nearly of one stature, both booted, and both wearing dark blue great coats. This only difference existed, one of his capes he had drawn round his chin, all mine lay on my shoulders. – Walter, I could button mine up on occasion.

George had ridden my grey mare from town. I felt no way inclined to make him a party in the transaction; and I also wanted the mare for Griffiths. I therefore ordered him to return to B – , and take a stage for London, waiting there my further orders. Griffiths saw him mount a post horse, and led the grey mare round the house, and fastened her to some rails in readiness.

It was exactly two hours and one quarter from the time of our arrival, before their chaise came to the door. The horses were to have a feed in their harness; the guests were impatient to be gone. I shuddered: and, as I traversed our little room, the echo of my footsteps seemed to be blabbing tell tales. I shall never, Walter, know such another minute as that. All in future will be the dull uniformity of peace and plenty.

It was done. The waiter delivered Griffiths' message in the best parlour. I, from a distant peeping station, saw the gentleman walk to our room. I heard the door shut – the waiter stump away. Thrilling, throbbing with hope and fear, I walked up the passage to their parlour. Wrapped in her cloak, the hood drawn over her head, her hat in her hand, stood the fair expectant. 'O come,' said she, 'do let us hasten!' The day was gloomy, the passage was dark, I had drawn up my cape and drawn down my hat. My hand took her's. She tripped along. No creature was in sight. I caught her up in my arms, lifted her into the chaise, and we whirled off, just as the landlady came bustling up to the door.

I had my cue of silence and reserve in the intelligence I had received from the waiter. During the first three miles, I neither spoke nor looked up. She, the while, clasping her hands and muttering, as the waiter called it. I heard her pronounce the names of Miss Ashburn, of Montgomery, and of some one else. For three miles, I say, we interchanged not one word: then, Walter, the first word betrayed me.

And now what a list of sobs, tears, screams, prayers, and lamentations you expect! I have not one for you. She sighed, indeed, and a few drops forced a reluctant way; but she neither prayed, threatened, nor lamented. She demanded her liberty. She reasoned for her liberty; reasoned with a firmness collected, vigilant, manly, let me say. She remembers seeing me in the castle, and takes me for her uncle's agent. In truth, Walter, I suffer her to think it still; for I do not find, when carefully examined, that my own character and motives in this business possess much to recommend them.

In a little glen, between two hills of which the barrenness of one frowns on the cultivation of the other, stands a farm, embosomed hid in secresy and solitude. No traveller eyes it from the distant heath. No horses, save its own, leave the print of their hoofs at its entrance. But even more than usual gloom and dulness now reigns around it. The lively whistle of the ploughman and hind no longer chear the echoes of the hill. The farm yard is emptied of its gabbling tenants. The master is dead, the stock sold, the tenants discharged, and one solitary daughter, with one solitary female domestic alone, remains to guard the house till quarter day shall yield it to a new tenant.

'Tis neither fit employment for my time to relate, nor for your's to read, the trifling adventures by which Griffiths became acquainted with this fair daughter, her circumstances and abode; nor how he wooed and won her love during our residence at Monkton Hall. At Griffiths' instigation, hither I brought Miss Valmont; and here, till your cash arrives, as in a place of trust and safety, do I mean to keep my treasure, although I am little more than three leagues distant from Monkton Hall, and scarcely four from Valmont castle.

A less ready imagination than even thine, Walter, might picture to itself the manner in which Griffiths deluded Miss Valmont's knight-errant with a tale of pursuit and discovery. The youth checked his surprise, and renewed his vigour. He hastened to secure his lovely ward; and Griffiths, mean while, stole round the inn, mounted the grey mare, and was out of sight and sound of the consequences.

I hear her walking. A slight partition divides her chamber from mine. No more of those deep-drawn sighs, my fair one! I thank heaven I am not an agent of Valmont's neither. He must have used her cruelly. She is excessively pale; and strangely altered.

I stand, Walter, the watchful sentinel of her chamber door, which I presume not to enter. Till I had her in my possession, my thoughts, in gadding after the enterprise, possessed all the saucy gaiety which youth and untamed spirits could impart. Nay, when I began to write this letter, they wore their natural character. I must shift my station from this room. Those deep deep sighs will undo me! Hasten, dear Walter, make the wings of speed thy messengers to bear to me a hundred guineas, that we may fly to the land of blessings ere I forgot that her cupids have golden headed arrows. – Hem! —Seven thousand per annum– O 'tis an elixir to chear the fainting spirits!

And now, as sure as I have possession of the rich and beauteous prize after which I have so long yearned, so sure will I recompense her present uneasiness by a life of tenderness, attention, and, to the best of my present belief, of unabated constancy.

But marry me she must and shall, by G – d!

