East Lynne

M >> Mrs. Henry Wood >> East Lynne


The home truth told on her ladyship. She turned white with rage, forgot
her manners, and, raising her right hand, struck Isabel a stinging blow
upon the left cheek. Confused and terrified, Isabel stood in pain, and
before she could speak or act, my lady's left hand was raised to the
other cheek, and a blow left on that. Lady Isabel shivered as with a
sudden chill, and cried out--a sharp, quick cry--covered her outraged
face, and sank down upon the dressing chair. Marvel threw up her hands
in dismay, and William Vane could not have burst into a louder roar
had he been beaten himself. The boy--he was of a sensitive nature--was
frightened.

My good reader, are you one of the inexperienced ones who borrow notions
of "fashionable life" from the novels got in a library, taking their
high-flown contents for gospel, and religiously believing that lords
and ladies live upon stilts, speak, eat, move, breathe, by the rules of
good-breeding only? Are you under the delusion--too many are--that the
days of dukes and duchesses are spent discussing "pictures, tastes,
Shakespeare, and the musical glasses?"--that they are strung on polite
wires of silver, and can't get off the hinges, never giving vent to
angry tempers, to words unorthodox, as commonplace mortals do? That will
come to pass when the Great Creator shall see fit to send men into the
world free from baneful tempers, evil passions, from the sins bequeathed
from the fall of Adam.

Lady Mount Severn finished up the scene by boxing William for his noise,
jerked him out of the room, and told him he was a monkey.

Isabel Vane lived through the livelong night, weeping tears of anguish
and indignation. She would not remain at Castle Marling--who would,
after so great an outrage? Yet where was she to go? Fifty times in the
course of the night did she wish that she was laid beside her father,
for her feelings obtained the mastery of her reason; in her calm moments
she would have shrunk from the idea of death as the young and healthy
must do.

She rose on the Saturday morning weak and languid, the effects of the
night of grief, and Marvel brought her breakfast up. William Vane stole
into her room afterward; he was attached to her in a remarkable degree.

"Mamma's going out," he exclaimed, in the course of the morning. "Look,
Isabel."

Isabel went to the window. Lady Mount Severn was in the pony carriage,
Francis Levison driving.

"We can go down now, Isabel, nobody will be there."

She assented, and went down with William; but scarcely were they in the
drawing-room when a servant entered with a card on a salver.

"A gentleman, my lady, wishes to see you."

"To see me!" returned Isabel, in surprise, "or Lady Mount Severn?"

"He asked for you, my lady."

She took up the card. "Mr. Carlyle." "Oh!" she uttered, in a tone of
joyful surprise, "show him in."

It is curious, nay, appalling, to trace the thread in a human life;
how the most trivial occurrences lead to the great events of existence,
bringing forth happiness or misery, weal or woe. A client of Mr.
Carlyle's, travelling from one part of England to the other, was
arrested by illness at Castle Marling--grave illness, it appeared to
be, inducing fears of death. He had not, as the phrase goes, settled his
affairs, and Mr. Carlyle was telegraphed for in haste, to make his will,
and for other private matters. A very simple occurrence it appeared to
Mr. Carlyle, this journey, and yet it was destined to lead to events
that would end only with his own life.

Mr. Carlyle entered, unaffected and gentlemanly as ever, with his noble
form, his attractive face, and his drooping eyelids. She advanced to
meet him, holding out her hand, her countenance betraying her pleasure.

"This is indeed unexpected," she exclaimed. "How very pleased I am to
see you."

"Business brought me yesterday to Castle Marling. I could not leave it
again without calling on you. I hear that Lord Mount Severn is absent."

"He is in France," she rejoined. "I said we should be sure to meet
again; do you remember, Mr. Carlyle? You----"

Isabel suddenly stopped; for with the word "remember," she also
remembered something--the hundred pound note--and what she was saying
faltered on her tongue. Confused, indeed, grew she: for, alas! she had
changed and partly spent it. _How_ was it possible to ask Lady Mount
Severn for money? And the earl was nearly always away. Mr. Carlyle saw
her embarrassment, though he may not have detected its cause.

"What a fine boy!" exclaimed he, looking at the child.

"It is Lord Vane," said Isabel.

"A truthful, earnest spire, I am sure," he continued, gazing at his open
countenance. "How old are you, my little man?"

"I am six, sir; and my brother was four."

Isabel bent over the child--an excuse to cover her perplexity. "You do
not know this gentleman, William. It is Mr. Carlyle, and he has been
very kind to me."

