East Lynne

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EAST LYNNE

by Mrs. Henry Wood




PREPARER'S NOTE

This text was prepared from an 1883 edition, New York: John B.
Alden, Publisher.




EAST LYNNE



CHAPTER I.

THE LADY ISABEL.

In an easy-chair of the spacious and handsome library of his town-house,
sat William, Earl of Mount Severn. His hair was gray, the smoothness
of his expansive brow was defaced by premature wrinkles, and his once
attractive face bore the pale, unmistakable look of dissipation. One of
his feet was cased in folds of linen, as it rested on the soft velvet
ottoman, speaking of gout as plainly as any foot ever spoke yet. It
would seem--to look at the man as he sat there--that he had grown old
before his time. And so he had. His years were barely nine and forty,
yet in all save years, he was an aged man.

A noted character had been the Earl of Mount Severn. Not that he had
been a renowned politician, or a great general, or an eminent statesman,
or even an active member in the Upper House; not for any of these had
the earl's name been in the mouths of men. But for the most reckless
among the reckless, for the spendthrift among spendthrifts, for the
gamester above all gamesters, and for a gay man outstripping the gay--by
these characteristics did the world know Lord Mount Severn. It was
said his faults were those of his head; that a better heart or a more
generous spirit never beat in human form; and there was much truth in
this. It had been well for him had he lived and died plain William Vane.
Up to his five and twentieth year, he had been industrious and steady,
had kept his terms in the Temple, and studied late and early. The
sober application of William Vane had been a by word with the embryo
barristers around; Judge Vane, they ironically called him; and they
strove ineffectually to allure him away to idleness and pleasure.
But young Vane was ambitious, and he knew that on his own talents and
exertions must depend his own rising in the world. He was of excellent
family, but poor, counting a relative in the old Earl of Mount Severn.
The possibility of his succeeding to the earldom never occurred to him,
for three healthy lives, two of them young, stood between him and
the title. Yet those have died off, one of apoplexy, one of fever,
in Africa, the third boating at Oxford; and the young Temple student,
William Vane, suddenly found himself Earl of Mount Severn, and the
lawful possessor of sixty thousand a year.

His first idea was, that he should never be able to spend the money;
that such a sum, year by year, could _not_ be spent. It was a wonder
his head was not turned by adulation at the onset, for he was courted,
flattered and caressed by all classes, from a royal duke downward. He
became the most attractive man of his day, the lion in society;
for independent of his newly-acquired wealth and title, he was of
distinguished appearance and fascinating manners. But unfortunately, the
prudence which had sustained William Vane, the poor law student, in his
solitary Temple chambers entirely forsook William Vane, the young Earl
of Mount Severn, and he commenced his career on a scale of speed so
great, that all staid people said he was going to ruin and the deuce
headlong.

But a peer of the realm, and one whose rent-roll is sixty thousand per
annum, does not go to ruin in a day. There sat the earl, in his library
now, in his nine-and-fortieth year, and ruin had not come yet--that is,
it had not overwhelmed him. But the embarrassments which had clung
to him, and been the destruction of his tranquility, the bane of his
existence, who shall describe them? The public knew them pretty well,
his private friends knew better, his creditors best; but none, save
himself knew, or could ever know, the worrying torment that was his
portion, wellnigh driving him to distraction. Years ago, by dint of
looking things steadily in the face, and by economizing, he might have
retrieved his position; but he had done what most people do in such
cases--put off the evil day _sine die_, and gone on increasing his
enormous list of debts. The hour of exposure and ruin was now advancing
fast.

Perhaps the earl himself was thinking so, as he sat there before an
enormous mass of papers which strewed the library table. His thoughts
were back in the past. That was a foolish match of his, that Gretna
Green match for love, foolish so far as prudence went; but the countess
had been an affectionate wife to him, had borne with his follies and
his neglect, had been an admirable mother to their only child. One child
alone had been theirs, and in her thirteenth year the countess had
died. If they had but been blessed with a son--the earl moaned over the
long-continued disappointment still--he might have seen a way out of his
difficulties. The boy, as soon as he was of age, would have joined with
him in cutting off the entail, and----

"My lord," said a servant entering the room and interrupting the earl's
castles in the air, "a gentleman is asking to see you."

"Who?" cried the earl, sharply, not perceiving the card the man was
bringing. No unknown person, although wearing the externals of a foreign
ambassador, was ever admitted unceremoniously to the presence of Lord
Mount Severn. Years of duns had taught the servants caution.