FILMAR

LETTER XXXIV

FROM CAROLINE ASHBURN TO LADY BARLOWE

Dear Madam,

By a strange concurrence of accidents I am at present attending Mr. Murden, who during many days has lain dangerously ill in a small country inn nine miles from Valmont castle. I must leave it to your prudence to acquaint Sir Thomas Barlowe (to whom I know it will be most distressing tidings) that his nephew is in danger, but it is necessary that Sir Thomas should know it immediately, for I have made preparations for bringing Mr. Murden to London, that he may have better accommodation and better advice. Though I speak of advice, I dare not encourage any hope in Sir Thomas, for I have watched the progress of his nephew's disorder, and I believe he is only lingering – abide he cannot.

Sir Thomas Barlowe loved this young man as a son; and, to receive him scarcely a shadow of his former self, will create distressing emotions. Yet, I beseech you to urge Sir Thomas carefully to avoid any strong expressions of sorrow when his nephew arrives, for I have the grief to tell you that Mr. Murden's reason is shaken: and dreadful paroxysms may follow the slightest agitation.

Nought but the power I have long laboured to obtain and have in part obtained over my sensations could have preserved any degree of fortitude in me under the most trying events of my life, events which have lately befallen Miss Valmont and Mr. Murden. On them I had bestowed the warmest tribute of my affections. In the enjoyment of their virtues and happiness, I expected daily to augment my own. But, alas! it is gone; and my wretched hopes still wear their beautiful and alluring form while sinking in disappointment.

I am aware, Madam, that Mr. Murden's misfortune cannot create more concern in your breast than the circumstance of my being with him will raise wonder and curiosity; nor have I any other than a full intention of making you acquainted with the circumstances that drew us both hither, whose sad termination has operated so fatally on Mr. Murden. But I am obliged to defer the relation till our arrival in town, both on account of its length, of the preparations I am making for Mr. Murden's ease and safety on the journey, and the continual anxiety of watchfulness which possesses me for the sake of Miss Valmont, to whom I have been unhappily the cause of evils possibly worse than that which has befallen Mr. Murden.

I cannot name the day when you and Sir Thomas may expect us, for the time consumed in the journey must be regulated by the abatement or increase of Mr. Murden's disorder. He shall travel in a litter; and I hope it is unnecessary for me to assure Sir Thomas nothing shall be wanting to his accommodation that I have means to procure.

I remain your Ladyship's well wisher and servant,

CAROLINE ASHBURN

LETTER XXXV

FROM CAROLINE ASHBURN TO GEORGE VALMONT

Sir,

By the messenger of mine, who, on his search for my lost friend, came to your gates a few days since, you were informed that it was through my means Sibella escaped from your castle; and, however stern may be the anger you entertain against me, be assured, Sir, it cannot exceed the vehemence of that self-reproach and sorrow which now assail me, for having been the contriver of so unjustifiable an undertaking.

I send you, Sir, a pacquet containing all the letters I have received from Sibella, and also the letters that have passed between Mr. Murden and myself. I lay them before you, with the confidence that you will afford them a patient and temperate perusal; for I think they will serve to convince you, as they have already convinced me by the unfortunate event to which they have led, that, however plausible and even necessary in appearance, yet artifice and secresy are dangerous vicious tools.

Your secrets were the preparatory step to the errors of Clement and Sibella. Had Sibella never departed from strict truth and sincerity, she had never formed her rash engagement with Clement. Had Murden never (with his dangerous refinements of fancy) longed secretly to view this rare child of seclusion, he had not battered his life and happiness for a sigh. And lastly, had I not given way to the fatal mistake that secresy could repair the inability of reason, I had, instead of availing myself of the ruin on the rock, ere now perhaps released Sibella by convincing you. And we had all been comparatively happy.

Murden's unfinished letter from the village of Hipsley will show you his deplorable situation, and all that we know concerning the loss of our Sibella.

I have six agents employed to discover her. But they wander blindly, for I have neither trace, nor supposition, to guide them. What can I do, Sir? if you have any advice to offer, I hope you will not withhold it, from animosity to me. Excessively do I love the friend I have helped to sacrifice, yet I can readily and sincerely forgive you the errors of your conduct towards her. Oh then, Sir, pardon mine, and in pity to the anxiety of my heart aid me with your advice and assistance.

I do not even hate Mr. Montgomery; though I do despise him altogether. You suspected him of taking Sibella from the castle. I suspected him of stealing her from Mr. Murden. He was otherwise employed.

I arrived in town, with my poor patient under my protection, yesterday evening, and resigned Mr. Murden to the care of his uncle, Sir Thomas Barlowe. When I drove up to my mother's door, I found it more than usually crowded with carriages and servants; hung upon the pillars; and, when several of my mother's footmen stepped from among the crowd, I perceived they were in new liveries adorned in the highest stile of elegant expence. Though it was impossible not to notice the uncommon glare of splendor that saluted my eyes, yet our changes have always been so various and profuse, I never thought of enquiring into the cause of the present. Unfitted by my dress, but still more by weariness of limbs and depression of mind, to encounter company, I retired to my chamber and to bed.