The little lord had turned his thoughtful eyes on Mr. Carlyle,
apparently studying his countenance. "I shall like you, sir, if you are
kind to Isabel. Are you kind to her?"

"Very, very kind," murmured Lady Isabel, leaving William, and turning to
Mr. Carlyle, but not looking at him. "I don't know what to say; I ought
to thank you. I did not intend to use the--to use it; but I--I--"

"Hush!" he interrupted, laughing at her confusion. "I do not know what
you are talking of. I have a great misfortune to break to you, Lady
Isabel."

She lifted her eyes and her glowing cheeks, somewhat aroused from her
own thoughts.

"Two of your fish are dead. The gold ones."

"Are they?"

"I believe it was the frost killed them; I don't know what else it could
have been. You may remember those bitter days we had in January; they
died then."

"You are very good to take care of them all this while. How is East
Lynne looking? Dear East Lynne! Is it occupied?"

"Not yet. I have spent some money upon it, and it repays the outlay."

The excitement of his arrival had worn off, and she was looking herself
again, pale and sad; he could not help observing that she was changed.

"I cannot expect to look so well at Castle Marling as I did at East
Lynne," she answered.

"I trust it is a happy home to you?" said Mr. Carlyle, speaking upon
impulse.

She glanced up at him a look that he would never forget; it certainly
told of despair. "No," she said, shaking her head, "it is a miserable
home, and I cannot remain in it. I have been awake all night, thinking
where I can go, but I cannot tell; I have not a friend in the wide
world."

Never let people talk secrets before children, for be assured that they
comprehend a vast deal more than is expedient; the saying "that little
pitchers have great ears" is wonderfully true. Lord Vane held up his
hand to Mr. Carlyle,--

"Isabel told me this morning that she should go away from us. Shall I
tell you why? Mamma beat her yesterday when she was angry."

"Be quiet, William!" interrupted Lady Isabel, her face in a flame.

"Two great slaps upon her cheeks," continued the young viscount; "and
Isabel cried so, and I screamed, and then mamma hit me. But boys are
made to be hit; nurse says so. Marvel came into the nursery when we were
at tea, and told nurse about it. She says Isabel's too good-looking, and
that's why mamma--"

Isabel stopped the child's tongue, rang a peal on the bell, and marched
him to the door, dispatching him to the nursery by the servant who
answered it.

Mr. Carlyle's eyes were full of indignant sympathy. "Can this be true?"
he asked, in a low tone when she returned to him. "You do, indeed, want
a friend."

"I must bear my lot," she replied, obeying the impulse which prompted
her to confide in Mr. Carlyle; "at least till Lord Mount Severn
returns."

"And then?"

"I really do not know," she said, the rebellious tears rising faster
than she could choke them down. "He has no other home to offer me; but
with Lady Mount Severn I cannot and will not remain. She would break
my heart, as she has already well-nigh broken my spirit. I have not
deserved it of her, Mr. Carlyle."

"No, I am sure you have not," he warmly answered. "I wish I could help
you! What can I do?"

"You can do nothing," she said. "What can any one do?"

"I wish, I wish I could help you!" he repeated. "East Lynne was not,
take it for all in all, a pleasant home to you, but it seems you changed
for the worse when you left."

"Not a pleasant home?" she echoed, its reminiscences appearing
delightful in that moment, for it must be remembered that all things are
estimated by comparison. "Indeed it was; I may never have so pleasant a
one again. Mr. Carlyle, do not disparage East Lynne to me! Would I could
awake and find the last few months but a hideous dream!--that I could
find my dear father alive again!--that we were still living peacefully
at East Lynne. It would be a very Eden to me now."

What was Mr. Carlyle about to say? What emotion was it that agitated his
countenance, impeded his breath, and dyed his face blood-red? His better
genius was surely not watching over him, or those words had never been
spoken.

"There is but one way," he began, taking her hand and nervously playing
with it, probably unconscious that he did so; "only one way in which you
could return to East Lynne. And that way--I may not presume, perhaps, to
point it out."

She looked at him and waited for an explanation.

"If my words offend you, Lady Isabel, check them, as their presumption
deserves, and pardon me. May I--dare I--offer you to return to East
Lynne as its mistress?"

She did not comprehend him in the slightest degree: the drift of his
meaning never dawned upon her. "Return to East Lynne as its mistress?"
she repeated, in bewilderment.

"And as my wife?"

No possibility of misunderstanding him now, and the shock and surprise
were great. She had stood there by Mr. Carlyle's side conversing
confidentially with him, esteeming him greatly, feeling as if he
were her truest friend on earth, clinging to him in her heart as to
a powerful haven of refuge, loving him almost as she would a brother,
suffering her hand to remain in his. _But to be his wife!_ the idea had
never presented itself to her in any shape until this moment, and her
mind's first emotion was one of entire opposition, her first movement
to express it, as she essayed to withdraw herself and her hand away from
him.