"His card is here, my lord. It is Mr. Carlyle, of West Lynne."

"Mr. Carlyle, of West Lynne," groaned the earl, whose foot just then had
an awful twinge, "what does he want? Show him up."

The servant did as he was bid, and introduced Mr. Carlyle. Look at the
visitor well, reader, for he will play his part in this history. He was
a very tall man of seven and twenty, of remarkably noble presence. He
was somewhat given to stooping his head when he spoke to any one shorter
than himself; it was a peculiar habit, almost to be called a bowing
habit, and his father had possessed it before him. When told of it he
would laugh, and say he was unconscious of doing it. His features were
good, his complexion was pale and clear, his hair dark, and his full
eyelids drooped over his deep gray eyes. Altogether it was a countenance
that both men and women liked to look upon--the index of an honorable,
sincere nature--not that it would have been called a handsome face,
so much as a pleasing and a distinguished one. Though but the son of a
country lawyer, and destined to be a lawyer himself, he had received
the training of a gentleman, had been educated at Rugby, and taken
his degree at Oxford. He advanced at once to the earl, in the
straightforward way of a man of business--of a man who has come on
business.

"Mr. Carlyle," said the latter, holding out his hand--he was always
deemed the most affable peer of the age--"I am happy to see you. You
perceive I cannot rise, at least without great pain and inconvenience.
My enemy, the gout, has possession of me again. Take a seat. Are you
staying in town?"

"I have just arrived from West Lynne. The chief object of my journey was
to see your lordship."

"What can I do for you?" asked the earl, uneasily; for a suspicion had
crossed his mind that Mr. Carlyle might be acting for some one of his
many troublesome creditors.

Mr. Carlyle drew his chair nearer to the earl, and spoke in a low
tone,--

"A rumor came to my ears, my lord, that East Lynne was in the market."

"A moment, sir," exclaimed the earl, with reserve, not to say hauteur
in his tone, for his suspicions were gaining ground; "are we to
converse confidentially together, as men of honor, or is there something
concealed behind?"

"I do not understand you," said Mr. Carlyle.

"In a word--excuse my speaking plainly, but I must feel my ground--are
you here on the part of some of my rascally creditors, to pump
information out of me, that otherwise they would not get?"

"My lord," uttered the visitor, "I should be incapable of so
dishonorable an action. I know that a lawyer gets credit for possessing
but lax notions on the score of honor, but you can scarcely suspect that
I should be guilty of underhand work toward you. I never was guilty of
a mean trick in my life, to my recollection, and I do not think I ever
shall be."

"Pardon me, Mr. Carlyle. If you knew half the tricks and _ruses_ played
upon me, you would not wonder at my suspecting all the world. Proceed
with your business."

"I heard that East Lynne was for private sale; your agent dropped half a
word to me in confidence. If so, I should wish to be the purchaser."

"For whom?" inquired the earl.

"Myself."

"You!" laughed the earl. "Egad! Lawyering can't be such bad work,
Carlyle."

"Nor is it," rejoined Mr. Carlyle, "with an extensive, first-class
connection, such as ours. But you must remember that a good fortune was
left me by my uncle, and a large one by my father."

"I know. The proceeds of lawyering also."

"Not altogether. My mother brought a fortune on her marriage, and it
enabled my father to speculate successfully. I have been looking out for
an eligible property to invest my money upon, and East Lynne will suit
me well, provided I can have the refusal of it, and we can agree about
the terms."

Lord Mount Severn mused for a few moments before he spoke. "Mr.
Carlyle," he began, "my affairs are very bad, and ready money I must
find somewhere. Now East Lynne is not entailed, neither is it mortgaged
to anything like its value, though the latter fact, as you may imagine,
is not patent to the world. When I bought it at a bargain, eighteen
years ago, you were the lawyer on the other side, I remember."

"My father," smiled Mr. Carlyle. "I was a child at the time."

"Of course, I ought to have said your father. By selling East Lynne, a
few thousands will come into my hands, after claims on it are settled; I
have no other means of raising the wind, and that is why I have resolved
to part with it. But now, understand, if it were known abroad that East
Lynne is going from me, I should have a hornet's nest about my ears; so
that it must be disposed of _privately_. Do you comprehend?"

"Perfectly," replied Mr. Carlyle.

"I would as soon you bought it as anyone else, if, as you say, we can
agree about terms."

"What does your lordship expect for it--at a rough estimate?"

"For particulars I must refer you to my men of business, Warburton &
Ware. Not less than seventy thousand pounds."

