A Terrible Temptation (Fiscle Part 3) - Charles Reade (recommended ebook reader txt) 📗

Behind His Time In Mayfair; But The Lawyer And His

Clerk Had Not Arrived,  And Miss Somerset Was Not Visible.

 

She Appeared,  However,  At Last,  In A Superb Silk Dress,  The Broad

Luster Of Which Would Have Been Beautiful,  Only The Effect Was Broken

And Frittered Away By Six Rows Of Gimp And Fringe. But Why Blame Her?

This Is A Blunder In Art As Universal As It Is Amazing,  When One

Considers The Amount Of Apparent Thought Her Sex Devotes To Dress. They

Might Just As Well Score A Fair Plot Of Velvet Turf With Rows Of Box,

Or Tattoo A Blooming And Downy Cheek.

 

She Held Out Her Hand,  Like A Man,  And Talked To Sir Charles On

Indifferent Topics,  Till Mr. Oldfield Arrived. She Then Retired Into

The Background,  And Left The Gentlemen To Discuss The Deed. When

Appealed To,  She Evaded Direct Replies,  And Put On Languid And Imperial

Indifference. When She Signed,  It Was With The Air Of Some Princess

Bestowing A Favor Upon Solicitation.

 

But The Business Concluded,  She Thawed All In A Moment,  And Invited The

Gentlemen To Luncheon With Charming Cordiality. Indeed,  Her Genuine

_Bonhomie_ After Her Affected Indifference Was Rather Comic. Everybody

Was Content. Champagne Flowed. The Lady,  With Her Good Mother-Wit,  Kept

Conversation Going Till The Lawyer Was Nearly Missing His Next

Appointment. He Hurried Away; And Sir Charles Only Lingered,  Out Of

Good-Breeding,  To Bid Miss Somerset Good-By. In The Course Of

Leave-Taking He Said He Was Sorry He Left Her With People About Her Of

Whom He Had A Bad Opinion. "Those Women Have No More Feeling For You

Than Stones. When You Lay In Convulsions,  Your Housekeeper Looked On As

Philosophically As If You Had Been Two Kittens At Play--You And Polly."

 

"I Saw Her."

 

"Indeed! You Appeared Hardly In A Condition To See Anything."

 

"I Did,  Though,  And Heard The Old Wretch Tell The Young Monkey To Water

My Lilac Dress. That Was To Get It For Her Polly. She Knew I'd Never

Wear It Afterward."

 

"Then Why Don't You Turn Her Off?"

 

"Who'd Take Such A Useless Old Hag,  If I Turned Her Off?"

 

"You Carry A Charity A Long Way."

 

"I Carry Everything. What's The Use Doing Things By Halves,  Good Or

Bad?"

 

"Well,  But That Polly! She Is Young Enough To Get Her Living Elsewhere;

And She Is Extremely Disrespectful To You."

 

"That She Is. If I Wasn't A Lady,  I'd Have Given Her A Good Hiding This

Very Day For Her Cheek!"

 

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"Then Why Not Turn Her Off This Very Day For Her Cheek?"

 

"Well,  I'll Tell You,  Since You And I Are Parted Forever. No,  I Don't

Like."

 

"Oh,  Come! No Secrets Between Friends."

 

"Well,  Then,  The Old Hag Is--My Mother."

 

"What?"

 

"And The Young Jade--Is My Sister."

 

"Good Heavens!"

 

"And The Page--Is My Little Brother."

 

"Ha,  Ha,  Ha!"

 

"What,  You Are Not Angry?"

 

"Angry? No. Ha,  Ha,  Ha!"

 

"See What A Hornets' Nest You Have Escaped From. My Dear Friend,  Those

Two Women Rob Me Through Thick And Thin. They Steal My Handkerchiefs,

And My Gloves,  And My Very Linen. They Drink My Wine Like Fishes.

They'd Take The Hair Off My Head,  If It Wasn't Fast By The Roots--For A

Wonder."

 

"Why Not Give Them A Ten-Pound Note And Send Them Home?"

 

"They'd Pocket The Note,  And Blacken Me In Our Village. That Was Why I

Had Them Up Here. First Time I Went Home,  After Running About With That

Little Scamp,  Vandeleur--Do You Know Him?"

 

"I Have Not The Honor."

 

"Then Your Luck Beats Mine. One Thing,  He Is Going To The Dogs As Fast

As He Can. Some Day He'll Come Begging To Me For A Fiver. You Mark My

Words Now."

 

"Well,  But You Were Saying--"

 

"Yes,  I Went Off About Van. Polly _Says_ I've A Mind Like Running

Water. Well,  Then,  When I Went Home The First Time--After Van,  Mother

And Polly Raised A Virtuous Howl. 'All Right,' Said I--For,  Of Course,

I Know How Much Virtue There Is Under _Their_ Skins. Virtue Of The

Lower Orders! Tell That To Gentlefolks That Don't Know Them. I Do. I've

Been One Of 'Em--'I Know All About That,' Says I. 'You Want To Share

The Plunder,  That Is The Sense Of Your Virtuous Cry.' So I Had 'Em Up

Here; And Then There Was No More Virtuous Howling,  But A Deal Of

Virtuous Thieving,  And Modest Drinking,  And Pure-Minded Selling Of My

Street-Door To The Highest Male Bidder. And They Will Corrupt The Boy;

And If They Do,  I'll Cuts Their Black Hearts Out With My Riding-Whip.

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But I Suppose I Must Keep Them On; They Are My Own Flesh And Blood; And

If I Was To Be Ill And Dying,  They'd Do All They Knew To Keep Me

Alive--For Their Own Sakes. I'm Their Milch Cow,  These Country

Innocents."