But not so; Mr. Carlyle did not suffer it. He not only retained that
hand, but took the other also, and spoke, now the ice was broken,
eloquent words of love. Not unmeaning phrases of rhapsody, about hearts
and darts and dying for her, such as somebody else might have given
utterance to, but earnest-hearted words of deep tenderness, calculated
to win upon the mind's good sense, as well as upon the ear and heart;
and it may be that, had her imagination not been filled up with that
"somebody else," she would have said "Yes," there and then.

They were suddenly interrupted. Lady Mount Severn entered, and took
in the scene at a glance; Mr. Carlyle's bent attitude of devotion,
his imprisonment of the hands, and Isabel's perplexed and blushing
countenance. She threw up her head and her little inquisitive nose, and
stopped short on the carpet; her freezing looks demanded an explanation,
as plainly as looks can do it. Mr. Carlyle turned to her, and by way of
sparing Isabel, proceeded to introduce himself. Isabel had just presence
of mind left to name her: "Lady Mount Severn."

"I am sorry that Lord Mount Severn should be absent, to whom I have the
honor of being known," he said. "I am Mr. Carlyle."

"I have heard of you," replied her ladyship, scanning his good looks,
and feeling cross that his homage should be given where she saw it was
given, "but I had _not_ heard that you and Lady Isabel Vane were on the
extraordinary terms of intimacy that--that----"

"Madam," he interrupted as he handed a chair to her ladyship and took
another himself, "we have never yet been on terms of extraordinary
intimacy. I was begging the Lady Isabel to grant that we may be; I was
asking her to become my wife."

The avowal was as a shower of incense to the countess, and her ill
humor melted into sunshine. It was a solution to her great difficulty,
a loophole by which she might get rid of her _bete noire_, the hated
Isabel. A flush of gratification lighted her face, and she became full
of graciousness to Mr. Carlyle.

"How very grateful Isabel must feel to you," quoth she. "I speak openly,
Mr. Carlyle, because I know that you were cognizant of the unprotected
state in which she was left by the earl's improvidence, putting marriage
for her, at any rate, a high marriage, nearly out of the question. East
Lynne is a beautiful place, I have heard."

"For its size; it is not large," replied Mr. Carlyle, as he rose for
Isabel had also risen and was coming forward.

"And pray what is Lady Isabel's answer?" quickly asked the countess,
turning to her.

Not to her did Isabel condescend to give an answer, but she approached
Mr. Carlyle, and spoke in a low tone.

"Will you give me a few hours for consideration?"

"I am only too happy that you should accord it consideration, for it
speaks to me of hope," was his reply, as he opened the door for her to
pass out. "I will be here again this afternoon."

It was a perplexing debate that Lady Isabel held with herself in the
solitude of her chamber, whilst Mr. Carlyle touched upon ways and means
to Lady Mount Severn. Isabel was little more than a child, and as a
child she reasoned, looking neither far nor deep: the shallow palpable
aspect of affairs alone presenting itself to her view. That Mr. Carlyle
was not of rank equal to her own, she scarcely remembered; East Lynne
seemed a very fair settlement in life, and in point of size, beauty and
importance, it was far superior to the house she was now in. She forgot
that her position in East Lynne as Mr. Carlyle's wife would not be what
it had been as Lord Mount Severn's daughter; she forgot that she would
be tied to a quiet house, shut out from the great world, the pomps
and vanities to which she was born. She liked Mr. Carlyle much; she
experienced pleasure in conversing with him; she liked to be with him;
in short, but for that other ill-omened fancy which had crept over her,
there would have been danger of her falling in love with Mr. Carlyle.
And oh! to be removed forever from the bitter dependence on Lady Mount
Severn--East Lynne would in truth, after that, seem what she had called
it: Eden.

"So far it looks favorable," mentally exclaimed poor Isabel, "but there
is the other side of the question. It is not only that I do not love Mr.
Carlyle, but I fear I do love, or very nearly love, Francis Levison. I
wish _he_ would ask me to be his wife!--or that I had never seen him."

Isabel's soliloquy was interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Levison and
the countess. What the latter had said to the old lady to win her to the
cause, was best known to herself, but she was eloquent in it. They both
used every possible argument to induce her to accept Mr. Carlyle: the
old lady declaring that she had never been introduced to any one she was
so much taken with, and Mrs. Levison was incapable of asserting what was
not true; that he was worth a dozen empty-headed men of the great world.