"Too much, my lord," cried Mr. Carlyle, decisively.

"And that's not its value," returned the earl.

"These forced sales never do fetch their value," answered the
plain-speaking lawyer. "Until this hint was given me by Beauchamp, I had
thought East Lynne was settled upon your lordship's daughter."

"There's nothing settled on her," rejoined the earl, the contraction
on his brow standing out more plainly. "That comes of your thoughtless
runaway marriages. I fell in love with General Conway's daughter, and
she ran away with me, like a fool; that is, we were both fools together
for our pains. The general objected to me and said I must sow my wild
oats before he would give me Mary; so I took her to Gretna Green, and
she became Countess of Mount Severn, without a settlement. It was an
unfortunate affair, taking one thing with another. When her elopement
was made known to the general, it killed him."

"Killed him!" interrupted Mr. Carlyle.

"It did. He had disease of the heart, and the excitement brought on the
crisis. My poor wife never was happy from that hour; she blamed herself
for her father's death, and I believe it led to her own. She was ill for
years; the doctors called it consumption; but it was more like a wasting
insensibly away, and consumption never had been in her family. No luck
ever attends runaway marriages; I have noticed it since, in many, many
instances; something bad is sure to turn up from it."

"There might have been a settlement executed after the marriage,"
observed Mr. Carlyle, for the earl had stopped, and seemed lost in
thought.

"I know there might; but there was not. My wife had possessed no
fortune; I was already deep in my career of extravagance, and neither
of us thought of making provision for our future children; or, if we
thought of it, we did not do it. There is an old saying, Mr. Carlyle,
that what may be done at any time is never done."

Mr. Carlyle bowed.

"So my child is portionless," resumed the earl, with a suppressed sigh.
"The thought that it may be an embarrassing thing for her, were I to die
before she is settled in life, crosses my mind when I am in a serious
mood. That she will marry well, there is little doubt, for she possesses
beauty in a rare degree, and has been reared as an English girl should
be, not to frivolity and foppery. She was trained by her mother, who
save for the mad act she was persuaded into by me, was all goodness and
refinement, for the first twelve years of her life, and since then by
an admirable governess. No fear that she will be decamping to Gretna
Green."

"She was a very lovely child," observed the lawyer; "I remember that."

"Ay; you have seen her at East Lynne, in her mother's lifetime. But,
to return to business. If you become the purchaser of the East Lynne
estate, Mr. Carlyle, it must be under the rose. The money that it
brings, after paying off the mortgage, I must have, as I tell you, for
my private use; and you know I should not be able to touch a farthing of
it if the confounded public got an inkling of the transfer. In the eyes
of the world, the proprietor of East Lynne must be Lord Mount Severn--at
least for some little time afterwards. Perhaps you will not object to
that."

Mr. Carlyle considered before replying; and then the conversation was
resumed, when it was decided that he should see Warburton and Ware the
first thing in the morning, and confer with them. It was growing late
when he rose to leave.

"Stay and dine with me," said the earl.

Mr. Carlyle hesitated, and looked down at his dress--a plain,
gentlemanly, morning attire, but certainly not a dinner costume for a
peer's table.

"Oh, that's nothing," said the earl; "we shall be quite alone, except my
daughter. Mrs. Vane, of Castle Marling, is staying with us. She came
up to present my child at the last drawing-room, but I think I heard
something about her dining out to-day. If not, we will have it by
ourselves here. Oblige me by touching the bell, Mr. Carlyle."

The servant entered.

"Inquire whether Mrs. Vane dines at home," said the earl.

"Mrs. Vane dines out, my lord," was the man's immediate reply. "The
carriage is at the door now."

"Very well. Mr. Carlyle remains."

At seven o'clock the dinner was announced, and the earl wheeled into the
adjoining room. As he and Mr. Carlyle entered it at one door, some one
else came in by the opposite one. Who--what--was it? Mr. Carlyle looked,
not quite sure whether it was a human being--he almost thought it more
like an angel.

A light, graceful, girlish form; a face of surpassing beauty, beauty
that is rarely seen, save from the imagination of a painter; dark
shining curls falling on her neck and shoulders, smooth as a child's;
fair, delicate arms decorated with pearls, and a flowing dress of costly
white lace. Altogether the vision did indeed look to the lawyer as one
from a fairer world than this.

"My daughter, Mr. Carlyle, the Lady Isabel."