This morning my maid attended me; and, with the natural hesitation of good nature in relating disagreeable tidings, she informed me – Mr. Montgomery was married to my mother.

Sir, it is the fact. Last Saturday, my mother became the bride of your son; and the parade I witnessed last night was to do honour to the first complimentors of this extraordinary hymeneal.

The tidings stunned me, for I was no way prepared from the conduct of either to expect such an event. Uninvited and assuredly unwelcome, I visited their apartment the hour of breakfast, and my mother collected the utmost of her haughtiness and Mr. Montgomery his gay indifference, to repel the reproaches they expected I should be prompted to bestow on them. But, Sir, they mistook me. I went only to deliver to them a plain history of the mischiefs I have heaped on Mr. Murden and my Sibella, to remind them how early, and, alas! how severe a punishment has followed my deviation from rectitude.

I saw Montgomery's countenance become pale and ghastly. It was, Sir, when I spoke of Miss Valmont's independent fortune. Then, I believe, all the force of his situation was present with him. May it often recur, and be the preservative against future follies.

Allow me, Sir, to say a word or two of him who most loved your niece and best deserved her. Mr. Murden intruded on your domain, and destroyed some of your unripe projects; yet I persuade myself you will feel a pity for his misfortunes. His life pays the forfeiture of his curiosity and secresy. A romantic love of Miss Valmont sapped its foundation, and his nights of watching amidst the chilling damps of the Ruin hastened the progress of its destruction. Sibella's unaccountable escape from him at a time when his high toned feelings were wrought upon, in a way that I cannot express, by the alteration in her person, drove him to madness. Then it was that I saw him who once possessed every advantage of manly grace and beauty changed to a living skeleton, whose eyes starting from their sockets glanced around with wild horror and insanity. Oh, Sir, it was indeed a scene that called forth all my fortitude!

As his delirium had no mischievous tendencies, it was judged better to remove him to London; and whether change of air and place had the salutary effect, or the delirium had exhausted its force I know not, but he became perfectly restored to reason before we reached London. That restoration was almost beyond my hopes; and there hope rests, it dares not presume further. The most certain indications of speedy dissolution now appear; and all my time must be given to the endeavour of tracing my beloved Sibella, and consoling the anxious Murden for her loss. On his own account, consolation pains him. All his wishes centre in death; and the irrevocable union will soon take place.

Will you be kind enough to inform me of the name of Sibella's other guardian? – Adieu, Sir, may that peace which is only to be purchased by rectitude become an inmate of your abode.

CAROLINE ASHBURN

LETTER XXXVI

LORD FILMAR TO SIR WALTER BOYER

Faith, Walter, I have secured a rich prize, indeed. Hear but its estimate.

In the first place, a very lovely and adorable woman.

In the second, a fine estate.

In the third, – an heir (in embrio) to inherit it.

True, by the Gods! – Nevertheless, stop your rash conclusions, for I have heard her whole story, therefore I tell you that Miss Ashburn is an angel, Mr. Murden a fine fellow, Mr. Valmont an idiot, Sibella a saint, and Montgomery – a scoundrel: though on my soul she talked so movingly of his never fading faith I could not for my life persuade myself to tell her my true opinion of him.

From the little she knows of Murden, (her hermit and deliverer) I long to know more. I burn to tell you of her wonderful escape, of the marvellous Ruin on the rock, but I have resolved to wave explanations till I come. – I charge you, by your friendship, breathe not a whisper of the adventure till you see me. I am going to restore her to her friends; her eloquence did part, but truly her condition did more. – I never bargained to pay off such a mortgage. I could love her dearly; but then you know my name is Filmar, and as a Lord I am bound in duty to love and cherish no son but a son of my own begetting.

I have dispatched two messengers, one for carriages and another to that inn at Hipsley (which I don't love at all now) to make enquiries after Mr. Murden. I wonder how he and I shall adjust our accounts. – I fear there is a long balance in his favour.

You perceive, Walter, all my secret plottings and contrivings have brought me to a fine heritage at last! Murden cannot call me any thing less than a thief, and will say I deserve a thief's punishment. Valmont too will want a peck at me, neither for the credit of love nor integrity but only because Sibella is the great great great granddaughter of some one or other of his great grandfather's. Montgomery may pretend the honour of his wife (her own phrase) impeached by her residence with me, and if he won't believe that until two hours since I never forced myself into her presence, why I shall be obliged by all the laws of honour and gentlemanship to prove it by the length of a sword.