Isabel listened, now swayed one way, now the other, and when afternoon
came, her head was aching with perplexity. The stumbling block that she
could not get over was Francis Levison. She saw Mr. Carlyle approach
from her window, and went down to the drawing-room, not in the least
knowing what her answer was to be; a shadowy idea was presenting itself,
that she would ask him for longer time, and write her answer.

In the drawing-room was Francis Levison, and her heart beat wildly;
which said beating might have convinced her that she ought not to marry
another.

"Where have you been hiding yourself?" cried he. "Did you hear of our
mishap with the pony carriage?"

"No," was her answer.

"I was driving Emma into town. The pony took fright, kicked, plunged and
went down upon his knees; she took fright in turn, got out, and walked
back. So I gave the brute some chastisement and a race, and brought him
to the stables, getting home in time to be introduced to Mr. Carlyle. He
seems an out-and-out good fellow, Isabel, and I congratulate you."

"What!" she uttered.

"Don't start. We are all in the family, and my lady told; I won't betray
it abroad. She says East Lynne is a place to be coveted; I wish you
happiness, Isabel."

"Thank you," she returned in a sarcastic tone, though her throat beat
and her lips quivered. "You are premature in your congratulations,
Captain Levison."

"Am I? Keep my good wishes, then, till the right man comes. I am beyond
the pale myself, and dare not think of entering the happy state," he
added, in a pointed tone. "I have indulged dreams of it, like others,
but I cannot afford to indulge them seriously; a poor man, with
uncertain prospects can only play the butterfly, perhaps to his life's
end."

He quitted the room as he spoke. It was impossible for Isabel to
misunderstand him, but a feeling shot across her mind, for the first
time, that he was false and heartless. One of the servants appeared,
showing in Mr. Carlyle; nothing false or heartless about _him_. He
closed the door, and approached her, but she did not speak, and her lips
were white and trembling. Mr. Carlyle waited.

"Well," he said at length, in a gentle tone, "have you decided to grant
my prayer?"

"Yes. But--" She could not go on. What with one agitation and another,
she had difficulty in conquering her emotion. "But--I was going to tell
you----"

"Presently," he whispered, leading her to a sofa, "we can both afford to
wait now. Oh, Isabel, you have made me very happy!"

"I ought to tell you, I must tell you," she began again, in the midst
of hysterical tears. "Though I have said 'yes' to your proposal, I do
not--yet----It has come upon me by surprise," she stammered. "I like you
very much; I esteem and respect you; but I do not love you."

"I should wonder if you did. But you will let me earn your love,
Isabel?"

"Oh, yes," she earnestly answered. "I hope so."

He drew her closer to him, bent his face, and took from her lips his
first kiss. Isabel was passive; she supposed he had gained the right to
do so. "My dearest! It is all I ask."



CHAPTER XIII.

A MOONLIGHT WALK.

The sensations of Mr. Carlyle, when he returned to West Lynne, were much
like those of an Eton boy, who knows he has been in mischief, and dreads
detection. Always open as to his own affairs--for he had nothing to
conceal--he yet deemed it expedient to dissemble now. He felt that his
sister would be bitter at the prospect of his marrying; instinct had
taught him that, years past; and he believed that, of all women, the
most objectionable to her would be Lady Isabel, for Miss Carlyle
looked to the useful, and had neither sympathy nor admiration for the
beautiful. He was not sure but she might be capable of endeavoring
to frustrate the marriage should news of it reach her ears, and her
indomitable will had caused many strange things in her life; therefore,
you will not blame Mr. Carlyle for observing entire reticence as to his
future plans.

A family of the name of Carew had been about taking East Lynne; they
wished to rent it, furnished, for three years. Upon some of the minor
arrangements they and Mr. Carlyle were opposed, but the latter declined
to give way. During his absence at Castle Marling, news had arrived from
them--they had acceded to all his terms, and would enter upon East Lynne
as soon as it was convenient. Miss Carlyle was full of congratulations;
it was off their hands, she said; but the fist letter Mr. Carlyle wrote
was--to decline them. He did not tell this to Miss Carlyle. The final
touches to the house were given, preparatory to the reception of its
inhabitants, and three maids and two men servants hired and sent there,
upon board wages, until the family should arrive.

One evening three weeks subsequent to Mr. Carlyle's visit to Castle
Marling, Barbara Hare called at Miss Carlyle's, and found them going to
tea much earlier than usual.

"We dined earlier," said Miss Corny, "and I ordered tea as soon as the
dinner went away. Otherwise, Archibald would have taken none."