They took their seats at the table, Lord Mount Severn at its head, in
spite of his gout and his footstool. And the young lady and Mr. Carlyle
opposite each other. Mr. Carlyle had not deemed himself a particular
admirer of women's beauty, but the extraordinary loveliness of the young
girl before him nearly took away his senses and his self-possession. Yet
it was not so much the perfect contour or the exquisite features that
struck him, or the rich damask of the delicate cheek, or the luxuriant
falling hair; no, it was the sweet expression of the soft dark eyes.
Never in his life had he seen eyes so pleasing. He could not keep his
gaze from her, and he became conscious, as he grew more familiar with
her face, that there was in its character a sad, sorrowful look; only at
times was it to be noticed, when the features were at repose, and it lay
chiefly in the very eyes he was admiring. Never does this unconsciously
mournful expression exist, but it is a sure index of sorrow and
suffering; but Mr. Carlyle understood it not. And who could connect
sorrow with the anticipated brilliant future of Isabel Vane?

"Isabel," observed the earl, "you are dressed."

"Yes, papa. Not to keep old Mrs. Levison waiting tea. She likes to take
it early, and I know Mrs. Vane must have kept her waiting dinner. It was
half-past six when she drove from here."

"I hope you will not be late to-night, Isabel."

"It depends upon Mrs. Vane."

"Then I am sure you will be. When the young ladies in this fashionable
world of ours turn night into day, it is a bad thing for their roses.
What say you, Mr. Carlyle?"

Mr. Carlyle glanced at the roses on the cheeks opposite to him; they
looked too fresh and bright to fade lightly.

At the conclusion of dinner a maid entered the room with a white
cashmere mantle, placing it over the shoulders of her young lady, as she
said the carriage was waiting.

Lady Isabel advanced to the earl. "Good-bye, papa."

"Good-night, my love," he answered, drawing her toward him, and kissing
her sweet face. "Tell Mrs. Vane I will not have you kept out till
morning hours. You are but a child yet. Mr. Carlyle, will you ring? I am
debarred from seeing my daughter to the carriage."

"If your lordship will allow me--if Lady Isabel will pardon the
attendance of one little used to wait upon young ladies, I shall be
proud to see her to her carriage," was the somewhat confused answer of
Mr. Carlyle as he touched the bell.

The earl thanked him, and the young lady smiled, and Mr. Carlyle
conducted her down the broad, lighted staircase and stood bareheaded by
the door of the luxurious chariot, and handed her in. She put out her
hand in her frank, pleasant manner, as she wished him good night. The
carriage rolled on its way, and Mr. Carlyle returned to the earl.

"Well, is she not a handsome girl?" he demanded.

"Handsome is not the word for beauty such as hers," was Mr. Carlyle's
reply, in a low, warm tone. "I never saw a face half so beautiful."

"She caused quite a sensation at the drawing-room last week--as I hear.
This everlasting gout kept me indoors all day. And she is as good as she
is beautiful."

The earl was not partial. Lady Isabel was wondrously gifted by nature,
not only in mind and person but in heart. She was as little like a
fashionable young lady as it was well possible to be, partly because she
had hitherto been secluded from the great world, partly from the care
bestowed upon her training. During the lifetime of her mother, she had
lived occasionally at East Lynne, but mostly at a larger seat of
the earl's in Wales, Mount Severn; since her mother's death, she had
remained entirely at Mount Severn, under the charge of a judicious
governess, a very small establishment being kept for them, and the earl
paying them impromptu and flying visits. Generous and benevolent she
was, timid and sensitive to a degree, gentle, and considerate to all. Do
not cavil at her being thus praised--admire and love her whilst you may,
she is worthy of it now, in her innocent girlhood; the time will come
when such praise would be misplaced. Could the fate that was to overtake
his child have been foreseen by the earl, he would have struck her down
to death, in his love, as she stood before him, rather than suffer her
to enter upon it.



CHAPTER II.

THE BROKEN CROSS.

Lady Isabel's carriage continued its way, and deposited her at the
residence of Mrs. Levison. Mrs. Levison was nearly eighty years of age,
and very severe in speech and manner, or, as Mrs. Vane expressed it,
"crabbed." She looked the image of impatience when Isabel entered, with
her cap pushed all awry, and pulling at the black satin gown, for Mrs.
Vane had kept her waiting dinner, and Isabel was keeping her from her
tea; and that does not agree with the aged, with their health or with
their temper.

"I fear I am late," exclaimed Lady Isabel, as she advanced to Mrs.
Levison; "but a gentleman dined with papa to-day, and it made us rather
longer at table."

"You are twenty-five minutes behind your time," cried the old lady
sharply, "and I want my tea. Emma, order it in."