 

Sir Charles Groaned Aloud,  And Said,  "My Poor Girl,  You Deserve A

Better Fate Than This. Marry Some Honest Fellow,  And Cut The Whole

Thing."

 

"I'll See About It. You Try It First,  And Let Us See How You Like It."

 

And So They Parted Gayly.

 

In The Hall,  Polly Intercepted Him,  All Smiles. He Looked At Her,

Smiled In His Sleeve,  And Gave Her A Handsome Present. "If You Please,

Sir," Said She,  "An Old Gentleman Called For You."

 

"When?"

 

"About An Hour Ago. Leastways,  He Asked If Sir Charles Bassett Was

There. I Said Yes,  But You Wouldn't See No One."

 

"Who Could It Be? Why,  Surely You Never Told Anybody I Was To Be Here

To-Day?"

 

"La,  No,  Sir! How Could I?" Said Polly,  With A Face Of Brass.

 

Sir Charles Thought This Very Odd,  And Felt A Little Uneasy About It.

All To Portman Square He Puzzled Over It; And At Last He Was Driven To

The Conclusion That Miss Somerset Had Been Weak Enough To Tell Some

Person,  Male Or Female,  Of The Coming Interview,  And So Somebody Had

Called There--Doubtless To Ask Him A Favor.

 

At Five O'clock He Reached Portman Square,  And Was About To Enter,  As A

Matter Of Course; But The Footman Stopped Him. "I Beg Pardon,  Sir

Charles," Said The Man,  Looking Pale And Agitated; "But I Have Strict

Orders. My Young Lady Is Very Ill."

 

"Ill! Let Me Go To Her This Instant."

 

"I Daren't,  Sir Charles,  I Daren't. I Know You Are A Gentleman; Pray

Don't Lose Me My Place. You Would Never Get To See Her. We None Of Us

Know The Rights,  But There's Something Up. Sorry To Say It,  Sir

Charles,  But We Have Strict Orders Not To Admit You. Haven't You The

Admiral's Letter,  Sir?"

 

"No; What Letter?"

 

"He Has Been After You,  Sir; And When He Came Back He Sent Roger Off To

Your House With A Letter."

 

A Cold Chill Began To Run Down Sir Charles Bassett. He Hailed A Passing

Hansom,  And Drove To His Own House To Get The Admiral's Letter; And As

He Went He Asked Himself,  With Chill Misgivings,  What On Earth Had

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Happened.

 

What Had Happened Shall Be Told The Reader Precisely But Briefly. .

 

In The First Place,  Bella Had Opened The Anonymous Letter And Read Its

Contents,  To Which The Reader Is Referred.

 

There Are People Who Pretend To Despise Anonymous Letters. Pure

Delusion! They Know They Ought To,  And So Fancy They Do; But They

Don't. The Absence Of A Signature Gives Weight,  If The Letter Is Ably

Written And Seems True.

 

As For Poor Bella Bruce,  A Dove's Bosom Is No More Fit To Rebuff A

Poisoned Arrow Than She Was To Combat That Foulest And Direst Of All A

Miscreant's Weapons,  An Anonymous Letter. She,  In Her Goodness And

Innocence,  Never Dreamed That Any Person She Did Not Know Could

Possibly Tell A Lie To Wound Her. The Letter Fell On Her Like A Cruel

Revelation From Heaven.

 

The Blow Was So Savage That,  At First,  It Stunned Her.

 

She Sat Pale And Stupefied; But Beneath The Stupor Were The Rising

Throbs Of Coming Agonies.

 

After That Horrible Stupor Her Anguish Grew And Grew,  Till It Found

Vent In A Miserable Cry,  Rising,  And Rising,  And Rising,  In Agony.

 

"Mamma! Mamma! Mamma!"

 

Yes; Her Mother Had Been Dead These Three Years,  And Her Father Sat In

The Next Room; Yet,  In Her Anguish,  She Cried To Her Mother--A Cry The

Which,  If Your Mother Had Heard,  She Would Have Expected Bella's To

Come To Her Even From The Grave.

 

Admiral Bruce Heard This Fearful Cry--The Living Calling On The

Dead--And Burst Through The Folding-Doors In A Moment,  White As A

Ghost.

 

He Found His Daughter Writhing On The Sofa,  Ghastly,  And Grinding In

Her Hand The Cursed Paper That Had Poisoned Her Young Life.

 

"My Child! My Child!"

 

"Oh,  Papa! See! See!" And She Tried To Open The Letter For Him,  But Her

Hands Trembled So She Could Not.

 

He Kneeled Down By Her Side,  The Stout Old Warrior,  And Read The

Letter,  While She Clung To Him,  Moaning Now,  And Quivering All Over

From Head To Foot.

 

"Why,  There's No Signature! The Writer Is A Coward And,  Perhaps,  A

Liar. Stop! He Offers A Test. I'll Put Him To It This Minute."

 

He Laid The Moaning Girl On The Sofa,  Ordered His Servants To Admit

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Nobody Into The House,  And Drove At Once To Mayfair.

 

He Called At Miss Somerset's House,  Saw Polly,  And Questioned Her.

 

He Drove Home Again,  And Came Into The Drawing-Room Looking As He Had

Been Seen To Look When Fighting His Ship; But His Daughter Had Never

Seen Him So. "My Girl," Said He,  Solemnly,  "There's Nothing For You To

Do But To Be Brave,  And Hide Your Grief As Well As You Can,  For The Man

Is Unworthy Of Your Love. That