"I am as well without tea. And I have a mass of business to get through
yet."

"You are not as well without it," cried Miss Corny, "and I don't choose
you should go without it. Take off your bonnet, Barbara. He does things
like nobody else; he is off to Castle Marling to-morrow, and never could
open his lips till just now that he was going."

"Is that invalid--Brewster, or whatever his name is--laid up at Castle
Marling, still?" exclaimed Barbara.

"He is still there," said Mr. Carlyle.

Barbara sprang up the moment tea was over.

"Dill is waiting for me in the office, and I have some hours' work
before me. However, I suppose you won't care to put up with Peter's
attendance, so make haste with your bonnet, Barbara."

She took his arm, and they walked on, Mr. Carlyle striking the hedge and
the grass with her parasol. Another minute, and the handle was in two.

"I thought you would do it," said Barbara, while he was regarding the
parasol with ludicrous dismay. "Never mind, it is an old one."

"I will bring you another to replace it. What is the color? Brown. I
won't forget. Hold the relics a minute, Barbara."

He put the pieces in her hand, and taking out a note case, made a note
in pencil.

"What's that for?" she inquired.

He held it close to her eyes, that she might discern what he had
written: "Brown parasol. B. H."

"A reminder for me, Barbara, in case I forget."

Barbara's eyes detected another item or two already entered in the note
case: "piano," "plate."

"I jot down the things as they occur to me, that I must get in London,"
he explained. "Otherwise I should forget half."

"In London? I thought you were going in an opposite direction--to Castle
Marling?"

It was a slip of the tongue, but Mr. Carlyle repaired it.

"I may probably have to visit London as well as Castle Marling. How
bright the moon looks rising there, Barbara!"

"So bright--that or the sky--that I saw your secret," answered she.
"Piano! Plate! What can you want with either, Archibald?"

"They are for East Lynne," he quietly replied.

"Oh, for the Carews." And Barbara's interest in the item was gone.

They turned into the road just below the grove, and reached it. Mr.
Carlyle held the gate open for Barbara.

"You will come in and say good-night to mamma. She was saying to-day
what a stranger you have made of yourself lately."

"I have been busy; and I really have not the time to-night. You must
remember me to her instead." And cordially shaking her by the hand, he
closed the gate.

It was two or three mornings after the departure of Mr. Carlyle that
Mr. Dill appeared before Miss Carlyle, bearing a letter. She was busy
regarding the effect of some new muslin curtains, just put up, and did
not pay attention to him.

"Will you please take the letter, Miss Cornelia? The postman left it in
the office with ours. It is from Mr. Archibald."

"Why, what has he got to write to me about?" retorted Miss Corny. "Does
he say when he is coming home?"

"You had better see, Miss Cornelia. Mine does not."


"CASTLE MARLING, May 1st.

"MY DEAR CORNELIA--I was married this morning to Lady Isabel Vane, and
hasten briefly to acquaint you with the fact. I will write you more
fully to-morrow or the next day, and explain all things.

"Your ever affectionate brother,

"ARCHIBALD CARLYLE."


"It is a hoax," was the first gutteral sound that escaped from Miss
Carlyle's throat when speech came to her.

Mr. Dill only stood like a stone image.

"It is a hoax, I say," raved Miss Carlyle. "What are you standing there
for, like a gander on one leg?" she reiterated, venting her anger upon
the unoffending man. "_Is_ it a hoax or not?"

"I am overdone with amazement, Miss Corny. It is not a hoax; I have had
a letter, too."

"It can't be true--it _can't_ be true. He had no more thought of being
married when he left here, three days ago, than I have."

"How can we tell that, Miss Corny? How are we to know he did not go to
be married? I fancy he did."

"Go to be married!" shrieked Miss Corny, in a passion. "He would not be
such a fool. And to that fine lady-child! No--no."

"He has sent this to be put in the county journals," said Mr. Dill,
holding forth a scrap of paper. "They are married, safe enough."

Miss Carlyle took it and held it before her: her hand was cold as ice,
and shook as if with palsy.

"MARRIED.--On the 1st inst., at Castle Marling, by the chaplain to the
Earl of Mount Severn, Archibald Carlyle, Esquire, of East Lynne, to
the Lady Isabel Mary Vane, only child of William, late Earl of Mount
Severn."

Miss Carlyle tore the paper to atoms and scattered it. Mr. Dill
afterward made copies from memory, and sent them to the journal offices.
But let that pass.

"I will never forgive him," she deliberately uttered, "and I will never
forgive or tolerate her."