Mrs. Vane rang the bell, and did as she was bid. She was a little woman
of six-and-twenty, very plain in face, but elegant in figure, very
accomplished, and vain to her fingers' ends. Her mother, who was dead,
had been Mrs. Levison's daughter, and her husband, Raymond Vane, was
presumptive heir to the earldom of Mount Severn.

"Won't you take that tippet off, child?" asked Mrs. Levison, who knew
nothing of the new-fashioned names for such articles, mantles, burnous,
and all the string of them; and Isabel threw it off and sat down by her.

"The tea is not made, grandmamma!" exclaimed Mrs. Vane, in an accent of
astonishment, as the servant appeared with the tray and the silver urn.
"You surely do not have it made in the room."

"Where should I have it made?" inquired Mrs. Levison.

"It is much more convenient to have it brought in, ready made," said
Mrs. Vane. "I dislike the _embarass_ of making it."

"Indeed!" was the reply of the old lady; "and get it slopped over in the
saucers, and as cold as milk! You always were lazy, Emma--and given to
use those French words. I'd rather stick a printed label on my forehead,
for my part, 'I speak French,' and let the world know it in that way."

"Who makes tea for you in general?" asked Mrs. Vane, telegraphing a
contemptuous glance to Isabel behind her grandmother.

But the eyes of Lady Isabel fell timidly and a blush rose to her cheeks.
She did not like to appear to differ from Mrs. Vane, her senior, and her
father's guest, but her mind revolted at the bare idea of ingratitude or
ridicule cast on an aged parent.

"Harriet comes in and makes it for me," replied Mrs. Levison; "aye, and
sits down and takes it with me when I am alone, which is pretty often.
What do you say to that, Madame Emma--you, with your fine notions?"

"Just as you please, of course, grandmamma."

"And there's the tea-caddy at your elbow, and the urn's fizzing away,
and if we are to have any tea to-night, it had better be made."

"I don't know how much to put in," grumbled Mrs. Vane, who had the
greatest horror of soiling her hands or her gloves; who, in short, had a
particular antipathy to doing anything useful.

"Shall I make it, dear Mrs. Levison?" said Isabel, rising with alacrity.
"I had used to make it quite as often as my governess at Mount Severn,
and I make it for papa."

"Do, child," replied the old lady. "You are worth ten of her."

Isabel laughed merrily, drew off her gloves, and sat down to the table;
and at that moment a young and elegant man lounged into the room. He was
deemed handsome, with his clearly-cut features, his dark eyes, his raven
hair, and his white teeth; but to a keen observer those features had not
an attractive expression, and the dark eyes had a great knack of looking
away while he spoke to you. It was Francis, Captain Levison.

He was grandson to the old lady, and first cousin to Mrs. Vane. Few men
were so fascinating in manners, at times and seasons, in face and in
form, few men won so completely upon their hearers' ears, and few were
so heartless in their hearts of hearts. The world courted him, and
society honored him; for, though he was a graceless spendthrift, and it
was known that he was, he was the presumptive heir to the old and rich
Sir Peter Levison.

The ancient lady spoke up, "Captain Levison, Lady Isabel Vane." They
both acknowledged the introduction; and Isabel, a child yet in the ways
of the world, flushed crimson at the admiring looks cast upon her by the
young guardsman. Strange--strange that she should make the acquaintance
of these two men in the same day, almost in the same hour; the two, of
all the human race, who were to exercise so powerful an influence over
her future life!

"That's a pretty cross, child," cried Mrs. Levison as Isabel stood by
her when tea was over, and she and Mrs. Vane were about to depart on
their evening visit.

She alluded to a golden cross, set with seven emeralds, which Isabel
wore on her neck. It was of light, delicate texture, and was suspended
from a thin, short, gold chain.

"Is it not pretty?" answered Isabel. "It was given me by my dear mamma
just before she died. Stay, I will take it off for you. I only wear it
upon great occasions."

This, her first appearance at the grand duke's, seemed a very great
occasion to the simply-reared and inexperienced girl. She unclasped the
chain, and placed it with the cross in the hands of Mrs. Levison.

"Why, I declare you have nothing on but that cross and some rubbishing
pearl bracelets!" uttered Mrs. Vane to Isabel. "I did not look at you
before."

"Mamma gave me both. The bracelets are those she used frequently to
wear."

"You old-fashioned child! Because your mamma wore those bracelets, years
ago, is that a reason for your doing so?" retorted Mrs. Vane. "Why did
you not put on your diamonds?"